André
(continued)
They didn't see me, I'm safe for now. Danger is over, one of the girls asks me, who are they? Why are they following you? It's rather complicated, I left one who "kept" me and took his money. You stole it? The girl, I can see, is getting excited at the idea of theft. Should hate to disappoint her. Nope, I threw it in the Seine. You what? in the Seine? Hey, Françoise, did you hear that? She took the money from the pimp and threw it in the Seine. You have to admit it’s quite an incredible story you got there. So's what we do. Why don't you come and see us sometime? You who? We do theater in the streets, today we were at the Champs de Marx, until those two came. Ah, now I remember, that's right, now I recognize you. You guys are fucking cool. Sure, I saw you last week, at Place Vendome. Then come and see us again. Sorry, must run now. Thanks for the help. Think to myself I won't be able to stay at André’s any more.
Da te, era ora. Che bello qui, da te, da
me per sempre different dimension, not
leftovers of life, my knight, streaming thanks
Joyce power of life, resins of pleasure of
raisins, kingdom of fate, beads of jade,
satins of light, right. Blind in peace I he came
see me, son prince Sun, playmate of youth,
now king? Quien sabe? No, thanks. Queimada.
They were walking down the road, again, holding hands. Sunset light drew their shadows long over the beaten track, arid pieces of rock scattered over the ground. The heat slowly went off, leaving behind only dry soil and burnt grass. Grey stones of dust were withdrawing into themselves in the night chill. Little Girl was tired, thirsty. The young man mounted her heavy on his shoulders, horsie style. He wanted to reach the next village before nightfall, only a matter of minutes. Still one more hour and they'd be safe, in a hotel, and maybe swallow some food. Wasn't it perhaps a mistake to leave the city? Wouldn't they be safer in the heart of the city, hiding in mass confusion and crowd? Too late now to go back. Tomorrow they would take the bus and go far, far away, somewhere safe, where those two would never be able to find them.
They arrived at the village when it was quite dark already. Little Girl had fallen asleep. He entered a bar, placed the girl on a chair and asked for two sandwiches and a glass of milk. In spite of fatigue, Little Girl brushed off the sandwiches in a few morsels. Nobody paid attention to the two people. Didn't notice them, the customers, noisy, half-drunk, playing cards, pinacolo or scopone, smoking cigars, beers and quarters of wine swiftly evaporating into the dense mist hanging over the bar. Didn't notice them, even the bartender, too busy serving numerous customers, exchanging gossip, sport news. Pale with use the bluish counter, metallic border scratched, aged geometric shapes. The young man made his decision and risked asking the fatal question. Do you think the hotel will still have a room for us tonight? (volunteering the notion that he couldn't sleep a wink in a freshly painted bedroom) The bartender, innerly smiling at the amusing situation depicted, answered no, he did not think they would have any problem finding a room tonight, not too many bedrooms were being painted in town today, ha ha ha. So, I just go straight from here, right? Yes, and then, a couple of blocks I’d say, you turn left, you pass the Post Office, you find it there, right around the corner. The young man was sure he had exhibited a rather casual, non-suspicious behavior, and that his excuse was more than plausible. The bartender, however, thought those two guys must have been stupid to think a man with a little girl could come and hide right in a little village like this, where everybody talks; they would have been noticed immediately. I told them, they wouldn't believe me, I told them to look in the city, that's where I would go if I were a fugitive with a girl. For sure, he won't lay foot in here. Like this young man, telling me he's got his room painted, a story like that would arouse suspicion in an imbecile. No, he wouldn't do that. Besides, who cares? With all the problems we have, now we should waste our time with an orphan?
