Guignol's Band

by Louis-Ferdinand Celine

  “Oh! No! No! I’m not angry!…”

  It’s nice of him…

  “Just wait!” I say to myself… “The next one!… Boy, am I going to beat it!… Sincerely yours!… Good sailing!… My darlings!…”

  Clapham! That’s it!… Now’s the moment! A whistle!… The door! It just closes! I dash forward! Squeeze it open… Zip!… That does it!… Push! on the platform!… Just! On the button! Yip! Bravo, boy! The train takes off!… Oh! their mugs!… They see me! I didn’t get hurt!… Lucky! Whisked! Zip! With my leg!

  “So long!… So long!…” I yell to them…

  There! I did it! Now some rest!

  Squat! First! Wait a minute!… Got to know where I am… the stations are all right for that.

  * * *

  So now I’m free… I drag around like that for two… three days… I sleep here and there… I spend time in the movies… I keep out of sight pretty much… I avoid the centre of town… I watch out for meeting the wrong people! I keep track of my money… all the same, it’s running out… When I’ve got around two or three shillings left, I say to myself that I’ve got to stay in the stations… It’s warm, you sleep well, you wait…

  I had no definite ideas… I couldn’t make up my mind… I decided on Waterloo… It’s got the nicest waiting room… It’s certainly the most upholstered… I knew a particular bench on the other side of the heaters that was as inconspicuous as possible… back behind the exit… from which you could see people passing… the whole crowd… all the main lines… A real torrent in those days… all the men in the services… a continuous stream of soldiers… khaki!… More khaki!… At the gate there’d be waiting… swarms of hustlers!… They’d cross inside!… I know you!… At random… high-heeled shoes!… Boas! Yellow stockings!… Red stockings… purple stockings!… The styles of the time… on the attack… a hot chase!… Day and night!… They’d carry off Tommy Atkins with his wad! Mohamed Jouglou! Gorgovitch! Whatever came along! Soldiers on a spree! The dominions! The natives! The dear allies! At top speed!… Tearing off a piece not a hundred yards away… in the alley to the left, first floor… Tudor Commons… I shouldn’t have sat down there… After all it wasn’t playing safe! But I was pretty bored, got to admit!… That was my excuse… I didn’t know anyone… I dozed awhile on the upholstered seat… I even had a rather long sleep… Suddenly… someone’s disturbing me… shaking me…

  “It’s you!… Ah! It’s you, pretty boy!”

  I jump up with a start…

  “Ah! It’s you, Finette?… Ah! That’s nice!…”

  “What the hell are you doing here?…” She’s questioning me… “They’re all asking about you at the Leicester!”

  I’d rather not talk much… I mumble something… that I’d taken a little trip… She was the one who gave me the news… that things were fine at the “boarding house”… that there were no more arguments… that everyone had made up… on the go again for a time… That Cascade had taken back all his women… that Joconde was back, cured, from the London Hospital… with her mashed-up arse… was down in the kitchen again… that Angèle was back with her bad boy… that she was breaking in the new girls… but that Cascade’s sore about my breezing out on him!… Ah! He doesn’t like that one bit!…

  “All right, Finette! All right!” I answer… “You still haven’t got me!… I can see you coming a mile off!”

  Suddenly I feel anxious again…

  “Who?… Who sent you?…” I ask… “Spit it out! Right now!… Cascade or Matthew?”

  Ah! No monkey business!

  “Me?” she exclaims… “Ah! It’s a crime! I swear to you!…”

  “Well?” I said, dropping my voice… “It must be about the Dingby!… Say it!… or Claben? Eh?… Isn’t it?… Claben?”

  Ah! I’m suspicious…

  No beating about the bush… I come straight out with it… I insist… Ah! She looks at me… she thinks I’m queer.

  “Kiss me!” she says… “Kiss me!… You’re like my wounded brother… the war’s been getting you too!… But he’s in Athis-Mons now, home with the family… You shouldn’t be going out either… Let’s have a cup of coffee at the Basket… You look cold!… The treat’s on me!”

