Chalet in the Sky

by Albert Robida

  “Second? Adversary?”

  “Yes, the second of my friend Koufra, who finds that he has been gravely insulted by you in the latest issue of the Free Student, and who has charged me with demanding reparation from you. Ah! You understand now…and I shall lead you to the tele, where Koufra’s other second—for there are, of course, two of us—is awaiting us for…”

  “Ah! All right, Koufra is annoyed because of the little item in the Student…but why at the tele? He couldn’t come with you, this other second?”

  “No, but we can arrange that by tele. I won’t hide it from you that Koufra is furious and wants it to come to blows. It’s serious, very serious! Above all, hush! Let’s not make any noise. Let’s go to the tele…”

  “No need—I…”

  “You’ll issue an apology? These are our instructions: apologize, or fight.”

  “Apologize? Dishonor the Free Student! Never! I’ll appoint my seconds, who will arrange the details of the affair with you. Wait, here’s Tony Lubin and Béguinot, two fine fellows—I’ll put them in touch with you.”

  Tony Lubin and Béguinot were strolling along at a leisurely pace, glad to be idling in the Sun, with no suspicion of the drama that was in preparation. Labrouscade ran over to them and rapidly brought them up to date. From the energetic gestures accompanying his instructions, Gustave deduced that the affair would not sort itself out, and that they would be taking to the field.

  Labrouscade’s bellicose ardor was getting the upper hand of him; Gustave regretted that the time of the musketeers was passed; he would have loved to draw the sword too, like the seconds of yesteryear. The jealous Tony Lubin had permitted himself, during the agronomy course, to make jokes at his expense; this would have been an opportunity to ram them down his throat.

  Having briefed his seconds, Lambrouscade put on a rather distracted air, and scribbled down a few verses, which sprang from his inflamed brain:

  Let’s go, my dear sir, swiftly, en garde!

  Let steel embrace steel!

  The blades collide, sparks fly—beware!

  Clink! Clank! Turn and wheel!

  Touché! Break! Strike and riposte, my dear!

  There you are—done deal!11

  Tony Lubin and Béguinot approached Gustave, their expressions grave. They bowed ceremoniously.

  “Our friend Labrouscade has given us the mission of arranging this polite affair with you…”

  “I hope,” said Gustave, that the difference might be settled; my friend Koufra is a god fellow, he’ll be content with a sincere apology, plain and complete, in the next issue of the Student…”

  “Don’t count on it,” said Tony, dryly. “Our friend refuses any retraction, the slightest appearance of regret or apology.”

  “In that case…!”

  “Yes, it remains for us to arrange the conditions of the duel.”

  “Would you care to come to the tele to join Koufra’s other second, who isn’t at the school…”

  “Come on, it’s almost time for the third form’s open air class—let’s call this other second.”

  When he was in front of the tele that the professor used, Gustave rang sharply.

  “Villennes School—Mademoiselle Valérie Mérindol, please?”

  “Ah!” said Labrouscade’s seconds, who had been expecting to find that their adversary’s other second was some master-at-arms or some known fencer. They raised no objection, however.

  The tele bell rang and Mademoiselle Valérie Mérindol appeared on the screen. Her face displayed its habitual gravity, with little tremors that were undoubtedly not due to the tele. One does not have the opportunity every day to assist a friend as a second in a duel—which explained the excessively visible emotion. To dissimulate that weakness, Gustave started speaking immediately.

  “Your client Labouscade published in the last issue of his magazine an article that my friend Koufra deems insulting to him. As I have told you, we require an apology or reparation. Look, it’s a fake Frech assignment written in sabir,12 which Labrouscade has had the audacity to sign with Koufra’s name: The Siege of Troy: French Assignment, a Classic Summarized and Abridged.

  “Hector, besef brave à guerre, cassir et fracassir la cabèche à Patrocle, etc.; prendir tout the fourniment d’Achille. Y a bon, dit-il… etc.”

  “Bah! A simple literary amusement, written without the intention of insulting or harming anyone,” said Tony Lubin. “Monsieur Koufra is annoyed when he ought, on the contrary, to have been the first to laugh…we do not owe any apology to Monsieur Koufra.”

