by Albert Cohen
CHAPTER 3
Sitting on the edge of her bed, she shivered in her evening gown. A madman, she was in a locked bedroom with a madman and the madman had the key. Should she call for help? No point: no one else in the house. He had stopped talking now. He was standing with his back to her in front of the swing-mirror, observing himself in his long greatcoat and the fur hat which was pulled down over his ears.
She shuddered. She saw that he was looking at her in the mirror now, smiling at her as he stroked that awful white beard. His pensive stroking was horrible. His toothless smile was horrible. No, don't be afraid. He himself had said she had nothing to fear, that he only wished to talk to her and then he would go. Even so, he was a madman and might be dangerous. He turned round abruptly and she sensed he was about to speak. That's it, pretend to listen as though you're interested.
'One evening at the Ritz, an evening decreed by Destiny, on the occasion of the Brazilian reception, I saw you for the very first time and loved you at once,' he said, and again he smiled his dark smile where two fangs gleamed. 'But how was it that I, poor and old as I am, should be present at such a glittering affair? I was simply there as a waiter, a waiter in the employ of the Ritz, serving drinks to ministers and ambassadors, a rabble of men who were once my kind in the days when I was young and rich and powerful, the days before my fall and slide into poverty. And on that evening decreed by Destiny at the Ritz, she appeared unto me, noble in the midst of the ignoble did she appear, awesome in her beauty, she and I and no one else in the crowd of smart operators and attention-seekers who were once my kind, we two alone were exiles, she as lonely as I and as heartsick and disdainful as I and talking to no one, having no friend but herself, but at the first flutter of those eyes I knew her. It was She, the Unexpected One so long awaited, revealed as the Chosen One on that evening decreed by Destiny, proclaimed by the first flutter of her long curved lashes. She, divine Bokhara, favoured Samarkand, an embroidery of intricate pattern. And who is She? Why, you!'
He stopped, looked at her, and once more there came that toothless smile, the abject badge of old age. She controlled the trembling in her legs, lowered her eyes so that she would not have to see that horrible, adoring smile. Endure it, say nothing, pretend to be sympathetic.
'Other men take weeks, months before they fall in love, and even then they love but tepidly, nor can they dispense with endless talk, shared tastes and crystallizations. All I needed was one flutter of her eyelashes. Say I am mad, but believe me. A flutter of lashes, and she looked at me but did not see me, and suddenly I beheld the glory of spring and the sun and the warm sea and the transparency of water near the shore and my youth restored and the world fresh-minted, and I knew that no one before her, not Adrienne nor Aude nor Isolde nor any who peopled my splendour and youth, I knew that they had merely prepared a way for her and were her handmaidens. No one came before her nor will come after her, I swear it on the Scrolls of the Holy Law when in solemn state they pass before me in the synagogue, arrayed in gold and velvet, the Holy Commandments of the God in whom I do not believe but revere, for I am absurdly proud of my God, God of Abraham and of Isaac, God of Jacob, and I thrill to my very core when I hear His name and His words.
'But now listen and you shall hear a marvel. Wearying of the ignoble crowd, she fled the room and the chatter of the seekers of contacts and sought voluntary exile in a small adjoining antechamber which was deserted. Who is She? Why, you! A voluntary exile like myself, and she did not know that I was behind the curtains watching her. Then, and listen well now, she went up to the mirror that hung in that antechamber, for she has a mania for looking-glasses as I do, it is the mania of sad and lonely people, and, alone and unaware that she was observed, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to the glass of the mirror. Our first kiss, my love. O my mad sister, loved at first sight, transformed into my beloved by that kiss administered by herself unto herself. Oh how tall and slender. Oh those long curved lashes in the mirror! and my soul flew out and clung to her long curved lashes. A flutter of eyes, the space of a kiss in a mirror, and she was revealed for ever. Say I am mad, but believe me. And that was all. When she had returned to the crowded room, I did not approach her, I did not speak to her, I did not wish to treat her like the others.
'Now hear another of her splendours. Late one afternoon, weeks later, I followed her along the shore of the lake. I saw her pause and talk to an old horse harnessed to a cart. She talked to it earnestly, considerately, my mad mistress, as though to a kindly uncle, and the old horse nodded its head sagely. Then it started to rain. She rummaged in the back of the cart and produced a canvas sheet which she threw over the old horse with such gestures, the gestures of a young mother. And then, listen carefully, she kissed the old horse on the neck and said, must have said, for I know her, my brilliant, crazy love, she must have said, indeed said that she was sorry but she had to go because she was expected back at home. But don't fret, she must have said, she said, your master will come soon and you'll soon be out of the rain in a lovely warm stable. Goodbye, darling, she must have said, she said, for I know her. And she walked away with pity in her heart, pity for that poor docile old creature which did what it was bid without protest, went where its master ordered and would even go to Spain if its master so commanded. Goodbye, darling, she said, for I know her.