  Finette works the stations… or rather around them… in other words, the whole wide pavement up to the movie house… She’d make enough even for two!… She’d be satisfied with Fernande… they’re pimped, naturally… but Fernande’s a bitch… she won’t cheat on Big Fatso!… Which causes jealousy! Complications!… Big Fatso’s the world-champ loafer!… He’s the prize pimp!… It’s all right with him if his women monkey around with each other as long as they don’t hold out on his dough!… He wants to collect on both of them… on three, on ten if he could! A very demanding gentleman!… Which gets Finette sore! She’d like to hand it over only to Fernande!… She must’ve had a reason for shaking me!… She wants to tell me something!… Some news!… That Big Fatso’s been called up again!… Yes sir! That the Consulate’s looking all over for him!… Seems he made a hell of a face!… Ah! No volunteering for him! Kid Goldbrick in person!…

  Finette liked a good time!… She had beautiful big green eyes… like a cat… a bit slanting towards the temples… with a spark of mischief… and devilish, but on the whole a pain in the neck!…

  While we drank our coffee at the Basket, she told me a couple of lousy things about the big pimp… That she couldn’t take him any more… how he was too disgusting!… That they weren’t clearing him out any too soon!… He could go to hell!… She’d been waiting for that a long time!… It wasn’t a luxury!… She’d burned more than one candle… He came from Montauban, the big pimp!… She didn’t like people from the south!… He used to be a tenor!… So it seems… he was always yodelling!… And he hadn’t sung for ten years!… He was a dope!… I’m telling you, a prize dope!… Fernande didn’t understand anything!… And she, Finette, was shelling out to both of them, what do you think of that!… And for years!… Nice, wasn’t it?… And her Fernande was a real angel!… Ah! she didn’t want to play second fiddle!… Not her! Ah! She was through with that now!… She sure was glad he was going!… It was like giving her a bouquet of roses!… The two girls all by themselves!… “You’ll see how I’m going to work!… What I’m doing now is nothing!… And yet I’m working like a dog! I want my little woman to be happy!… Ah! my boy!… Ah! Just kid stuff! I’m just loafing now!… Wait till I really get going!… There’ll be business! Business!… There’s a whole world there!… A whole world!”

  She was pointing to the station… the pavement!…

  “You’ll get a look at our clothes!… And what about you?” she reminds herself… “Say, you’re not looking so good!… You’ve lost weight!… Why don’t you go back to Cascade’s? It’s a good place… He’s not stingy!… Since you’re convalescing!… One more mouth doesn’t matter!… What a family in his joint!… You should’ve built up your health!… You’re like the rest of them! You’re slipping!… You just don’t know where you’re at!… That’s the trouble with you!…”

  Finette, Big Fatso and Fernande lived in an apartment not very far from the Empire Music Hall… in Wardour Street… They’d knock themselves silly, jealous alcohol binges, so that at times they’d lie on their backs two or three days in a row, giving each other herbal tea, compresses… Passion did it! But now all that was going to change! At last Big Fatso was getting his!… Ah! How happy she was!… Really hilarious!…

  “Will he be killed? You think so?”

  He had a chance in the artillery!… Ah! I point out to her, he might come back! I tell her frankly…

  “What about you? Aren’t you going back?” she suddenly snaps! The bitch!

  “Listen! Take it easy, you tramp!” I answer… “Listen! I’ve just come back!… Cool off!…”

  “But you’re still good, darling!… You’ve still got some pieces left!�
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  She had it in for men!…

  “War’s a fine thing!… A fine thing!… Just look at that!”

  A squad of khaki was passing in front of the windows… and behind them a whole fanfare!… The Guard Band on the way to Buckingham! The changing of the palace guard.

  “Say! They’re good-looking! They get me hot!… Say, does your arm still hurt?…”

  I’d spoken to her about my wounds…

  “What about your head? You got a bullet in it, didn’t you?”

  “Oh! A very small one!…”

  “Oh! A wise guy!”… suddenly she thinks I’m funny!… She bursts out laughing, so high and so shrill, about the bullet in my head that everyone turns around… all the customers at the counter.

  “Come here so I can kiss you, you poor fish!… You’ve got no luck! You’re behind the times!”

  That’s what she thinks of me!

  “But I’m way ahead of the times!”

