“Ah! If you had my knees,” he’d answer when they complained. “You’d see something! And my shoulders! And my back! Boy! What would you say then?… And I’ve got to go running around! I don’t lie in bed!”
Rushing through the wards, up and down the five flights, three times a day, he’d ask on the run how things were going. And that nose of his! Unbelievable! Out of Punch and Judy! It dragged him along! He’d lean forward everywhere, over everything, short-sighted as a dozen moles, his big popping eyes rolling under his glasses. As soon as he’d start spouting, it would all shake rhythmically in time with the words, nervous by nature, his ears would wiggle too, sticking out, wide open, wings keeping his head up, but grey, like a bat’s. He was really pretty homely. He scared certain patients… but a kindly smile, ah! No denying it! A kind of girl’s smile, never brusque, never impatient, always ready to be pleasant, to make himself agreeable, to put in the right word, in the teeth of destiny and fatigue!… A word of comfort, a compliment, to the worst wallowing, pissy, flattened-out bellyacher, all delicacy with the worst down-and-outers! With the most snarling tiresome sluts… rotting and peevish, the dregs of the “chronic” wards, where the others, the “staff” doctors, practically never set foot… there were some pretty queer customers, hard to imagine such perfect wrecks, who nevertheless were pests for months and months… some for years it seems… who fell away piecemeal, bit by bit, one day an eye, the nose, a ball, then some spleen, a pinkie – it was a kind of battle with the big bite, the horror inside gnawing away, without a gun or sabre or cannon, that rips a guy’s whole works apart, that drills away at him piece by piece, that comes from nowhere, from no sky, and one fine day he no longer exists, skinned alive, cut up, nibbled with ulcers, just like that, with little squeals, red hiccups, groanings and prayers and awful pleading. Ave Maria! Sweet Jesu! Jesus! – as the tender-hearted English sob, the elite of sensibility.
And what an assortment, a choice, a whole world, a calamity bazaar, departments for everything, for the stomach, heart, kidneys, bowels, the eight and fifty common wards of the London Freeborn Hospital! Especially during the winter months when there was coughing!… Terrific coughing! At least ninety-three wards! With catarrhs all over, besides the street accidents which came up in series… often ten or fifteen at a time… mornings when the fog was too thick…
In the wards themselves it was dark from late September on, except for two or three hours in the morning, and then very close to the window, the high guillotines, it came from the river in big dense waves, it penetrated the whole building, it choked the gaslights, the lamps in the corridors, it brought in a smell of coal tar, the coal smoke from the port, and then the echo of the ships, the movements on the docks, the cries…
Clovis fortified himself for the check-up with an enormous oil lantern, a “mail coach”,* when someone called him as he passed, he could hardly see, but heard well, he’d come very close to the bed, he’d light up their faces, it made a white circle all around, the face of the suffering chap stood out in the darkness, he’d lean over against him, he’d speak to him in a hushed voice… “Sh! Sh!” he’d say… “Sh! Old boy! Don’t wake anyone… I’ll be right back! I’ll give you your little injection!… Soon be over!… Soon be over!”
The same words to each sufferer… and from one ward to another… on all floors… “Soon be over!”… It was a kind of quirk of his.
He did lots of injections in the course of a night, lots and lots!… Among the women and the men… He was so short-sighted that I’d hold his lantern for him up against it… right against the buttock… so he’d dig the needle straight in… not sideways or crossways…
After about two weeks when I’d been coming to see Joconde, we became such pals that I did the injections for him, with camphor, morphine, ether, the usual things, and he’d hold the lantern for me. “Soon be over!… Soon be over!”… the refrain.
