Authors: Louis-ferdinand & Manheim Celine
Rigadoon (21 page)
All right! you're sick of listening to this stuff 1 you'd like to see me get somewhere . . . I understand! I sympathize! . . . my brick and ear stories are driving you up the wall . . . I'll abridge! . . . our train was getting ahead . . . without incident . . . they must have repaired the roadbed . . . maybe a bit of jiggle-joggle . . . not much . . . but too cold for sleep . . . the only trouble with these flatcars . . . all you could do was look at the landscape . . . an hour . . . two hours . . . always the same . . . farms, thatched roofs in the meadows . . . and mists . . .
Personally I have to admit that my shirt is sticking to my back . . . I'm positive . . . could I still be bleeding? in my pants too . . . believe it or not . . . in spite of the cold, I must have dozed off . . . I know it, because I couldn't believe what I saw when I opened my eyes . . . our train had stopped . . . up ahead I saw a mountain of scrap, maybe a hundred yards away . . . and perched on top of it a locomotive . . . upside down . . . and believe me, that loco was no toy . . . twelve wheels! . . . upside down in the air . . . I count them . . . twelve . . . I count them again . . . it must have been an explosion . . . volcanic! . . . that shot it up there . . . upside down! . . . on the mountain top! . . .
Not sure of my head, my impressions . . . my eyes weren't acting right . . . I ask Lili . . . I ask Felipe . . . yes! . . . no mistake! . . . they see it too . . . this locomotive with its wheels in the air! . . . naturally it could have happened to us . . . not once, a hundred times . . . the way we'd been zigzagging around Germany . . . all the same, this locomotive way up there . . . upside down . . . I'm like St. Thomas, I only believe what I see! . . . "behold, Thomas! touch! . . ." as long as our train with all its flatcars and caboodle had stopped, I might as well go take a look . . . at this phenomenon, I mean this mountain of scrap and the locomotive on the summit . . . I suggest it to Lili and Felipe . . . it wasn't very daring, there were plenty more in the meadow who'd come down off the flatcars like us, to go get an idea
de visu
. . . families of every language . . . in tatters like us, but better covered . . . rags but several layers . . . that explosion had wiped us out . . . taken away pretty near everything we had . . . say what you please, there's something mysterious about that loco perched on the scrap . . . how'd it get up there? . . . an eruption in the meadow? no bomb could have shot that monster up in the air upside-down! . . . to the top of that crag! . . . they were all talking it over . . . not loud, more like whispers . . . snatches of sentences . . . it was mock-German . . . from pretty far-out countries, I'd say . . . anyway, they didn't agree . . . one explanation wasn't bad: a munitions dump . . . and another, just as plausible . . . a secret weapon . . . launched in Peene-miinde . . . had turned around . . . boomeranged . . . possible . . . everything was possible . . . it had been intended for London . . . I must say I couldn't see any reason why they wouldn't try again . . . and shoot us up on some mountain peak next time . . . meanwhile they were all looking at us . . . so ragged, worse than the rest . . . I guess they thought we were indecent . . . and something had to be done about it! . . . right away they think of the tarps on the cars! . . . one two three! . . . they climb up up, they come back! they cut! they tailor! . . . for us! . . . good deal! . . . big patches of green . . . brown canvas . . . give us something to put on . . . peplums . . . and rope girdles . . . there was everything on those flatcars! . . . seems there were people between the searchlights and the rolls of cable . . . lots of them . . . sleeping . . . and kids . . . so we make ourselves peplums out of these tarp cuttings . . . now we're presentable! . . . but this canvas is mighty wet! . . . the autumn weather . . . we won't be dry in a hurry . . . I've told you these people around us were whispering . . . a mixture of Low German and other dialects . . . later . . . later I'll ask them . . . now my idée fixe is this loco up there on the mountain . . . it makes me laugh . . . I ask them about it . . . a man . . . a woman . . . they're wondering too . . . that's what they'd come down off their flatcars for, to find out . . . I'm getting impatient . . . besides, I've still got a pain in my ear . . . I never drink a drop, but I'm feeling kind of tipsy . . . even with my canes . . . or rather, my sticks . . . oh, I'm not the only one! it's a common symptom . . . now, twenty years later, I still have this sensation of tipsiness . . . but now I'm the right age for it, the wind in my sails . . . man must stagger at his death . . . drunk with life, he's had too much fun . . . the long and the short of it! . . . I'm entertaining you again . . . but there all of a sudden I was sick of not understanding those people . . .
