London Bridge

by Louis-Ferdinand Celine

  “Darling… Darling,” I call her just like that, real softly… I don’t feel self-conscious in front of those two bums any more… the wily uncle and that other weasel… Let them think whatever they want! They’ve got to face up to what love’s all about! They escort me upstairs… I’m happy, this is a joy… I feel like I’m being transported upwards upon a cloud… I stretch out on the bed… “My pet! My pet!” I call her… I want her to stay with me… I’d like her to sleep with me… But they won’t have that!… They pull her away… but they’re not brutal or cocky… just matter-of-fact, because what I want is so off-the-wall…

  “See here, Ferdinand! Virginia’s just a little girl!…”

  Sosthène’s the creep who delivers that one! Well, the hell with it, I’m in no mood for a fight… just so, she’ll stay by my bedside… all I see is her, her pale-blue eyes… the colour of the sea… a blue mist upon her face… upon her pink-and-blond face… I can see her soul!… I tell those other two stinkers about this! Incredibly enthusiastic!… I wanted to cover her with kisses! And so what I shout is: “I’d like to eat and drink her!”

  “Ah! He’s really impossible!”

  Right off the pigs get huffy! They’re going to start throwing those scenes of theirs all over again!… But I’m in raptures anyway, damn it! Am I dreaming? Nope, this isn’t a dream!… I feel her little heart under her dress… right here I probe, keep probing… and her tiny tit real pointy… and then the other… Ah! How glad and happy I am! Her uncle can go ahead and scowl all he wants! I just won’t look at that slob!… Let him croak from jealousy! I’m right here feeling her up… these are our two hearts in my hands… red hot in my grubby mitts… Ah! Hers, mine, I’m pawing them!… I’m hot all over! A gentle pulsing heat… flushing my whole body, my belly, my throat… Thump! Thump! Affectionately and all that jazz… Ah! How good, how delicious… I’d like to catch some sleep… I need to… ought to… but what if she took advantage of me sleeping?… To run away?… No, her heart’s right here! Ah! Little birdie… Right in my hand it is, in my hand! “I love you! I love you!…” I close my eyes trustfully… I see hot and red… I’d like her to keep talking to me… to say a kind word or two… she’s mum… she laughs real softly… I tickle her… kidding around… those other two better stay right where they are…

  I was so preoccupied that I almost asked Sosthène for a bit of advice. I dropped a stray comment about life’s difficulties in front of him… how a person pays for his moments of folly… how out of sorts her uncle looked… it was dumb to tucker himself out so much… his niece didn’t look so hot either… This didn’t get me much by way of an answer.

  All Sosthène thought about was himself, his personal worries. Meanwhile he ate like a horse but didn’t put on an ounce. Sosthène was just like me, he had a thing for jam… voracious, and how, especially orange marmalade, he stuffed himself sick. Every morning we were served a full-course breakfast in bed. We were living high on the hog! On easy street! Buttered toast, chocolate, you name it… plus haddock, sardines and fruit. A shame it was coming to an end – sure, it couldn’t last for ever, but it still was crummy… Sosthène was wasting away despite chowing down for all he was worth. In the beginning he’d put on a few pounds, but now he was dropping them all. These days he was getting the runs eight-ten times in a row. The guy wouldn’t quit… day and night… he’d wake me up with a start… charging off to the toilet, leaving the door open behind him…

  In the end I chewed him out.

  “We’re dying here, shit! You don’t give a damn!”

  “Oh, and you do, you big dumb jerk!”

  He dishes it back, mad as hell…

  “You don’t give a damn where I go! I’m taking a shit! Yeah, a shit! Got no choice! There’s a load on my mind, mister! You know where I’m going to be enjoying myself in just one more week? Huh, my darling dickhead? The gentleman’s preoccupied with his home life! The gentleman’s only thought is setting up house!…”

  “You’ve got the shits over the trials?”

  I pop the question.

