The Walled City

by Marcel Clouzot

  "What do you say, Baudruche?"

  "I say that, for an intellectual, you're not so stupid."

  "And do you know that I did it all by myself with one bucket of jam. Tomorrow, if I can have your men, we can smear the whole length of the ramparts. That's all it will take. But the idea had to come from somewhere, right?"

  "Oh, I agree completely, but I know what the Prefect's office will say."

  "What will they say?"

  "That it's not rational. So long, Labrique, see you tomorrow. I'm off to the Factory."

  "Damn Labrique!" Baudruche said to himself as he turned into Prefect Avenue. Why hadn't he, Baudruche, had the idea? He felt a slight pang: another defeat. Head bowed and eyes downcast, he spotted a large piece of paper on the ground; it looked like a newspaper. He picked it up; it was a newspaper, but not the City's.

  It was a poor thing, crudely reproduced, but the name was startling: The Liberated Rat. In the top left-hand comer was a childish drawing of a rat energetically breaking its chains. Underneath ran the rubric: "We shall win because we are stronger." Baudruche scanned the text. It was a collection of violent articles attacking those inhabitants of the City who harbored "evil thoughts," Baudruche's men, and on and on. Here and there, a column was interrupted by a cartoon. One of them showed a large, heavyset man, hat low over the eyes, hands in pockets; he was stamping on the rats.

  "If it were only true," he said to himself.

  But he took it back when he read the caption: "Big Baudruche must be crushed!"

  "Very interesting," he said, as he folded the sheet and put it in his pocket.

  At the Factory entrance, the rat on duty raised his cap in salute.

  "Good evening, Mr. High Commissioner."

  Baudruche answered with a flick of his brim.

  Leponte seemed gayer than usual. His eyes sparkled and he was pink in the face.

  "You look positively euphoric, Mr. Leponte."

  "It must be the warmth and joy occasioned by a small intimate party here at the Factory—a farewell party for engineer Fouquet: he's the one who thought up the first modification on the machine. He's been recycled as a Director in Civilian Defense in the Technical Studies Section. You must have known about it, Mr. Commissioner?"

  "Of course, of course. But aren't there five already?"

  "Now they'll be six, and so there'll be more work. It's simple arithmetic, Mr. Commissioner. We scientists live with precision, and precision is the poetry of matter."

  Elisa was on her way out. She was very pleased with the Hotel. They were being extremely solicitous, and the Manager himself had come to ask after her desires as she sat down at the table.

  She was also pleased because her neighbor from across the hall had sat down at her table without waiting for an invitation. But when a leg went out in search of hers, she locked her legs firmly under her chair.

  After lunch, Elisa went from store to store, while her luncheon companion took his usual walk to the ramparts. At the sound of his voice, the soldier looked up.

  "Why do those two men come and look at the walls every day?"

  "They're worried because ants are climbing up the walls and threaten to get into the City."

  "There's nothing to it: bum them or drown them."

  "To do that, the people would have to go outside the gates, and they don't want to do that."

  "So what are they going to do?"

  "They've been working on a powder of deterrence."

  "What's that?"

  "I don't know. Nor do they, I'm afraid. What makes it even worse is they don't know what its effect will be. Meanwhile, one of the men has come up with a scheme: he's spread jam all along the walls.

  "Not a bad idea."

  "But the rest of the people are going to say it isn't rational."

  Baudruche was pacing back and forth, hands in pockets, as he dictated his report to Miss Bourrot.

  ". . . since the walls were laced with a ribbon of jam, thanks to Mr. Labrique's efforts."

  Miss Bourrot looked up.

  "Did I hear you correctly? You said 'jam'?"

  "When I say jam, I mean jam. Continue.

  "It is therefore my belief that it would be a waste of time to try to find another remedy against the insects' advance. In the best of circumstances, it would involve greater risks and be more complicated.

