Castle to Castle (43 page)

Bichelonne pulls up sharp . . . now he's listening . . . he's not mumbling any more . . . he's going to answer . . .

"Tegucigalpa, Monsieur le Président"

"No, no! I'm sorry, Bichelonne . . . British Honduras?"

"Belize, Monsieur le Président!"

"Area, Bichelonne?"

"21,000 square kilometers . . ." l'Principal products?"

"Mahogany . . . resin . . ."

"Fine! Thank you, Bichelonne!"

Bichelonne gets back to his window . . . pacing and limping again . . . but he's a little less preoccupied . . . Belize has done him good . . .

"Tell me, Bichelonne, as long as I've got you here . . . I need your help again . . . I used to know all those things! . . . I've forgotten! . . . tungsten, Bichelonne? . . . Rochat is always talking about it . . . he took some away with him . . ."

"Atomic weight 183.9 . . . density 19.3 . . ."

Once he'd got that off his chest, Bichelonne sat down . . . He's tired of pacing . . . he massages his leg . . . Laval sees his chance . . . he goes to the mirror, smoothes his cowlick . . . he straightens his tie . . . he's going to give us some more High Court! . . . ah, not so fast! not so fast! . . . I've got a few words to say too! always listening to other people . . . a little wave of pride comes over me! . . . not very bright of me! . . . I thought I'd shut them up once and for all! I was quick to regret it! I still regret it! I seldom let myself go . . . but I'd been listening to them too long! . . .

"Here," I said, "Take a look at this!"

I put my cyanide down on the table in front of them . . . on Laval's desk . . . my little phial . . . out of my pocket! . . . as long as they're talking about rare metals! . . . I've always got my cyanide on me! . . . ever since Sartrouville . . . here, they can see it. . .
and the red
label . . .
they both look
. . .

I was always being asked for cyanide . . . I always said I didn't have any . . . oh, they're not bashful . . . not these two . . . they're arguing already which one gets it! . . . it's all right with me . . . I've still got three phials . . . sealed the same way . . . same cyanide . . . the trouble is that they'll blab . . . sure to! . . . and I'd never mentioned it to anybody . . .

"Can I have it? Can I have it?"

Both of them . . . oh, they're not joking any more!

"Share it!"

Let them work it out between themselves . . . Then I change my mind . . .

"No . . . don't fight . . . I'll give you each one! Once it's open, you know, once it catches the humidity, it's no good!"

"But when? . . . but when?"

Ah, now they're beginning to take me seriously! I take another phial out of another pocket . . . and still another out of my lining! I don't tell them the whole story, my hems are full of little packets . . . I don't want to be caught without it . . . okay! . . . I can see they respect me now . . . they've stopped talking . . . but they're happy . . . they'll talk again . . . nothing good!

"What can I do for you, Doctor?"

"Monsieur le Président, if you'll kindly listen to me . . . in the first place don't open the phial . . . in the second place don't tell anybody . . ."

"Yes . . . that goes without saying! but yourself? . . . you must have some little wish?"

I get another little idea! I'd always refused everything! everything! . . . but the way things are . . . what difference does it make?

"Well, Monsieur le Président, you could appoint me governor of Saint-Pierre and Miquelon . . ."

No point in pussyfooting!

"Granted! . . . it's a promise! . . . you'll make a note of it, Bichelonne?"

"Certainly, Monsieur le Président!"

Laval has a little question though . . .

"Who gave you that idea, Doctor?"

"Just like that, Monsieur le President! the beauties of Saint-Pierre and Miquelon! . . ."

I tell him about them . . . not from hearsay . . . I'd been there . . . at that time it took twenty-five days from Bordeaux to Saint-Pierre . . . on the very frail
Celtique
. . . Saint-Pierre was still a fishing port . . . I know Langlade and Miquelon well . . . I know the road well . . . the only road from one end of the island to the other . . . the road and the memorial "milestone" . . . the road cut out of solid rock by the sailors of the
Iphigénie
. . . I'm not making it up . . . real memory, a real road! . . . and not only the sailors of the
Iphigénie!
convicts too! . . . they had a penal colony on Saint-Pierre . . . which left a memorial, too! . . .

"You ought to see it, Monsieur le Président! in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean!"

The main thing: I was appointed Governor . . . I'm still Governor! . . .

