Labrique looked up in astonishment.
"Oh, it's you. You scared me. I thought it might be a reader."
"Isn't that what you're here for?"
"Yes, but I'd rather they didn't come. What may I offer you? Something easy for a start? Or have you come to return the Montesquieu you borrowed?"
"Close up the Library and come with me."
"You want me to desert my post? What for?"
"I want you to come to the Church. There isn't a moment to spare. It's beginning to crumble all over."
"Let her crumble. There's nothing you can do. Besides, I'm no longer the architect. Why don't you take Edge?"
"He's hopeless; he's a fathead."
Finally Labrique gave in with a gesture of lordly condescension. "O.K. I need some fresh air anyway."
Baudruche wanted to hurry, but not Labrique. The Commissioner had to prod him up the narrow, twisting streets that led up to the Church. As they penetrated the old neighborhood, they could feel the anxiety all around them. People were talking on their doorsteps and looking up to the sky.
When the sound of falling stones reached their ears, Labrique lost the last of his nonchalance.
Baudruche commanded every man he passsed to follow him, and to alert any others he could find. A cloud of grayish dust filled the air, obscuring the Church. The stones shattered as they fell and covered everything with a thin powder. Oblivious to the danger, a large crowd had formed around the enormous edifice.
"They're mad," Labrique said.
"They're all right. They're out of the range of the falling rock."
"But the whole thing is about to cave in. Everybody should be evacuated. There isn't a moment to spare."
Baudruche barked out orders. His men gradually pushed the crowd back. Used to obeying, the people retreated without asking questions. Baudruche took a group of men into the houses nearby and explained why the inhabitants were being asked to leave. The people listened politely, complied and left with only the barest essentials, but it was obvious no one believed him. They kept looking up to the sky. . . .
"Come look, Baudruche."
The Commissioner and Labrique approached the Church. It was shuddering like a stricken beast. The architect pointed to a long crack, the same one Baudruche had noticed on his last visit. It was much larger.
"Look, it's growing under our very eyes, as if an invisible crayon were extending it in both directions. It's done for, Baudruche. Just let's hope it doesn't cause too much damage when it collapses."
"What about the two men? They must still be inside."
What could he do with them? There was no way to use them outside the Church. Too bad; two lost men. Once out of their crumbling world, they would cause only trouble.
"Bicard, go call the Department of Hospitals and tell them we need two places right away."
Through the wide-open door—the right half had fallen to the floor—Baudruche looked into the interior. Most of the ridiculous decorations had come away from the walls and were lying on the ground, gilt and painted plaster mixed with the rubble.
"See, Baudruche, now you can make out the lines of the old building. It was well built at the beginning, then they forgot the original plan. They were forever changing the poor old thing, trying to pass it off for what it wasn't, forgetting that its original purpose was to provide a refuge and gathering place for people. That's what did it in."
"I've got to find those two men."
It was beginning to look dangerous. Labrique tried to hold Baudruche back, but the Commissioner shook him off and marched down the long nave alone, a dimming figure in the swirling dust. Baudruche followed their voices for guidance. Still the same jabber, still the same phrases repeated back and forth, back and forth. They finally emerged, a white carapace covering their dark clothes, like two gesticulating statues fallen from their niches. It was a wonder they hadn't been killed by the hail of stones. Baudruche called to them. They took no more notice of him than they had the first time. But time pressed. He walked between them and pushed them apart.
"Stop talking and leave at once. The Church is about to collapse."
The two men stood still, struck dumb with surprise. Then they broke into hysterical laughter. One of them pointed at Baudruche and screamed:
"He's a madman! He says the Church is about to collapse. Doesn't he know the Church is eternal!"
Their laughter turned to fury. They denounced Baudruche, calling him a blasphemer, a heathen, and a lot of other names he didn't recognize. Undaunted, he grabbed each of them by an arm and tried to drag them out. They broke away. Baudruche seized one of them around the waist but the man clung to a pillar. The other tried to stop Baudruche by strangling him. The Commissioner gave up. Madness had given them the strength of ten. For the first time they agreed about something: both wanted to crush the sacrilegious monster. They chased him down the nave, stirring up great clouds of dust. One brandishing a halberd, the other a bent stick, they shouted in unison:
"Anathema! Anathema!"
Baudruche made it to the outside without serious injury. Why wouldn't people let him help them?
Labrique was furious with him.
"Baudruche, you're a damn fool to waste your life on those crackpots."
"You're probably right, but some things are instinctive."
As they moved away from the Church, they could see the two men standing by the battered door, shouting in triumph. That was Baudruche's last sight of them, for as they started back inside, the whole vast edifice began to tremble and sway from side to side, then collapsed in a disaster of dust and stone.
It took a long time for the dust to settle. Baudruche could make out Labrique next to him but little else. Neither looked at the other; both felt an overwhelming sadness. Finally, they dared to venture into the ruins. Labrique climbed over the piles of stones and occasionally picked up a fragment of sculpture. He looked it over carefully then put it back.
"There were some nice things here, you know."
Bicard arrived breathless.
