Death on the Installment Plan

by Louis-Ferdinand Celine

  For fresh air and the view, you couldn’t have asked for anything better than Meanwell College. The location was marvelous … From the garden and even from the windows of the study you could look out over the whole countryside. When the weather cleared, you could see for miles, the river, the three towns, the port, the docks huddled together by the shore … The railroad lines … the ships disappearing … and coming back into view a little way out … behind the hills past the meadows … toward the sea, past Chatham … The effect was magnificent … Only it was awfully cold at the time I got there, the place was so unprotected on top of the cliff it was impossible to keep warm. The wind hammered against the house … The squalls and storms came bounding over the hill … The wind roared through the rooms, the doors rattled day and night. We were living in the middle of a tornado. When the tempest began to roar, the kids yelled like deaf people, they couldn’t hear each other … Nothing could stand up against that wind! It was bend or break. The trees were stooped over, they never straightened up, the lawns were in tatters, whole patches were ripped up. You can imagine …

  In a rough, ravaged climate like that you get a ravenous appetite … It turns out husky kids, real bruisers. When there’s enough to eat. But at Meanwell College the grub wasn’t so hot. It was worse than middling. Their prospectus was a big lie. There were fourteen of us at table, including me. Plus the boss and his wife … In my opinion that was at least eight too many, considering what there was to eat … Six of us could have handled it … On days when the wind was blowing strong … the eats were very meager.

  I was the biggest and the hungriest of the crew. I was growing like mad … it was almost time for me to stop. In a month I doubled in bulk. The violence of the elements created a revolution in my lungs and in my stature. The way I helped myself, the way I scraped all the platters without being asked, I got to be a regular pest at the table … The kids eyed my plate, they gave me dirty looks, I was the enemy … naturally … I didn’t give a damn, I didn’t say a word to anybody … I was still so hungry I’d even have eaten noodles if anybody’d asked me to … A school that gave you enough to eat would go bankrupt … They’ve got to watch their step … I made up for it on the porridge, there I was ruthless … I took advantage of my strength, and I was even worse with the marmalade … There was a little saucerful for four of us, I gobbled it up all by myself, straight out of the dish … I did away with it before anybody could see what was happening … The others could gripe all they pleased, I never answered … why should I have? … You could have all the tea you wanted, it warms you, it bloats you, it’s perfumed water, not bad, but it makes you even hungrier. When the tempest went on for a long time, when the whole hilltop roared for days on end, I dug into the sugar bowl … with a tablespoon or even my bare hands. It was yellow and sticky, it gave me strength …

  At meals Mr. Merrywin had the big platter right in front of him, he himself dished everything out … He tried to make me talk … No soap … Me, talk! The mere idea made me see red … I was a tough customer … Only his lovely wife had me kind of bewitched, she might have softened me … I sat next to her … She was really adorable. Absolutely. Her face, her smile, her arms, all her movements, everything. She was busy the whole time, trying to make little Jongkind eat, he was a freak, a retarded child. After every mouthful or pretty near she had to help him, clean him up and wipe away his slobber. It was rough work.

  This idiot’s parents were in India, they didn’t even come to see him. A little screwball like that was a real nuisance, especially at mealtime, he’d swallow everything on the table, the spoons, the napkin rings, the pepper, the oil and vinegar bottles, even the knives … Swallowing things was his passion … He always had his mouth all dilated, distended, like a boa constrictor, he’d suck up all sorts of little objects, even off the floor, grunting and slobbering the whole time. Mrs. Merrywin always stopped him, took the things away, always patient and gentle. Never a harsh word …

  Aside from his swallowing act, the kid wasn’t so bad. He was actually rather good-natured. He wasn’t bad looking either, only his eyes were weird. He bumped into everything without his glasses, he was disgustingly nearsighted, he’d have collided with a mole, he needed thick lenses, like bottle stoppers. They made his eyes pop out, they were wider than the rest of his face. The least little thing frightened him, Mrs. Merrywin always comforted him with the same two words: “No trouble, Jongkind! No trouble …”

  He himself would repeat those words for days on end, for no rhyme or reason like a parrot. After several months at Chatham that was all I remembered: “No trouble, Jongkind.”

