While he was perched up there shooting the shit, spellbinding the masses, I took up a little collection … That was my little private racket. I took advantage of the circumstances, the excitement … I slipped into the crowd … I peddled the Genitron at two sous a dozen … returns … little autographed handbooks … commemorative medallions with a tiny balloon engraved on them … and for the ones I could spot that looked dirty-minded … whose hands went roaming in the crush … I had a little selection of funny, entertaining, spicy pictures, and transparents you could slide back and forth … It was a bad day when I didn’t unload the lot … All in all, with a little luck, it brought in twenty-five smackers! That was good money in those days. When my stock was gone and I’d finished collecting, I’d give the master the high sign … He’d shut off steam … He’d turn off the blarney and climb down into his basket … He’d straighten his panama … batten down the hatches, unfurl the last sheet … and slowly push off. I only had to hold the last rope … It was I who sang out “Let her go” … He’d answer me with a blast from his bugle … With the guy rope dragging, the Enthusiast rose into the air … I never saw her go straight up … She was limp from the start. For a number of reasons we were very careful about blowing her up … As a result, she rose crooked … She careened over the roofs. With her colored patches she looked like a fat harlequin … She bobbed up and down in the air, waiting for a decent breeze … She could only puff out in a real wind … She was pathetic like an old petticoat on a clothesline … even the cowfloppiest yokels caught on … The whole crowd laughed to see her teetering over the roofs … I was a good deal less cheerful … I foresaw the horrible, decisive, disastrous rip! The final smashup … I made all kinds of motions to him … he should drop the sand right away … He was never in much of a hurry … He was afraid he’d go up too high … There wasn’t much to fear . . ‘. Considering the state of the fabric, there wasn’t a chance … My worry was that he’d flop in the middle of the village … that would have been the end … It was always a narrow squeak … or that he’d collide with the schoolhouse … or take the weathercock off the church … or get caught in the eaves … or settle on the Town Hall … or founder in the little clump of woods. He’d be doing all right if he got her up to 150 or 200 feet … I figured roughly … that was the maximum … Courtial’s dream, in view of the state of his equipment, was never to go any higher than the second story … That was fairly safe … Higher was madness … In the first place we could never have pumped the bag full … With one or two bottles more it would have split for sure, from top to bottom … exploded like a bombshell from valve to valve … When he’d passed the last house, cleared the last fences, he’d throw out his sand … He’d make up his mind and unload the lot of it … When the ballast was all gone, he took a little hop … a leap of about thirty feet … Then it was time for the pigeons … He quickly opened their basket … They shot out like arrows … Then it was time for me to shake a leg … Believe me, I ran like hell … I had to stage a tragedy to get the yokels interested … to make them run after the balloon … and help us to fold up quick … the enormous ragbag … and tote the whole mess back to the station … to hoist her up on the derrick … We weren’t through yet. We had to do something to prevent our audience from clearing out, the whole lot of them at once … Our best dodge was the disaster act … It worked every time … without it we were sunk … We’d have had to pay them to do any work … We’d have lost money … It was that simple …