"I talked to the Director of Hospitals, Mr. Commissioner. He has reserved two places in the ward for incurables."
"Suitable, but no longer necessary, I'm afraid."
The flying stone had perforated the houses in the immediate vicinity as if they were paper. One by one, the inhabitants returned and looked about, not understanding. One of them went up to Baudruche.
"What will we do now, without the Church?"
"Whatever you did before."
"We'll be afraid. Tell me, will they build us another one?"
"Ask the Prefect. But it would surprise me if he did."
Groups formed. First they only whispered, then they grew bolder and spoke out loud: Could the Church have fallen all by itself? It must have been undermined from outside, by the people in the lower City.
A group of women approached timidly.
"Where will we live now?"
"I'll see if there's any room left in the refugees' barracks."
They grew pale.
"You mean we will have to live with the people of the lower City? We can't, Mr. Commissioner. We'd be frightened."
Labrique tugged his sleeve.
"Come on, there's nothing you can do here."
"I'm just trying to do my job."
"Yes, but maybe not the way you should."
The architect left, complaining that he'd wasted two hours for nothing while a reader might have been trying to get into the Library. . . .
"What time is it, Bicard? My watch must be fast."
It wasn't; his lunchtime was long past. He hurried to the Hotel.
His arrival was greeted with astonishment. The Commissioner was unrecognizable—covered with a fine white powder, breathless, his clothes torn.
"Is Mrs. Poulet in?"
"Yes, Mr. Commissioner; she just went up to her room."
He ran into Posey in the second-floor hall. She was startled.
"Ah, Mr. Commissioner, you're enough
to scare the rats, that's for sure!"
He moved on, unable to think how to put that fresh snippet in her place.
Elisa was sitting in a chair, dreaming.
"How are you, Elisa?"
"Fine. I'm very happy."
"I'm glad someone is. Did you see yesterday's paper?"
"No, why should I? Nothing ever happens and I have better things to think about."
Suddenly she laughed: she had just taken in the Commissioner's condition.
"Good heavens! What happened to you? You can't go around looking like that."
"I was about to tell you a very disagreeable piece of news about your husband."
"Let me brush you, clean you up, see that you're mended. . . ."
Elisa took Baudruche's hat and coat while the Commissioner explained how Emil Poulet had abandoned the City at great risk to himself. Elisa was too busy to answer in anything more than monosyllables.
He said, "You don't seem very interested."
"It's very confusing. And I'm so happy. . ."
Patiently, Baudruche went over it again. She tried to show more concern. She was very glad for Emil; he had never adjusted well to the City. He'd be much better off down there. How soon would he be coming back? No, no, it was of no importance. She didn't need him at all.
Elisa and her happiness exasperated Baudruche. People shouldn't be thinking about happiness at a time like this. His voice went dry as he asked her if she had learned anything more about the stranger's ideas or plans.
"His plans, his ideas? I think I can guess."
"What are they?"
"He thinks only about me."
Elisa was especially trying today. All he got for his pains was that she finally remembered the stranger had given her an envelope for the Commissioner.
So he needed more money? Baudruche left and Elisa thanked him for her happiness with a kiss on both cheeks. Baudruche stormed as he went down the stairs.
He bought two sandwiches at the Hotel bar and hurried back to his office where he had summoned the men who had volunteered to serve on Emil Poulet's team. Cautiously and at great length, he gave them to understand that this trip would be full of risks, that they would prove themselves more useful to the City if they stayed here. . . . He tried every argument that might make them give up the project. It was a lost cause. Each of them had received a letter from the Prefect congratulating him on his decision: their place was there, not here.
Discouraged, Baudruche left them to their fate and sent them off with a farewell handshake. In another half hour, he had something even worse coming up: Esther's lecture. Because it threatened to be ugly, he was taking twenty of his men. It might well not be enough.
Through the window, he could see that the room was full to overflowing. Baudruche recognized a number of faces from the photographs in his files: all the troublemakers, all the do-gooders, all the City's pains-in-the-ass were there.
Esther dominated the group, both by virtue of her character and her position on the platform. At first, Baudruche couldn't hear her for the applause. When things had calmed down a little, he heard her say:
"That's why I asked you women to come here. It's for yesterday's oppressed to come to the aid of today's."
She covered everything, criticized everything, except them. Only they saw clearly, only they were reasonable, only they wanted peace. Why, she herself had already been tested and made to suffer for it. What was her crime? That she had spent her life fighting the selfishness of the City's inhabitants, that she had wanted to see their neighbors, the rats, find their rightful place in the sun. Her ideas had run counter to her husband's and he had avenged himself in a most despicable and cowardly manner. The room reverberated with indignation. The name of Hector Labrique was on everyone's lips.
Esther made a sweeping gesture. She couldn't tell them what he had done; they must respect her womanly modesty. But they were free to imagine what a jealous man was capable of. What she could tell them, in fact it was her duty to tell them, was that he had an accomplice, a highly place accomplice, whose name was Baudruche. . . .
The atmosphere in the room grew stormy and filled with threats. Several women rose and clenched their fists at an imaginary adversary.