  "I must now draw your attention to an incident we would overlook only at our peril. I chanced to pick up a newspaper entitled The Liberated Rat, obviously published by our neighbors. I enclose a photocopy so that you can learn the nature of its articles. They attack our institutions and our goodwill toward the rats to the point of calling your sincerity into question. I believe that a perusal of this paper will inevitably bring you to reconsider the agreement I was forced to sign with our neighbors. . . ."

  Baudruche looked at Miss Bourrot while she finished the dictation. He found her particularly irritating this evening. It was probably a sign of merit that she had stuck by him so long, but by the same token, wasn't Baudruche also to be commended for putting up with her looks and character for twenty years? And what did she have to offer? Intelligence, devotion, discretion, sure, but what he needed was youth, vitality, spontaneity. . . .

  "Miss Bourrot, what's all the commotion downstairs?"

  "Miss Teller is leaving; she is retiring."

  "Who is replacing her?"

  "Miss Weller, of course. She's been her assistant for fourteen years."

  "How old is she?"

  "I don't really know, Mr. Commissioner. Fifty, maybe."

  "That's ridiculous, Miss Bourrot! What we need is some youth in this department or it will atrophy. Why did you put Miss Niquel in a job where her dynamism and talent were wasted? That job would be much more suitable to an older woman. I want Miss Niquel brought back here starting tomorrow morning, and Miss Weller transferred to the calm of the Lost and Found Department. Is that clear, Miss Bourrot?"

  She left the room without replying.

  9

  "W H Y D I D you make me get up so early?" Baudruche asked Labrique.

  "It's good for you; you need it. Shall we go up?"

  "I can't wait!"

  Baudruche was in an ugly mood. He climbed with effort, moaning at every step.

  Labrique rushed past him. "Baudruche, look!"

  "I'm coming, I'm coming. What's so unusual this morning?"

  "Lean over and look."

  The ribbon of jam stretched as far as the eye could see.

  "Well, you told me you were going to do it."

  "But that's not the whole of it. Put on your glasses."

  Baudruche saw that immediately below the ribbon of jam the face of the wall was smooth and clean: the ants had completely disappeared.

  "They've gotten the message, Baudruche! They won't come back!"

  As Baudruche followed the architect, he felt a great relief at having that worry behind him.

  "Where did you find all that jam, Labrique?"

  "Your men and I cleaned out every store in the City. Here are the receipts; I'd like to be reimbursed, if you don't mind."

  An hour later, Elisa was awakened by the sound of shrill cries, running feet and a series of blows outside her room. She jumped out of bed, slipped into her dressing gown and opened the door. Posey was standing in the hallway with a broom in her hand.

  "What's going on, Posey?"

  "Nothing, madam. Just a rat."

  She stopped down and picked up an enormous gray beast by its tail. It was dead.

  "Ugh! How horrible!"

  "It's not horrible anymore, madam, now that it's dead. It's when they're alive that they're horrible."

  "Did you kill it yourself?"

  "I wasn't going to call the hangman."

  "How did you do it?"

  "With my broom. See, it's a big male."

  Posey dangled the dead rat in Elisa's face. Elisa backed away, terrified. Suddenly she felt two arms grasp her from behind.

  The occupant
of room 23 said, "Posey's right. There's nothing to be scared of."

  Posey walked off, her broom in one hand, the rat in the other.

  "Come, pull yourself together. You must get used to rats, for I'm afraid we're going to be seeing a lot of them from now on."

  The occupant of 23 pushed the occupant of 26 into room 26.

  Elisa stretched out on the bed; the man leaned against the wall and looked at her without speaking. She turned and hid her face in the pillow. She couldn't get the sight of the dead rat out of her mind. She had never seen a rat before except in pictures. She had no idea they were so ugly. She glanced at the man out of the corner of her eye. He was smiling at her. All of a sudden, she let out a scream. She thought a rat was biting her in the crotch.

  The man came over to her. "What's the matter?"

  She buried her head deeper into her pillow. The man sat down beside her and grasped her shoulder. She thought she was about to go through the sex scene that preceded her departure from home. She fought back.

