The Walled City

by Marcel Clouzot

  They jabbered all the way to the ramparts, and climbed the stairs hand in hand.

  "Hey, soldier, anything new?"

  "Yes, that girl came again with her basket."

  "Speaking of girls, I've brought one with me to look at you."

  "Why? Because I'm so handsome?"

  "Don't get excited: she's just a child; that's why I wanted her to come. It's important that she know what a soldier looks like. Otherwise how will she find out? All the grown-ups have forgotten."

  The last refugee lifted Sophie up and sat her down on the ledge of the spy hole.

  "Did anything happen last night?"

  "Yes, but it would interest the girl more than you. What's your name, child?"

  "Sophie."

  "Well then, listen, Sophie: A girl came by and threw bread to the birds. Then, last night, seven little boys passed by, and the littlest one threw crumbs over his shoulder and the birds ate those too."

  Sophie was intrigued. The soldier continued:

  "After that, a large cat wearing big boots came. The cat said to me:

  " 'What are you doing here? Don't you know this land belongs to the Marquis of Carrabas?'

  " 'No, I didn't know. But if I don't have the right to stay, I'll go.'

  "Then the cat noticed I was wearing a uniform and said:

  " 'Why didn't you tell me you were a soldier? My master, the Marquis, will be delighted to know you're here. But what's that city over there? It doesn't belong to my master.'

  " 'It's a beautiful city but it's full of rats.'

  " 'The inhabitants allow it? How horrible! I'd better go.

  ' "And he left very fast—because he had on seven-league boots."

  "I don't believe you."

  "You'd better, because I'm telling it. After that, a beautiful carriage came and stopped in front of me. A ravishing young girl stepped down and she also asked me what city this was and if she could go in with her carriage. When she learned the City was full of rats, she screamed with horror.

  "'Goodness gracious, I'm scared enough of mice!'

  "She got back into her carriage and its four white horses galloped off. But she'd climbed in so fast she dropped one of her slippers."

  "That's all make-believe. You're lying to me."

  "I am not lying. And to prove it, here, catch!"

  Sophie stretched out her hands and caught a small glass slipper on the wing. The man and the soldier laughed, but not Sophie.

  She was silent all the way back to her mother.

  It was late when Baudruche got around to his evening chore. In his report, he said a few words about his visit to the President, and the rat's new demands. He added a paragraph on Leponte's requests which he presented without comment. This done, he rubbed his hands in anticipation. He held a very nice card and he was going to play it for all it was worth.

  Having been asked by your Chief Architect to conduct an investigation of his spouse's behavior, I paid a carefully timed visit to the couple's home, accompanied by a member of my staff whose discretion I knew to be unassailable. By using a key which the husband had entrusted to me for this purpose, I was able to confirm de visu that the Labrique spouse was in bed, not with an inhabitant of the City, but with a rat.

  I therefore saw it as my duty to convey to Mr. Labrique the proof of adultery. Unfortunately the betrayed spouse intends to produce the above proof before the proper tribunal.

  I don't need to tell you, Mr. Prefect, that the exhibition of such a document before a court of law will raise serious problems, whose ramifications neither of us can foresee.

  There are two alternatives: either the judge, responding to your desires, will refuse to hear the case, since it involves a rat and not an inhabitant of the City, and Mr. Labrique will shout from the rooftops that the courts had refused to consider a rat as our equal, or the judge will pursue the matter, and Mr. Labrique will be in a position to advertise the danger that threatens the City's husbands.

  I feel quite certain, Mr. Prefect, that should it come to this, a large part of the population is not ready to accept sexual relations between rats and the City's inhabitants.

  I am unable to resolve this singular problem, but I know that as always you, Mr. Prefect, will have the right solution.

  Well, he'd done it. It was better than nothing, but he could have done a hundred times better if that bastard Labrique had left him free to act. Now he was reduced to bluff and lies in the hope that the Prefect would be thrown off balance by the strangeness of the case.