"No French people? . . .
Keine Franzosen?"
I say it out loud . . . hell! . . . there's been enough whispering.
"Ja! . . . ja!
. . . eine Dame!"
Glory be! at least one that's not afraid to answer! where can this lady be?
They go after her . . . is she on one of the flatcars too? . . . under a tarp? . . . it takes them quite a while to find her . . . ah, here she is! say, she's not in rags at all . . . smart, I'd almost say . . . how come? . . . the rest of us rigged out like beggars . . . Chinese canvas puzzles . . . scarecrows! . . . and this young lady . . . where's she out of? . . . I'd better ask her . . .
"I am honored, mademoiselle!"
She looked like a mademoiselle to me . . .
"Permit me to introduce my wife and our friend . . . Felipe! . . . and myself with all my respects . . . Louis Destouches . . . doctor of medicine . . ."
"A great pleasure, Doctor! . . . Madame, I want to embrace you! . . . if you don't mind! . . ."
"By all means! . . . by all means! . . ."
This young lady's name . . . Odile Pomaré . . . she looks a lot better than we do, her attire, I mean, dress, blouse, little fur cap, scarf, but when it comes to her complexion certainly worse . . . consumptive it seems to me . . . that flush on her cheeks . . . thin and feverish . . . cadaverous . . . I don't say anything but she seems seriously sick . . . I don't have to ask because right away she gives a little cough, for my benefit I guess, she wants to show me . . . in her handkerchief . . .
"Yes . . . I see . . . often?"
"Often in the last month . . . but even in France . . ."
But where's she come from now? from Breslau! . . . my goodness! . . . our Faustus, the lawyer . . . there really was such a man in Breslau! she'd known him slightly . . . but maybe it wasn't the same one . . . Cardinal de Retz claimed that suspicion makes us pull as many boners as confidence . . . it was all right for the cardinal! with all that power and what have you! . . . but when you're a poor slob, confidence isn't so hot! you know what you can do with it! . . . super-suspicious! that's me! anyway, I listen . . . what was this consumptive young lady doing in Breslau? instructor at the university! . . . oh! oh! . . . what degrees? . . . Ph.D. in German! . . . from the Sorbonne! . . . baloney, it seems to me! but that locomotive up there . . . does she see it? . . . she should answer me, dammit! . . . and right away!
I'm in no joking mood!
Yes, she sees it! . . . doesn't she find it strange? . . . no! . . . if you ask me, this chick is nuts! . . . instructor in Breslau? baloney! . . . I get the giggles! . . . it's my right! . . . they all look at me . . . let 'em look! . . .
"It's the brick! . . . the brick!"
Now they'll know!
"si! si!"
Felipe backs me up . . . they ought to know I'm punchdrunk . . . the brick! . . . they were there, the dolts! or weren't they? . . . and where'd they come from anyway? . . . Breslau or someplace else! . . . they were in rags at least! . . . but this blood-spitting Odile? . . . standing there hardly rumpled, I mean her dress and her lavender scarf . . . her family is in Orange . . . she'd studied in Aix . . . possible! . . . taken her degree in Paris . . . not so sure, but one thing, this Odile is very sick . . . I may be foggy in the head, seeing that loco perched in the air upside down, but this Odile Pomaré, Ph.D. or not, is in a bad way . . .
"Mademoiselle, if you don't mind, I'm going to take your temperature!"
"Where, Doctor?"
"Under your arm, mademoiselle! Lili, the thermometer!"
Lili'd been pretty badly jumbled by that hurricane of pursuers and the cataract of bricks, I'd seen it, I was scared stiff, practically undressed, but she'd saved her belt . . . which was something! . . . my hard-core reserves . . . ampules, packages of this and that, syringe . . . camphorated oil, morphine . . . plus a phial of cyanide . . . and the thermometer!