  He doesn’t answer, no, no way! He dashes out to the toilet, comes back, sits down, we chat.

  “Tomorrow!” he goes to me. “Tomorrow we’ll go!”

  Just like that, determined.

  “We’ll go where?”

  “We’ll go test out the strength!”

  “So you’re sick for real then?”

  “Ah! I beg you, you little crook, for once in your life, be loyal to me!… Don’t you go forgetting you’re not alone! That I’m the one who dug up the Colonel, our bread and butter!”

  He was making a scene…

  “Thanks to me, you stuffed your face! Look how happy you are today – and I’m the one behind it, so come on, be a sport!”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to see how things work at present… I’ve got it nailed down. I can still feel it…”

  “You sure?”

  “Positive!”

  “But you’re afraid anyway?”

  “I’ve got the jitters… that doesn’t mean I’m scared… I’ve even got an idea… a real beaut!… But I’m not telling you… you’ll see soon enough!… Your mouth’s too big… you’ll go blab everything to your little pet!… Come on, we’re leaving right now…”

  Ah! He was catching me off guard… It was sort of a joke… His approach was to lure me out gallivanting… That was my soft spot… But I kept thinking about Virginia… It wasn’t so awful… we’d be back in an hour, just enough time to pop out and back… to try out the experiment… get a little look at his power…

  It was a deal.

  “But look, I’m talking about leaving on the double! Right smack in the middle of our stumbling blocks!”

  Sosthène was all in a quiver at the prospect.

  “Ah! What you’re going to see’ll knock your socks off, buster! Ah! You can’t say I didn’t warn you!… You just need to bring your spoon and napkin ring… and look, you go like this with them… Clack! Clack! Clack! You get cracking! Work up a good rhythm for me… I leap into the traffic… But you make sure you’re up real close so I can hear you!…”

  “OK, let’s go, we’re off!…”

  We throw some clothes on, he rolls up his Chinese gown, a small bundle under his arm, and we’re out the door.

  It was still pretty much dark. We go down tiptoe, but when we hit the street we pick up the pace… jump onto the first tram… Dawn was breaking… a bone-chilling fog… It was October… we were shivering…

  “Where you going?” I ask again…

  “Can’t tell you!… It’s all in the surprise… You’ll be running the show for me!… It’s really got to grab you! No surprise, no shock! No magic emanation!… The spirits won’t come!”

  “Ah!”

  I was still sort of suspicious…

  “You’ll do that for the gases too!… You get it? The rhythm! The enveloping action of the vibrations… everything depends on that!”

  “You still got Goa?”

  Just checking.

  “Do I still have him? Ah! Well, you just wait and see, kiddo! I’ll open your eyes! And how! That cosmic influx! Ho! Ho! Ho!”

  So cocksure! The tram was packed. With rat-racers, commuters heading down towards Ludgate, clerks, “Harrows”,* pale faces, a scrawny down-in-the-mouth crew all piled on top of each other, the men having a little smoke… scraping off clots of fog from their newspapers. Early morning is a crummy time… The London trams stink like ship holds… journeys to the ends of the earth! To the Far East, rough times, because of the pipes, the tobacco… honeyed… with a hint of sandalwood.

  Maybe the employees on the tram are thinking about this too, sardined, bunched up, bumping along like crazy, banging into each other, at track switches, street corners, piling out in a rush, limping along their way from Highgate to Shepherd’s Bush, the whole suburban belt undulating, the long rows of bungalows, the single file of small garden patches, geraniums behind their fences,
real spick and span, flower cages about as cheerful as thousands upon thousands of cemetery plots on All Saints’ Day… The sky’s to blame, because in this part of the world it’s always gloomy between sunrise and noon.

  We were picking up mobs everywhere, at every stop they came dashing, wheezing, already dead beat from the grind even before starting, ladies, gentlemen, worried about the time, groping ghosts bristling with apologies…

  “Beg your pardon!”

