Betty Blue

by Philippe Djian

  I stopped at the first place we found open on the side of the road. I parked the car by the pumps and got out.

  In the bar, I had them line up three espressos in front of me. I burned my lips a little, but by then it didn’t make any difference. I was sore all over, not to mention my inflated eyes, at least doubled in volume. The smallest light bulb looked like a supernova to me. Having already gone about ninety hours without sleep, I decided to take a little three-hundred-fifty-mile drive. Was I not brilliant? Did I not have the stuff of which twentieth century heroes are made? Yes, except that I served pizzas for a living, and I didn’t ride with the Hell’s Angels. I was just going to an old lady’s funeral-the death waiting at the end of the journey was not my own. Times had changed.

  I started giggling nervously to myself; it was impossible to stop. The guy behind the counter looked at me, worried. To reassure him, I grabbed the salt shaker and a hard-boiled egg and gave him the thumbs-up. I absentmindedly cracked the shell on the counter a little too hard and smashed the whole thing to a pulp in my hand. The guy jumped. I let the hand with all the egg on it drop to my side, and with the other hand I wiped away the tears that had welled up in my eyes. I couldn’t control myself. The guy came and wiped up the mess without saying a word.

  I had barely gotten a hold on myself when Betty came and sat down on the stool next to me.

  “Hey, you look like you’re in great shape!” she said.

  “Yeah, I am. Be fine…”

  “Eddie just fell asleep. Poor guy, he wasn’t making it…”

  I started giggling again. She looked at me and smiled.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Nothing. I’m just beat, that’s all.”

  She ordered coffee. I ordered three more. She lit a cigarette.

  “I like this,” she said. “Here, with you, in this kind of place. Like we’d just set sail somewhere…”

  I knew what she meant, but I didn’t believe in that anymore.

  I drank my coffee and gave her a wink. I was too weak to resist.

  We went back to the car, clinging together like two sardines under the ice cap.

  Bongo came running up to us. The damn dog just about knocked me over in the snow. I must have been walking a little stiff-legged. A gust of wind could have blown me away.

  I got back behind the wheel. Eddie was sleeping in the back seat, lying halfway over Lisa’s lap. I shook my head, then turned the ignition. When I think that that idiot was ready to hop in the car by himself… yeah, I could see it all now-facedown, asleep at the wheel; over the little white line, and bye-bye, baby. It irked me. I didn’t ungrit my teeth for quite some time.

  A few hours later everyone was sleeping. It was surprising. It was nice out, and the farther down we got the less snow there was. The highway was pretty deserted, and I let myself switch lanes with abandon, to break the monotony. I tried to go over the dotted line without touching the dots. The car pitched gently. I didn’t know whether to watch the time or the mileage to know when we were getting close-I couldn’t decide. The question began to obsess me. I knew there wasn’t time for that. I turned up the radio. Some dude started talking to me in a peaceful voice about the life of Christ-insisting that he had not abandoned us. I hoped he was right, that he had his information straight. The sky was hopelessly empty, there was absolutely no sign of Him. Of course I’d understand completely if he turned his back on us once and for all-anyone would, in his shoes.

  I smiled at the little spark in my soul, scarfing down a few crackers to pass the time, one eye on the tachometer. I kept the needle on the edge of the red. I amazed myself, I truly amazed myself. I wondered where I was finding the strength to stay conscious. Of course it’s true that my body was tense, my neck stiff, my jaws sore, and my eyelids burning-but there I was, eyes wide open, going up and down the hills while the time sped by. I stopped and tossed down some more coffee, then took off again, no one so much as stirring. The trip seemed like a life in miniature-the highs and the lows. The scenery changed a bit. Solitude whistled through the small opening in the window.

