Betty Blue

by Philippe Djian

  “All right, what’s going on here?” he asked. It was all I could do to swallow my saliva.

  “She wasn’t feeling well,” I said. “I wasn’t beating her up-I was afraid she’d have a nervous breakdown. I know it’s a little hard to believe…”

  The older one laid his billy club on my shoulder and smiled.

  “Why should it be hard to believe?” he said.

  I sniffled. I looked over at Betty.

  “She seems to be better now,” I sighed. “I guess we can go now…”

  He put his billy club on my other shoulder. I felt myself freezing to death.

  “This is a strange place to have a nervous breakdown, isn’t it…?”

  “I know. It’s just that we ran all the way…”

  “Yeah, but you’re young. It’s good for the heart to run a little.”

  The pressure from the billy club made my collarbone tremble. I knew what was going to happen, but I didn’t want to believe it. I felt like someone watching the pressure mount in his water heater, hoping that the valves will close all by themselves. I was paralyzed. I was frozen stiff. I was disgusted by what was happening. The old guy leaned over toward Betty without letting go of me. I felt like I was grounding his billy club-it had slid off my shoulder and stuck across my stomach.

  “And the little lady… how is the little lady feeling?” he asked.

  She didn’t reply. She parted the hair in her eyes to get a look at the cop. I saw that she was feeling better. I took this as a small consolation prize, while waiting for the water heater to explode m my face. I let myself bathe in the softness of despair. After a day like that, I was incapable of getting agitated.

  “I’d like to get this over with,” I mumbled. “You don’t have to make me wait…”

  He leaned back slowly. My ears were ringing. I hurt all over. The seconds stretched out like the freestyle event of a gum chewing competition. I waited for the old guy to straighten up. He looked at me, then he looked at the young cop-still standing there, poised for action, one eye closed, legs still, stock-still. Those dudes must have tempered-steel thighs. The old one sighed.

  “Jesus Christ, Richard. How many times do I have to tell you not to aim that thing at me?”

  All the other guy moved was his lips.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not aiming at you, I’m aiming at him.”

  “Yeah, but you never know. I wish you’d put that thing down…”

  The young cop didn’t seem too hot on the idea:

  “I’m not too comfortable with this kind of nut,” he said. “You seen the color of his shoes? You get a look at that?”

  The old one nodded.

  “Yeah, but remember, the other day we passed this guy in the street who had green hair. You got to cope with it…That’s how the world is these days. You can’t get bent out of shape over things like that.”

  “Especially since it’s just a stupid accident,” I added.

  “There, you see…?” said the old one.

  Halfheartedly the cop lowered his gun. He ran his hand through his hair.

  “One of these days we’re going to be in deep shit if we aren’t more careful. You’re asking for it. Didn’t it occur to you to frisk this guy? No, of course not. All you’re interested in is making me put my gun away, right…?”

  “Listen, Richard, don’t take it personally.”

  “Yeah. Right. Shit, man, every time it’s the same story…”

  He leaned over furiously and picked up his hat, then got into the car and slammed the door. He pretended to look elsewhere, chewing on his thumbnail. The old cop looked irked.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said. “You know, I been in this business forty years. I think I ought to know by now when to start getting suspicious.”

  “Fine. Knock yourself out. I couldn’t care less…”

  “Hey… look at them, would you? The girl can hardly stand up, and the guy-I’d break his head open before he could make half a move…”

  “Leave me alone…”

  “You’re a real pill, you know that?”

  The young one leaned over to roll up the window. Then he turned the siren on and folded his arms. The old one got livid. He ran over to the car, but the other one had locked the doors from the inside.

  “OPEN UP! STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!!” he screamed.

  Betty put her hands over her ears. Poor thing, she had barely gotten her wits back-she must have been totally confused. It was clearly just another tacky police patrol. The old one was leaning over the hood, looking through the windshield, the veins in his neck sticking out like rope.

  “RICHARD, I’M NOT KIDDING NOW…I’M GIVING YOU TWO SECONDS TO TURN THAT OFF, YOU HEAR ME?”