I began to scream and yell! I lit out like a stuck pig! I ran lickety-split through the muck in the direction of the catastrophe … I heard his bugle … “Fire! … Fire!” I yelled. “Look! Look at the flame! … He’s going to set the whole place on fire! She’s over the trees! …” The mob got moving … They came on the gallop … They followed me … As soon as Courtial saw me with the peasantry at my heels, he opened all the valves … He disemboweled the whole contraption from top to bottom! … She collapsed in her rags … She lay down in the muck, crippled, exhausted, bushed … Courtial popped out of the basket … He landed on his feet … He blew another blast on the bugle to rally the pack … And he started another speech … The hicks were scared shitless, they expected the whole thing to burst into flame and set their haystacks on fire … They threw themselves on the bag to keep it from billowing … They folded her up … But she was a disgusting wreck … from catching on every branch in sight … She’d lost so much material there was nothing left but heartbreaking rags … She’d brought back whole bushes between the bag and the net … The rescuers were delighted, overjoyed, jumping up and down with excitement; they hoisted Courtial on their shoulders like a hero and carried him off in triumph … They took him to the taproom to celebrate … They drank plenty … All the work was left for me, the rottenest lousiest chore … Collecting all our junk out of the swamp before nightfall … from the fields and furrows … Recovering all our tackle, anchors, pulleys, and chains, all the wandering hardware … The mile and a half of guy rope … the log, the cleats, scattered far and wide in oats and pasture, the barometer, the aneroid pressure gauge … a little Morocco leather case … the nickel doodads that are so expensive …. A picnic, take it from me … Keeping those repulsive beggars happy with wisecracks and promises … And telling smutty jokes to make them handle those fifteen hundred pounds of exhausting junk all free gratis and for nothing! The gasbag that looked like a massacred shirt, the remains of the hideous catafalque! Getting them to toss the whole junk pile in the last freight car just as the train was pulling out! Hell! Believe me, it took some doing. When I finally squeezed through the corridors and found Courtial, the train was under way. I found my zebra in the third class. Calm as you make them, talking, showing off, handing his audience a brilliant lecture … The conclusions to be drawn from his adventure! … So attentive to the brunette on the opposite bench … considerate of youthful ears … watching his language … but the life of the party even so … drunk as a lord, throwing his chest and his medals around … And still drinking, the stinker! Jollity! High spirits! A slug of the red stuff all around! Hold out your glasses, everybody! … He was stuffing his face full of bread and butter … Why worry … He didn’t ask about me … Take it from me, I was fed up … I put a crimp in his merriment.
“Ah, so it’s you. Ferdinand? It’s you?”
“Yes, my dear Jules Verne! …”
“Sit down, boy. Tell me all about it … My secretary … My secretary.”
He introduced me.
“Well then, is everything all right in the freight car? … You’ve attended to everything? … You’re satisfied?”
I made a very glum face, I wasn’t the least bit satisfied … I didn’t say a word …
“Then it’s not all right? … Is something wrong? …”
“It’s the last time,” I said. I didn’t mince words. I was very dry and firm …
“What’s that? Why is it the last time? You’re joking? What do you mean? …”
“The thing can’t be repaired anymore … And I’m not joking at all …”
A real silence fell … No more applause and sausage. You could hear the wheels … the creaking of the carriage … the glass of the lamp jiggling up top … He tried in the dim light to make out what I was thinking … if I wasn’t kidding a little. But I didn’t bat an eyelash … I kept my long face … I stuck to my guns …
“You really think so, Ferdinand? You’re not exaggerating?”
“If I say it, I mean it … I know what I’m talking about.”
I’d got to be an expert on holes, I refused to be contradicted … He sat back gloomily in his corner … That was the end of our conference … We didn’t say another word …
All the others, on their benches, wondered what was going on … Clankety-clank! Clankety-clank! from one jolt to the next. And the oil dripping from the top of the lamp … All the heads nodding … then drooping.
