Her Lover (Belle de Seigneur)

by Albert Cohen

  He gave an amused, pained laugh. So modest, so decent! She'd gone to bed with an initial! She had deceived him, was still deceiving him, with an initial!

  'Oh, I get it. If what you did with Dietsch was wrong, then what you did with me was also wrong. As if I didn't know! I've had to pay a high enough price for it.'

  'What do you mean?'

  Yes, he at least paid for adultery in the hell of a love lived in quarantine, a hell that had lasted thirteen months, twenty-four hours a day, the hell of living with the knowledge that each day she loved him a little less. Whereas her bandleader was a lucky man, for every time they met was wonderful because they did not meet often, every time was party time, and the presence in the background of her grindingly boring husband added spice to the proceedings.

  'What do you mean?' she repeated.

  Should he scream at her that this was the first time in an age that they were free of their anaemia, that at last being together actually meant something? But if he did, what would the poor girl have left? No, he must spare her the humiliation.

  'I don't know what I meant.'

  'Well, in that case I'd be grateful if you'd go away. I must get dressed.'

  'Does it bother you to put a skirt on in front of the man who succeeded your bandleader?' he said, listlessly, mechanically, feeling no pain, for he was weary.

  'Please go.'

  He went. In the hall he felt a twinge of anxiety. Surely she wouldn't call his bluff and actually leave? She appeared, suitcase in hand, wearing a smart grey suit, the one he liked her in best, and face made up. How beautiful she looked. She made slowly for the door and slowly opened it.

  'Goodbye,' she said, and she looked at him for the last time.

  'I can't say I'm happy at the idea of your leaving at three in the morning. What will you do in the station until seven? It's only a halt, and the waiting-room is locked at night. It would be more sensible to leave just before the train is due, at least that way it won't be as tiring for you as standing around in the cold.'

  'Very well, I'll wait in my room until twenty to seven,' she said when he'd been sufficiently insistent for her to feel that she could accept with honour.

  'Get some rest, try and get some sleep, but set the alarm in case you go off into a deep sleep. Set it for six thirty, or even twenty past six, it's a fair way to the station from here. Well then, I'll say goodbye now. Sure you don't want any money?'

  'Positive, thanks.'

  'Right then, that's it. Goodbye.'

  Back in his own room, he removed his white gloves, picked up the teddy-bear, and changed its boots for green espadrilles and its sombrero for a little straw boater. The charm of this soon wore off. Telling himself he was thirsty, he went into the kitchen, got a bottle of lime cordial from a cupboard, and then put it back again. He returned to his room to put his gloves on again, then knocked on her door. She was standing by her case, with her arms crossed and her hands on her shoulders, and wearing a dressing-gown, which reassured him.

  'Sorry to disturb you, but I'm thirsty. Where's the lime cordial?'

  'In the big cupboard in the kitchen, bottom shelf, left-hand side.'

  It struck her immediately that if he went and got it himself she wouldn't see him again. So she offered to go and fetch the juice of the lime herself. He said thank you. She asked him where he wanted it, here or in his room? It struck him that if she brought it to his room she'd go away again at once.

  'Well, I'm here,' he said coolly.

  Alone, he checked in the mirror. The white gloves looked very well against the black dressing-gown. When she returned from the kitchen, she set the silver tray gracefully on the table, poured the lime cordial, topped it up with mineral water, added two ice-cubes with a pair of silver tongs, stirred, handed him the glass and sat down. She pulled her dressing-gown down modestly so that it hid her legs. He tipped the contents of the glass on to the carpet.

  'Raise your dressing-gown!'

  'No!'

  'Raise it!'

  'No!'

  'If Dietsch was allowed to see, then I want to see too!'

  Holding one hand firmly on her knees, she began to sob, her face crumpled, and this made him furiously angry. She wouldn't show him what she had shown another man and she had the nerve to be coy! Why should he be the only one who was never shown anything? He went on and on repeating his monotonous request that she lift her dressing-gown, until the relentlessly repeated words lost all meaning. 'Raise it, raise it, raise it, raise it!' At last, to make the voice stop, distraught and humiliated, she raised her dressing-gown and revealed her long, silky legs and her thighs.