Appointing me governor, archbishop, or road mender didn't improve things any . . . bad to worse! . . . the reality was the hallucinated mob from Strasbourg, the triple reservists of the
Landsturm
, the fugitives from Vlasoff's army, the bombed-out refugees from Berlin, the horror-stricken demented from Lithuania, and the defenestrated from Koenigsberg, the "free workers" from all over, shipment after shipment, Tartar ladies in evening dress, opera singers from Dresden . . . all camping in holes and ditches around the Castle . . . or on the banks of the Danube . . . in addition to the terrified fugitives from France, Toulouse, Carcassonne, and Bois-Colombes, hunted by the Underground . . . and the families of the Miliciens, and the new recruits of the N.S.K.K.,° who were supposed to drive to Denmark for butter . . . plus Corpechot's ardent recruits, who were waiting to be shipped aboard the Danube flotilla . . . plus a lot of phony Swiss who claimed to be pro-German . . . all in tribes, with children of every age . . . enormous bundles, dishes, cooking utensils, pieces of stoves, and nothing to eat . . . Siegmaringen was a kind of port for the derelicts of Europe . . . the whole town . . . the Castle, the moats, the streets, the station . . . was full of them . . . every variety of costume, rags and camouflage, people from all over, every conceivable lingo . . . the sidewalks, the waterfront, the shops . . . all overflowing . . . One place that was picturesque was Sabiani's P.P.F. headquarters . . . the P.P.F., the biggest of the "parties of the future" . . . I've already told you: Doriot in person never came to Siegmaringen . . . neither did Hérold, his mouthpiece! . . . nor Sicard . . . Sabiani ran this Party office . . . it had two showcases . . . both full of sick people in the worst possible shape . . . dying of hunger, old age, tuberculosis, and the cold . . . and cancer! . . . and all scratching like mad! . . . naturally! . . . in one window camp chairs, in the other steamer chairs . . . for a good two months I saw a P.P.F. grandmother dying with her grandson in her lap . . . without moving, in a steamer chair, spitting her lungs out! . . . the office was full of the dying, too . . . all over the benches . . . along the walls . . . or even stretched out on the floor . . . or in piles . . . Sabiani himself stayed in the back room . . . he took applications, handed out membership cards, which he signed and stamped . . . he had "full powers" . . . France was a hairsbreadth from going P.P.F. . . . if Hitler hadn't been so dumb! Sabiani drew a big crowd . . . everybody joined . . . everybody that looked in the windows . . . a way of coming in and sitting down . . . the P.P.F.° was certainly the recruitingest party . . . the showcases and the benches did it . . . if he'd dished out something to eat in addition, the slightest mess kit, he'd have recruited the whole town, including the Boches . . . soldiers and civilians! . . . a time comes in the course of events when only one thing counts: to sit down and eat . . . ah, there's something else: stamps! . . . I forgot to tell you! . . . hunting for stamps, collecting! . . . every post office I'd seen all over Germany . . . not only in Siegmaringen but in the biggest cities and the smallest holes . . . was always full of customers, all at the "collectors' windows" . . . lines and lines, collecting Hitler stamps, all prices! . . . from one pfennig to fifty marks! . . . If I were Nasser for instance, or Franco, or Salazar, and I wanted to see where I stood . . . if I really wanted to know what people thought of me . . . I wouldn't ask my police! . . . hell, no! .'. . I'd go to the post office in person and look at the lines waiting for my stamps . . . your people are collectors? . . . the jig's up! . . . there must be millions of Adolf Hitler collections in Germany! . . . they started years in advance! at the very first damn foolishness . . . Dunkirk . . . they started collecting! diviners, magicians? don't waste your time! . . . the stamp's the thing . . . tells you the whole story ten years in advance! . . . they're collecting? they know what they're doing! In our post office . . . in addition to Hitler we had Pétain . . . his stamps! . . . two complete collections! you should have seen our post office! almost as many people as at Sabiani's! French and Boche collectors! I've got to admit, though, that there's something worse than stamps, worse than liquor, worse than butter, worse than soup! cigarettes! . . . cigarettes are the real winners! . . . anywhere . . . under really implacable conditions . . . I've seen it under fire and I've seen it in the prison infirmary, the last and ultimate human preoccupation is smoking! . . . which proves, you won't tell me different, that man is first a dreamer! a born dreamer!
primum vivere?
it's not true! . . .
primum
blow bubbles! . . . the long and the short! . . . dreams at any price! . . . before food, wine, and tail! not a shadow! men kick off for a lot of reasons, but without a cigarette they can't do it! . . . take a man with his back to the wall or on the steps of guillotine . . . he can't he can't! . . . he's got to smoke first . . . I was in the dream department, too, at the P.P.F. office . . . the ones who were in too much pain . . . I dropped in and gave them a portion of dream . . . 2 c.cs . . . I made them dream! . . . oh, I was very sparing with my 2 c.c. ampuls . . . there was plenty of demand! . . . though Sabiani, give the Devil his due, didn't kid anybody, he gave them the lowdown . . . it was written on big signs, in great big red letters . . . Tarty member, never forget that you owe the Party everything and that the Party owes you nothing!" He didn't gild the pill! . . . that didn't keep anybody away . . . in fact, more and more kept coming to join, to sit down, and to conk out under the signs . . . and outside the windows more and more people collected to watch the grandfathers dying . . . "look! look! he's shitting right there!" They tell us about the Asiatic crowds, the Brahames, and Bocudos! Hell! I'll make the whole of Europe Asiatic overnight! card-carrying members! political fanatics! . . . five, six corpses in every garbage can! famine and reproduction! . . . the future belongs to the yellow race! . . . and their good old ways!