  I was thinking about Pépé as we travelled along.

  “Aren’t we going to see her?” I ask.

  It’s been a week since he’d gone over… She must be sort of wondering…

  “Everybody wonders, young man! Everybody! That’s what life’s all about! Wondering!… I’m wondering too…”

  I drop the subject.

  He was a cad. I knew that already…

  We reach Shepherd’s Bush, black and blue from all the knocking around! Everybody gets off! A mad rush, charging to the Underground! Into the abyss! Everybody disappears! Dashing down the stairs!

  Ah! I’m not too crazy about those murky depths! I had my reasons! I suggest taking the bus.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  Not a peep.

  He’s a walking secret. I go into my pig-headed routine. I dig in my heels.

  “Do as you like, I’m staying put! My Underground days are over!”

  He gives in, we board a double-decker heading towards the centre of town, number 61. The fresh-cannon-fodder route. We ride, roll along towards Charing Cross, where trains leave for the son-of-a-bitch front.

  It was now daylight. The place was crawling with footsloggers, slews of khaki-backs jamming the streets, the whole Strand, reinforcements, troops headed for the front, trainloads for Flanders, rolling into battle, plus hookers already on the job, at every intersection from Waterloo Bridge, I could see them from the upper deck of the bus, I recognized them one after the other, Cascade’s girls, Gencive’s, Jerome’s, plus Ginette and Curlers in front of the Spark, the big pub at the corner of Winham Road.

  He gives me a shake, lets me know we’ll be getting off at Villiers Street. “I’ll tell you the whole story! You betcha!”

  OK by me.

  We go back to the Chinese dive, the place where we first met, which leads out to the tunnel in the middle of the slope. Just like the other time, the player piano is blasting away, along with trumpets, tambourines and girandoles that light up at every crash of the cymbals. A thundering racket through the joint…

  He shouts over at me: “I’m going to slip on my gown.”

  He dashes to the head. Abracadabra, he’s back, all decked out in Chinese drag, saffron-powdered face, with make-up, pigtails, buskins, the works…

  I tell him: “Fancy fancy! Bravo! Show me your dragon!”

  He turns his butt around and shows me, red and green, breathing fire, a magnificent embroidery. The waitresses came over and admired it, running their fingers over the genuine silk.

  “So you happy now?”

  He was creating his little sensation, all the lushes at the counter staggered over for a look-see at his rear, and to scratch the dragon. The butt of some terrific jokes…

  With the waitresses we downed three glasses of brandy on top of the tea and cookies.

  “Where’d you dig up the pocket money?”

  His answer: “Hmmpf!”

  Dead broke, we were off… It was already a miracle.

  “How you going to handle the others? You don’t have much time left. Just an hour. Whatcha gonna do?”

  “You got guts?” he answers.

  “Loaded with guts! From top to toe!”

  “Well, you’re in for something special.”

  “You know, you’ve been making me the same promise for ever, it’s about time you give me my treat! Let me have a look at your big secret! So where you going to knock me out with wonders?”

  I was still a touch suspicious about what the jerk would be up to out on the street, riling the mob, blocking traffic – that was his way of cajoling, of seducing the Spirits and Goa, of compelling their magic emanations to obey his spell… It was one extraordinary job. He was revving up right before my eyes, by the third brandy he was going strong, snapped back to life on the spot. He was wriggling his shoulders, vibrating from top to bottom. He couldn’t stay put in the bar. The customers were having a field day. They didn’t give a shit about us, I felt uncomfortable.

  I ask him: “You feel strong?”

  “Go ahead, let’s hear a little something on the fork.”

  So right away I play him, clack clack clack… The accompaniment he’d told me about… our makeshift system…

  “Didn’t you bring the napkin ring?”

  Beefing right from the get-go.

  It didn’t come out very loud on wood, actually sounded like castanets…

  “Will you remember?”