More out of instinct, maybe the need for a safe womb which doesn't exist, I go to the Cafe'. Get in and fail to recognize any face. They all seem strangers to me. Only Georges, still at the counter, like last time I saw him, serving his drinks, with the impassive placidity I know him to possess. I near the counter, sit down, feel a bit embarrassed for I haven't showed up in ages. Not exactly my fault, as André says... Georges sees me, produces that glorious Crest smile, comes to me and starts reeling out the niceties of a salesman. Hey, cutie, no time no see. So, you haven't completely forgotten old friends, hein? It's nice to know that those you thought dead are still alive. Find his sarcasm out of place here. Georges, I see you still have quite a crowd in here. Quite, all good people, can't complain, but it's no longer the way it used to be. You young people always brought a whiff of fresh air in this bar. What happened to you all, anyway? Us all? I don't understand, the troupe is dispersed? Why, don't you know? ah for sure, after Marcel... well, after that, haven't seen a soul, nope. I look at him, there's something strange, he seems kind of fatter, or his hair is darker, or something is wrong with him. Don't mess with his business, he might get offended. And I thought I could count on some old friends here. I'm sure I can still find them, somewhere.
Georges is not convinced. Forget it, he says; so, what's up with you? Well, speaking of the troupe, guess who I just bumped into the other day? Georges is ready for the announcement, promising surprise. I found André a couple of weeks ago, sheer coincidence! Oh, says Georges, so he's out of the cooler?! Obviously. So, I left Jacques and teamed up with André. We have taken up theater again, and maybe, I thought, if we get the old troupe together we could do great things again. We've already gathered quite a mess of people to work with us. No, excuse me, but tell me the truth, you and André... can he function? Malicious smile, Georges always same thing on his mind. Don't you dare, Georges! That's not nice. Nice or not, you never know, facts of life, didn't they teach you anything over there, in rue Mozart? You're completely mistaken, there's absolutely nothing between André and me. Pretty touchy tonight, hein? One honest guy cannot even make a joke now and then? Just typical, intellectuals, no sense of humor. I'm not here to joke, Georges. I need your help. I'm here. André and I are in trouble. No, not what you're thinking, can't you erase it from your memory once and for all? I don't know, can I? Repress instinctive angry reaction. It's about Jacques, I dumped him and took his money. Now I have two of his guys set after me. I'm afraid, Georges, I'm afraid that André might get involved... You stole his money? No, I threw it in the Seine. You what?! I tossed it in the river, what’s the big deal? Oh sure; this is just beautiful, in the Seine. I've got to tell Michel, he won't believe it. You steal money from that scumbag and, with all the misery you guys suffer, you flush it in the river? you're either stupid or a liar. I swear, I don't want his money, but I wanted to spite him. I think you did just that. I know, he's probably furious now. Well, girl, I can sympathize; anyway, you probably need a safe place to hide, right? It would be nice, but what I really need now is... Shush, I'm thinking. Right, when Georges thinks, everybody quiet.
There are two people who could help you: one is M. Antoine, he's got an apartment in rue de Rivoli, you know, not very cheap, but quite improbable hideout; and, of course, there's la "marquise," and you can be sure she always has a room for you, or even for André; she's trustworthy, she won't talk. Thanks Georges, can I make a phone call? Sure, you know where the box is. Darn, he's not home yet, I knew it. Hello, is it you Tilde? Yeah, hi, it's me, Madeleine. Do you know where I can... yeah, I'm fine, not too bad, what? I had to run, you can’t imagine the fear, luckily I found a demonst... what? what do you mean? is he serious? what did they do to him? Sure, there in a flash, bye.
For not a joke a dream real life united ever.
Green gardens eternal extensions infinite
light green pleasure happiness life you.