  “Our friend Koufra is punctilious in matters of honor; his African blood is boiling! He cannot accept a refusal of reparation—especially given that he is the son of a powerful monarch, a potentate of the profound and mysterious forests of wild Africa…” Gustave was about to expand on this theme, but he remembered that the ascendancy attributed by him to his friend was not entirely certain… He cut it short; in an affair as serious as this one, it was better to remain within the narrow bounds of reality. “You don’t bring Monsieur Labrouscade’s apologies, then?” he added.

  “No.”

  “So be it. A fight, then—a fight!”

  In the tele, Valérie raised her arms in the air.

  “Our client is the offended party,” Gustave went on. “He may claim the choice of weapons; however he has entrusted that to us. It only remains for us to discuss the conditions of the duel: the weapons, the location, the time…”

  “Oh!” cried Valérie, in the tele. “Don’t go too quickly. Is it really…?”

  “Mademoiselle!” said Gustave, severely. “I have Koufra’s instructions; let me speak. As I as saying, we have only to decide on the conditions and the weapons.”

  “Épées,” proposed Béguinot.

  “He refuses the épée—that’s out of date. We require something Corsican. I’ve thought hard about an American duel, the two adversaries released into the grounds, armed with carbine, hatchets, etc. It would have been very exciting…but my client would have an advantage; he’s a child of nature, accustomed to the virgin forest and its ambushes; he knows how to hide his approach and move secretly better than Labrouscade. No, no…no American duel…”

  “What, then, if you’re rejecting the épée and the carbine…?”

  “I’m searching…”

  “Let’s all search!”

  The discussion lasted for a long time. From time to time, Valérie uttered exclamations of fright and put her hands together. It required abrupt and severe glances on Gustave’s part to recall her to dignity and prevent her from offering apologies to the insulter.

  Finally, everything was arranged; Mademoiselle Valérie, sighing profoundly, disappeared from the tele screen as if she had vanished, and the seconds left to acquaint their clients with the results of their mission.

  Labrouscade was still strolling, pencil in hand, gesticulating and miming his lines.

  Title: Honor is satisfied!

  The pistols loaded, the coxcombs assume their places,

  Behind a tall tree, prudently, the seconds hide their faces,

  And piff! paff! poof!

  Double hit! Both fall flat on their faces: splat! oof!

  He raised his head distractedly and said to his seconds: “It’s going very well—perfect.”

  “What’s perfect? We haven’t yet told you the conditions of the duel…”

  “I was talking about my next issue of the Student. It’s going well. That’s true, I’d put it out of my mind—my duel with Koufra. Well?”

  “It’s arranged. You gave us carte blanche; the adversary had the choice of weapons. There was a long discussion. Finally, everything has been arranged; you’ll fight with lances.

  “What? Lances?”

  “Yes, old chap—it’s very chic, the lance. It will give a luster to our old Chambourcy; the other schools will shrivel up with jealousy. And for a first duel—for it is your first…”

  “Very nearly…I’ve had slightly anima
ted boxing matches, but that doesn’t really count. It’s the first duel of my career as a journalist; I hope it won’t be the last!”

  “We’re counting on it.”

  “With lances!”

  “Yes. He’s ferocious, you know, Koufra. His African blood is up! I believe that he’d rather have had a duel in the American style, with carbines, in the grounds, or perhaps with bows and poisoned arrows. Gustave mentioned that… We set aside fencing, at which you’re strong, because Koufra is more familiar with the club and the assegai. Then after searching hard, Gustave thought of lances. We discussed it with one another, we reflected, and finally, we accepted. It’s all set now: an initial report to be draw up, and you’ll fight with lances…”

  “But how? On horseback, like…”

  “Not on horseback—that’s outdated. In boats!”

  “In boats?”

  “Yes, on the Seine, in front of the Chambourcy jetty, each of the adversaries standing in the bow of a boat propelled by two vigorous oarsmen, the seconds in a third boat stationed in the middle of the arena…”

  “The arena?”

  “The liquid arena.”