  "Finish it off, Miss Bourrot. What's in the sentry's report? They heard nothing? They must be sobering up."

  Miss Bourrot went Out. There was a knock on the door. It was little Miss Niquel.

  "I haven't the time, my dear girl," Baudruche said, wearily dropping his arms on the table.

  It was very late. What was the City trying to do to him kill him outright? He picked up the late edition of the newspaper. There was a large picture at the bottom of the front page with the caption: "At the population's service: A team of rats helps an elderly couple move."

  Elisa was holding forth to her lover. They had been given a table in the middle of the restaurant so that they would be in full view.

  Elisa talked with increasing animation. She had so much to tell him! Actually, she'd never been allowed really to express herself.

  To escape the inexhaustible flow, the man took occasional refuge in his thoughts.

  "Tell me something: how come Sophie lives with the Baudruches?"

  This caught her short but she recovered.

  "How shall I say it, my love? It's not easy, you know. . . . Her father is a brute."

  She whispered to him and he listened politely, then turned the conversation back to the Baudruches, and to the Commissioner in particular.

  "If the Commissioner is so interested in me, tell him to come and talk to me. I have nothing to hide. Will you take him a secret message? It's extremely important."

  He asked for paper and an envelope, and wrote: "I need more money. Your secret agent is costing me a lot." He licked the envelope and handed it to Elisa. She slipped it inside her corsage, first looking around to see if anyone were watching.

  They went upstairs, Elisa's arm around his waist.

  13

  B A U D R U C H E took the sentry walk slowly, occasionally glancing out over the plain. A thin mist still hovered over the ground; there was a smell of autumn. Overhead, the sky was gloomy with dirty gray clouds. But in the far distance, it was light.

  He wished he could get out of these daily rounds. With Labrique it had been relaxation, but his successor was a torment.

  "My dear Baudruche . . ."

  "Would it be too much to ask you to call me Mr. High Commissioner?"

  "Forgive me, Mr. High Commissioner, I was on the point of remarking that dear old Labrique . . ."

  "Could you bring yourself to say Mr. Labrique? He's not decrepit yet, as far as I know."

  "No, but he's retired which is the same thing. I was about to say that Mr. Labrique had done a wretched job with these walls—smearing them with all that jam. Where was his sense of hygiene? It's disgusting to have jam all over the walls."

  "You prefer ants?"

  "Mr. High Commissioner, our parents' time is behind us. We have at our disposal far more efficient methods of defense than old wives' remedies."

  "What are you leading us to, Mr. Edge? I haven't much time."

  "Simply this: I went to the Department of Civilian Defense to seek information. They were categorical: this insect invasion was within their jurisdiction, not mine. Should they return, I am to alert them. They will then take care of the matter."

  Baudruche finally got away. The new architect watched him go with a sigh. Poor old Baudruche . . . everything was beyond him now. And there were too many like him too highly placed. Edge glanced at the exterior of the walls. It had been a terrible job: it had taken an army of men and tons of soap, but the walls were clean now. He looked at t
heir smooth, white surface with satisfaction. To be sure, there were a few gray patches here and there, but nothing of importance.

  Baudruche went to see Mr. Paytard at Civilian Defense, but a new director was on duty. Mr. Fisher was delighted to see Baudruche; he had so much to tell him, so much to explain.

  Unfortunately, the Commissioner was pressed for time. He wanted just one piece of information: How was the powder of deterrence coming? Not quite ready yet?

  Fisher looked at him with disbelief. Who ever had told him that? The other directors? Those old fossils! He had to laugh. Why, he'd seen the lab tests with his own eyes. The powder exploded all right, and how! Now they were just waiting for the right occasion. Yes, Mr. Edge had told him about the possibility of a new invastion of ants. He was hoping for the invasion. . . . Let them come! One match and "Wham!" they'd be gone.

  Baudruche told his informant to put off any further tests and do nothing about the walls until he received authorization from either the Prefect or himself.