  'There, you brute, you horrible, cruel brute, are you satisfied now?'

  Her whole body shook, and her face, traversed by waves of conflicting emotion, was a thing of terror and beauty. He started towards her.

  'I am your woman,' she said through her tears as she lay, marvellously lay, under him, and he washed over her like breaking waves and she broke over him and said that he mustn't be unkind to her any more, said again that she was his woman, and he adored his woman and broke over her like waves. Oh chafing love, song of contending flesh, primal rhythm, overmastering rhythm, sacred rhythm. Oh the deep thrusting, the shuddering release, the despairing smile of life which at last breaks free and makes life eternal.

  First Dietsch, now me! he thought, their two bodies still joined. Dietsch before him in these same latitudes! 'Not much,' she'd said, but that 'not much' was a lie, 'not much' didn't mean feeling nothing, he thought, their two bodies still joined. And if she had felt once, why not the other times too? Besides, if it were true that she'd felt no pleasure after the first time, she wouldn't have persisted. Therefore, oh yes, each time with Dietsch. He rolled off her. She saw the madness in his eyes and jumped naked out of bed, opened the French window, fled into the garden, and fell over. A brightness of smooth flesh agleam with moonlight. He gave a start. She would catch her death lying naked in the damp grass!

  'Come back! I won't hurt you!'

  As he approached, she scrambled to her feet and made off at a run towards the rose-hedge. In the still black trees, the first little stouthearted birds were greeting the coming dawn, lovingly greeting each other, whereas she was running, running away from him, afraid of him. He went back into the house, reappeared carrying the vicuna coat, put it down on the gravel of the drive, shouted that she was not to be afraid, that he would shut himself in his room, that she was to put the coat on.

  He watched for her behind his bedroom curtains, saw her at last make up her mind to come in, saw her wearing the coat, submissive. But why didn't she button it up? Her pitiful vulnerability glimpsed through the chink of the flapping coat. 'Button it up, my darling, button up, my precious, don't catch cold, you are so fragile,' he murmured against the glass.

  Moments later he went into her room and found her pale and motionless, her blue-ringed eyes staring unblinkingly at the ruins of her life. He winced to see her hurt and suffering through his fault. A brute, he was a brute, and he was accursed. To alleviate her distress, he feigned a grief which in fact he felt quite genuinely, sat down heavily to attract her attention, and let his head rest on the table-top.

  He knew her, her heart was kind. When she saw him suffering, she would want to comfort him, would draw near and comfort him, would come close and take away her lover's pain, and in so doing she would forget her own pain and feel better. But she did not come immediately, and he heaved a sigh. At last she came to him, leaned over him, stroked his hair, appeased by her mission to comfort him. Suddenly an image of Dietsch in full manhood leaped fully formed into his mind. Oh the slut! He looked up.

  'How big?'

  'How big what?'

  'How big was he?'

  'O God, what's the point? What is the point?' she exclaimed with a grimace of despair.

  'There's a great deal of point!' he said solemnly. 'It's the whole point of my life! Say: how big!'

  'I've no idea. Five foot five, I think.'r />
  Taking a perverse pleasure in believing that Dietsch was possessed of mighty attributes, he recoiled in horror and put one hand to his lips. What sort of monster was this man!

  'I understand everything now,' he said, and he began pacing to and fro, arms raised in total stupefaction while she cried and gave nervous laughs and hated herself for laughing. Was she in hell? The damned probably laughed as they burned.

  'This is too awful,' she said.

  'As you say, five feet and five inches is awful,' he said. 'Whatever complexion you put on it, I can quite see it's too awful. It's also too big.'