If there’s one thing in the world that needs to be handled with care, it�
�s perpetual motion … Don’t touch it or you’ll get your ringers burned …
Inventors in general can be classified according to their bugs … There are whole categories that are practically harmless … The ones who go in for mysterious radiations, “tellurism,” for instance, or the “centripetals” … They’re easy to handle, they’d eat breakfast out of your hand … The little household gadgeteers aren’t very rough either … the cheese-graters … the Sino-Fin-nish kettles … the two-handled spoons … well, everything that’s useful in the kitchen … Those boys like to eat … they know how to live … The ones who want to improve the subway? … Ah, there you’d better begin to watch your step. But the real screwballs, the wild men, the vitriol throwers, are mostly all of them in “Perpetual” … Those characters will go to any length to demonstrate the value of their discoveries … They’ll turn your gizzard inside out if you express the slightest doubt … They’re no good to fool with …
One of the boys I met at Courtial’s, an attendant at the public baths, was a fanatic … He never talked about anything but his “pendulum,” and then only in a whisper … with murder in his eyes … Another one who came to see us was a public prosecutor in the provinces … He came all the way from the southwest just to bring us his cylinder … an enormous ebonite tube with a centrifugal valve and an electric starter … It was easy to spot him in the street, even from far away, he always walked slantwise, like a crab, along the shop fronts … That was his way of neutralizing the influence of Mercury and the “ionic” radiations of the sun, that pass through the clouds … And he never took off the enormous muffler he wore around his shoulders, day and night, made of braided asbestos, lisle, and silk. That was his ray detector … When he walked into “interference” … right away he began to shiver … bubbles came out of his nose …
Courtial had known them for ages … he knew what to expect of them … He called a number of them by their first names. We were on pretty good terms with them … But one day he got the idea of organizing a contest for them … That was sheer lunacy … Right away I sounded the alarm … I let out a howl … Anything but that! … He wouldn’t listen … He needed money bad, ready cash … It was perfectly true that we were having a hell of a time finishing out the month … that we owed at least six issues of the Genitron to Taponier, the printer … So we had plenty of extenuating circumstances … Besides, the balloon flights weren’t paying off so well anymore … Airplanes were breaking our backs … By 1910 the yokels were all hopped up … they wanted to see flying machines … We were still writing letters like mad … incessantly … We de-defended every inch of ground … We pestered all the hicks … the archbishops … the prefects … the postmistresses … the druggists … and the horticulture societies… In the spring of 1909 alone we had more than ten thousand circulars printed … we fought to the last ditch … But I also have to admit that Courtial was playing the races again. He’d gone back to the Insurrection … He must have paid his debts to Formerly … Anyway, they were on speaking terms again … I’d seen them together … At one throw my boss had won six hundred francs at Enghien on Carrot … and then two hundred and fifty on Célimène at Chantilly … It had gone to his head … He began raising his bets …
The next morning he comes into the shop all steamed up … He starts in right off the bat …
“Aha, Ferdinand! My luck’s turned! This is it! I’m in luck … Do you hear me … After ten years … after losing almost uninterruptedly for ten long years … That’s all over … My luck is running … And I’m holding on! … Take a look! …” He shows me the Dingbat, a new racing sheet … he had it all marked up in blue, red, green, and yellow. I said my piece right away …
“Watch out, Monsieur des Pereires! It’s the twenty-fourth already … We’ve got fourteen francs in the till … Taponier has been very nice … very patient, I’ve got to admit, but even so, he says he won’t print the rag anymore! … I might as well tell you right now! He’s been biting my head off for the last three months every time I show my face on the rue Rambuteau … Don’t count on me to go around there anymore! not even with the pushcart!”
“Don’t bother me, Ferdinand. Don’t bother me … You’re driving me crazy. You depress me with your sordid gossip … I can feel it! I can feel it in my bones! Tomorrow we’ll be out of the woods. This is no time to be quibbling. Go back and tell Taponier … Tell him from me … from me, do you understand! That bastard, when I think of it … He’s grown fat at my expense … For twenty years I’ve been feeding him … he’s piled up a fortune … several fortunes … on my paper. I’ve decided to do the stinker one last favor. Tell him! Tell him, do you hear me, to put his whole plant! his machines! his equipment! his apartment! his daughter’s dowry! his new car! everything! his insurance policy! tell him not to forget anything! his son’s bicycle! Everything! Remember! Everything! on Bragamance to win! To win, I say! … not to place! not to come in third! At Maisons, on Thursday! … That’s it! That’s the long and the short of it, son! I can see the finish! And 1,800 francs for five! Do you hear me, 1,887 to be exact … In your pocket … Remember that! With what’s left of my winnings … that will be 53,498 francs for the two of us! Net! … Bragamance! … Maisons! … Bragamance! … Maisons! …”
He went on jabbering … He didn’t hear my answers … He went out through the corridor … He was like a sleepwalker.