  Two weeks, three weeks passed … They left me alone. They didn’t try to force me … they’d have liked me to talk … for me to learn a little English. That was only natural. My father asked in his letters if I was making an effort … if I was applying myself to my studies …

  I didn’t let them rope me in … Talk wasn’t for me … I’d had enough … I only had to bring back my memories … the hullabaloo at home … my mother’s blah-blah … all the applesauce people can serve you up in words … Hell no! … Not for me. I had my belly full … I’d had all the confessions, all the soft soap I could take … No, thank you … I had whole carloads … If I even thought of trying, the whole mess stuck in my throat …. They weren’t going to catch me again. I’d had enough. I had a good excuse for keeping my mouth shut, a golden opportunity, and I was determined to take every advantage of it … to the bitter end … No appeals to sentiment, no fiddle-faddle … They made me want to throw up with all their talk … Maybe even worse than noodles … And believe me it gave me the creeps even to think of home …

  Mr. and Mrs. Merrywin were at their wits’ end, they wondered what made me so silent, so sullen and obstinate … It was mostly he that made overtures, the minute we sat down to table, on any subject he could think of … He really wanted me to learn … “Hello, Ferdinand!” he’d sing out … I wasn’t greatly tempted … “Hello, hello,” I’d answer, and that was all. It stopped right there. We began to eat. From behind his glasses he gave me a pained look. He had spells of melancholia, he must have said to himself: “That boy won’t be with us long … He’ll leave if he’s unhappy.” But he didn’t dare to say any more … He’d blink his little cockhole eyes, his turned-up chin would twitch, and he’d raise his eyebrows, which shot off in different directions and weren’t the same color either. He was the old-fashioned type, with side-whiskers and a little cosmetic moustache, very pointed at the ends … He looked rather jolly. He was always on the jump, playing games, and even racing around on a tricycle …

  She, his wife, wasn’t the same at all, she hadn’t her equal for charm, I have to admit that she was a dream … she made a profound impression on me.

  That refectory of theirs on the ground floor was a pretty miserable place. The walls were daubed a kind of snuff color all the way up to the ceiling. It looked out on a blind alley. The first time she came into the room with Jongkind … you can’t imagine how beautiful she seemed to me … I had a feeling, something very unusual … I kept looking at her … I blinked both eyes … I felt dizzy … I buried my nose in my slobgullion … Nora was her name … Nora Merrywin …

  At the beginning and end of the meals, we all went down on our knees while the old man said prayers … He commented at length on the Bible. The kids dug into their noses and wriggled in all directions …

  Jongkind didn’t want to wait, he wanted to eat the doorknob that was right in front of him, on a level with his mouth. The oldtimer really threw himself into his prayers, he liked to mumble … he’d bumble away for a good fifteen minutes, it rounded out the meal … In the end we’d get up, when he said “ever and ever.”

  Only the bottom half of the walls was painted brown, the rest was whitewashed. There were engravings of Bible stories … There was Job with his staff, all in rags, crossing a desert … Then there was Noah’s Ark, crushed under the rain that was bouncing on the waves, on the foaming f
ury … Just like in Rochester … Our roof was the same way. I can bet the storms we had were much more violent … Even the double windows couldn’t stand up to it … Later it was calm … Then everything was enchanted … an enormous realm of mist like another world … You couldn’t see two steps away in the garden … There was nothing left but one big cloud, it crept softly into the rooms, it hid everything, it seeped in everywhere, into the classroom, in between the kids …

  The sounds of the city, of the port, rose up like an echo … especially from the river below … It sounded like a tugboat coming straight into the garden … You could even hear it panting behind the house … It came back … And then it was gone again, down into the valley… All the railroad whistles coiled and twisted through the mists in the sky … It was a kingdom of phantoms … We even had to hurry back into the house … We would have fallen off the cliff… .

  While they were saying their prayers, I had dangerous sensations … As we knelt, I almost touched Nora. I breathed against her neck, into her hair. I had terrible temptations … It was a desperate moment, I had to hold myself back from doing something dumb … I wonder what she would have said if I had dared … I played with myself thinking of her, at night in the dormitory, very late, long after all the others, and in the morning I’d have a little more …

  Her hands were marvels, tapering, pink and white, tender, the same gentleness as her face, just to look at them was like a glimpse of fairyland. What troubled me most, what moved me deep inside was the special charm she had, that lit iip on her face when she was speaking … her nose would tremble just a little, and her cheeks and the curve of her lips … I was really damned … It was sorcery … It intimidated me … I saw stars, I couldn’t move … At the least smile, waves of magic ran through me … I was afraid to look at her. I stared at my plate the whole time. Her hair too, when she passed by the fireplace, was a pure play of light … Hell! She was turning into a fairy. That was plain. The part I mostly wanted to eat was the corner of her lip.

