so while I was sitting there minding my own business the day the delivery came to Credit Gone West, the guy who wears four thick layers of Pampers on his butt came and stuck his red nose round the door of the bar, looking a bit like Zapatta the clown, I don’t know where he’d popped up from, Pandora’s box, I expect, but there he was in front of me, panting slightly, his hair all disheveled, and his skin coated in dust, like a candidate at a voodoo ceremony, he had only one shoe on, and spit was dribbling out of his mouth, as though he’d talked too much that day, he looked quite altered, a different man altogether, and at first I didn’t want to look at him, standing there like a child who’s just had a clementine snatched out of his hand, no, I really didn’t want to look at him, he looked so like a man haunted by a childhood photograph, and then there were all these flies buzzing after his behind, and he rushed up to me as though he’d had a dream about me, as though I was the very person he’d come to see, and he stood stock-still in front of me, like a pillar of salt, and at last I made myself look at him, he looked strange, very strange indeed this time, you’d have thought someone had asked him to solve the problem of squaring the circle and he’d come to ask me for help, maybe that was what made me think I should back off as quickly as possible, so the Pampers guy sat down beside me, without speaking, he sat down like a zombie come back from down among the dead men and I said nothing, “where are you up to with your notebook, I hope you’ve written my story down,” he said, and I nodded, but he didn’t look as though he believed me, and he fixed his eyes on my notebook, so I closed it straightaway, and he started to tell me the story about his wife all over again, all about the lock being changed, and the fire brigade, and the police, particularly the police officer of the feminine persuasion who had put the handcuffs on him, and I was only half listening because I’d already finished telling his story and hearing the same old record twice over is a real drag, and he said to me “are you listening, or not, Broken Glass, I’m talking to you, man” and I replied “of course I’m listening, my friend, it’s a sad story, you’re a trooper, I really admire your courage, it’s not everyone has your courage,” and he said “why aren’t you putting down what I’m saying now, though, you’re all fine words, you think that will make me feel better, but in actual fact you don’t give a damn about my story, you don’t give a damn about the rather droll story of a poor fool’s ruin, well let me tell you, I paid for everything in that house, electricity, water, rent, you don’t believe me do you, go on, tell me you do, shit, say something, Broken Glass, say anything” and I said “my friend, I am interested in your story, I’d never ever make fun of you, believe me,” and he said “so what do you think about it then, what do you say to this crazy tale of mine, what do you think, tell me honestly, take at look at me now, am I an idiot, do I really look like a fool?” and I replied “life lies all before us, you know, even if your wife has behaved badly and even if she’s still fornicating with the guru from that damned sect, life lies all before us” he gave a start, as though I’d just hurt him, or insulted him, “what are you on about, Broken Glass” and I thought he was going to leap on me, so I said quietly, “I was simply reminding you that your wife is a witch, forget her, the file’s closed, you’re not an idiot, you don’t look like a fool, you’re a sensible guy, you’re generous and open, I can’t even find the right words to describe you, but you’re a good man,” but it was just as though I’d thrown oil on the fire, the guy suddenly raised his voice loud and said “hey, Broken Glass, I’m not going to let you insult my ex-wife like that, what do you mean she’s a witch, what do you mean she’s sleeping with the guru on the TV, what do you mean she’s a bad woman, if you think that, then you didn’t understand a word I told you last time, I want to read your book now, I thought as much, I’m disappointed in you, Broken Glass, truly disappointed,” and I didn’t understand what he was saying, he was really starting to bug me, here he was, defending a woman who’d thrown him out, a woman who’d had him put in prison, a woman whose fault it was that his ass was going to ooze for all eternity, and so I said to him in a conciliatory voice, “I thought you were angry with your wife, but it turns out you still love her,” and he added “of course I love her, what do you think, why did you say the file was closed, I still love her, and soon I’ll be a man like other men again, my backside will dry up, I won’t have to wear diapers, and I’ll go and win my wife back, we’ll have a new romance, no drums, and I’ll write her poems about the lily and the paradise flower, I’ll take her on a trip to Kinshasa, across the river, after all, we’ve got six children together, that’s not to be sneezed at, I