Were you green gardens and intimate
solitude, Marcel? Wake up, not time to
be eternal forever youth now he came
at last he came not to leave leave for good
A hotel in the suburbs, an anonymous hotel lost in the country, no pretenses but clean. Yes, I would like a room for two, with two beds, thank you. Right, quite lucky, she's a real doll, isn't she? Just like her mother, poor soul. Eh? Nothing I can do now, unfortunately, ever since then... well, it's not the same. Taking care of the house and her, well, there's never enough time for everything. He felt talkative, he felt he had to explain his anomalous situation. No doubles, sir. Only a matrimoniale, will that do? Yes, that'll be quite all right, thank you very much. And please, call us at seven tomorrow morning, thanks. We have to go visit grandma, remember? But Little Girl was already sound asleep on the young father's shoulder. The two climbed up the stairs to the second floor, slow the young man turned the key in the lock, opened the door on a simple, barely furnished, clean little room. Laid Little Girl on the large bed, a queen-size bed, doubles since all taken. Too bad. With practical, experienced manners, sweet, the young man took off Little Girl's clothes, softly not to disturb her sleep must disturb ate she didn't, careful not to wake her up. He pulled the covers over her little tender body. Then he began taking off his own clothes, sitting on the edge of the bed, feeling vaguely uncertain about the future, about his and her future. Another day had gone by and they had not caught up with them. How long could this go on? How long would they be able to fool the search? He turned, maybe hoping for some optimistic sign, toward Little Girl. She was wide awake, silent, her two little deep eyes intently staring at him, at his shoulders, at his neck, on his naked limbs. She had slipped the covers away, revealing a body not childish any longer, she almost looked womanly, a pocket virgin, her features, the lines of her body already betraying traces of strong femininity. The tiny breasts only slightly pronounced, the hips round already, the tight curls loosely spread over her chest. Even her look seemed to invite him, to lure him into something prohibited, something forbidden to him. "It doesn't matter with whom, it doesn't matter the sex, or the blood or the age..."
Decide to stop by the "marquise" just briefly before I go to Tilde's. The "marquise" is a relict of times gone by. The old woman runs her trade in an old building, it doesn't even seem to belong to her, for all the rags she wears, and shawls, and wide long skirts, walking around like a miser, like a horrendous Faria, wrinkly, her face ageless, with oil lamps converted to bulbs, old worn torn pieces of rugs, dusty drapes and curtains. And yet, as soon as you see her, you immediately understand she's the master of the place, she is the goddess of the house and nothing moves without her will. Grey, her ruffled hair pulled on top, gathered by a nylon net in a little black notch on top of her head, the ancient visage covered with wrinkles, meager, incavated her dark eyes, powerful, still black, still beautiful, a face of wisdom that generates trust in your heart. "Marquise," listen, I need your help, I'm in trouble. Could you give me a room for the night? Tonight? No problem. Big troubles? My ex is hunting me down, but don't worry, the flics are not involved. Maybe André too will need your help. Now I must run, he's been wounded. Wounded? then it's serious. Bring him here, you'll take care of him here, it's much safer. Thanks a lot, "marquise," I won't forget you. That's what they all say, young people... she mumbled as I ran away.
Hush, rush in the metro, reach Tilde's flat, at last. Hi, about time. How is he? Where is he? He's in my bedroom, he's ok, he'll survive, but it's a deep wound. He's stuffed with morphine now. What did they do to him? To get rid of him fast, they shoved a knife in his side. Almost a nightmare. There he is, laying on the bed, motionless, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. Here I am, I'm sorry for what happened. He looks at me, faint smile. You're safe, he murmurs. Yes, and the "marquise" is going to give me a room for the night. Grave words pronounced in eternal time, the pace of life has slowed down immensely, dissolvence, I look at him, and he stares at me, indefinitely we face each other. She also said I can take you with me, I can take care of you there, we would both be safe, there. But maybe I should leave you here for the moment, I don't think you can move quite yet... turn toward Tilde, for shy confirmation or approval or a sign that this is all right. Sure he can stay here as long as he needs to. And you better not move from your hideout, if you come here they'll find you. Things will cool down soon, then yes, you can come over, you can take him away if you wish. She's right, they want me, me alone. Alone I can elude their pursuit. I bend over him, to give him a farewell kiss before I go into exile. My face against his, my lips on his emaciated cheek. His face seems to transform, to mutate, horrible vision I don't recognize at first, what's happening? I feel nauseated. A horrifying beast is laying beneath me, has replaced the familiar face of André, a monstrous proboscis is protruding, gross, short, pulsing with blood, a proboscis which is not a proboscis. Jacques' nose. Jacques!? Jacques is laughing, laughing hard, laughing with that ferocity I know him capable of, resounding from the walls, filling the whole room, lacerating my tympani, a demonic laughter, it's his laughter, Jacques. No, it can't be, it just can't be, this must be André, Jacques, it was André, now it's Jacques, two faces merging, overlapping, chasing each other away, alternating flashes blasting in a sea of confused memories, not sure who I am myself, nausea.