  The horror lasted another few seconds, then Richard turned the thing off. The old guy came back, wiping his hand across his forehead. He scratched the end of his nose, his eyes staring nowhere. The silence was refreshing.

  “Pffff…” he said. “All they send us now are the young, supertrained ones. I think it damages their nerves a little…”

  “Sorry. It’s my fault,” I said.

  Betty was wiping her nose off behind me. The old guy pulled his pants up a little. I looked up at the starlit sky.

  “You just passing through?” he asked.

  “We’re taking over the piano store,” I said. “We know the owner.”

  “Yeah? You mean Eddie?”

  “Yeah. You know him?”

  He gave me a bright smile.

  “I know everybody. I haven’t left town since the last war.”

  I shivered.

  “You cold?” he asked.

  “Huh? Oh yeah, yeah. I’m frozen stiff.”

  “Okay, why don’t you both just get in the car? We’ll take you home.”

  “No bother?”

  “No. I just don’t like to see folks walking around these warehouses. Nobody’s got any business here at night.”

  Five minutes later they dropped us off in front of the house. The old cop put his head out the window while we got out.

  “Hey, I hope your little lover’s quarrel is over for tonight, eh?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  Betty opened the door and went up while I watched them go. I waited till they disappeared down the street. If I hadn’t been so cold I wouldn’t have been able to lift my feet off the sidewalk. I was totally blank just then, like I was opening my eyes after a lobotomy. But it was a winter’s night and the sky was clear. The icy air had the street in its grip, and it was torturing me. I took the opportunity to whimper a little bit, then turned back to the house.

  I went upstairs as well as I could with a cracked knee and the certainty that I had caught my death that night. Still, I had to smile when I hit the apartment and found it so warm. I felt like I was slipping into an apple turnover.

  Betty was lying on the bed. She was still dressed, her back to me. I sat down in a chair, my knee held out straight and my arm slung over the backrest. Goddamn son of a bitch, I said, deep down inside of me, watching her breathe. The silence seemed like a rainfall of sequins on glue-covered toast. We had still not exchanged one word.

  But life goes on. I got up and went to examine my leg in the bathroom. I pulled my pants down. My knee was round, almost shiny-not too pretty to look at. When I stood up, I looked at myself in the mirror. The head goes well with the knee, I said, they go hand in hand: if one brings tears to your eyes, the other one just makes you scream out loud. I was joking, but it’s true that I had no idea what to put on my knee-we didn`t have anything even vaguely resembling salve in our first-aid kit. In the end I just rolled my pant leg down as gently as I could, swallowed two aspirin, and went back into the living room carrying what was left of the Mercurochrome, some cotton compresses, and a large bandage.

  “I think we ought to redo your bandage,” I said.

  I stood there like I was waiting to take her order. She didn’t move. She was in exactly the same position she’d been in a while before-it’s possib
le that her knees were a little closer to her chest, or that a lock of hair had fallen off her shoulder in absolute silence, but I wouldn’t have sworn to it. I squeezed the back of my neck a while before going over for a closer look. It made me look like I was thinking of something. I wasn’t.

  She was sleeping. I sat down next to her.

  “You awake?” I said.

  I leaned over to take her shoes off. They were sort of tennis shoes-ideal for crossing town at a dead run. It made you wonder about the logic of things. Only yesterday, she’d been walking around in stiletto heels, me waiting to catch her at the foot of the stairs. I tossed the little white things off the foot of the bed and unzipped her windbreaker. She was still sleeping.

  I went to get some Kleenex to blow my nose. I sucked on a couple of throat lozenges while washing my hands. The night now seemed like a storm over a forest fire. I took some deep breaths and let the water run over my hands for a few minutes. I closed my eyes.

  After that I went back to take care of her bandage. I went about it gently, as if I were putting a splint on the foot of a bird. I took the gauze off, millimeter by millimeter, without waking her. I delicately spread her hand out to make sure that the cuts were clean, and put the Mercurochrome on with the little pipette. I rebandaged it-just tight enough-and cleaned the blood out from under her nails. I got as much of it out as I could. I knew I was going to fall in love with her little scars. I could feel it.