trusted you, I told you about my life, and you just make fun of me, you say the file’s closed, I know deep down you’re laughing at me, give me that book, I want to read it, if you don’t give it to me things are going to get nasty between you and me, and I want you to rub out everything you’ve written about me, I don’t want people to know my story” and then I was stuck for what to say to him, I needed to think of something, to defuse the atmosphere a bit, and I mumbled “listen, man, I’m really happy to hear you talking like that, in any case, I’m right with you, believe me, I would never make fun of you” but he didn’t see it the same way, he hit straight back with “oh no, Broken Glass, you don’t really mean that, you don’t mean it at all, I can tell, don’t do that to me, don’t fake it, that’s going to really annoy me, things are going to get nasty between you and me, believe me, give me that book” and I stood up, I put the book on my stool and I sat down on it, that way he couldn’t grab it off me, I was surprised, I was shocked, I couldn’t believe it was the same guy talking to me like this, and I said “what’s going on, my friend, is there some problem between us?” and then, since he was really starting to bug me, I got out my big guns and came on heavy, saying “you want me to spell it out, you prick, okay, I wish those guys at the prison in Makala had gone even harder at your backside, I wish they’d stuck it right up into your mouth” I just came out with it like that because I was really on edge and he immediately answered “what about you then, d’you think I don’t know your story, then, well I do, I know everything and I hope you’ve got the guts to write that one down in your notebook too, because it’s all very easy to talk about other people and not about yourself, but I know who you are, you’re a hypocrite, a real hypocrite, you’re pathetic, you’re a loser, you sit around here playing the sage, but really you’re nothing, just nothing,” that’s what he said, and there he was really taking it just that bit too far, I wanted to calm things down a bit, so I said “my friend, what’s got into you today, I only want what’s best for you, let’s discuss it like grown-ups,” and he gave me the finger and came back with “you go fuck yourself, you old scoundrel, you bush toad” so there was nothing else for it, I had no choice, and I said to him, “man, I can have you thrown out of here, d’you know that the Stubborn Snail’s a personal friend of mine,” “yeah, he’s a personal friend of mine too, and a personal friend of everybody’s” was his reply, then he added with a scornful look, “I know about you, Broken Glass, I know your story from start to finish, you can’t fool me, weren’t you the one who showed your backside to the children during lessons, and while we’re at it, what about your mother, eh, yeah, let’s talk about her, she was just one of the local drunks, an old wreck who drowned in the River Tchinouka, let’s face it, you’re the pedophile around here, not me, that’s why you were thrown out of Trois-Martyrs School, because you soiled the cloakroom of childhood, you nipped the buds, shot the kids” this guy was really trying to rile me, he wanted me to lose it, how could he possibly call me a pedophile, how did he dare sully my mother’s memory, had he ever actually seen her then, my mother’s my mother, as far as I’m concerned she’s not dead, she’s still here inside me, she speaks to me, she guides me, she protects me, I couldn’t let him get away with an outrageous slur like that, who did he think he was, and I felt my heart, my heart began to swell and I was trembling, I felt a snake in my fist, I mumbled bitter words “O
rage, O despair, Have I then lived so long only for this disgrace” but it was no good, I was quite beside myself with anger, and I said “get the hell out of this bar then, you walking bag of bones, you wreck of the peninsula” and he answered “I’m not budging, you’re not the boss, you old fool, you better back out now, your time’s up, make way for the next generation!” and at that I was on my feet in three seconds flat, like some couple dancing a tango of hate, I spun round on my heels, I grabbed him by his tattered shirt collar, suddenly I felt strong again, the force was with me, I felt myself about to roar and bark and growl like thunder, I shook him like a crappy bottle of Orangina and sent my viper fist flying into his face, he didn’t see the viper fist coming, and people started shouting, some of them said I should go ahead and really beat him up, with his ass that would be damp for the rest of his days, and the guy shat in his pants because when I’ve got my snake in my fist like that, I’m really dangerous, it’s a gris-gris my mother made for me when I was very small, because I was an only son, she didn’t want people beating me up at school, and anyone who’s ever had my viper fist in their face know how much it hurts, it’s like a scythe, and I knocked that Pampers guy flat, we went down on the floor, and