Speaking of Sabiani's joint, the Castle pulled a mean trick on me about that time . . . a really crummy dodge! . . . a plot to get rid of Luchaire . . . for once they decided I was the perfect doctor . . . the ministers got together . . . they wanted me to certify TB, dangerously contagious . . . to be evacuated immediately! . . . don't worry, I refused! . . . I never go along in that kind of business . . . especially as putting two and two together I wasn't so sure they weren't out for my guts . . . to get me evacuated! . . . like Ménétrel! . . . oh, a time comes when that's all people think about! doing away with you! . . . it's a disease! everybody gets it! . . . you've done this! . . . you've done that! . . .
bam!

Ah yes, another one . . . more foul play at the Castle! . . . one of the ministers' daughters was knocked up! the parents wanted her to get married! and quick! the young man was right there . . . a sheik . . . he was willing . . . but the hitch! . . . the Boche mayor of Siegmaringen insisted on having the consent of the parents! . . . in writing! the sheik's parents were in France, in Bagnoles-les-Bains! . . . how was it possible to get their consent? . . . no use applying to the Senegalese in Strasbourg! or the F.T.P.° in Annemasse! . . . the Burgermeister was a stubborn bastard, adamant! . . . They start working on Lili . . . I could see what was coming! the mother in tears . . . her whole face running with lipstick . . . she comes up to the
Löwen
and implores Lili . . . the scandal would kill her . . . she'd drown herself in the Danube . . . the desperate mother! . . . to make me do something! in short and to the point, get me to do an abortion! . . . think it over! . . . I can see one more little joke on the horizon: Céline the abortionist! . . . first gently, then firmly, I sent her packing! . . . I'm still cashing in on the hatred! I was sunk either way! . . . that hatred is still pursuing me twenty years later! . . . I'm still getting poked in the kidneys for that abortion I refused to perform . . . I can tell by certain rumors . . . here and there . . . In these little human interest stories connected with great historical upheavals, the exoduses, the general panics, it's always the practitioners . . . the masseurs, chiropodists, abortionists . . . that aren't to be found . . . the adulterers and "tender whisperers" always find each other . . . a dime a dozen! but the family chiropractor! . . . that's where you run into trouble! the lady in tears! . . . people fornicate as they breathe . . .
but the chiropractor?
the
abortion
ist? Watch your step! all the tender whispering you want,
but
where's that abortion coming from? . . . It's hard to get animals to reproduce in a zoo, but people, even condemned to death, even hunted by Leclerc's army, with the woods full of Fifis and the whole R.A.F. on top of them thundering day and night, don't lose their desire to squirt! . . . not in the least! . . . I certainly wasn't going to worry my head in addition about all those little discharges, tabes, soft chancres! hell, no! . . . all that could wait till they were back in France, one way or another! . . . in the first place, what was I going to treat them with? I didn't have anything . . . advise them to stop screwing! Never give advice! let them scratch, fuck and gouge each other, let them stew in their own juice and rot! . . . the more the better! . . . one little piece of advice and people never forgive you! . . . take France! . . . I've told her over and over again the condition she'd be in one of these days! and look how she's treated me! . . . the state she's reduced me to! me! the only one who diagnosed her right! . . . and the stupidest disastrous assholes, so proud! crowing on top of the manure pile . . . this ghastly ruin! In Siegmaringen, I've got to admit, I began to go easy: After being a victim for thirty-five years I began to catch on!
alas! alas!
too late, I'd spilled it all! . . . the one thing they want of you is to impale you! Darnand's commandos or Fifis, Restif's killers or Leclerc's coons! . . . your opinions are of no interest to anybody except the perpetual debaters . . . "Who bought you? how much did you get? . . . . . doddering old fool! naturally! stinking old bastard! . . . oh, I knew all that . . . Mostly I stopped bestirring myself except for emergency cases . . . but they were all "emergencies"! . . . gripers, provocateurs, and stoolpigeons, but very sick at the same time! . . . lovely patients! . . .