Death on the Installment Plan

by Louis-Ferdinand Celine

  Another two weeks passed … We rationed our bit of fat so strictly that we only made soup once a day … There was no question of going out … It rained enormously … The country was having a rough time too … flattened out by winter … The trees had the shivers… like ghosts rowing in the wind … As soon as we’d emptied our plates, we went back to our straw ticks to keep warm … We lay sprawled for whole days … all bunched up together … without opening our mouths … without saying a word … Even a wood fire doesn’t help when you’re that cold … We had terrible coughing spells … And we were getting thin … our legs were like matchsticks … and so weak we couldn’t move … or chew … or anything … Starvation is no joke … The postman stopped coming … He must have had orders … We wouldn’t have been so depressed if we’d had some butter … or even a little margarine … It’s indispensable in the winter … About then Courtial began to have terrible nausea … when the cold got so intense and we were eating less and less … He had some kind of enteritis, really very bad … He had awful bellyaches … He writhed in the straw … It wasn’t from food … He talked it over with the old girl and they took up the question of enemas … Should he take one? … or mightn’t it be better if he didn’t? … “But you haven’t got anything in your bowels,” she said … “How can you have rumblings? Colic doesn’t start up all by itself.”

  “I tell you I can feel it going through! Jesus! It was twisting my bowels all night … It’s a dry colic … It ties my guts up in knots … Oh! Oh! …”

  “It’s the cold, you poor dope!”

  “It’s not the cold …”

  “Then it’s hunger …”

  “No, I’m not hungry … I feel like throwing up …”

  “Oh, you don’t know what you want …”

  He didn’t answer … He burrowed into his straw … He didn’t want to be talked to …

  In the agricultural line there was really nothing more he could do … There was no more gas in the shed, not even a single can to start the thing up with …

  Two more days passed … in waiting and prostration … Our old ladylove, huddled in a corner, muffled in curtains, couldn’t stand it anymore, her teeth were chattering fit to crack … She climbed up to the loft and got some more sacks … She cut herself out a kind of smock like the kids wore and a good stiff kilt. She put them on over her pants and padded herself out with cotton waste … It made her look like a Zulu … She thought it was funny-looking herself … The cold makes you laugh something awful … She was still cold, so she started cavorting around … clattering her wooden shoes, hey nonny nonny, around the big heavy table. The kids split a gut watching her … They joined her in a kind of snake dance … They ran after her … They hung on her shirttails … She sang a little song:

  See the miller’s daughter

  Dancing with the boys—

  The poor thing’s lost her garter,

  Her garter, her garter …

  These kittenish spells didn’t come over Ma Courtial very often … It took a special occasion … She had nothing left to chew … Courtial had taken all the tobacco … She started griping a little about her pipe … The kids tore her apart at the seams … They pushed her down in the straw …

  “Godammit to blazes!” she hollered at them: “Shove off, the whole lot of you! You swivel-eyed, mangy snotnoses! Leeches … floozies! …” That made them laugh still harder …

  “Courtial, listen …” He wouldn’t listen … He burrowed his head in his hole … He sighed … He groaned … it was his belly and the roughhouse … The kids jumped on him, the four boys and the three girls … He still wouldn’t answer.

  A little later we began wondering what had become of Dudule … He’d been out a good two hours … supposedly relieving himself … We were all good and worried … It was nightfall by the time he got back … He was loaded to the gunwales … He’d covered seven miles … to Persant station and back in high … He’d raised a real windfall on the freight platform … What a deal … A shipment of groceries … He’d brought us butter, a huge chunk … two complete strings of sausages … three baskets of eggs … bologna, jam, and foie gras … He’d even taken their wheelbarrow … He’d snaffled the whole business outside the baggage room while the men were over in the switch house trying to get warm … It hadn’t taken Dudule two minutes to walk off with his whole cargo … The only thing missing was bread … but that didn’t keep us from throwing a banquet … a real spread! … We built our fire way up high … We threw on pretty near a whole tree …