With my trick paw I got the knack of the injections right away, a trick paw’s automatic, the patient feels nothing… a puff…
That’s how I got a start, a little on the sly like that, at the London Freeborn Hospital with Dr Clodovitz, in my professional career. I learnt to say, just like him, immediately, everywhere, “Soon be over!” It became a kind of habit, a sort of quirk… All kinds of awful things have happened since the Freeborn Hospital! Here, there, good, bad, horrible too, you can be sure of that. You’ll judge for yourself. Without any definite idea… Simply in the course of things… it’s fine already!… Soon be over!…
* * *
We kept a distance of two minutes between us. We were on the lookout along the streets… Orchard Street, Weberley Commons, Perigham Row… First Boro and then René, the little deserter who had impossible papers, his photo in all the news-sheets, and then Elise, the “crazy pedlar” who’d jumped bail, with a gang of plain-clothes men after her, since for years she’d been handling harmless little opium pellets all through Maida Vale and the West End, without getting into trouble, and then she suddenly went in for hashish without telling anyone, because of the war. That’s what the Yard didn’t excuse, variations of habit!…
It was bound to end in trouble. They were watching us, unluckily. Even at the hospital with Clodo, where after all I was very quiet, where I was useful as a kind of nurse lending a hand when there were too many people, it started smelling fishy… Joconde had done us harm… She’d been telling things about her personal worries and her troubles at the Leicester that were just plain crazy… Since she spoke a bit of English and the place was lousy with blabbering chambermaids, it took on real proportions… loafers who hadn’t a damned thing to do but screw things up even more… it became risky and dangerous… They spoke of kicking us out, pure and simple, and Clodovitz first of all… a foreign doctor, an extra, just good enough for the night shift… The Management had their eye on him… He was in bad odour, but since they didn’t pay him much, even for the backbreaking work, woken up ten, fifteen times a night, they weren’t at all sure of finding another intern so utterly devoted, neither troublesome nor a drinker, just a little queer in his ways… The management hesitated about giving him his week’s notice… Just about hesitated… Getting fired would have been a catastrophe… He had such queer papers, such suspicious stamps on them that they weren’t fit to be shown… Diplomas that were even more weird!… But the way the fellow had got there, happened to be in London, was still the biggest mystery!… Ah! A dead duck if they bounced him… He’d be washed up! For some time they’d been picking up “aliens”, as they called them, every day, who were less doubtful than he…
Clodovitz knew all about it… he’d mention it to me occasionally, he didn’t think it was funny…
Cascade had promised to come soon to see what was happening… After three or four days, not a sign… Suddenly someone phoned… that he was on his way!… Tell him to shake a leg… we had a thing or two to tell him…
The date was for six o’clock at the Dingby Cruise, the old lunch bar in the middle of the docks, a little to the west of the hospital, right on the edge of the river… You could get there by the bank or the maze of alleys all around that led to it from Commercial Road, from between the “Stores”, the high warehouses. That was really the prudent way of coming and going…
So there we were… We were waiting for him… The boss of La Vaillance had also come to see us… But he didn’t talk much, he was wary, he kept his distance, a scalded cat…
“I want to speak to Cascade!”… He wanted to talk only to Cascade! Stubborn, disagreeable… Cascade hadn’t arrived. It was a rush hour, the tables were filling up, the change of shifts, the bunch from the cranes, from the holds, naturally they made a lot of noise, mainly because of their brogans, the place was all made of wood, all crosspieces and daub, it resounded. The slot machine and the dice added to the din… in short, a general racket all around…
Ah! Chug! Chug! There’s a car! It’s Monsieur, after all!…
“Hello Monsyoor!”… they answer.
It wasn’t any too soon.
“How’s it going, Brainstorm?”
He’s talking to me.
“Does it still hurt?”
He points to my head.
“Still does! Still does! Monsieur Cascade!”
It bothers him that I’m having trouble with my head, he talks to me about it every time.
Anyway, Clodo starts explaining to him that we’ve made him come, etc.… etc.… to tell him about Joconde!… That she’s not behaving herself at the hospital… that she’s shooting her mouth off…
“And how’s her arse coming along?”
“That part’s all right!”
“When the arse is all right, everything’s all right!”… he answers.
That’s the only effect it has on him…
“And what about Angèle?” we ask.
“She went up to Edinburgh! She’s on business, boys! Placing Biglot’s two girls!”
“Biglot’s?”
“Yes! Biglot’s! That’s right!”
