Elisa woke up refreshed from a good night's sleep. She rang for breakfast and ate it in bed; she could think more comfortably there. She absolutely had to get herself out of this disastrous situation. She had the superficialities: her bed and board. What she lacked were the essentials: everything else. These had to be gotten from men, obviously. She telephoned Baudruche. She asked, implored, wheedled, but nicely, timidly. The Commissioner was very kind but, quoting figures, reminded her that she had an allowance many women would have considered ample. She grew more insistent, raised her voice .
. . . The Commissioner hung up.
Couldn't she find money somewhere in this Hotel? She ticked off the guests but everybody who had shown the slightest interest in her was either too old or too ugly, or even worse, already attached. Moreover, to go after another man meant giving up her bird-in-the-hand. If she appeared to lose interest in the tenant of room 23, the Commissioner would cut her off without a cent. Everyone was against her. And Emil . . . Emil was guiltiest of all, for all her troubles stemmed from him. You don't take a wife when you can't give her what she needs. As she thought of him, an idea suddenly crossed her mind. What a fool she'd been. . . .
Elisa fumbled in her bag for the key, finally found it and opened the door to the house. At this hour, Emil would be at work. She stopped in the front hall; Rutabaga, their servant, was singing in the kitchen. She crept along the hall and tiptoed up the stairs, her heart beating inside her breast. Why was she behaving this way? It was so stupid; after all, wasn't it her home? She opened the door to their room, went to the closet and took out a small metal box where they kept the housekeeping money. Wasn't it hers as much as his? And besides, there was so little left.
She was about to put the empty box back in the closet when she had another idea: the little jewel case. Why should she leave him the gold cuff links she had foolishly bought him years ago and which had cost her her eyeteeth? The money she could get for them would come in handy at Linon Taffeta's.
Baudruche was sitting across from the President. The Prefect insisted he do the negotiating himself. Other men might give in too easily.
The rat should be happy with all he'd delivered: the key to The Independent's printing press, and the Prefect's agreement to all the conditions. . . .
The President answered with a smile. "I was quite certain the Prefect would accept. What I was asking for was so reasonable and modest, and the conditions were so advantageous, that you couldn't help but agree. The Prefect knows now that he's dealing with a generous and sincere people. I hope he remembers in the future. But where are we with our house? What is the architect up to?"
"He has resigned, for reasons of health."
The President frowned. Baudruche added quickly:
"I replaced him immediately with one of our most brilliant men—a dynamic, talented young man who's very enthusiastic about this assignment. He's starting this very night."
"I hope his health is better than his predecessor's. As I said before, I don't like to disturb our neighbors and we must have more space."
Once again, an appreciative audience greeted Baudruche as he emerged from the former Social Progress Café.
The President whispered in his ear, "I envy you. You don't have to deal with ingrates."
"Good evening, soldier. What happened last night? They say they heard the sound of carriages, footsteps, singing, laughter and God knows what else."
"It was quite a night all right. I was here, like always, except that I was sitting in a café by the side of a boulevard with trees, and carriages passing back and forth, and lots of people milling around.
"I was beginning to feel a little bored when suddenly an open carriage stopped in front of me. Inside was an old gentleman—spats, a straw boater, everything. Next to him was a young woman—you should have seen her!—and was she done up! She said to him:
" 'Oh, look, Edward: a soldier; Let's take him with us. As a favor to me. . . .'
" 'Emily, you know I can never refuse you anything.'
" 'Do I ever refuse you anything?'
"She raised her arm and beckoned to me.
"I jumped into the carriage. They had me sit facing them and we set off.
"She was very gay and funny. He was a cold fish, but nice all the same.
"They took me to dinner with them in a fancy restaurant. When I saw how dressed up everybody was, I felt uncomfortable in my dirty old uniform. The old man said:
" 'Don't let it bother you. You can go anywhere in a soldier's uniform.'
"At the end of dinner, she squeezed my leg and said to her gentleman:
" 'Edward, I'm tired tonight. I want to go home.'
"He left very politely. We went to her place. You should have seen that apartment! She led me into her room and I could see her talking to an old lady in the distance. The old lady asked her:
" 'Who is that?'
" 'A soldier, Mother.'
" 'Not again'
"When she came back, she asked me:
" 'Why didn't you wear your red pants?'
" 'I can only wear the ones they give me.'
"She made me leave very early the next morning.
" 'Be careful nobody sees you.'
"That's all that happened. And here I am."
"Did she leave you anything?"
"Yes."
"What?"
"Syphilis."
It was later than usual when the last refugee left the ramparts. Baudruche was already dictating.
"It is therefore with considerable regret that I report the resignation of a man who has always rendered great service to the City, indeed one of its greatest servants.
"As a consequence, I have entrusted this most important assignment—the building of the Rat house—to a man of unquestioned talents with an undeniable future who will know how to give the edifice in question the symbolic elements it requires. It will hardly surprise you to learn that that man is Emil Poulet, the artist who has designed the cabinet for the machine with such singular success all these years. . . ."