  "I don't want to! Leave me alone!"

  She flailed the air even though he had let go of her. She was kicking and punching first the rat, then Emil. The man got up and left, closing the door behind him. Her body shook with uncontrollable spasms, then she began to cry. There was a knock on the door and Posey entered.

  "Madam, you mustn't get into a state over such a small thing. It's the first rat I've ever seen in the Hotel. I come from the country, you know, and you should have seen them there!"

  Elisa barely listened, but Posey's voice calmed her. The maid put her tray on the bed and begged her to eat.

  "You know, if you don't kill the first one, the next day there'll be two, the day after three, then a hundred, and in the end, they'll be the masters. We should hang them by their tails outside the Hotel. That would put an end to it."

  Posey left when she saw that Elisa was back to normal. Alone again, Elisa took a deep breath. It had been a close call. It was when a woman was scared that she was most vulnerable. Thank God, Emil's face had come to her rescue. Besides, she didn't feel like it. She knew she'd have to do it with the Commissioner eventually—especially since she needed money so desperately. Maybe she should get it over with now? She had a perfect excuse.

  Her breakfast finished, she picked up the receiver and called Baudruche's number. She told the Commissioner she had to see him, that very morning. She described in detail the drama that had taken place in the hall. To her surprise, Baudruche became very excited: he was on his way; he'd be right over. Before he hung up she slipped in a breathless, "I can't wait to see you."

  Baudruche hurried to the Hotel, oblivious to his aching feet. He dashed past the doorman and Mr. Baidroume and took the stairs three at a time. He knocked on the door of number 26 and opened it without waiting for an answer. Elisa was in the midst of dressing. She jumped with surprise.

  "Are you here already? You frightened me."

  "You're frightening me. Where is it?"

  "Where is what?"

  "The dead rat."

  "I have no idea," Elisa said, irritated by Baudruche's stubborn interest in the rat. "You'll have to ask Posey, the maid."

  "What? Posey again?"

  "Why? Do you know her?"

  "It's my business to know everybody. Ring for her."

  The room was stifling. He took off his coat and sank into a chair. Posey was soon there.

  "Are you here again? What brings you this time, Mr. Commissioner?"

  "That was a brave piece of work you did this morning."

  Posey looked confused.

  "What do you mean? I did what I'm supposed to—bring the trays, do the rooms . . ."

  "Don't play innocent. You killed a rat."

  "So what?"

  Baudruche knew the consequences for the City if the news of the rat's death got around, how it would be exploited, the excesses it would set in motion, the blackmail aimed at the Prefect, the latter's concessions, while he—Baudruche—would be forced either to take his side and deal harshly with Posey or rebel openly against the Prefect—which is what he dreaded most.

  "Who's seen the dead rat? Who knows about this?"

  "Well, there's me, of course, and madam there, then the gentleman across the hall. . . ."

  "Number twenty-three?"

  "I see you remember the number. "

  So Posey and the stranger were crossing his path again? It must be a put-up job.

  "Where did you put the dead rat?"

  "In the garbage can. Where did you want me to put it?" Hoping he wouldn't be seen, Baudruche took the back stairs down to the alley where the garbage cans were kept. With Posey's help, he carefully examined their contents.

  "You're absolutely sure you put him in here?"

  "I'm not a fool."

  "What happened to him then?"

  "Somebody must have taken him for his fur . . . or maybe the other rats carried him off." Posey burst out laughing.

  He felt like slapping the insolent girl for making a joke of what he feared most: that the rat had been removed by its friends.

  "Go back to work and don't you dare mention any of this or you'll be sorry!"

  "Why should I? I have more interesting things to talk about."

  Baudruche returned to Elisa's room. He didn't try to hide his distress. He warned her of disastrous consequences if the incident wasn't hushed up. She must say nothing.

  He was sure of Elisa, fairly sure of Posey, but number 23 was a question mark. He would get to him in due course. But first he must get his hands on the dead rat.

  Elisa tried to change the direction of his thought.