Esther continued, her voice rising, her gestures becoming more belligerent. Her final moment was an apogee of pathos. Stepping back to the wall, Esther struck a touching pose of resignation, head bent, one hand covering her breast. There was an almost religious silence. Then the entire audience rose in a delirium. Baudruche could hear his name and Labrique's on every side—the suggestions that they be hanged, drowned, drawn and quartered. The women seized placards scattered about the room and started painting slogans on them. Baudruche caught sight of one that coupled his name with insults.
Placards on high, the women flung open the door and prepared to fan out into the City.
It was the moment Baudruche had been waiting for. He blew his whistle and dashed after them, his men in his wake. The crowd that had gathered outside scattered at the threat of violence. Baudruche's men were now face to face with the Women's League. The men tried to seize the placards. The shock troops of women went in swinging. The intellectuals, both noisier and cleverer than their sisters, bit and clawed their opponents from the rear. At last, the forces of law got the upper hand and Baudruche's men cleared the hall, arresting thirty of the league's most ferocious fighters. Among these were its president, on whom Baudruche claimed the honor of affixing handcuffs.
Five of his men sought first-aid treatment at the nearest pharmacy. Then the group, with Baudruche at its head, marched in triumph to police headquarters.
"Lock them up for the night. Inform the parents of minors if there are any, and the husbands, if any were mad enough to marry these hellions, and keep a close watch over Esther Labrique. We may get her on charges of sedition and incitement to crime and violence."
The stranger was on the ramparts, conversing with the soldier.
"What's new?"
"Nothing much since yesterday when some guys came with scrubbing brushes and cleaned the jam off the walls. They had a hard time of it. What was that big noise I heard awhile back?"
"It was the Church falling down."
"Why did they let it do that?"
"Because they weren't using it anymore and also because they thought it would hold up a lot longer."
"I haven't been to church since I was a kid, but I don't like that all the same. Church is where I took communion. You should have seen me with my armband and my candle! My mother was bawling and my father gave her hell. I went back later, but then it was to pinch coppers from the collection box with a corset stay tipped with glue. You know the trick? But one day the priest caught me and pulled my ears. What happened to the priest in your Church?"
"The Church fell on him."
"Jesus, that's terrible!"
"What happened down here last night? They say they heard shouting and singing. Was there a brawl?"
"The place was full of workers dressed the way they used to, in velvet trousers and wide red sashes. They were arguing and bawling and singing. They carried red flags and lots of posters that said 'We need food.' Their wives and kids were standing behind. They didn't look very pleasant, I can tell you! Then they all walked up to a regiment that was waiting for them, guns at the ready. The soldiers were dressed, like the soldiers in my father's time—with kepis, epaulettes and short spats. Very sharp! When the commanding officer saw the mob coming at them with their mean faces and flags and posters, he ordered the soldiers to fire.
"When the prolos heard that, they seemed to waver. They stopped; some of them picked up pebbles off the ground, others shouted:
" 'Don't shoot, boys. We aren't Prussians!'
"The soldiers looked at each other. They didn't know what to do. Then one of them cried out:
" 'Aim at the sky!'
"They all followed suit. Naturally, the mob felt better. They went up to the soldiers and explained that they did
n't have enough to eat. The soldiers understood.
"It was suppertime. The soldiers took out their pots and started cooking and everybody ate together, me included. It was beef and beans. Like every night, they said.
"After that, they went off in separate directions. As they were leaving, the soldiers said it wasn't worth getting them out of their barracks for a thing like that—that it wasn't their job. What do you think?"
"What do you think?" the stranger asked.
"I think they were right. Our job is war. And that wasn't war. I don't know what you call a situation like that. Politics, maybe? No, it wasn't even politics. It was just guys who were hungry which made them a little mean. People have got to understand that. Besides, even if it was politics, it was none of their business. A soldier isn't supposed to get involved in politics—especially when he's holding a gun."
Things were going from bad to worse around the Factory. The rats had taken over whole blocks. The moving men couldn't keep up with the work. So the tenants moved out, leaving their possessions behind. Sometimes they carried a suitcase or two, surreptitiously, like thieves. They were afraid.
Strange noises came out of the apartments. There were people in the stairways who tried to pick fights. Women didn't dare go out alone for fear of the rats' advances.
A few of the inhabitants summoned the courage to complain at the delegation. The President received them warmly, made all sorts of excuses, explained that it must have been a rat in his cups—weren't there drunks everywhere, even among the inhabitants? They had only to point him out and the President would see that he was punished. The inhabitants left, proud and happy over their reception. But soon after, they were conscious of being followed by the same people they'd complained about. So they rushed home, took the stairs four at a time, pulled out their keys with trembling fingers.
There was not enough time to close the door; a foot slid between door and jamb. Neighbors then heard sounds of furniture being shoved around, beatings, bodies falling, children's screams.
There were no further complaints to the President. The next day, the door was half gnawed away, a stone crashed through the window. Then they hurriedly packed two suitcases and left.
The Walled City Page 18