  Betty rolled over in her sleep. I watched her. I didn’t ask myself where I was headed, nor what I was doing with her-it never entered my mind. I’m not the kind of guy who asks himself questions about why he doesn’t ask himself questions. I just liked looking at her. The sun was setting when I stopped for gas. I emptied the ashtray into a little paper bag which I tossed in a garbage can. This guy washed the windshield. I started giggling again for no reason. I pushed back into the seat and dug some change out of my pocket. I gave a fistful to the guy, my eyes tearing. He made a face at me. I wiped my eyes for the next two miles.

  Just before we got there I woke everybody up. I asked if they’d all had a good night’s sleep. It was an inconsequential little town with a nice feel to it. We drove through it slowly. Eddie leaned over to show me where to go, and the girls checked their faces in their little mirrors.

  It was dark. The streets were wide and clean. Most of the buildings were less than three stories high; it made you feel like you could breathe a little. Eddie motioned for me to stop. We pulled over in front of a piano store. He touched my shoulder.

  “She sold pianos,” he said.

  I turned around to face him.

  “My God,” he added.

  We went up to the second floor. I pulled up the rear. The stairway never ended, and the flowered wallpaper made my head spin. There were a few people in the room. I couldn’t see too well because of the dimness-there was maybe one lamp lit, in the corner. They all stood up when they saw Eddie, took his hands and kissed him, saying things in low voices, looking at us over their shoulders. They seemed to be familiar with death. Eddie introduced everyone but I didn’t try to understand who was who, or who I was-I just smiled. The minute I’d parked, I felt how tired I really was. Now I had to try and maneuver a three-hundred pound body around. I didn’t dare lift an arm-I knew it would make me cry.

  When everyone went into the room where the wake was, I just followed along without thinking, dragging my heels. I couldn’t see anything, because Eddie threw himself at the bed and his shoulders blocked my view. All I saw were two feet sticking out from under the sheets, like stalagmites. He started crying again. I yawned without meaning to, putting my hand over my mouth just in time. A woman turned around. I closed my eyes.

  By chance, I happened to be standing behind everybody else. I backed up a few steps to the edge of the room and leaned myself against the wall, my head down and arms crossed. It felt pretty good and no longer had to struggle to keep my balance. All I had to do was push a little with my legs and everything fell right into place. I heard a slight breathing sound close to me.

  I saw myself on the beach in the middle of the night, both feet in the water. I was squinting into the moonlight, when an immense black wave welled up from who knows where, stretching up to the sky with a frothy fringe on top like an army of snakes standing on their tails. It seemed to stand still for a moment, then came crashing down on my head with an icy hiss. I opened my eyes. I’d fallen over a chair on my face. My elbow hurt. The others turned toward me, scowling. I gave Eddie a lost look.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to do that…”

  He motioned to me that he understood. I stood up and walked out, closing the door softly behind me. I went down to the car to get cigarettes. It wasn’t too cold out, nothing to compare to what it was like three hundred fifty miles north of there. I lit up and took a little walk with Bongo down the street. There wasn’t a soul-no one to see me shuffling along like an old grandma worried about breaking her hipbone.

  I went down to the corner. I tossed my cigarette over the sidewalk in front of me, into the void, then came back. I had to admit that Betty had been right for once: a little change of scene can do you good. To me, it seemed like a great idea, mostly because it allowed us to leave our little bundle of woe behind us, if only for a day or two. It amazed me just then to think that. I was surpris
ed at the bitterness I felt looking back on the life that had begun when Betty set fire to the bungalow. It’s true that every day hadn’t been a bundle of laughs, but there were plenty of good times and no one with half a brain could have asked for more than that. No, it was obviously my book that had given our life this strange taste, colored it this vague shade of purple. And if closing the door behind you and hopping in the car was all it took to start over again? Wouldn’t life be better then? A little easier? At that precise moment I was almost ready to try it-to grab Betty by the shoulders and say, Okay, sweetheart, we’re going to go on to something else now-no more pizza, no more city, no more book…Are you with me?