  I downed a big glass of hot rum in the kitchen. It made me sweat, but I knew I had to medicate myself in one way or another. I picked up the pieces of glass from the window, then went back to her. I smoked a cigarette. I wondered if I hadn’t chosen the hardest path-if living with a woman wasn’t perhaps the most terrible thing a man can do-if it wasn’t like his selling his soul to the devil or growing a third eye. I remained plunged in the abyss of perplexity, until Betty started moving. She was rolling around gently in her sleep. A breath of fresh air crossed my soul, banishing my dark thoughts like mouthwash on bad breath.

  You should get her into bed, I told myself, she must be uncomfortable like that. I picked a magazine up off the floor and thumbed through it distractedly. My horoscope told me that I would have a difficult week at the office, though the time was right to ask for a raise. I’d noticed already how the world was starting to shrink. Nothing much surprised me anymore. I got up to eat an orange-brilliant as lightning and chock-full of vitamin C then went back to her, faster than a speeding bullet.

  I put on my magic fingers to undress her. It was like a huge game of pick-up sticks-breathe wrong and you lose. I had a hell of a time with her sweater, trying to get her head through the neck opening. She started twitching her eyelashes when I did. I felt the perspiration pearl up on my forehead-I just made it by a hair. After that, I decided not to worry about taking off her T-shirt or her bra. I wasn’t going to fret over a couple of straps-I just unbuckled it.

  The pants were less of a problem, and the socks came off by themselves. Her panties were child’s play-I passed them under my nose before letting them fall-O dark flower… O little striped thing whose trembling petals close in a man’s hand… I held you to my cheek for but a second in the wee hours of the morning. After such a sensation I no longer wanted to die. I went and got the bottle of rum to treat my bronchial pneumonia.

  I sat on the floor, my back against the bed. I took a swig for my leg, which was hurting me, and one for her hand. And one for the night that was finally ending. And one for the whole world. I tried not to forget anyone. I noticed that if I leaned my head back, my skull touched Betty’s thigh. I stayed in that position for a moment, my eyes wide open, my body floating in the intergalactic desert like a guillotined doll.

  When I felt fit for action, I lifted her up in my arms. I held her fairly high-high enough so all I had to do was bow my head to furrow my face against her belly. Slowly the heat from her body made me glow. I decided to stand as long as I could. My arms were as stiff as monkey wrenches, but it was the best thing I could find as far as resting my soul was concerned. So I hung tough, bending my nose on her soft skin, growling softly. The rum made my skin sweat, emptying out all the poison in me. I didn’t ask any questions.

  After a while, she opened one of her eyes a little. I must have been trembling like a leaf. My arms were about to break.

  “Hey… hey, what are you doing…?”

  “I’m about to put you to bed,” I whispered.

  She went right back to sleep. I set her down on the bed and pulled the covers over her. I started walking around the house. I was sorry I’d eaten the orange. I was tired, but I knew I wasn’t going to get to sleep. I went and took a shower. By accident I sprayed some cold water on my knee. My heart started pounding inside my chest.

  I wound up in the kitchen. I devoured a ham sandwich, standing by the window. I looked at the lights from the other houses the reflections spilling into the shadows like underwater lights. I chugged a beer down in one gulp. The Mercedes was parked just below. I opened the window and dropped my empty beer can on its head. The noise didn’t bother me at all. I closed the window. In the end it was sort of the car’s fault that the shit had hit the fan like it did. It was at that moment, in fact, that I stopped going to the window every morning to see if it was still there.

  17

  The day I took matters into my own hands was the day we sold our first piano. It started early in the morning, with a meticulous cleaning of the showroom window, scratching off every last spot with my fingernail, balancing high atop my stepladder. Betty teased me from the sidewalk, drinking her coffee, her cup a deep crater, silver-plated and steaming. You’ll see, I told her, you’ll be taking it all back soon.