Night was falling over the City on the heels of a grayish sunset. Little by little, lights began to glimmer, giving a rosy hue to the black clouds that hung obstinately over the City. People walking near the Factory heard strange songs and strident shouts of joy filtering through the closed shutters of the ex-Social Progress. A little nervous, they gave it a wide berth.
Labrique left the conjugal roof with a sigh of relief. He'd had enough. Esther Labrique refused to understand why her husband went off to dinner four times a week to a house where she wasn't welcome.
"Why do you do it? What do they take themselves for?"
"They take themselves for what they are, and you for what you are."
He had given in and answered her this time. Usually, he said little, but he had to say something from time to time. Five minutes after her husband's departure, Esther left too.
Labrique was attached to his habits and the familiar feel of his home, even though it included his wife's bilious presence. That's what kept him from deserting hearth and spouse for calmer refuge. Esther had proved to be more a quarreling machine than a wife. But without her, he would have been too happy at home; he would have felt guilty. Besides, she made him appreciate the Baudruches' house.
Emil Poulet hurried home to his deserted house. This time he gave little thought to Elisa's absence; his mind was on his new project and the drawings he had whipped up before the bewildered gaze of the technicians. In their opinion, the building wouldn't stand up on paper, let alone on the ground. Poulet thought they were just trying to prevent him from introducing new ideas into their moribund department. He'd get the better of them! He'd appeal to the Commissioner, and if it came to that, Baudruche would call the Prefect. . . . He drank to his success and fell asleep at the dining room table.
The soldier was lighting his fire; the two men in black in the Church interrupted their discussion long enough to nibble a few crumbs; the City—or most of it—was fixed
before the machine; and Elisa was pushing open the door to the restaurant.
She sat down at a table in a far corner, already weary of the man she had been hired to get to know. She made a face; he was heading straight for her table and sat down without waiting for an invitation. He waited for her to speak; she said nothing. He tried a few words; she barely answered. As soon as dinner was over, he got up, said good night and left. She smiled; she had succeeded in boring him.
She stayed on in the restaurant, smoking one cigarette after another. Maybe she'd gone too far. She thought of the frosty expression on the Commissioner's face and it frightened her. Must she always be under his power? She rose from the table, went up to her room, opened the door, turned on the light and let out a scream: a rat was lying on her bed, his eyes staring at her.
Screaming at the top of her lungs, she ran into the hall. She felt an arm encircle her waist, a hand cover her mouth. The hand moved down and felt for her breast. She was being dragged across the hall. . . .
"Let go of me!" she said with a cry of despair.
She summoned all her strength, broke free, and instinctively ran toward the light that shone through the open door of her room. The man followed. She stumbled on her bed and fell across it, her arms outstretched. She looked up and saw the rat's face close to hers, the eyes still fixed on her. She let out another scream and sat up. This time she didn't resist as she was carried off.
It all went so fast that she was barely aware of what was happening to her. All she felt was two hands undressing her and caressing her body. The two arms picked her up and placed her in the middle of a bed that wasn't hers. She drew herself into a tight ball, her teeth chattering uncontrollably. She tried to move, to say something, but couldn't. If only she could make herself smaller, disappear. A bright light forced her eyes open; she was in room 23 and the man standing above her was laughing. She closed her eyes and buried her face in the pillow.
After a long silence, the man said, "Did you hear anything?"
She turned her head and saw that the man was now sitting and holding the strange instrument she had seen through the keyhole the other day. He seemed to be waiting for her to answer. He raised the instrument to his lips and blew into it as his fingers ran up and down the stick. He asked again, "Did you hear anything?"
She shook her head and buried it in the pillow once again.
The man said, "It doesn't surprise me."
The light went out. A moment later, the blanket was raised, letting in cold air that made her shiver. A warm body, naked like hers, pressed against her. The same arms embraced her. His warmth penetrated her and she grew calm. Her teeth stopped chattering, her nerves relaxed. The man's body began to rub against hers.
Her spirits returned. It was too late now to think, the die was cast, and besides, it was more agreeable than she had thought possible. She didn't just accept it; she desired it, wanted it again and again. She didn't recognize herself—or her gestures. Her nose buried in the hair of the man on top of her, she smelled an odor she had never smelled before. She filled her lungs with it. Something unknown was ebbing and flowing inside her. She felt hot; she felt cold. She had lost her footing, she was sinking. She tried desperately to hold on, digging her nails into his back.
12
T W O L I G H T knocks on the door woke Elisa the next morning. A voice from the bathroom said, "Come in." The door opened and Posey entered, carrying a tray with two breakfasts.
Elisa tried to hide under the covers but it was too late. Posey placed the tray on a table, saying, "I remembered the sieve for the hot milk, madam."
If Elisa felt humiliated to be following in the footsteps of the chambermaid, Posey was completely at ease. She picked up the four shoes scattered on the rug, looked at Elisa and said with a laugh, "This morning, you're in my place, madam, so tomorrow you take mine and shine the shoes." She closed the door behind her before Elisa could think of an answer.
The man came out of the bathroom in his dressing gown, a bathrobe over his arm. He threw it on the bed.
"Here, put this on. Isn't that Posey something!"
Barefoot and swimming in the oversized robe, Elisa sat down opposite the man. She took a piece of toast.