The next day I waited for him all afternoon … to show with the fifty-three grand … It was after five o’clock … Finally he turns up … I can see him across the garden … He doesn’t look at anybody in the shop … He comes straight up to me … he grabs me by the shoulders … The hot air has all gone out of him … He’s sobbing … “Ferdinand! Ferdinand! I’m a viper! A despicable scoundrel! … Talk of depravity! … I’ve lost everything, Ferdinand! Our month’s earnings. Mine! Yours! My debts! Your debts! The gas bill! Everything! I still owe Formerly what I put on that horse! … I owe the binder eighteen hundred francs … I borrowed thirty francs more from the scrubwoman in the theater … I owe another hundred francs to the gatekeeper in Montretout! … I’ll be running into him this evening! … You see the morass I’m stuck in … Ah, Ferdinand, you were right! I’m sinking into my own muck! …”
He disintegrated completely … He flayed himself … He added up the sum … He added it up again … How much did he actually owe? … It came to more each time … He unearthed so many debts I think he made some of them up … He went for a pencil … He was going to start in all over again. I stopped him. I was firm.
“See here, Monsieur Courtial,” I said. “Calm down. You’re making a spectacle of yourself. Suppose some customers came in! What would they think? Better take a rest …”
“Oh, Ferdinand! How right you are! You’re wiser than your master, Ferdinand! The stinking old fool! A wave of madness, Ferdinand! A wave of madness! …”
“It’s unbelievable! Unbelievable! …” After a moment’s prostration he opened the trapdoor … He vanished all alone … I knew his act! … It was always the same routine … When he’d made an ass of himself … first he’d lay on the applesauce, then came meditation … But what about eating, friend? I’d have to lay hands on some dough somehow! … Nobody gave me any credit … neither the butcher … nor the grocer … The bastard was counting on my having a little nest egg put by … He’d suspected that I’d take my little precautions … that I had some sense … I was the guy with foresight … I was the shrewd accountant … With the scrapings from the drawers I held out a whole month … No air bubbles with salt … And we didn’t eat so badly … We had real meat! … plenty of French fries … and jam made out of pure sugar … That was my way of doing things.
He didn’t want to put the bite on his wife … She didn’t know a thing out there in Montretout.
Uncle Édouard came by one Saturday night … He’d been out of town, we hadn’t seen him in a long time … He brought news from home, from my parents … Their luck was still running bad … In spite of all h
is efforts, my father hadn’t been able to leave La Coccinelle … And that was his only hope … Even after he knew how to type, they hadn’t wanted him at Connivance Fire Insurance … They thought he was too old for an underling’s job … and that he seemed too bashful to deal with the public … So he’d had to give it up … and stick to the old grind … and butter up Lempreinte … It was a terrible blow … he wasn’t sleeping at all anymore.
Baron Méfaize, the head of “Litigious Life,” had got wind of my father’s moves … he’d detested him from way back, he was always torturing him … He’d make him climb five flights of stairs on the other side of the yard to tell him what an ass he was … that he got all the addresses wrong … which was absolutely untrue …
While talking with me Uncle Édouard began wondering … he thought maybe it would give my folks pleasure to see me again for a minute … I could make up with my father … He’d had trouble enough, he’d suffered enough … It came from a good heart … But just thinking about it, the gall started coming up … I had vomit in my throat … I wasn’t going to try again …
“OK, OK, I’m sorry for them and all that … But if I went back to the Passage, I can tell you right now, I wouldn’t last ten minutes … I’d set the whole place on fire.” There was no use trying …
“All right, all right,” he said. “I can see how you feel.”
He dropped the subject … He probably told them what I’d said … Anyway, his happy-homecoming gambit never came up again …
Death on the Installment Plan Page 43