  She was as kind to me as she was to the idiot, she translated every word for me, everything that went on at table, everything the little snotnoses said … She explained everything, first in French, she repeated everything very slowly … She took on work for two … Her old man went on twinkling behind his glasses … He didn’t chirp very much anymore, he just acquiesced … “Yes, Ferdinand. Yes,” he said approvingly … After that he entertained himself, he’d pick his teeth very slowly and then his ears, he’d play with his dental plate, unhook it, and pop it back into place. He’d wait till the kids were done, then he’d start up his prayers again.

  Once we were back on our feet, Mrs. Merrywin, before we went back to school, made another stab at arousing my interest in things … ‘“The table, la table, now come along, Ferdinand …” I resisted all her charms. I didn’t answer one word. I let her go out ahead of me … Her buttocks fascinated me too. She had an admirable ass, not just a pretty face. Taut, compact, not too big, not too little, all in one piece under her skirt, a muscular banquet … A thing like that is divine, that’s the way I feel about it … The witch, I’d have eaten every bit of her, gobbled her up, I swear… I kept my temptations to myself. I distrusted the other kids in the place like the plague. They were a bunch of little snotnoses, always looking for a fight, always shooting the shit, crazy and dumb as hell. I’d lost interest in that kind of foolishness … the way those kids made faces all the time, they made me sick … I was too old, I hadn’t the patience. I couldn’t stand school anymore … The stuff they do, the truck they recite … it’s unbearable … when you think of what’s waiting for you … the way you’ll be treated as soon as you’re out … If I’d felt like shooting my mouth off, I’d have mowed all those phony little bastards down with three words and a menacing gesture … Knocked them flat … Just to see them bouncing around the cricket field made my blood boil … At first they laid for me in corners, to break me in, as they put it … They’d decided they were going to make me talk, regardless … There were about a dozen of them … They swallowed their cigarettes … I pretended not to notice. I waited until I had them good and close. Then I went all out, I poked them smack in the eyes, I kicked them square in the shins, I sent them sprawling … It was a massacre, a pudding! They went over like tenpins … Days later they were still feeling their bones … After that they behaved better … They got to be soft-spoken, respectful … They came back for another sniff … I laid out two or three of them … After that they knew what was what.

  I was really the strongest and maybe the meanest … French or English, kids are all the same kind of vermin … You’ve got to step on them quick … There’s no point in using kid gloves, you’ve got to teach them right away or you never will. Give them a good shellacking. Otherwise you’ll be the one to get stepped on … You’ll be all washed up. Miss your chance and all you’ll get is one good bellyache. If I’d started talking to them, naturally I’d have told them what business is really like … the realities of life … apprenticeship … I’d soon have wised those little phonies up … Those kids didn’t know which way is up … They didn’t know a damn thing … All they knew about was football … that isn’t enough … and looking at their cocks …

  There wasn’t too much school, only in the morning.

  Mr. Merrywin was in charge of the schoolwork, religion, and the different kinds of sports … he managed all by himself, there weren’t any other teachers.

  At the crack of dawn he came around himself in slippers and dressing gown to wake us up. He was already smoking his pipe, a little clay one. He waved his long cane over the bed, bringing it down once in a while, but never hard. “Hello, boys, hello, boys!” he’d cry with his little old woman’s voice. We followed him to the washroom … There was a row of faucets, we used them as little as possible. It was too cold to soap yourself. And it never stopped raining. From December on we had a regular deluge. You couldn’t see the least bit of the town anymore or the port or the river in the distance … Nothing but fog the whole time, a big mess of cotton … The rains made holes in it, you could see lights, then they disappeared … You could hear all the foghorns, the boats calling, from daybreak on there was always a noise … the grinding of winches, the little train along the waterfront … puffing and squealing …

  When he came in, Merrywin turned up the gas jet so we could find our socks. After the washroom we ran, still sopping wet, down to the basement for our measly feed. A bit of prayer and then breakfast. That was the only place where they burned a little coal, the greasy, slippery kind that erupts like a volcano, that explodes and smells like asphalt. It’s a pleasant smell, but then it gives off a whiff of sulphur that stings pretty bad.