  Labrouscade reflected momentarily. “That’s all very well. I accept the lances, since it’s been agreed, but the Seine is cold—autumn is here, and that doesn’t suit me as well. I consent to everything, I accept the danger—but I don’t want to risk catching a chill!”

  “Don’t worry, my friend; we’ve thought of that. Everything’s arranged—the weapons, the place of combat, the hour…but not the day. For that, we’ll await a return of the warm weather.”

  “That’s perfect! Ah, you must give me your report so that I can publish it in the Student. All in all, Koufra will demonstrate that he’s very chic in this affair; the Student will recognize that freely…”

  IX. The Paris-Naples Tube Catastrophe.

  The naval duel in preparation, featuring combat with lances, caused a great stir at Chambourcy School. It was the only topic of conversation; the thermometer and barometer were consulted every day, in the hope of seeing a return of the mild weather that would permit the two adversaries to resolve their quarrel. But the weather remained cold, and Labrouscade, who revealed that he was vulnerable to chills, no longer went out without a scarf.

  He was not disposed to risk freezing; the Student had declared that its editor in chief did not want a duel to the death with influenza!

  At Villennes School, too, the affair gave rise to considerable emotion. Even the oldest girls looked at Valérie Mérindol, as a second in an affair of honor, with a certain respect. Prayers were said for Koufra; it was hoped that the young black paladin would reckon with the editor of the Free Student, who never lost an opportunity to direct imbecilic gibes at the pupils of Villennes—the Villennes, as he put it, emphasizing the absurd pun,13 which was as ridiculous as his poetry: his 1000-foot lines, which were so pretentious, although frightfully flat and denuded of all lyricism, as the Villennes Gazette never tired of pointing out.

  The Gazette began printing weather forecasts every week, by courtesy of a pupil who was the daughter of a noted astronomer:

  PROBABLE WEATHER

  Sunshine, fine weather, heat wave.

  Fight on!

  Cooling of the temperature. Strong probability of unsettled weather. Rain. Wind.

  Fight off!

  Labrouscade did not fail to reply to these jokes with his finest penmanship, and the little war preoccupied the two schools, perhaps to the detriment of effective study.

  One day, when the Free Student had taken note of the Villennes Gazette’s jokes in an exceedingly acerbic tone, the third form’s study period was interrupted by a strident and uninterrupted ringing on the tele. It was Villennes that was calling in such an energetic fashion.

  “Here we go,” said Gustave, on seeing an arm appear on the tele, triumphantly shaking a copy of the Gazette. “Good. The situation is deteriorating, undoubtedly. Villennes is going call out all Chambourcy for a general battle! Hang on—no, it’s my sister Colette. What’s going on?”

  On the tele, Colette Turbille continued to brandish the Gazette, speechless with laughter.

  “Victory!” she said, finally. “Victory! In the great mixed school competition, it’s Villennes that has the prize! The Free Student can announce it. The first ten in each class from the 15th on have won a week traveling in Italy. I’m included, along with Valérie, and your Chambourcy has nothing. Au revoir, I’m off to pack my suitcase.”

  “Bravo! Bravo! Congratulations! Bon voyage! We wouldn’t have wanted to deprive you of it. Italy—pooh! That’s very trite…too well-known!” Gustave and Labrouscade’s exclamations were echoed by all the other pupils.

  Colette had already disappeared.

  Too well-known, yes—but a nice tour, well-guided, with all comforts and all possible charm—a week of blue sky, far from classes, studies and assignments!

  In the afternoon, Colette reappeared on the tele to tell her brother that he departure was arranged for that very evening at 7:55 p.m., by the express Paris-Rome-Naples tube, stopping at Milan to commence the classical tour the following morning in a private dirigible.

  At 7:55 p.m., Gustave escorted his sister to the tube with the inseparable Koufra, and both of them, along with a certain number of brothers and parents, cheered the happy winners of the great mixed competition.