  Broad daylight outside. He was standing in front of her. She sat as though turned to stone, not moving a muscle and rocked from time to time by fits of shivering. He had been talking at her indefatigably for hours. He stood there, his dressing-gown lying on the floor, still wearing his gloves but otherwise completely naked, for he felt hot, with three lighted cigarettes between his lips, and smoked, wreathed in a fug which made her sinner's eyes sting, smoked greedily and talked non-stop, with the smell of Dietsch sweat in his nostrils, his eyes filled by the image of his darling's lips touching filthy Dietsch lips, oh, those four small loathsome steaklets in perpetual motion. Oratorical and prophetic, absurd and high-minded, he talked and talked, and his head pounded and his eyes ached with the constant spectacle of their adulterous bodies and their wantoning tongues, and he accused, denounced, catalogued the foulness of the sinful woman who sat before him, invoked the example of his respectable grandmothers who chastely hid their hair in beaded nets, for hair is a form of nakedness saith the Talmud, and praised to the skies the virtuous sexual ineptitude of the Jewesses of Cephalonia, for whom a handsome man meant a man of girth and presence. And faithful to their lords and husbands every one!

  Motionless, head bowed, she heard him through the swirls of cigarette smoke, barely understanding, numbed by sleep and unhappi-ness, while he, sick at heart, gave clownish impersonations of Dietsch and Ariane locked in fond embrace, made mock to demean them, to break the spell cast by Dietsch the distant, Dietsch the desirable. In the end she struggled to her feet, determined to make her escape. But she hadn't the strength to catch trains. Check in at the Royal instead. Oh to be free of this, to hear the sound of his voice no more, to sleep.

  'Let me go.'

  He came close and pinched her ear, but there was no venom in the gesture. He had no wish to harm her. But beg her to stay? Out of the question. His arm was limp and his fingers felt unreal, but he pinched her ear again in the hope that the scene would continue, for then she would stay.

  'Stop it! Don't touch me!'

  'Didn't he touch you?'

  'The way he touched me was different,' she muttered, stupid with sleep and lassitude.

  Different! Oh, how could she be so shameless! And she had the nerve to say it to his face! He resisted the temptation to hit her. If he hit her, she would leave. The alarm went off. Six thirty. At all costs stop her thinking about the seven o'clock train.

  'Repeat what you just said.'

  'What did I say?'

  'You said the way he touched you was different.'

  'All right. "The way he touched me was different."'

  'What do you mean "different"?'

  'He didn't pinch my ear.'

  'Why not?' he asked mechanically, with nothing particular in mind, for the show had to go on.

  'Why not what?'

  'Why didn't he pinch your ear?'

  'Because he wasn't common.'

  He glanced at himself in the mirror. Ah, so he was common, in spite of the white gloves.

  'How did he touch you, then?'

  'I don't remember.'

  'Tell me how he touched you.'

  'But you know already! (He stopped himself from hitting her.) Good God, don't you see that you're turning our love into something dirty?'

  'That's all to the good. But I forbid you to speak of our love. There's no such thing as our love any more. You've thrown it away, dietsched it.'

  'In that case, let me go.'

  'And did you say that you were his woman too? Probably said it in German. "Ich bin deine Frau."'

  'I never spoke German to him.'

  'Did you say it in French?'

  'I didn't say anything to him.'

  'Not true. You couldn't have not talked to each other. Tell me what you said to him during those special moments.' .

  'I don't remember.'

  'So you did speak words to him. I must know what words.'

  'God, why do you go on and on about him?'

  It was true. By talking about Dietsch so much, by constantly bringing up the way he'd held her in his arms, all he'd achieved was to gild his image and strengthen his distant spell: he had made Dietsch attractive, alluring. And now, her mind teeming with Dietsch, reliving past happiness because her lover who felt betrayed had put the idea into her head with his garrulousness, it might very well turn out that she would want to go back to Dietsch, who was now an exciting novelty once more, and resume the close combat of yore. Too bad, couldn't be helped. Get the facts.

  'Tell me what you used to say to him,' he said, stressing each word.

  'I don't know. Nothing really.'

  'Did you call him "My love"?'

  'Certainly not. I didn't love him.'

  'In that case, why did you let him do as he liked with you?'

  'Because he was gentle and very polite.'

  'Polite? With all that exploring of your nether latitudes?'

  'You are disgusting.'

  'So a man who goes exploring is automatically polite?' he shouted in a rage. 'But put it into words and it's disgusting. I'm the one who is despicable, and he is respectable! Do you respect him?'

  'Yes, I respect him.'