  These were pleasant thoughts to have, going back up the calm, wide street. If only for these images the trip was worth it. I saw it all so clearly that I didn’t even think about the drive home. Had I thought about it, I would have washed out right then and there, but the patron saint of those who dream watched over me-no dark thoughts came to roost. Far from it: Betty and I, settled there in the town, not wanting to hear any more about some stupid manuscript-finally able to wake up in the morning without looking anxiously in the mailbox… good times and bad times, nothing more. This was the kind of thing that made me smile like a kid again as I walked back into the building, all of it melting slowly in my mouth.

  I climbed back up the stairway to the second floor, finding it even tougher going than the first time. I used the banister-I wasn’t proud. The room was empty. They must have all still been in the little bedroom-stuffed in there around the corpse. I didn’t see any reason to bother them. I sat down. I poured myself a glass of water. I tipped the pitcher, I didn’t lift it. With any luck they’d stay in there all night with her, no one to worry whether I was sleepy or not. I had the vague feeling that they’d already forgotten me. There was a curtain at the end of the living room. I stared at it for at least ten minutes, my eyes squinting, trying to uncover its secret. Finally I stood up and went over to it.

  There was a stairway there that went down into the store. I must have been off my rocker that night. I must have fallen victim to some morbid attraction to stairs, going up and down, puffing like the damned. I went down.

  I found myself among the pianos. They gleamed in the light that came from the street, like black stones under a waterfall. There was no sound at all-they were silent pianos. I chose one at random and sat down in front of it. I opened the keyboard. Luckily there was a place at the end of the keyboard where you could put your elbow down. I did. I put my chin in my hand. I looked at all the keys lined up. I yawned a little.

  It was not the first time I’d found myself at a piano. I knew how to play, and though I’d never attained the heights of greatness, I could pick out a little tune with three fingers, choosing a slowish tempo and a minimum of light. I began by playing a C. I listened to it attentively and followed it around the store with my eyes, not losing it for a second. When the silence returned, I started again. To me, this was one hell of a piano. It had understood what kind of piano player I was, and yet had given me its all, the best of itself. It was nice to come across a piano that had found The Way.

  I shifted into a simple number that allowed me to maintain my style as well as a relatively comfortable position, slumped over the side with my head in my hand. I played slowly, doing the best I could, and little by little I stopped thinking about anything. I just watched my hand-the tendons rolling around under the skin when I pushed my fingers down. I stayed there doing that for a long time, my little tune repeating itself over and over. It was as if I could no longer do without it, as if I played it better each time, as if this little nothing of a song had the power to enrich my soul. But I was in such a state of exhaustion that I would have mistaken a glowworm for the divine light. I was beginning to have hallucinations. From then on things started deteriorating.

  I had started humming my delicious little melody and I was getting a giant-sized kick out of it. It was unreal-so unreal that I thought I heard the chords that went with it, clearer and clearer. It made me so happy to be alive that any strength started to come back. I got excited. Forgetting where I was, I turned up the volume and sang louder and louder. I was able to do with three fingers what normal people need two hands for. It was simply magnificent. I started to feel hot. I had never in my life had such rapport with a piano. I’d never been able to play anything like that before. When I heard a girl’s voice mingle with my own, I said to myself, That’s it, an angel has come down from Heaven to pull me up by the hair.

  I sat up without stopping. Betty was at the piano next to mine. She had one hand squeezed between her legs and with the other was plunking out the chords. She was in good voice. She was radiant. I have never forgotten the look she gave me then. That’s me, though-I’m made that way, I have a good memory for colors. We went at it with hearts high for several long minutes, brushing with Beatitude and totally unconscious of the noise we were making. There could be no limits put on what we felt. I was fully afloat. I thought it would never end.

  Then a guy appeared at the top of the stairs, making wild gestures. We stopped.

  “Hey, are you nuts?” he said.

  We looked at him, not knowing what to answer. I was still breathless.

  “What in the world do you think you’re doing?” he added.

  Eddie appeared behind him. He glanced at us, then took the guy by the shoulders and turned him around.