  When he heard what was going on, des Pereires woke up completely … He got up to eat … He started guzzling so fast it took his breath away. He was holding his belly in both hands … “Oh my oh my oh my!” he sighed from time to time … The old cutie didn’t need to be asked twice either … In a few minutes she was so stuffed she had to lie down … She rolled over on the ground … from her belly to her back … very slowly … “Oh, gracious goodness, goodness gracious, Courtial! It won’t go down! Mm, was I hungry! …” The kids kept going off to vomit in the corners … Then they came back and funneled in some more … Dudule’s dog was so bloated up he was howling blue murder … “Ah! my children!” des Pereires kept saying, “Ah, the dear little angels! Ah, my dear darlings! Oh my oh my! It was high time! Ah, there’s nothing like it …” He was in seventh heaven … “Ah, it was high time! Oh my oh my! … There’s nothing like it! …” That was all he could say. He couldn’t get over the miracle …

  It must have been about five o’clock … there was no sign of daylight … when I heard Courtial stirring in the hay … He was getting up … I figured the time by the fireplace … the fire was almost out … I says to myself: “There he goes, he’s hungry … He can’t take the cold … He’s going to make himself some coffee … We’ll all have some … Bueno! …” He actually did make for the kitchen … That was perfectly natural … I hear him fiddling with the coffeepots … I felt like joining him and tossing down a cup … But between my nest and the door the kids were all sleeping … bunched up together, with their heads every which way … I was afraid of stepping on them … So I stayed in my hole … After all I wasn’t too cold … I was sheltered by the wall … I was catching less breeze than the oldtimer. I was only frozen stiff. I waited for him to come back with the coffeepot, I’d stop him on the way … But he was taking his time … He was padding around in the distance … For a long time I heard him clattering pots and pans … And then I heard him opening the door onto the road … The thought passed through my mind: “He’s gone out to take a leak …” I didn’t get it … I kept waiting for him to come back … I was worried for a second … I almost got up … And then I fell back asleep … I was in a torpor …

  And then I had a nightmare … Deep in the bottom of my sleep I was fighting with the old bag … She was having things her own way … I broke loose … She grabbed me again … What a battle! … What a ruckus! … I couldn’t disentangle myself … The noise was awful … She had me in a drowning-man’s grip … She was cracking my head with her questions … I tried to shake her off, to cover up with straw … but the bitch was holding me, she latched onto my head … And she yelled! And she bellowed! … She twisted my ears in her fists … She wouldn’t let go … Where was her Courtial? she yelled in all fifteen keys … She’d just come back from the kitchen … she’d wanted some coffee … There wasn’t a drop left … So she’d started raising hell … Everything was empty … He’d swilled it all up, the swine! … every last cup, the three coffeepots, all by himself … before going out … Hadn’t he said anything to me? She kept at me …

  “No, no! Not a word!”

  “Which way did he go?” Had I seen him in the yard?

  “No! No!” I hadn’t seen a thing … Mésange jumped up with a bang and started blubbering … She’d had a crazy dream … She’d seen the boss, Courtial, riding on an elephant … This was no time to fall for such hooey … We tried to remember what he’d said that evening … He’d eaten
enough for a regiment … we remembered that … Maybe he’d been sick … maybe he’d passed out … It was mighty cold out there … We started listing the possibilities … A stroke? … We didn’t waste any time, we went looking for him with the kids … We searched all through the straw … every corner of the house … the outbuildings, the two barns … and the experiment shed … He wasn’t anywhere … We went out across the fields … the immediate vicinity … and then a little farther … Some went up toward the hillside, searching every gully and clump of trees … The rest combed the plateau like they were picking berries … We sent out Dudule’s dog … No hair or hide of Courtial … We reassembled … We searched the little woods, bush by bush … He often went roaming around through there … Just then one of the kids noticed something written on the big panel of the front door … “Good luck! Good luck!” … in chalk … in big capital letters … That was his handwriting all right …

  At first the old lady couldn’t make head or tail of it … She kept mumbling: “Good luck! Good luck!” She couldn’t stop …