rolled in the dust right as far as the edge of the Avenue of Independence, not far from the bald soprano, and I think the whole district must have come out into the street, and the spectators were shouting “Ali, bomayé, Ali, bomayé, Ali, bomayé” because I was Muhammed Ali and he was George Foreman, and I was floating like a butterfly, I was stinging like a bee, and he was a flat-footed vegetable, and I could see his punches coming and was dodging them neatly, and when we came to blows I had the upper hand straightaway, because the other guy was just a black-market vegetable, I was kicking him, head butting him, sometimes it hurt me, but he took it, and my punches came raining down on him, there was no stopping me, and he thought he must be surrounded, that there must be five or six guys fighting him, and his nose was bleeding, he was calling to his mother for help, he wanted to run for it, but I held him back, I was pushing him, I was turning him around, I had him biting the dust, and the Stubborn Snail came out of the bar with a cloth over his left shoulder and came running toward us, pushing people aside, “let me through, it’s nothing, get outta here you guys” and the crowd booed him, because they appeared to be enjoying the spectacle of our misfortune, the Stubborn Snail separated us and got us to sit down at a table and said “now what’s this crazy business you two, I don’t want this kind of thing in my bar, why are you fighting like madmen, you want to make more trouble for me, you want me to lose my license or what, for fuck’s sake, you’re both adults, you’re acting like kids, we’ve never had trouble at Credit Gone West, the authorities are going to start saying it’s a free-for-all around here, they’re going to close down the bar, I don’t want none of this nonsense round here, d’you understand” and I said “I swear to you, he was the one that started it, I never wanted a fight” and he said “that’s not true, I swear, it was him that started it, old Broken Glass over there, I didn’t want a boxing match, I just wanted to stop him writing about my life” and I said “you should be ashamed telling lies like that” and he said “you’re the liar round here, you write all kinds of stuff about people, what d’you think you are then, some kind of writer or something” and we almost started fighting again, but the boss shouted, “stop, both of you, that’s enough of that, I don’t even want to know about it, you just take these two bottles and make friends again, shake hands, and be quick about it” and we did shake on it, and everyone clapped, even the people standing outside waiting for battle to recommence, and we had a drink with the Pampers guy, and we forgot about the whole incident, and I picked up my notebook off the floor and went for a walk round the block
each of us has his own worries, but the Pampers guy sure has had some really big ones hanging round his neck since the dawn of time, I never set out to provoke anyone, I’ve often said that, and it was the first row I’d ever had here, and that’s why I thought it was time to throw in the towel, I could have gone on many more rounds, I wasn’t played out, I shouldn’t let idiots like him screw up my life, my empire of the clouds, I’ll stand proudly on stage, as it is in heaven, guardian of the ruins of this place, we all have our shit to shovel, the guy must have a truly litigious intelligence quotient, he thought I couldn’t kick him up the ass, just because I’m a precious antique, and what he discovered was, a dinosaur’s a dinosaur for all that, so ever since the fight I’ve resolved not to listen to him and his shitty story, I very nearly tore out all the pages about his death on credit and set fire to them, but I decided it would be interesting to leave them and to write up our little falling-out, because it’s important to spice things up a bit so the reader doesn’t doze off, but I don’t speak to the Pampers guy now, I’ve adopted a new philosophy in life which is simple and to the point, tell every painter he’s a genius, or he’ll fly at your throat, but I’ve forgotten who it was coined these fine words of wisdom, some well set-up guy, I expect, some serious guy who honored the memory of his late mother, and thought she was a real belle du seigneur, so the Pampers diapers, the changed lock, the police officer of feminine persuasion, to hell with all that claptrap it’s nothing to do with me now, I won’t be hearing any more about it