  She was getting me sore!…

  “God! You’re as big a jerk as Fatso! You’re no house afire!… Still and all you’re less conceited… Why don’t you go back to Cascade’s?… It’s a good place!”

  Ah! She was dead set on that.

  “He’d’ve given you whatever you wanted!” she continues, she’s handing me a line!… “Without even asking!… Just for yourself!… You’d’ve been in the dough!… He’s got more girls than he wants!… You’d’ve got along!… You’d’ve had it soft!… He had nothing against you!… You didn’t fight with him?… Didn’t you ever try to take away Angèle just for the hell of it sometimes? She’s a real grandma!… Boy, she’s had plenty between the legs, from the Bastille to Rio! Just imagine the racket! And the garrisons besides! With Nougat, her first guy!… My boy!… A real hustler!… Let me tell you!… Steel Arse!… That’s what they called her at the Réole… at the Petit Soupir… almost twelve years ago!… I had my share too!… Why talk about it!… I won’t go complaining!… I’m frank! I admit! I can take it! I’m not scared of men! Though I like twats better, of course!… But the god-damned things are the injections! Boy, I’m awful about that! Boy, I’m telling you, I hate going to the doctor!… Forty-four in a row, you realize, right in the arse!… Used to pass out after every shot!… Say, I thought I’d croak!… God, I was crapping green!… Say d’you think syph can be cured?”

  The Englishwomen from the provinces who were drinking their tea screwed up their snooty noses… They suspected the sort of Frenchwoman she was… Finette started making eyes at them, they immediately turned away their heads… Just “snacks” in the station restaurants… especially Waterloo, there’s an enormous number of people and of all kinds… besides, of course, the servicemen… to and from Flanders!… A stream of khaki!… Finette started thinking of her girlfriend again…

  “Fernande’s not loafing either!… Especially now that she’s doing the Empire… We’re sure going to be happy! The two of us all by ourselves!… We’ll send Fatso big juicy money orders!… Ah, our man! Ah! The sweet trou-trou-badour!… Life looks bright! It’s coming along great!…

  “He’s got to eat over there, you know! Fatso’s some eater!… I want him to croak, but not of hunger… First of all, you know she still likes him… that’s a fact! I’m not kidding myself!… Imagine what a dope!… She sings with him! You should hear them!…

  When your big gentle eyes!…

  “I don’t know what she sees in him!… Whenever he touches me, I gag… Still I’m no saint!… He just rubs me the wrong way!… It’s because he’s Fernande’s guy! It’s jealousy! That’s it!… It’s only natural!… What about you, aren’t you jealous?…”

  I admit I’m not very!… Ah! She doesn’t like that. Ah! That irks her! Just what am I, after all? She looks at me… up and down… she can’t stomach me any more!…

  “Beat it!…” she snaps at me!… “Beat it, dope!…”

  Doesn’t want to see me any more!

  “Psst! Psst!” she calls from her stool… she saw something outside… she calls through the door… a soldier on the prowl… she runs after him… she jumps… I’m alone again… I smile around vaguely… at the counter girls… no go… an aviator’s monopolizing them… they’re snickering and clucking… all right!… I’m going to sit down at a table… since I’m there… I start thinking things over again… I order a cup of coffee… another one… I just sit there… with a dazed look… Someone signalling to me from outside through the glass… Don’t recognize who… couldn’t make it out… Ah! It’s the midget!… Ten-Paw Lou… He’s spotted me.

  “You doing the stations?” he asks… He’s getting a kick out of seeing me there…

  His head reaches the edge of the table… To tell the truth he’s almost a dwarf… he’s bowlegged…

  “Say, things are bad!… Don’t you know what’s happening?… They’re talking about you at the Leicester… Haven’t you read the Mirror?…”

  No, I hadn’t read it…

  “Well I’ll be damned!… Give me a penny!”

  He goes out… he brings back the Mirror… The whole page, a big photo… Oh! The old guy’s house!… The joint!… The rubble!… It was called the “Greenwich Tragedy” in huge letters… the smoke… the ruins… the beams… everything!

  “Boy! Some hell of a sight!”