  On the table there were sausages on toast, but Lord were they small! They were mighty good, a delicacy, but there was never enough. I could have bolted the whole lot. Through the smoke, the flames threw reflections on the wall, on Job and the Ark … fantastic visions.

  Not speaking the English language, I had plenty of time to look around … The old man chewed slowly. Mrs. Merrywin came in last. She had dressed Jongkind, she settled him in his chair, she moved the cutlery out of his reach, especially the knives, it was really a wonder he hadn’t stuck his eye out yet … and greedy as he was … that he hadn’t swallowed a coffeepot and bust … I looked furtively at Nora, Mrs. Merrywin, I listened to her like a song … Her voice was like the rest of her, enchanting gentleness … What interested me in her English was the music, the way it danced in and out of the firelight. I was living in a daze myself, a little like Jongkind. I was soft in the head, I was letting myself be bewitched. I had nothing to do. The stinker, she must have known. Women are scum. She was as lowdown as the rest of them. “What’s the matter with you, Buster?” I said to myself. “You swallowed a kite? You sick? You off your rocker? Flying away? Watch yourself, kid. Pinch yourself. Pull yourself together. Before it’s too late.” So naturally I tightened up … I curled up like a hedgehog. The danger was past. I ke
pt my trap shut.

  I had to watch myself, my imagination was running away with me, it was a dreamy kind of place, with its opaque storms and its clouds all over. I had to hole up and keep patching my armor. One question kept coming back to me, how had she come to marry that little worm? That little rat with the cane! It seemed impossible. That goblin! That monster! With that mug! Even on a pipe bowl it would scare people out of their wits, it wouldn’t sell for a dime! Oh well, it’s her business.

  She was always keeping after me. trying to make me converse: “Good morning, Ferdinand! Hello! Good morning!” I was all hot and bothered. Her expression was so adorable … Plenty of times I almost fell. But I’d pull myself together quick … I reminded myself of all the stuff I had on my mind … I saw Lavelongue’s face, and Gorloge, all mixed up … I had plenty to choose from to make me puke … Madame Méhon … Sakya-Muni … I only had to sniff, my nose was always in the shit. I answered inside: “Go on talking, baby doll, go right ahead … you won’t get a rise out of me … You can laugh your head off … smile like a dozen frogs … You won’t catch me … I’m hardened, take it from me, I’ve had it up to here.” I thought of my father … his scenes, the bilge he was always dishing out … all the shit that was waiting for me … the lousy jobs … the crummy customers, all the beans, the noodles, the deliveries … the bosses … all the thrashings I’d had … in the Passage … If I had any desire to kid around, that knocked it right out of me … I was convulsed with memories … I scraped my ass with them … I was so mad I tore off whole patches of skin … My bleeding ass! No, this skirt wasn’t going to take me. Maybe she was good, maybe she was marvelous! Let her be a thousand times more radiant and beautiful, you wouldn’t catch me going soft on her … She wouldn’t wring a single sigh out of me … She could cut her face in ribbons to please me, she could roll them around her neck, she could cut three fingers off her hand and stick them up my ass, she could buy herself a pure-gold pussy! I still wouldn’t talk to her! Never! … I wouldn’t even kiss her! All that was the bunk, more of the same. And that was that. I preferred to stare at her old man, to look him up and down … that kept me from having dumb ideas … I drew comparisons … He was part turnip … green diluted blood … part carrot too, on account of the squiggly hairs coming out of his ears and at the bottom of his cheeks … How had he ever got hold of this beauty? … It couldn’t have been money … Then it must have been a mistake … Of course, you’ve got to remember, women are always in a hurry … They’ll grow in anything … any old garbage will do … They’re just like flowers … The more beautiful they are, the worse the manure stinks … The season is short. Bzing! And the way they lie all the time … I’d seen some horrible examples. They never stop. It’s their perfume. That’s the long and the short of it.