  “Leave them alone,” he said. “It’s okay, just leave them alone. They’re not hurting anything. They’re my friends.”

  They disappeared behind the curtain. The silence rang in my ears. I turned toward Betty. It was like crossing over to the sunny side of the street.

  “Shit, how come you never told me…” I asked.

  She lifted her hair up, laughing. She was wearing killer earrings-five inches long, shining like neon signs.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I can’t really play,” she said. “I just know two or three things…”

  “Right, two or three things…”

  “No, really. It’s easy.”

  “You kill me. You’re a weird girl…”

  I put my hand on her thigh. I had to touch her. If I could have I’d have just swallowed her whole.

  “You know,” I went on, “I’ve always chased after something that would make my life make sense. Living with you is maybe the most important thing that ever happened to me.”

  “You’re sweet to say that, but it’s ‘cause you’re so tired you can’t see straight.”

  “No, it’s the plain truth.”

  She came over and sat on my lap. I put my arms around her and she whispered in my ear.

  “If it was me who wrote that book,” she said, “I wouldn’t be asking myself if my life had meaning. I wouldn’t have to think about what’s most important. Me, I’m nothing, but you… you can’t say that, not you.”

  She finished her sentence with a kiss on my neck. I couldn’t be upset.

  “You’re driving me crazy with that,” I sighed. “That’s where all our troubles come from.”

  “Jesus, that’s not the problem!”

  “Yes it is.”

  “So why did you write the book, then? Just to give me a headache?”

  “Not really.”

  “It means nothing to you…”

  “Yes it does. I put everything I had into it when I wrote it. But I can’t force people to like it. All I did was write it, it was all I could do. And it’s all I can do if it stops there.”

  “And what about me? You think I’m an idiot? You think I fall in love with every book I read? You think it’s just because you’re the one who wrote it?”

  “I hope you wouldn’t do that to me.”

  “Sometimes I think you’re playing a game.”

  “What…?”

  “You seem to think it’s cool to deny the obvious. It happens that you’re a hell of a writer, whether you like it or not.”

  “Fine. Then maybe you could explain why
I haven’t written another line?”

  “Sure. Because you’re a jerk.”

  I pushed my face into her chest. She played with my hair. I wouldn’t have wanted my future fans to see me like that. Tenderness is a hard pill to swallow-there’s always a big risk involved. It’s like sticking your hand through the bars of a cage.

  Betty had no bra on, and my stool had no back. It all felt so good that we nearly wound up on the floor, but at the last minute I called my back muscles into action, squealing in horror. I felt the end was near. My last bit of strength was disappearing like the cherry blossoms in a Japanese garden. So it is said in The Art of War: The brave man must know his limits. I yawned into her sweater.

  “You look tired,” she said.

  “No, I’m fine.”

  She liked my hair-it got along famously with her fingers. I myself was happy to have her weight on my lap; it made things less dreamlike, made me know she was really there, and nowhere else. I could have just picked her up and carried her away. But I didn’t try anything fancy-I didn’t want to budge. I’d have died first. I felt lead pouring down my spine, and it made me grimace. And yet my soul was light as a feather, carefree and docile, floating up in the slightest of breezes. I couldn’t figure it out.

  “Anyway, there’s no room for us to stay upstairs,” she said. “What are we going to do?”

  This kind of remark would have destroyed me a few minutes earlier, but I was beyond it all by then. It hurt to talk. It hurt to breathe. Thinking itself was a herculean feat. Still, I did it.

  “I’m going to go get in the car,” I said.

  Luckily she came with me. I was taller than she was, so it was easy to lean on her. As I feared, the door to the street was locked, so we had to go back up and come down the miserable stairs. On the way, I was suddenly struck with terror-I saw myself being swallowed by a boa constrictor. By the time I sagged into the backseat of the car my teeth were almost chattering. Betty gave me a worried glance.

  “You don’t feel good? My God, you look like you have a fever.”