  He marched back to his office in a rage. Although he understood little of this kind of science, he sensed they were treading on dangerous ground.

  When he arrived at his office, Miss Bourrot handed him a confidential note from the Prefect. He tore it open and read it through. The Prefect gave him a free hand in the Labrique affair, was fully confident that Baudruche would arrange everything in everybody's best interest, including the rats. So, the Prefect had played his hand brilliantly, even to the ending with its veiled suggestion that if there was no other solution, it might be possible to produce an incident or to discover a heretofore unknown fact that would forever remove the ex-architect from further conjugal misfortunes.

  Baudruche knew what that meant. In this City, they could always get you on something. Everybody was guilty of something. And there were so many ways of protracting court proceedings, while the accused was put away—with plenty of time to think.

  Baudruche was beaten. All he could do was make the best of it.

  "Miss Bourrot, call Mr. Labrique and ask him to come to my office right away."

  Fifteen minutes later, nonchalant as ever and hat on the back of his head, Labrique walked in.

  "Before you speak, I want to know if I'm here on private or official business."

  "Both."

  "In that case, I'll listen to the private business."

  "Don't be a dope; this is serious. You've landed me m the soup with your damn writ of adultery."

  Labrique dropped into a chair and burst out laughing.

  "That's beautiful! There I was living in peace—if not exactly ecstasy—giving no thought to what my worthy spouse was up to. The Commissioner comes up with a forged document which he wants to use for purposes I disapprove of, Esther goes on the rampage, I'm forced to leave the premises and find a semblance of peace elsewhere, and now I find that I'm responsible for your difficulties. You deserve whatever happens!"

  "It had nothing to do with me. I'm worried for you. You may be in for serious trouble."

  "I'm armed, and this time I know who to go after."

  "Listen, I can help you out."

  "No, please, don't do anything. I prefer not."

  "You prefer going to prison?"

  "Why should I go to prison?"

  "Because you're a cuckold."

  "Well, in that case, I guess I won't be lonely. We'll be a mob."

  "Don't forget you're a special case. What would you think of an easy, quiet job with nothing to do?"

  "That would suit me very well."

  "With your full architect's salary, a comfortable house provided by the City . . ."

  "In a pinch, I'd say yes."

  "Okay, Labrique, you're the new City Librarian. I'll fix it up with the Prefect."

  As soon as he had the keys to the Public Library and his new house, Labrique went into high gear. He had no time to lose if he was to salvage the last of his personal possessions. He ran to the offices of a moving company and promised them a handsome bonus if they would move him immediately.

  "What's the hurry, sir? Is your house on fire?" the man in charge asked.

  "No, much worse than that. My wife is in it."

  Esther was indeed home, and when she caught sight of the moving van, her anger overflowed like a pot of boiling milk. How could he abandon her, a helpless woman who had given him her youth? What would become of her in an empty house? She called the moving men to witness and challenged them on every item in the house. Everything was hers: the big chair from the architect's grandfather was from her Aunt Emma, the clock from his grandmother was from her cousin Victoria. It had been a wedding present. . . . The moving men, obedient to whoever paid the bill, took the things from her clinging hands without pity. Was she to be left with nothing?

  Fuming, she watched the loaded moving van drive off. She had been too nice: she should have smashed everything. Weeping with anger, she treated herself to a brief temper tantrum on the mattress which now rested on the floor. Her husband had taken the bed but left her the mattress and pillows so that she wouldn't bruise her bottom the next time the rat came to call. . . .

  It was late, so Labrique left the men to unload the van into his new house. He was hungry and emotionally exhausted. He went to the restaurant in the Hotel and took a table in a corner, a good vantage point from which to watch Elisa as she clung amorously to the guest in room 23. Poor old Baudruche: he was unlucky with his women as well.