We can’t get over it…
“A man who’ll be forty soon! He’s beating it too! The sap! Yeah! Yeah! He’s off for the infantry, ladies and gentlemen, the infantry! Yessiree! Ah! I don’t want to think about it any more! But what about Joconde? Some class, huh? I didn’t lie to you, did I? Estocadero! And Pfft! What a spurt! You’d’ve thought she was a centre back! Whtt! What zip! Lightning! Eh?… Lightning!”
“Don’t you want to go and see her?” we suggested gently.
“Ah! Hell no! She can croak!”
That’s how he answered… He’d had enough! Fed up!… He didn’t want to get mixed up in that again!
A bit selfish!
“Listen, boys, I know what I’m going to do!”
He was off again on his pet subject.
“I’m going to buy me a trombone! I’m going to get into the parade too! I’ll drop in to see you around noon!… You’ll see me, pals! You’ll see me! I’ll play my music all by myself! For those who don’t want to leave! I’ll be the anti-recruiting guy! Get that! I’m going to start a society! The ‘I-ain’t-having-any-Boys’! If this continues, guys, I’m going to learn English!… I want to find out what they’re on about, the hokum they’re filling ’em with! since it’s driving ’em all crazy!… It must be terrific! I’d like to listen to their line! Men are just plain morons, eh?… I know ’em all right!”
Ah! He sat there gaga!
It was really pretty amazing!
Over his glass, deep in thought… thick stout…
Prospero Jim, the boss of the Dingby, comes up, he talks… he sees things Cascade’s way… the crime of the newspapers!… Always the papers!… He never reads them either!… And the movies!…
“Say, did you see the newsreels? Trenches in one place! Boches in another! Look at my helmet! Oh boy, am I brave! Am I dead! It’s a joke! Me telling you! Mmph! Bah! For their mugs! Bullshit!”
It made them both mad just to think about that crap!
They were getting upset just talking about it!
“I love you! I love you!” Cascade said, in imitation!… “You’re right! They’re infants!… yokels spoilt by good cream! Stuffed with butter! Too much yum-yum!”
I listened to them jabber… It still wasn’t any of my business… I could have stuck my word in! I was keeping my mouth shut!… When it comes to experience, every man for himself! I’d been to school! I had a bellyful of dearly acquired knowledge!… And especially in my ear! A tiny bit of hardware left! But the ringing had added up!… So that I couldn’t sleep!… And enough migraines to make me bark, the way they tore at me like pincers, repulsed my eyes by force… so that I’d squint for hours… In short, real terrors… Ah! No! I had mine!… I thought of my father and mother peaceful in their shop, in the Passage des Vérododats, having a good time being pitied by all the neighbours because their son had been so badly wounded, whimpering… I thought of all I’d seen from one hospital to the other… Dunkerque… Le Val… Villemomble… Drancy… and also me, myself… How they get the injured on the operating table… whisk ’em up again!… Perk ’em up again! They stitch up the main business and off you go!… Hop to it, Humpty-Dumpty! Three cheers!… You’ll be in the next whirl!… In the nick of time, straight as a bullet! On the spot for the big offensive! You can have the joys of the Charred Woods! You won’t be cold this winter, my merry hero!… There’ll be sport around there!… I guarantee it!… Not a minute wasted!… Try to be quick soldier boys!… You won’t look much at the pieces! It’s not a nice thing for a man to do!…
I was thinking about all that… I didn’t say anything! Cascade was still talking. He was glad someone was listening to him… He was producing his effect.
“The sergeant, the one with the ribbons, comes up to me! He stops me, he hands me a line! Boy, what a sour grouch!”
The thing that happened to him.
“Me! I’m telling you, boys!… Can you imagine that! What did he take me for? He wanted me to follow his parade! To go with him to the recruiting station! Just get that!… ‘French!’ I said to him… ‘French are you?’ He’d pulled a boner! What a face he made! Nose to nose! Started sucking his stick! Did he look dumb! Boy, everyone was splitting! You should’ve seen the crowd! Smack! A sock! Shot right in! Ah! Angry! ‘French rascal! Rascal!’ he calls me. The crowd’s against me… I wasn’t sticking around! Just think! A thousand against one!… Goodbye!… Off like a shot! I wish you’d seen the Recruiting Sergeant’s mug! What a slick get-up on the guy! Boy, some swanky tunic! What a nifty can to go to war with! The Jerries’ll have a good laugh! Boy, you see everything! Twirling his stick and woo-woo!”