The swirl never stops, an animal howl of terror bursts out in the void around us, around me blasts, a terrifying howl, mine. Anguished, frightened I jump over to the door, I launch myself on the street, I must escape, I must run as fast as I can, I'm scared, cruel laughter echoes in my ears, Jacques' face everywhere, in the wall-posters, Jacques, in the face of passers-by, Jacques, one turns to me, laughs at me, Jacques. People turn to look at me, they stare at me like a strange animal, Jacques, Jacques, everywhere Jacques, Jacques... Enter a bar, attach myself to pay-phone. A sea of unknown faces ignore me, no Jacques here, no recognition, no threat, they all leave me alone, in anonymity concealed, friendly faces. Hallo, André? You at last. I'm so afraid. Cool down, I was waiting for your call, I was worried. Me too, I thought they caught you. Me? No, just a big mess. Where are you now? I'm in a bar, here at rue de Provence. I'm going to stay at the "marquise," she's going to take care of me. Good. I want to see you, I need to see you now. I can't move, André, if I do, they catch me. They're devilish. They tried to trap me, a horrible thing... I burst into tears. Calm down, it's all right, it's all right. Who trapped you? They almost, I sob, Jacques is at Tilde's, he tried to pass himself for you. Evil laughter. You can't run away forever, ha ha ha, I'll always find you, pussy, I'll find you anywhere. Jacques? What's up pussycat? You seem surprised... Drop receiver almost smashing it against the wall, scream, run away. People behind me, awoken by noise and scream, stare at me running away, what's the matter with her? Run, I'm lost, run, I can't save myself, run, he knows, run, I can't go to the marquise, run, I can't, run, where can I go, run where to...?
good I feel love is utopia well-being is
sounds of peace, pearls soundless sounds of vibrating
tympani. Marcel, and André, and Marc, and Paul,
and Jacques, you demon, all was you musketeer,
and prince, and son of Sun, and even John you.
I know you then, fury not talking feel you,
where line between you and me stretches? Then:
The sun found them cuddling in the suburban hotel, alone, united, inseparable. You'll never leave me, will you? No, never. Where are you going today? At grandma's, you'll like it there. I thought your grandmother was dead. Right, but this one is even better. We'll stay there for a while, until the waters cool down. What is she like? She's a very cute little old lady, very nice, the old-fashioned way, she makes marmalade so good... a dream, and she also makes the most deliciuos apple pie I've ever tasted in my life. She also has animals, lots of animals, rabbits, hens, cats, tons of cats, she even has a couple of sheep. You'll have fun there. The bus was crowded, a strong stench of human life, of compressed humidity; some were going to visit relatives for vacation, others were simply going away for the week-end, and then there was a group of kids, maybe a dozen, maybe less, cheerful, singing and playing guitar, playing their portable stereo real loud. They'd put you in a great mood just by listening to and looking at them. Little Girl was staring at them in trance, she enjoyed their music clapping her hands, with rapture waltzing her hips about to the rhythm of music. The young man was looking out of the window, passing his sweaty hand over his face, teasing his chin, he hadn't shaven in days now. It was quite visible. He felt gloomy, heavy, aged ten years, all of a sudden. Little Girl looked like a young woman now, full of life, ready to launch herself into life, he had initiated her and now she could laeve him to find love elsewhere.