  As he got up from the table, Labrique felt the urge to try his second key on the door to the Library. He toured the vast room which he had used so often in the old days. Now he ,.,"as no longer just a reader but its boss. He spent the entire afternoon inspecting the shelves. Everything was in order, every book in its proper place. Pholio had done his job well, but he could hardly help the mail that had accumulated since his death. Boxes of recently published books were piled high in the corners. From the stack of mail, Labrique picked out a letter at random. It carried the Prefect's letterhead. On opening it, he saw that it contained a long list of books to be withdrawn from circulation. He put it down without reading it. Next to the mail, he noticed a large register with "Loans" written on the cover. He opened it and the last entry caught his eye: "Baudruche, Robert." He found a postcard on which was printed: "You are requested to return the following book to the Public Library at once . . ." and filled it out.

  Emil Poulet walked at the Commissioner's side, a large roll of paper tucked under his arm. They were going to see the President. He had been told what to do and say, which turned out to be exactly what he would have done and said by himself. After all, he was only being asked to tell the truth.

  The Commissioner had given Poulet clear instructions: the rat must be lulled to sleep; he must be convinced that they were working their tails off for him, must be shown projects, plans, papers, piles of papers and given lots of hope, assurances and promises—as much as he could take.

  Perhaps that way they would gain a little time. For, after lunch, Baudruche had received some very bad news: several more apartments near the Seculats had been appropriated by the rats. The Department of Relocation reported that a number of people had come asking for help. For want of anything better, they had been put in temporary barracks.

  When Baudruche arrived at the former café, it was immediately clear that the situation was even worse than he'd expected. The two small streets that fanned out from the ex-Social Progress were thronged with people—both inhabitants and rats—who were dashing about and talking in excited groups. One rat offered to sell him a marked-down rug. Another rat pressed him to buy one of the five watches on his wrist.

  Baudruche had great difficulty preventing Poulet from buying some suspect earrings and a pair of worn shoes. Then he lost him in the crowd. Baudruche sauntered along, looking into the houses along the sidewalk. They were full of activity: the rats were in the process of removing everything, passing furniture through the windows, emptying dressers, opening closets, taking down chandeliers.
<
br />   Rats haggled over the furniture and objects that cluttered the>sidewalks. A rat approached Baudruche and flipped open an album of obscene pictures under his nose. Baudruche looked at him closely and bought them. A little farther on, he came upon a group looking down at something. Among them stood Emil Poulet. Peering over their shoulders, Baudruche saw a rat shuffling three cards which he then spread out on an open umbrella.

  "Which is the red? 'Which is the red?"

  Emil Poulet handed him a bill and turned over a black card.

  Baudruche grabbed the rat by the collar. "What's going on here. Are you gambling on City streets?"

  The group broke up; they had recognized Baudruche.

  "You come with me, Poulet." Baudruche led him toward the former café, his grip still firm on the rat's collar.

  The President rushed out of his office.

  "What's happened, Mr. High Commissioner? Has one of our people been disrespectful?"

  "I caught him gambling on a public thoroughfare. It's strictly forbidden in this City."

  "My compliments, Mr., High Commissioner. You are a great help to us."

  The President bowed before the Commissioner and invited him and Emil Poulet into his office. The guilty rat was propelled with a swift kick in the pants.

  "So, you've been gambling in the streets, have you? Aren't you ashamed to be displaying such vices before the City’s inhabitants! What will they take us for?"

  The rat rolled his eyes in terror. "President, I swear I didn't do nothing."

  "Are you casting doubt on the High Commissioner's word?" Emil Poulet stood up. "I can bear witness. I'm the one who gave him the money."

  Baudruche would have happily killed the stupid fool. With a forced smile he said, "I forgot to introduce Mr. Poulet, the architect in charge of your project."

  The President rose to his feet.

  "I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Poulet, but I wish it had been under different circumstances." He looked grieved and turned to the Commissioner. "How could such a distinguished person, an official of the City, indulge himself in a disreputable game which is condoned neither by morality nor law?"