  “A magnificent program,” said Gustave. “Ascension of Vesuvius in a dirigible! Visit to Pompeii, floating 25 meters above the town—the best way—Sorrento, Capri, Ischia, Procida, then Rome, in the same fashion, without fatigue, joyfully, taking siestas, smoking cigarettes…”

  “Cigarettes! The pupils of Villennes!” said the backward Koufra. “In the Congo, no one…”

  “While traveling, it’s allowed… And Florence, Venice, the lakes!” In a melancholy tone, Gustave added: “And in the meantime, we’ll have a not-very-enjoyable week: chemistry, math, philosophy…and other daunting subjects. Oh, the lakes, the Borromean islands, Isola Bella…”

  He sighed profoundly.

  “Be brave,” said Koufra.

  “I am, old chap!”

  The next day, in the middle of a philosophy study-period under the trees, Gustave—who was falling asleep, back-to-back with the somnolent Koufra—was awoken with a start by Monsieur Radoux, who arrived suddenly, in a state of alarm.

  “Grave news for Villennes,” he said, “Very grave! A terrible accident! A disaster! A catastrophe!”

  “What?” asked Gustave, yawning. “Has the school next door collapsed?”

  “No—if it were only that, we would fly to the aid of our neighbors. The school is solid. But out there, in the tube, in the depths of the tube, we can’t do anything…except pray…”

  Gustave leapt to his feet, leaving Koufra sprawling on the ground. “What? The tube?”

  “The Paris-Naples express…accident, cause unknown… stuck and immobilized in the tube, in the Alpine tunnel, 12 kilometers from the entrance and 13 kilometers and a half from the exit. Catastrophe!”14

  “Fatalities?”

  “No, none. The telephone on the train is working… the catastrophe happened quite gently… The tube was flowing…suddenly, there was a jam, two minutes of friction with an ear-splitting grating, then a conclusive stop, almost without a shock…only a few heads bumped, when suitcases were dislodged from the luggage-racks. They were laughing in the tube!”

  “Oof!” said Gutave, relieved. “I can breathe—it’ll be all right.”

  “Yes, but, as I told you, the tube is stuck, screwed in…it can’t move.”

  “They’ll unjam it!”

  “No—and this is the calamitous, the catastrophic aspect of the adventure: the engineers sent to help the train in distress encountered unforeseen difficulties. The work of freeing it will be laborious—it will take I don’t know how many days… weeks… no one knows, they can’t calculate it.”

  “We’ll be patient…”

  “That’s easy f
or us—we have our four meals assured—but the passengers on the train…”

  “What about the passengers on the train?”

  “Yes—no food, and there are 845 of them in all, stuck for weeks, with no other communication with the external world than the telephone…”

  Abandoning the philosophy course, Gustave leapt on to his bicycle and flew off, followed by Koufra, followed in his turn by Labrouscade and a dozen others, as far as Villennes School, in order to try to obtain news.

  Villennes was in turmoil, all classes suspended. People were weeping in the courtyards, running and colliding with one another in the corridors, while all the tele bells were ringing and the latest dispatches were being touted around. The Administration had no idea what to do to calm the pupils or reply to the tearful relatives.

  Gustave sent the rest of the day running back and forth between the two schools. The few dispatches that came from the tube were not very reassuring. Finally, at about six p.m., as he was about to leave Villennes to go back to Paris, the Headmistress of Villennes opened her office window and called for silence.

  A phonograph loudspeaker was brought to her, which she immediately activated.

  “Finally, the day is saved!” howled the phonograph, with tremolos in its voice. “The day is saved! All is well! The chief engineer of the Tubes has announced that they have succeeded in reaching…” The phonograph repeated itself in a thunderous voice: “Succeeded in reaching the train wedged in a tunnel… The day is saved! A conduit has been set up through which the trapped passengers will be able to receive their nourishment throughout the time necessary for the work of liberation. Everyone may be reassured! The chief engineer guarantees the rescue!”

  “Bravo! Hurrah! Bravo! Long live the chief engineer!”

  The pupils and relatives embraced one another. Of course, they had known that there was nothing to worry about! Serious accidents never occurred in the tubes, save for rare exceptions that confirmed the rule; everything was always sorted out…

  Gustave was able to return to Paris, where he found his father similarly reassured by personal information.