  It’s funny, I couldn’t quite understand! I looked again… just couldn’t figure it out… It seemed strange to me.

  “Do you believe it?” I ask him… “You believe it?…”

  “Look!… It’s written down!…”

  “I don’t know…” I answer…

  “Can’t you read English?…”

  He could read English well…

  “Ah! Go to hell, you don’t understand anything!” That’s his conclusion… We start talking about something else… He was a cook at Barbe’s in Soho Square, also an “extra” at the Royal… that way he could fool around the unions… in good standing!… But the dwarf was especially clever with cards!… His real racket!… His magic! Ah! Gambling? Nothing he couldn’t do!… “Unionized”!… Could get in anywhere… He called all the chefs by their first names… all the London clubs… He’d show them his terrific tricks with cards… at poker! At whist! Backgammon! Unbeatable in shuffling!… That’s why they called him Ten-Paw… No one saw him go in or out… Just a quick little game!… Let’s go, gentlemen! No higher than the table!… The midget… They’d put cushions under him so he could play at the right height… He amused the hostesses… and always good-natured, easy-going… and also an “extra” at the races! Ah! Tipped-off like a pope! Really inside stuff! Always three to “show” at the Derby!… At least!… In London eighteen years! And dough laid aside!… Rejected because of his coat-sleeve legs… never a day in the army!

  “But my fingers haven’t been rejected! That’s what counts in my game!…”

  Doesn’t hide the fact that he’s intelligent.

  He’s terrific with his fingers, he’ll turn a single deck into ten or twelve right in front of your eyes! An acrobat with cards!… He plays only with customers, never with friends… Ah! None of that! Out of the question!…

  When he dropped in at the Leicester, right away it was “Into the kitchen, Ten-Paw!…” Ah! No monkey business! Right away! Go on! Ten-Paw’s the boy for French fries!… No equal when it comes to soufflés…

  “Get to the frying pan, Ten-Paw…” they’d call from all over the house… all the girls!… “You’ll get kissed!”

  In fact he’d have all of them free for his potato soufflés!… They’d let him, it was all right with the men, they had a big weakness for French fries… Ah! Really tasty with lard, and Saumur wine if possible!… It seems they were better than oysters when made à la Ten-Paw!… I think fried potatoes are the only real French vice!… Seriously speaking… just right, to a turn, golden, salted, not too much, neither dry nor greasy,
with a glass of white wine… You couldn’t tear them away when the midget got to the frying pan… There’d be heaping platefuls and endless cheering… enough to bring down the whole whorehouse… Sometimes around ten or twelve pimps crowded together at the table treating themselves to grub… without counting the ladies, naturally!…

  “Ah!” he says to me… tackling the subject… “To go on with my story… you poor mug, you sure are in the shit!”

  Looking at the photographs… we read the following gibberish… “The body of Titus Jérôme Van Claben, the well-known pawnbroker, was found yesterday afternoon at five o’clock…” I had no idea his name was Jérôme… in addition to Titus… “badly mutilated and completely burnt…”

  It was easy English.

  “The fire consumed the entire building and two neighbouring houses as well… No fire of such violence has broken out in Wigmore Alley, the well-known promenade in our lovely Greenwich Park, since 1768. The District Officer in charge of the investigation refuses to give us his opinion as to the origin of this disaster which, according to certain experts, might be due to foul play. The private life of Titus Jérôme Van Claben was not quite what it might have been… In addition to his ordinary clients, Titus Van Claben received many visits from dubious people and vagabonds… known, moreover, to the officers of Scotland Yard… Tongues have been wagging in the neighbourhood of the disaster… Van Claben was known to have a certain taste for oriental dress and the smoking of hashish, long piano performances and the easy French game of ‘loto’… A middle-aged housekeeper, a former teacher named Delphine, is being actively sought…”

  “But we weren’t playing loto!… We never played loto!… It’s a downright lie!”

  I sat up!

  “All right! But then you were really there?”

  “How do you know?”

  It’s true after all, how did he know?…

  I reread the lousy sheet… I started shivering… right in front of the newspaper and all… I can tell you that those nosy reporters gave me the shakes… the shivers like that morning… in the park with Delphine…