  “Course I will!…”

  We were going to get arrested, I could see it coming, no two ways about it. But if I’d gone off right then and there, left this character high and dry with his gown, my napkin ring, his song and dance, his fakir craze, maybe he wouldn’t ever have gone back either, never returned to Willesden, and that meant throwing in the towel, poor Virginia all by her lonesome with her uncle and his whims – which would make for one weird little set-up, one incredibly bumpy ride – plus the family riding crop.

  No way in the world.

  Ah! hell, I’d see this through to the end! Even if I got all fucked up, tough shit!

  “Let’s go!” I say to him. “Pal, we’ll give it a try! But shake a leg! We’ve got one hour, no more! So what the hell are you going to do? Don’t you think it’d be better for us to go back? Do you have any idea how we left everything? Nothing’s put away in the loft! All the implements are thrown around! Ah! He’ll raise hell, you bet! The Colonel must be seething! Ah! I can hear him from here! And you bet the kid’s in for a whacking! You know I’ve got that right…”

  “Go fuck her then, damn it, scram!… Since you don’t want to lend me a hand!”

  “I do, I really do, but get a move on, why don’t you? You’re hemming and hawing! You leaving? You staying put?…”

  He studied the customers, then glanced at the traffic outside, the gawkers on Villiers Street.

  “Give me ten minutes!” he finally announces, his mind made up. “Button your lip and do what I tell you.”

  “OK! Things are all right then, I’m all ears, but try to get us back by eleven!”

  “We have to get cracking, right?”

  “You better believe it!”

  He still hadn’t spelt out what he’d planned… Was he going to dance in public? Pass the hat?…

  I ask him point-blank.

  He looks at me, nods his head like that…

  “Oh!” he goes… “You don’t see the big picture, you don’t have a clue about the trials…”

  He pays up… leaves… I follow on his heels… they applaud us on our way out… It must have been 10.30… At the other end of the Strand there was already a load of cops… On our way past I notice – just about on schedule – the changing of the guard at Whitehall.

  Again I repeat: “Hurry up, I don’t know what you want to do, but I don’t want to be recognized by the gals in the Square, by all Cascade’s streetwalkers, it’d be all for the best if I wasn’t.”

  So, of course, he beelines in that direction, we cross Trafalgar Square, its whole length and breadth, we pass three yards from Nelson – luckily he doesn’t raise his head, he’s all wrapped up in his sketching… But Sosthène stuck out like a sore thumb, the people, the privates escorted him along with the idea he was in a stunt costume, hawking for recruits, about to climb on a soapbox and give a speech, especially behind the National Gallery, which in those days, along with Hyde Park, was the spot for open-air gab fests…

  He keeps on walking, no rest stops. We cross in front of the Empire pub, right at the corner. Yikes! I’m a wreck, Lei
cester Street… I tell myself he’s crazy, got it in his head to walk right into Cascade’s and show off his beautiful gown. Wrong. He keeps on walking, we’ve just reached the edge of Piccadilly Circus, setting foot on the sidewalk right in front of the theatre, the place where the cars have a hell of a time circling around and the traffic’s a nightmare, where you measure your progress in inches! All roads lead back to the Circus, Regent Street especially, and Tottenham Court Road (by way of Shaftesbury Avenue). The police are stationed in their booth just to the right of the Eros. The heart of the Empire, as they say…

  I can see Sosthène pulling up short, I was following four or five yards behind so people wouldn’t think we were together.

  He shouts over to me: “This is the place!”

  He plants himself on the spot, starts rocking, wobbling, kind of seesawing at the edge of the traffic, right out in the open…

  I think to myself: he’s had enough, he’s going to throw himself under a bus! In his gown, the works! Just my luck! He’s pulling a suicide on me!… He made me come out here on purpose for this!… Depressed and scared shitless! He wants a witness.

  I take a few more steps back from the sidewalk. I post myself under the theatre marquee between the newspaper hawkers. He waves me towards him…