I’ve just asked a weird-looking guy sitting drinking a couple of tables away for the time, I haven’t seen him here before, he’s got a book in his hand, the title’s in English, not a language I speak, but I can see a drawing on the front cover of a raging horse, from here I can’t read the whole title, I can only read the words in the Rye, the rest is hidden by the man’s enormous hands, but I ask him the time anyway, and he takes a good look at me, smiles as though he knows me, and tells me somewhere between six and six-thirty, and since I really don’t like that kind of neither-here-nor-there reply, I say “that’s a funny way to tell someone what time it is, either it’s six in the evening or six-thirty” and he looks me up and down, and says quite clearly “why don’t you just go and fuck yourself, you old lush, your hair’s turned white while you’ve been sitting here, you stink of shit, what you doing hanging round here, you should be reading the tales of Amadou Koumba or Mondo to your grandsons instead of sitting around here looking at other people, writing whatever it is you’re writing in your shitty notebook there,” I couldn’t answer him straight off, he was so obviously trying to pick a Querelle of Brest with me, and I said to myself times change, customs differ, here come the margouillats wagging their heads at the aged lion who asks only for a little respect and consideration, and here sits the aged lion, getting kicked by Aliboron, the mangy ass” and I had an urge to shut him up, the pompous jerk, and again I felt the viper in my fist, like the day I got into a row with the Pampers guy, but there’s no point, surely there are more important things in life, why waste your time with people who read books in English, after all, but I was so angry I had to say something, and I said “young man, who d’you think you are to talk to me like that?” and he sits looking at me for a while before he says “I’m new here, my name’s Holden” and I shake my head, I think to myself that a while ago I would have been interested in this guy, he’d open up to me, he’d read me the user’s manual to his shitty life, his disappointment with his little world, because he’s out of another age, this guy, he must think he’s still living in the postwar era, but I lost all interest in these heartrending stories, and this guy who calls himself Holden, he’s weird, he looks like an adolescent in crisis, though he must be getting on for at least thirty, something like that, he’s really plump, his face is all puffy, he’s got holes in his shoes, he’s no stranger to the way the knife of destiny has wounded the lives of the clients of this bar, anyway, I don’t care now, I don’t have to listen to anyone anymore, and I look away from him, but the guy keeps at me, and says “I’m going to ask you a question, since you’re so wise, and so old,” so he really knows how to get me interested, and I wonder what kind of question he might ask me, I anticipate
the worst, and he puts his question, saying “can you tell me what happens to the poor little ducks in cold countries during winter, do they get put in the zoo, or do they migrate to other countries or do the poor little ducks get stuck in the snow, I want to know what you think” and I look at him and my eyes are wide in disbelief, he must be taking the piss, he’s really the craziest of the lot, and I have to walk past him now, so I just say in passing “I don’t want to listen to you, I don’t want to listen to anyone in this bar anymore, I’ve had enough, I don’t give a shit about the ducks, I don’t give a shit if they put them in cages, or if they die in the snow, or migrate to other countries” and I turn my back on him, and he comes back at me again “you better listen to me Broken Glass, that’s an order, I want my place in your book, it’s not fair if you don’t mention me, some really interesting things have happened in this rotten life of mine, and believe me, I’m the most important guy who comes in here, I’ve done America” and I say to him, “you might as well save your breath, you won’t win my heart with those tricks, I’ve already had someone else come up and tell me he was the most important because he’d done France,” and he says “yeah, but I’ve come from far away, really far away, that’s different,” “I don’t give a damn, my friend, you can’t come from farther away than me, Broken Glass,” and he shouted, “what d’you mean, are you trying to say you come from far away, when you’ve never even been in a plane, that’s a laugh, if there’s anyone who’s stood as still as a mountain round here, it’s you,” and I don’t answer, I walk off a little, “come on then, d’you want me to tell you my story or not?” “no thank you, my cup is full,” and I move off another two meters, and he shouts “I come from far away, really far away, I spent part of my childhood in America,” and I say to him, “America is never going to make me change my mind,” and I turn my back on him once and for all while he’s still muttering “shit, America’s America, the greatest power in the world, I don’t care what it takes, you’ll listen to me in the end, you’ll write down my American story, your book will be good for nothing if you don’t, absolutely nothing, only toilet paper,” I hear him shouting after me, “hey, Broken Glass, I’m not kidding, I really want your answer, can you tell me what happens to the poor little ducks in the cold countries when winter comes, do they put them in zoos, do they migrate to other countries, or do they just get stuck in the snow”
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