'Day after day from that evening decreed by Destiny forth, such longing for her. Oh She of All Charms. How tall and slender and marvellous of face. Oh eyes of gold-flecked mist, eyes set too far apart, those thoughtful corners of her mouth and her lips heavy with pity and intelligence, oh She whom I love. The way she smiled, like a retarded little girl, when I hid behind the curtains of her bedroom and observed her and came to know her secret follies, a Himalayan mountain-climber wearing a tam with a cock's feather in it, queen of beasts which she took out of a cardboard box, revelling in her absurdities as I did, O my clever one, my sister, intended by fate to be mine alone, meant for me, blessed be your mother, your beauty unmans me. Oh the tender madness and terrifying joy when you look at me, the intoxication when you look at me. Oh night! Oh this love of mine inside me, eternally enclosed within me and perpetually released so that I may contemplate it, and then folded away once more and shut up and kept in my heart. Oh she who permeates my sleeping hours, so loving when I sleep, her tender complicity in my sleep. Oh she whose name I write with my finger in the air or, when I am alone, inscribe on paper. I doodle her name, carefully retaining all the letters, and I jumble them and make up Tahitian names, names for all her charms, Rianea, Eniraa, Raneia, Aneira, Neiraa, Niaera, Ireana, Enaira, all the names of my love.
'Oh she whose sacred name I speak during my solitary walks and patrols around the house where she sleeps, for I watch over her as she sleeps, and she does not know that I watch, and I speak her name in secret to the trees, and I tell them, for I am mad for her long curved lashes, that I am in love, that I love the woman I love who will love me too, for I love her as no one else could, and why should she not love me back, she who can truly love a toad, and she will love me, love me, love me, the paragon will love me, and each evening I shall wait yearningly for the moment when I shall see her again and I shall make myself handsome to please her, and I shall shave, shave myself so close to please her, I shall bathe, bathe for an age to make the time pass more quickly, and all the time I shall think of her, and soon it will be time, oh the wonder of it, the snatches of song in the car which will carry me to her, to she who waits for me, towards her long star-spangled lashes, and the soon look, the look in her eyes when I stand before her, she waiting at her door, tall and slender and dressed all in white, ready and beautiful for me, ready and fearful lest she mar her beauty if I should delay, and darting to her mirror to view her beauty, to see if her beauty is still there, still intact, and then returning to the door and waiting for me in a cloud of love, heart-stoppingly standing at her door under the roses, oh tender night! Oh youth that is mine once more! Oh the wonder when I stand before her! th
e look in her eyes! the love we share! and she shall lower her head to my extended hand, a simple country-girl now, and oh the wonder of her kiss upon my hand! and she shall look up at me and our eyes shall light up with love and we shall smile at loving so, you and I, and glory be to God.'
He smiled at her, and she shuddered and averted her eyes. Horrible, that toothless smile. Horrible, the words of love which had escaped from that vacant mouth. He advanced one step and she felt the danger come near. Don't cross him, say whatever he wants to hear, but O God make him go, let him be gone!
'Behold, I stand before you,' said he, 'I am come. I am old but await your miracle. Here am I, feeble and poor, white of beard, and of teeth I have but two, but no man will love you or know you as I love and know you, nor could another honour you with such love. Two teeth only, but I give them to you with my love. Will you receive this love of mine?'
'Rather,' she said and she moistened her dry lips and essayed a smile.
'Glory be to God,' said he, 'in truth glory, for here is she who redeemeth all women. Behold the first woman!'
He bent his knee before her, a gesture which made him look quite ridiculous, then stood up and came towards her, towards their first kiss, came with his dark smile that was the badge of old age, his hands reaching out to she who redeemed all women, the first woman, who suddenly recoiled, backed away with a coarse yelp, a yelp of fear and hate, collided with the bedside table, grabbed the empty tooth-glass and hurled it at that antique face. He raised his hand to his eye, wiped the blood away and stared at the blood on his hand. Then he laughed and stamped his foot.
'Turn away, you little fool!' said he.
She obeyed, turned round, stood still, alone with the fear that she was about to get a bullet in the back of her head. Meanwhile, he drew back the curtains, leaned out of the window, put two fingers to his lips and whistled. Then he rid himself of the old greatcoat and the fur hat, took off his false beard, removed the black tape which covered his teeth, and retrieved his riding-crop from behind the curtains.
'Turn round,' he ordered.
In the tall horseman with the wild, black hair and the sharp, smooth features, a dark, clean-cut diamond, she recognized the man her husband had from a distance whisperingly pointed out to her at the Brazilian reception.