  Both of them were scarcely able to stand, were like malfunctioning machines, ground down by fatigue and incoherence. Outside, the birds were now singing their small hymns of praise to the sun. Dazed, still naked, still smoking, he stared incredulously at this woman who dared to respect a man with whom she had done the foulest things. With one limp arm, he gave her the lightest of pushes, as though he were dreaming. She went down like a sack of potatoes, though she put her hands out to break the fall. She lay face down and motionless, her forehead resting on one arm. Her flimsy dressing-gown had ridden up to her waist, exposing her nakedness. She uttered a long moan, called for her father, and sobbed. Her rump moved, rising and falling to the rhythm of her sobs. He drew closer.

  CHAPTER 100

  Leaving his suitcase on a bench, he walked along the platform, stopped at the slot-machine, inserted the required coins, pulled handles, watched the little paper packets pop out, whistled, and, staring up at the sky, sauntered back the way he'd come. At eleven o'clock he started worrying. Was she going to call his bluff and not come to the station to stop him leaving? If it wasn't running late, the Marseilles train would be here in eight minutes. Eventually he saw a car he recognized. It was Agay's other taxi. She got out of it carrying a case. Their eyes met, but each stifled an urge to laugh, a purely nervous reaction which had no mirth in it.

  'Are you leaving too?' he said, frowning and staring at the ground.

  'I'm leaving too.'

  'Where will you go?'

  'Anywhere, so long as it's far away from you. Where are you going?'

  'Marseilles,' he said, his eyes still on the ground to keep a tight rein on his impulse to laugh.

  'In that case I'll get the train after yours.'

  'Did you lock up properly? Did you turn off the gas?' She shrugged to indicate that such petty matters did not figure high on her agenda, and moved away to the other bench on the platform. They sat with their cases, six feet apart, and proceeded to ignore each other. At five minutes past eleven he stood up, made his way to the ticket office, and asked for two first-class tickets to Marseilles. Then he returned to the platform, where he stood waiting, suitcase in hand, still avoiding her eye. At last the train puffed indignantly into the station,
expired, and disgorged a knot of commuters. As he got in, he peered out of the corner of his eye. If she didn't get in too, he'd jump out on to the platform at the last minute.

  'What do you think you're doing?' he asked as she stepped into his compartment.

  'Catching a train.'

  'You haven't got a ticket.'

  'I'll get one from the ticket-inspector.'

  'You could at least go and sit in another compartment.'

  'There's plenty of room in this one.'

  Whistles blew and the train groaned, protested, snorted in a huff of steam and a screech of metal, then rolled backwards, shook itself, and began to creep smoothly forward. Then, taking its courage in both hands, it charged, hurling itself bodily forward, yanking its chained and tortured coaches behind it, spluttering to the rhythm of its relentless wheels. When she stood up to put her suitcase on the rack, he let her, and sat watching her clumsy efforts with satisfaction. Yes, she'd just have to get on with it. When the case was safely stowed away, she sat down on the seat opposite. Both of them kept staring at the floor, because they knew that if they caught each other trying to be serious they wouldn't be able to help smiling and then laughing outright, and that would involve considerable loss of face.

  In the rocking corridor, a gaggle of English passengers bumped along laughing apologetically, and they were followed by a raucous gang of American youths, gaudy, gum-chewing, manly morons in the making, convinced of their own importance and nasally braying their mastery of the world, and they in turn were followed by their gangling sisters in knee-socks, sexually aware and precociously lip-sticked, who also whinnied at the world through vibrantly nasal passages, unstoppably vulgar, endlessly, bovinely chomping on chewing-gum, tomorrow's majorettes.

  They both continued to ignore each other, while outside hunched trees reared up and then were gone, and telegraph poles streaked past in reverse on scalloped wires, and a village bell rang, and a dog with its tongue hanging out strained comically to the top of a grassy knoll, and the train gave a sudden lurch and squealed with fright, and the gravel gleamed between the rails, and another locomotive roared snootily past belching obscenely, and a level-crossing keeper stood like a tailor's dummy, and far off a toy yacht was a white fleck on Mediterranean silk.