  I made a quick trip to Bob’s store-Bob was the albino grocery man. Actually I’m exaggerating-he wasn’t really albino, but blond like I’d never seen. There were two or three women in there, standing in front of the shelves, contemplating the void. Bob piled eggs behind the register.

  “Hey, Bob, you got a minute?” I asked.

  “Sure.”

  “Bob, could you give me a little of that white stuff-you know, the stuff you wrote ‘All Creamed Cheese Must Go’ on your window there with?”

  I went back with a little container and a paintbrush. I climbed up my ladder. Across the whole width of the window on top I wrote “PIANO PRICE SLASH!!” I stepped back to see what it looked like. It was a beautiful morning. The store looked like a glint of sunlight on a burbling stream. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that a few passersby were slowing down on the sidewalk to get a better look. Rule number ONE of sales: let them know you’re there. Rule number TWO: shout it loud and clear.

  I went up to the window. Under it I wrote “NEVER BEFORE OFFERED!!!” Betty seemed to get off on that one. From time to time she’d laugh at anything. She put in her two cents, writing “MUCHO BIG DEALOS” across the door.

  “Go ahead and laugh,” I said.

  I spent the whole morning in the store with a can of spray wax and a cloth, polishing each piano down to its toenails-I might as well have given them all a bath.

  By the time Betty called me for lunch, I was done. I took a circular glance around the store-each and every one of them gleamed in the lights. I knew I had a great team. I went halfway up the stairs, then came back down. I held my hand out to all of the pianos.

  “I’m counting on you, fellas,” I said. “Don’t let that girl have the last laugh.”

  I tried to maintain an enigmatic smile while ingesting the squid croquettes in hot sauce. Girls go crazy for that.

  “Listen, that would really be too unbelievable,” she said. “Why today, especially…?”

  “Why? Because I’ve set my mind to it, that’s why.”

  She touched my knee under the table.

  “You know, I’m not saying that to discourage you. It’s just that I don’t want you to be disappointed.”

  “Ha,” I said.

  As a writer, I had not yet attained glory. As a piano s
alesman, I wanted to try to even the balance. I was betting on the idea that life cannot break all your momentum at once.

  “Anyway, we’re not hard up, you know,” she added. “We have easily enough to hold us till the end of the month.”

  “I know, but I’m not doing it for the money. I’m doing it to test a theory.”

  “Gee! Look how blue the sky is! We’d be better off going for a drive…”

  “No,” I said. “We’ve been taking drives for five or six days now, I’m sick of the car. No, today the store is open for business. I’m not budging from the cash register!”

  “All right, whatever you say. I don’t know, maybe I’ll go for a walk or something. We’ll see…”

  “Go ahead. Don’t worry about me. The sun shines only for you, baby…”

  She put some sugar in my coffee and stirred it, smiling, her eyes on me. They were incredibly deep sometimes. Sometimes, with her around, I soared among the clouds-just like that, knocked for a loop, blinded by the light.

  “Don’t we have any cookies or something-some rose-petal jelly maybe?” I asked.

  She laughed.

  “What, can’t I even look at you?”

  “Yeah, you can. It just gives me a hell of a sweet tooth, that`s all.”

  At two o’clock sharp I went to open the store. I took a look out on the street-to get the lay of the land. Perfect. It I was going to buy a piano, this would be the day. I went and sat down in a dark corner in the back of the store, still and silent like a hungry tarantula, my eyes fixed on the door.

  Time passed. I scribbled something in the receipt book. I broke the pencil in half. I went out on the sidewalk a few times to see what was happening. All I got was discouraged. Nothing. It was dead. My ashtray was full-you sure can smoke a lot of cigarettes in this life, I thought, and you sure can get bored. It’s enough to make you run off with the circus. I didn’t like the feeling-like being stabbed in the back in broad daylight. Was it really such a wild flight of fancy for a piano salesman to hope to sell a piano? Was it too much to ask? Was it a sin of pride to want to move the merchandise? What is a piano salesman who doesn’t sell pianos, after all? Anguish and absurdity are the nipples of the world-I said it out loud, joking.