  “What does it mean? … Why, good Lord! Why, he’s blown!” Suddenly it hit her between the eyes. “Say, who does he take me for! … Heavens above! … Good luck! … What’s that again? Good luck? He wishes me … good luck? … He says that to me? … Say … that’s stinking! Oh!” She was outraged … absolutely furious …

  “Why, it’s monstrous! … His highness blows … He steps out … He takes a little trip … His highness trots off to town for a binge! The skunk! The scoundrel! The no-good! … Good luck and that’s that! … And I’m supposed to shut up and like it! … So the eight ball’s all for me, is that it? … So I’m knee-deep in shit? … Well, climb on out, you old bag! … Just shake your ass! And good luck! And I’m expected to take it lying down! … What do you say, Ferdinand? What do you think? … Of all the rotten stinking gall! …”

  The kids were doubled up listening to her raving … I didn’t want to stir up the explosion … I let her cool off some … But I says to myself inside … “The poor bastard was sick of us … He was fed up on farming too … He’s cleared out fast and far … We won’t be seeing him again so soon …” That was my hunch … I remembered some of the things he said … They pinched me hard … Sure he talked a lot of hooey … But maybe all the same he’d finally gone through with his Great Decision … the skunk … leaving us to sink … up to our necks in shit … That was his way … He was plenty underhanded, vindictive, deceitful … worse than thirty-six bears … It was no surprise to me … I’d always known it … “The details are unimportant … They clutter up our lives … Decision is what counts … The Great Decision, Ferdinand! The Great Decision! You hear me? …”I heard him … It was all a lot of gas … But suppose he’d really cleared out once and for all! … Wouldn’t that be stinking! Wouldn’t that below-down! … How were the rest of us going to get out of this mess? … The old lady was dead-right … What could we do with this telluric junk? … Not a thing! … If they all came around accusing us of stinking up the whole earth … what would we have to say for ourselves? … We’d be out on our ass! … He with his glib tongue … maybe he could bamboozle the cannibals … maybe he could spellbind them … But us? … We didn’t have a chance.

  We were knocked for a loop … We tried to figure it out … Gradually the old lady calmed down … The kids searched the joint again … They went up in the loft … They turned over all the hay … Will he come back? Won’t he come back? That was the chorus.

  In Blême he didn’t have his cellar to hide in like at the Palais-Royal … Maybe he hadn’t gone far … Maybe it was just some fool idea … A little spell of lunacy … Where would we and the kids go if he didn’t come back at all? … What with thinking it over, the old girl began to feel more optimistic … She told herself that it couldn’t be … he had some heart after all … it was just some idiotic trick … he’d be back soon … We began to take hope … for no good reason … except there was nothing else to do …

  The morning was getting along, it must have been about eleven … The lousy postman shows … I saw him first … I was looking out the window kind of … He comes up … He doesn’t come in … He just stands outside the door … He motions me to come out … he’s got something to tell me … I should hurry … I beat it out … He’s waiting under the arch, he whispers to me, he’s all excited …

  “Quick, quick … Go see your old man … He’s down there on the road, after you cross the Druve … on the way up to Saligons … You know the little wooden footbridge? … That’s where he is, he’s killed himself … The farmers at Les Plaquets heard him … Jeanne Arton and the kid … It was just after six o’clock … With his gun … the big one … They said to tell you … So you can take him away if you want to … I haven’t seen a thing, understand? … They haven’t either … They heard the shot, that’s all … Say, here are two letters … They’re both for him …” He didn’t even say good-bye … He beat it along the wall … He hadn’t taken his bicycle, he cut across the fields … I saw him coming out of the woods by the road up top, the one that goes to Brion.