"Well, let's see now!"
A hundred and one and five-tenths! . . . pretty bad! . . . what'll I tell her? . . . I'll think about it. . .
"Oddort! . . . we were supposed to go to Oddort . . . our train . . . ever hear of it?"
Odile isn't interested in my medical opinion . . . she wants me to tell her about Oddort! and quick!
"Yes, we know all about it! . . . you're better off here, mademoiselle . . . but how come you're so neat and clean? . . . were you in a passenger car?"
Seems to me I have a right to be curious too.
"The other people are in rags! . . . what countries are all these people from? . . . and the locomotive up there?"
"Up where?"
Puzzled! the impudence! . . . I see it clear as day! eight wheels! upside down! up there! what's more, it's starting up! . . . I hear it! . . .
choo! choo!
that's not my sounds, I'm positive! I know my own sounds! I'm used to them, aren't I?
And then socko! I don't hear a thing . . .
They managed, I don't know how . . . anyway, they carried me up to my place between the dynamo and the yellow searchlight . . . I couldn't really tell at the time, but it must have been rough going . . . took twenty, maybe thirty of them . . . Lili and Felipe of course . . . and all those other people, I guess . . . I was unconscious . . . I'll give you the details another time . . .
Dingaling!
I'll have to break off . . . you understand . . . it's the N.R.F. . . . got to answer! suspense! . . . Nimier° wants to see me! . . . oh yes! yes indeed . . . let him come . . . been expecting him for two years! . . . exactly! he bought a car to come to see me in! must be broken in by now . . . that's why they're calling . . .
Here comes Nimier, he hasn't aged, I'd even say more boyish than ever . . . certainly more sprightly than at our last meeting . . . I congratulate him . . . he hasn't come to be admired! . . . or for reasons of courtesy or affectionate philosophy . . . it's my discomfiture! my chronic literary fiasco . . . that's what he's come to see me about . . . Achille is good and sick of it . . . I know the routine: the younger generation never heard of me, the graybeards hate me, the bookstores boycott me, the students have reverted to baby talk, the Leagues and their manifestoes are hanging me from every lamppost!
"So what?"
Our "brain trust"—he means the Compact Review—have decided you've got to go left . . . only the left can reinflate you! . . . look at you, old and isolated . . . in a word, a senile anarchist . . . all the other writers have somebody in back of them . . . we might just be able to rescue you . . . if you'd only listen! . . . Achille thinks so . . . take Cachin° . . . he recovered all right! . . .
Cachin? say! . . . that name rings a bell! . . . why, yes! . . . the posters! . . . used to see them every day on my way to Bezons . . . green! . . . right outside the Berliet factory . . . I'm not telling Nimier . . . I don't tell anybody anything . . .
"Couldn't you remind them? just a few lines . . . of some little favor you once did . . . for the left? . . . anything at all . . . we could give you a fresh start! . . . come on! . . . give it a try, Ferdinand!"
In all good faith I try, I get to work . . . I look within . . . ah yes! . . . certainly! . . . but so far away . . . years and years! I rack my brains . . . in that Sargasso Sea of memories I find all sorts of things . . . bodies disintegrating in the water . . . bodies of famous people . . . and of despicable gangsters . . . moving with the seaweed . . . in eddies . . . whirlpools . . . and even saints! . . .
"Nimier! . . . Nimier, wait!"
A final effort . . . ah, I believe . . . yes! yes! . . . I've got it! . . . I think. . .
"Hey! How about
Journey?
. . . 1933!"
"What about it?"
"In Russian!"
"It was translated into Russian? . . . into Russian? . . . by whom?"
"Madame Elsa Triolet!"
"She spoke French?"
"A few words . . . very little . . . but Harengon,° the great poet, gave her a hand!"
"Bravo! bravo! . . . but are you sure?"
"Am I sure! . . . I saw them myself, with my own eyes, hard at work! translating my white elephant . . . they were living in a studio . . . glassed in! . . . does that convince you?"