'That's right, Solal, the height of bad taste,' he grinned toothsomely. 'Boots!', he said, pointing to them, and he thwacked his right leg for joy. 'And I have a horse waiting for me outside. There were two. The second, you poor fool, was for you, and we would have ridden away for ever side by side, young, with all our teeth, I have thirty-two, all perfect, you can check and count them, or you could have ridden pillion and I would have borne you off gloriously towards the happiness which is lacking in your life. But I don't feel like it now, and all of a sudden your nose is too big, and it shines like a lighthouse, and anyway it's just as well. I shall leave now. But first, female of the species, hear me! Female thou art and as a female shalt thou be done by. Vilely shall I seduce you as you deserve and as you want. When we meet again, and it shall be soon, in two hours I shall ravish you in ways that women love and cannot resist, foul and filthy ways, and you, love's great fool, shall be mine, and it is in this wise that I shall avenge the old and the ugly and all the poor innocents who could never fan your flame, and you will come away with me, in doe-eyed ecstasy. Meanwhile, stay here with Deume until it pleases me to whistle for you as I whistle for a dog!'
'I shall tell my husband everything,' she said. And she felt ashamed, foolish, shabby.
'Good idea,' he smiled. 'A duel. Pistols. Six paces so that he can't miss. Tell him he has nothing to fear. I'll fire in the air. But I know you. You won't say anything.'
'I'll tell him everything and he'll kill you!'
'I simply love dying,' he said with a smile, and he wiped the blood from the eye she had cut. 'Next time, doe-eyed!' he said with another smile and he climbed out of the window.
'Bully!' she shouted, and again felt ashamed.
He landed in the soft earth beneath, then straddled the white thoroughbred which, held by the valet, stood pawing the ground. Spurred on, the horse pricked up its ears, reared up and then broke into a gallop, and its rider laughed, for he knew that she was watching from her window. He gave another laugh, dropped the reins, stood in his stirrups and held both arms out wide, a towering image of youth, laughing and wiping the blood from the eye which she had cut, the blood which fell in streaks like living benedictions across his bare torso, behold the Knight of the Bleeding Countenance, laughing and urging his steed forward and speaking words of love into its ear.
Quitting the window, she stamped on the remnants of the shattered glass, tore page after page out of the book by Bergson, hurled her little alarm clock against the wall, and then heaved on the neckline of her low-cut gown with both hands so that her right breast fell out of the long tear she had made. That's it, go and see Adrien, tell him everything and tomorrow they'll fight a duel. Tomorrow, see the swine made ghastly pale by her husband's pistol, see him fall mortally wounded. When she was decent again, she went across to the swing-mirror and spent some time examining her nose in her reflection.
CHAPTER 4
Swinging his heavy walking-stick with the ivory raven's-head handle, all too aware of his cream spats and yellow gloves, replete after the delicious lunch he had eaten at the Perle du Lac, he strode along self-importantly, charmed by the thought of the toxins that had been burned off during his long post-prandial perambulation.
When he arrived outside the Palais des Nations, he paused to drink it in. Throwing back his head and breathing deeply through his nostrils, he admired its power and the salaries it paid. An official, he was an official for goodness sake, and he worked in a palace, an immense palace which was brand-new, the latest thing in palace design, old man, every modern convenience! And no income tax, he murmured as he made for the entrance.
Ennobled by the dignity of high social service, he acknowledged the doorman's salute with a paternalistic nod and set off down the long corridor, breathing in the gorgeous smell of floor-polish and giving somewhat feminine greetings to any superior he encountered. Stepping into the lift, he glanced at himself in the mirror. Adrien Deume, international civil servant, he told his reflection, and he smiled. Oh yes, quite brilliant, it had come to him yesterday, to think of starting a literary society. It was just the thing for increasing his list of useful contacts. All the big noises from the Secretariat would be on the committee, he decided as he got out on the fourth floor. Yes, having contacts with the big noises in gatherings that had nothing to do with admin and were on the classy and artistic side was a terrific wheeze for getting to know the right people. Offer the chair to the big boss and he could have fruitful little talks with him. And later on, when he was really in, a spot of astute manoeuvring with a view to promotion to grade A!
'And that stinker Solal can be Vice-Chairman!' he sniggered as he opened his office door.
Once inside, his first glance, as always, was for his in-tray. O God! Four new files! With the twelve that came yesterday that made sixteen in all! And all for immediate action! Not a single one for information only! A charming welcome for someone just back from sick-leave. Fair enough, it had been a wangle, but VV didn't know that, he thought he'd really been ill. Really, no consideration! VV, what a bastard! (His boss, Jonkheer Vincent van Vries, Head of the Mandates Section, always signed his notes with his initials. Among themselves, his subordinates accordingly called him VV.)