  I whispered the whole story in her ear … so the kids wouldn’t hear … She made one bound to the door … She ran out full tilt … She raced over the gravel … I didn’t even have time to finish … I had to quiet the kids down … They suspected a disaster …

  “Don’t get excited … Don’t show your mugs outside … I’m going to catch the old bag … You keep on looking for Courtial … I’ll bet he’s still here … hidden someplace … He hasn’t gone up in smoke … Turn over all the straw … bale by bale … He’s sleeping underneath … We’re going to see the cops in Mesloirs … they’ve sent for us … That’s what the postman came about … We won’t be long … Don’t shit in your pants! … Stay right here and keep quiet … We’ll be back by two … Don’t let them hear you from outside … Don’t go out … Search the loft … Take a look in the stable … We didn’t look in the bins …”

  The kids were scared stiff of the cops … That way I knew they wouldn’t trail me … They smelled a herring all right … but where? … they had no idea …

  “Keep the doors closed whatever you do,” I told them. I tried to locate the old lady out of the window … She was miles away … I shook a leg … I had a hell of a time catching her … She was cutting across field and forest in high … Well anyway, I followed her … Hell, it took’ all I had just to keep her in sight … All the same I put my thoughts together … I’m running blue blazes … And in the fever of the chase a rotten suspicion comes up in me … “Hell,” I says to myself, “what a business! … You’re a sucker again, kid … it’s a frame-up … a swindle … that stuff about the footbridge! … Nuts! … It’s a big hoax … a stinking lie … a sinister trap, that’s all!” I strongly suspected it … A crummy trick of the postman’s! … It was just like him, the stinker … And all those cannibals! … I wouldn’t put it past them. That’s what I was thinking in the middle of running … And where was our old man at that exact moment? … while we were breaking our necks running after his corpse? … Where could he be? Maybe he was only at the Big Ball … playing cards and sopping up anisette … We were the suckers again … I wouldn’t put it past him … It didn’t take a suspicious nature to know him for a mean sly bastard! … We were the fall guys … That was a cinch …

  After a long level stretch through soft fields, there was a steep climb up the hillside … Up top you discovered the whole countryside so to speak … The old lady and I were puffing like oxen … We sat down for a second on the bank to see better … The poor old thing’s eyesight wasn’t very good … But mine was really piercing … You couldn’t hide a thing from me ten miles away as the crow flies … From up top there … all the way down the slope … the Druve flowing at the bottom …. the little bridge and then the bend of the road … That was the place, I could see it plain as day … right in the middle of the road, kind of a big bundle … I was dead sure … Maybe two miles away it s
tood out against the gravel … And right that minute, the second I saw it, I knew who it was … By the frock coat … the gray one … and the rusty yellow pants … We beat it lickety-split … We ran down the hill … “Keep on going!” I said … “Go straight ahead … I’m going to turn off … I’ll take the path …” It was a big shortcut … I was there in no time … Right on the spot … Two steps away … He was all shrunk … all shriveled up in his pants … It was him all right … But the head was a mess … He’d blown it all to hell … He’d hardly any skull left … Point-blank … He was still holding his gun … He was hugging it in his arms… The double barrel went in through his mouth and passed straight through his head … It was like hash on a skewer … shreds, chunks, and sauce … Big blood clots, patches of hair … He had no eyes at all … They’d blown out … His nose was wrong-side out … nothing but a hole in his face … all sticky around the edges … and plugged up in the middle with a lump of coagulated blood … a big mash … and trickles oozing all across the road … It was flowing mostly from the chin, which was like a sponge … Even in the ditch there was blood … puddles in the ice … The old lady took a good look … She just stood there … She didn’t say boo … So then I decided to do something … “We’ll move him up on the bank,” I said … The two of us went down on our knees … First we tug at the bundle … We try to dislodge it … We tug a little harder … I pull on the head … It wouldn’t come loose … We weren’t getting anywhere … It was stuck too solid … Especially the ears were welded fast … The whole thing made a solid block with the ice and gravel … We could have unfastened the trunk and the legs by pulling hard enough … But not the head … the hash … It was one solid brick with the stones on the road … It couldn’t be done … The body bent crooked like a Z … the head impaled on the gun barrel … First you’d have to straighten him and get the gun out … His back was all bent, his ass was wedged between his heels … He’d spasmed as he fell … I looked around … I see a farm down below … Maybe that was the one the postman had mentioned … Les Plaquets … I says to myself: “That’s it … that’s the place all right …”