"Butter or jam, my darling?"
Butter. She watched him eat with rapture. His eyes which she found so beautiful now reminded her of the other pair that had terrified her the night before. She was dying to know but afraid to ask. . . .
"Were you afraid last night?" the man asked.
Posey was polishing the shoes in a closet. She didn't like to admit it but she felt sad. Still, she knew she had to expect these things. Men like him didn't stay lovers to girls like her for very long. But at least she'd had the fun of being in on the game. Without her and the second floor passkey, he wouldn't have been able to get into 26 and put the rat's body in the bed. Ugh. It had begun to smell awful in that drawer.
In room 23, Elisa had finished a large breakfast. The man pointed to her clothes scattered over the floor.
"Pick up your clothes and go get dressed."
"Yes, my darling."
But she was afraid to go into her room. She didn't want to have to look at that horrible corpse in her bed.
The man rang for the maid. "Posey, wrap up the rat in room 26 and put him in the bathroom. And don't forget to change the sheets."
The man took the strange instrument out of its case and put it to his lips. This time Elisa heard.
"I thought you would."
She had never heard the sound before. She looked at the man's back and her eyes followed the lines of his body under his clothes. She remembered the feelings he had stirred inside her the night before. Could it happen again? She got up and silently sat down behind him. She embraced him, her hands doing what his had done the night before.
He freed himself and pushed her gently but firmly toward the door.
"What are you going to do?"
"I'm going for a walk. But it wouldn't interest you."
"Yes it would. Please take me."
"I can't. You couldn't keep up with me."
She remained stationary by the door.
"Why did you want that rat left in my room?"
"Telephone Baudruche. He'll see that it's taken away."
He pushed her into the hall and closed the door. Elisa returned to her empty room.
Baudruche met Labrique's successor at the foot of the ramparts.
"What are you doing here, Mr. Edge?"
"I'm here to inspect the ramparts, like my predecessor."
"You do one side and I'll do the other. That way we can do the job in half the time."
Baudruche climbed the stairs ahead of him. He had little appetite for the morning ritual without Labrique.
When they reached the top of the stairs, Baudruche motioned Edge to take the right, he would do the left. He walked with slow, deliberate steps. He was disturbed. Elisa's stupidity was not to be believed. That she should have learned absolutely nothing from the last refugee was beyond comprehension. Should he take her off the assignment? But who could take her place? There was nobody on his staff. They all talked too much. And if there was a less stupid woman available, who was free to leave home and who could be trusted, he didn't know her. So he was stuck with Elisa. Still, how he wished he knew what was going on in the stranger's head!
He made quick work of the ramparts. He was in a hurry to get back to his office and find out if Inspector Payne had gotten anywhere with a certain investigation. Ah, wouldn't it be beautiful if it worked! He had thought of everything, including the power of attorney he had forced out of Labrique under the pretext that it would speed up his retirement pension. "Dear God, please let it happen," he said as he headed for his office. Passersby were startled by the look of joy on his face. Things must be going well in the City. . . .
"Payne, how did it go?"
"Just fine, Mr. Commissioner. I was right. A little out of the ordinary, but there's no doubt about it. I saw it all th
rough my binoculars from a roof next door. Delightful spectacle!"
"When did it happen?"
"About eleven this morning."
"All right. Get back to your roof and if it happens again, just wave your arm. Revere will be watching from the terrace here."
"O.K., I'll be off. But it's not a very pleasant job, you know."
"Maybe you'd rather work at the Factory?"
Baudruche kept looking through the window at Revere who had flattened himself against a chimney on the terrace. Suddenly, Baudruche saw him lower his binoculars and disappear. That must be it. He leaped from his chair, grabbed his hat and struggled into his coat.
Revere was waiting for his chief at the foot of the stairs. Baudruche grasped his arm.
"We've got to hurry if we're to get there in time."
"From what Payne says, we don't need to hurry. They're taking their time."
"All the same, I don't want to miss this one."
Baudruche and Revere waited in the courtyard of Labrique's house, their backs against the wall, eyes glued on Payne who was on a roof across the street. Suddenly, Payne raised his arm. That meant they were to go up. Baudruche took the duplicate key from his pocket, opened the front door and they silently climbed the stairs.
They tiptoed down the hall until they were outside Esther's room. Through the closed door they could hear muffled cries, sighs and other inarticulate sounds. As Baudruche flung the door open, he just had time to see a big hairy body roll on top of Esther. At the sight of Baudruche and Revere, the architect's wife let out a scream. The brown body jumped from the bed, ran for the window and disappeared. Baudruche rushed to the window in time to see the rat clamber down the drain-pipe to the sidewalk and into the nearest sewer.
"That son of a bitch!"
Baudruche turned around. For once, the fates were with him. He gave the poor bewildered woman a look of triumph.
"Cover yourself, Esther. You're not a pretty sight."
What had possessed Labrique to marry a body like that one? Was it one of his decadent intellectual ideas?
"Dear Esther, forgive me for interrupting your revels," Baudruche took the power of attorney from his pocket, "but I am here at the request of Mr. Hector Labrique, Chief Architect of the City, now retired, born at . . ."
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