  "You see how smart you were to come to me or you wouldn't have known about it."

  True enough; for once, Elisa had been useful.

  Elisa continued, "I was thinking of something else.

  "What?"

  The sharpness of his response unnerved her. She realized she had chosen an inopportune moment.

  Baudruche fixed her with his eyes. "Put something on, Elisa. You'll catch cold."

  Reluctantly, she slipped into her blue dressing gown, understanding less and less of what was going on.

  Baudruche's thoughts took a sharp turn. "Ah, yes, you wanted to talk to me. Is it what you mentioned the last time? Yes, I'm very pleased with what you've done. Here."

  He took some bills from his wallet and handed them to her. Better than nothing, but not as much as she'd hoped for. She mentioned her considerable expenses, but Baudruche only smiled. He'd give her more the next time if he was pleased with her work.

  That was her opening. She sat down on the rug at his feet, placed her head in his lap and hugged his legs.

  "Maybe I could do something else for you. . . ."

  The Commissioner lifted her chin with his hand.

  "Elisa, you must be dreaming."

  Abashed, she sat back on her heels, put her face in her hands and broke into sobs. Then she told him everything: what she'd understood—he could laugh if he liked—but that's what she thought he wanted. Between sobs, she confessed to her string of debts on Prefect Avenue.

  Baudruche sighed. God but she was stupid! Worse than he'd thought. He lectured to her, scolded her as if she were a child, but her tears tempered his harshness. Finally, he got to his feet, picked up his hat and coat and opened the door. Then he turned and said, "Listen: if you find that dead rat, I'll pay all your debts."

  He closed the door, leaving her sad and perplexed. She had bungled it, and it could have been so simple. . . .

  The Commissioner knocked on number 23, first making certain that no one was watching. Thank God the man was there.

  The interview was quickly over. Baudruche was pleasant, the stranger understanding. He found the whole thing amusing and promised he would divulge nothing of what had happened. He was particularly happy to be at home for the Commissioner because he had run out of money. The City was expensive, and while Elisa had been doing the shops for ladies on Prefect Avenue, he'd been pat
ronizing the stores for men. Baudruche parted with the last of his money.

  As he left the Hotel, Mr. Baidroume gave him a conspiratorial wink: the Commissioner had been collecting his dividends.

  Upstairs, the stranger was about to leave his room when he had a sudden thought. He went back, locked the bottom drawer of his bureau and put the key in his pocket. Not that the rat would run away. . . . But there did seem to be a certain amount of snooping in this Hotel. . . .

  Not unusually, Baudruche had dozed off in his chair after lunch. He shook himself awake and left in a hurry, for he had a great deal to do. He walked with a light step, already tasting the pleasure of his coming interview with the representative of the rats at the Social Progress.

  The guard at the door made way for him. Baudruche looked up: the café sign was gone. In its place was a brand-new inscription indicating that it was now an embassy—the official headquarters of a foreign government. Inside, files and cartons had replaced the bottles on the bar; on the old marble-topped tables, rats were trying to type on ancient dusty machines. Baudruche was ushered into the back room which had been converted into an office for the head of the delegation.

  The delegate expressed great joy at the Commissioner's visit and thanked him for approving the Rathouse, as he had just read in the newspaper.

  Baudruche sat down without replying, took out the newspaper he had picked up off the sidewalk and threw it on the rat's desk.

  "Do you recognize this?"

  The delegate unfolded the paper slowly.

  "Yes, Mr. High Commissioner, unfortunately I do. And I'm truly sorry that it fell into your hands."

  It was, he explained, the organ of a small party of extremists. "I'm sure I don't need to tell you that the great majority of our people, including myself, will have nothing to do with these fanatics." As he came to the caricature of Baudruche, he added, "I'm particularly upset on your account."

  "I don't give a damn for myself. But I'd like to know how long you think this is going to go on."

  The delegate was afraid that, inevitably, the paper would gain in influence because it had no competition. What they needed was a real newspaper, their own!