Cascade was having a great time!… So were the customers all around him… What a brilliant talker!… And even the boss of La Vaillance was forgetting his troubles…
“That’s a sergeant for you! You realize? All right, I’ll shut up, Prosper! I’m driving myself crazy! Just thinking about it!… Hand me the poison! Their bedbug juice!”
He poured himself a big whisky fizz… He treated everybody, generous, absolutely…
“It’s for everyone! You hear me? I didn’t come for nothing! They talk to me about sickness! About God knows what!… About croaking! Goddamn it! I want to laugh! That reminds me of Little-Mouth Jeanne!… I picked her up, you know, in Santos!… I took her for a ride! I put on a real show! I was out with her all afternoon in a high-class landau! I wanted her to enjoy herself, have a good time… What heat, pals! Like that!… A plaster furnace, boys!… I wanted to go one better… I made the driver stop at a bar, the finest saloon in the town! It was called L’Origone, a swell club! I wanted to put the finishing touches on!… Along came a torero, with his guitar, you know! Whango! He cops my gal! Just like that! Bango! Just time enough to look at her! He sized her up! She fell all over him! That’s what it cost me to be a sucker! He just blotted me out! He took her off on his arm! I blew up! Boy, I’m telling you! I jumped on the greaseball! I smothered him!… I broke two of his molars for him! He runs to the cops!… My first breadwinner!… Santos is all railings! The prison’s right in the open air! Both of them came to see me! On Sundays, just to get a laugh! To make a damned fool of me! Arm in arm!… You get what lousy punks they were?… Me on the other side of the bars!… I put in six months! Ah! Youth!… I was twenty, that explains everything! That cured me of taking rides, I’m telling you!… The only thing to do is break their ribs… You’re nice? You get it in the neck!… Down the drain!… I love you!… I didn’t want to show my strength! She was the boss! She sent me back to the kitchen! Get that, my boy!… You with the fruit salad! You toy soldier! You listening? You don’t know everything! You don’t read that kind of thing in the papers!”
Prospero was in full agreement.
The
customers around, those with tattoos, the men from the pier, the fellows with big arms, they nodded, they didn’t understand a thing… Prospero translated some of these practical remarks into English… It made them guffaw with liquor… Their glasses, their lips, their moustaches were full of it… They were clinking and cackling… shaking all the glassware with noisy jokes to the health of their crony, so generous, such a philosopher!… They were so dazed with the malt gin and the stout and the thick clouds of tobacco and the cut plug besides and the fatigue of loading that it was a waste of effort explaining to them what it was all about… They didn’t understand anything… But they wanted, after all, to toast the gay dog who did things so handsomely! Who treated the whole crowd… who gave you a shot in the arm with a one-two-three and whisky fizz! And “sailor’s vitriol”, which was one of Prospero’s secrets, that turned your mouth inside out as soon as you were hit by the first drop that would have melted all the fogs from Barbeley Docks to Greenwich just breathing at them, with that horrible breath! Across thirty-six Thameses. But you had to hold on to the bar! It knocked you clean off your feet.
“For he’s a jolly good fellow”… the whole crowd took up the famous chorus, sent it booming against the window panes! The menagerie was roaring! The smoke was getting so thick you could have cut it with a knife… made everyone teary, close his eyes, stinging and blinking, red, burning with sooty pepper… and lots of other smokes besides, more pungent ones, filtering in from all over the river – sulphur, coal, saltpetre – getting everything sticky, blotting everything out, even the gas, the lamps, giving you queer looks, funny faces, molasses heads, pasty-looking through the blur. The pubful of bellowers all dim-looking… the whole mob of howling phantoms…
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