She got up, she joined the group of kids. She was immediately very popular among the young males, she had a graceful voice, a bit nasal, a bit in falsetto, that kind of voice teen-age boys love because it makes them feel like men, the kind of voice old men like above all, because it inflates their genitalia. They made her sing. What harmony of sounds, and he had never heard it. She never sang for him. A cloud of suspicions, a sense of irritation, vague, darkened his thoughts lugubrious already. He felt like going up to her and slap her face, he felt like putting her back in her place, showing her who's boss... he was shocked to find such paternal, patriarchal reactions in his peaceful mind. Jealousy? He swept away the thoguht with a wide flinging of the hand. For what reason should he take it so hard on himself, for what reason run, for what reason love, hate, escape? He almost wished they would catch up with him, he almost felt like giving up, give himself over to them, let them take him, he almost felt like giving up, give himself over to them, let them take him, let them eat him, tear his flesh to shreds. He was done and over with life anyway. They'd devour his body with their lust to break you, to annihilate your life, and what do you do to prevent it? You let them eat you, savoury meal for the master's dogs. Then you might as well run, after all you'll die no matter what, sooner or later; and you'll do all your best to make their chase more difficult, more risky, more random. She was laughing, she was laughing thoughtlessly and singing with that argentine voice, she was just playing, playing at the game of life. He listened to that laughter and no longer felt gloomy. He turned to her, to say good-bye, she who wasn't even looking at him any longer. He was about to get off, she could stay with them, if she wanted to. He wasn't going to force her, she didn't belong to him any more, she was happy already, happy and independent, that happiness didn't come from him. She looked at him laughing, laughing with mad maddening obsessed laughter. He was about to bend over her and give her his farewell kiss.
What do you think you're doing, ol' relic? One of the teen-agers had blocked his way to her. Leave her alone, capisci? The young stud was looking at him menacingly, and she kept laughing. He wanted to scream, to yell at her, stop it, he wanted to slap her face, he wanted to beat that youth, that importunate insolent youth. Instead he turned away, he neared the exit. The bus stopped. It was a little village lost in the country, four houses in all, a bar, a drugstore, a grocery, nothing else. Desolate, solitary houses, grey houses, lonely and squalid. He was set to get off. Little Girl ran after him. What are you doing? You are not leaving me here, are you? Don't you want to stay with your new friends? No, I want to come with you. Then get off, hurry. They walked for half an hour among greenish fields burned out by the sun, starched, drenched, until they reached a reddish farm, made of half-baked bricks, the roof of red tiles, the yard just like she had seen in her primer at the nuns. An old woman, black shawls wrapped around her shoulders and back, bent over the hens she was feeding. Hi grandma! Look who's here! The old grandmother eyed the pretty girl behind him. Ah, rascal, now you even do it with children? But no, grandma, she's just an orphan, she needs someone to take care of her. Her stepfather is looking for her, but she doesn't want to go back to him. Very well, now you put yourself against the law, of all things! Well well, I've always told your mother, you will never do anything right in your life, you'll always be in trouble, now with the law, of all troubles! What a cutie we've got here! Would you like a slice of pie? Come inside, it's fresh from the oven, I've just baked it. You like apple pie, don't you?
The grandmother, although rough of manners, was deeply soft and good-hearted. She was happy to have guests for a change, nobody ever around in this hole forgotten by God and the Devil. Having guests was a bit like being young again. The old house was solid, massive walls keeping the inside cool. In the middle of the large kitchen there was a long, wooden table, sturdy, aged with cuts and wounds and knife marks for who-knows-how-many chickens perished over that table. A musty basket contained a bunch of colors, pears and apples of season, livening the no longer bloody table. Ah, bon dieu, quelle chaleur! Makes you really thirsty, doesn't it? Aren't you thirsty, ma petite? Come, I'll give you a nice glass of cold milk. Eh, do you like that? If you want I can put some raspberry syrup in it, all right? Grandmother never stopped talking, she talked and talked, the young man could not put up with it very well, he got impatient with her on several occasions in the past.
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