Rigadoon (15 page)

"How's Restif?"°

"Fine . . . he's going to leave, he's waiting for you . . ."

Good answer! . . . all the same, I'm suspicious . . . the schupo next to him is interested in Le Vig . . . he looks at him . . . he looks at him some more! the other side again! nothing unusual! . . . he was throwing a fit a minute ago, in front of the Mercedes . . . funny, he's perfectly natural now, it was only a fit . . . jumping out on the road like that . . . he doesn't even remember . . . another schupo comes in . . .

"Papier? . . . Waffen?"

Papers? You've come to the right place . . . but no weapons! . . .
Waffen!

"And him?"

The
schupo
asks me . . . meaning Le Vig . . .

"Oh no! . . . he hasn't got any either!"

He probably ought to search us, but I see he's not going to. He only asks me . . .

"Sicher nicht?
. . . you sure? . . .
da nicht?
. . . not there?"

"That's Bébert, it's his bag . . ."

"Ach, nein!"

If it's papers they want, I can oblige! . . . pockets, linings, crammed! . . . Le Vig ditto! . . . bundles! . . . we fish, we rummage . . . I throw a whole pile on the table . . .
plunk
. . . but they all jump up! stiff! they click heels! . . . attention! somebody's come in . . . I hadn't had a good look at him in the car, the Mercedes . . . it's him, the Marshal . . . Rundstedt . . . alone . . . I can see him close up . . . powdered, wrinkled, but no lipstick . . . all elderly generals use lipstick, not him . . . I hadn't had a good look at him out there on the road . . . Le Vig's conniption! . . . what's this Marshal here for? he must have better things to do! . . . to find out who we are? "marshal"? . . . it's easy, he's got his baton under his arm . . . the
schupo
and our cop are still at attention, frozen! . . . the Marshal asks them . . .

"Nun?"

"Drei Franzosen! . . . trois Français!"

The two cops answer together, each in his own language . . .

"Papier sind da! kein Waffen!
the papers are here . . . no weapons!"

I can see the Marshal doesn't give a shit, he hardly looks at us . . .

"Woher sind die?
Where are they from?"

"Aus Paris
. . ."

"Nur gut 
. . . good!"

"Und das?
. . . and that?"

That's the musette bag, it's moved . . . he's noticed . . . Lili tells him . . .

"Our cat Bébert!"

"Would you be so kind as to show me, madame!"

Somebody else wants to hang him, I suppose . . . we open the bag . . . Bébert sticks out his head, his moustaches . . . they still bristled, hadn't begun to droop like later on . . . here in Meudon . . .

"All the way from Paris?"

"With us, Monsieur le Maréchal!"

Le Vig puts in his two cents worth . . .

"From Montmartre! . . . he belonged to me, Monsieur le Maréchal!"

"He's ours!"

That's Lili . . . I look at her . . . she'd only have done it for Bébert . . . she never says anything . . .

"Madame, you're quite right, Bébert is yours!"

The Marshal is interested in the cat.

"He won't scratch me if I touch him?"

"Oh no, Monsieur le Maréchal!"

His hand on his head . . . Bébert doesn't say a thing . . . then he starts purring . . .

One of the cops at attention there says something . . . in a whisper . . . the Marshal doesn't quite get it . . .

"Was? was?
what?"

It's about us.

"You're going to Sigmaringen?"

"Yes, Monsieur le Maréchal!"

"Ja! sicher!
. . . yes, certainly!"

He must think we're funny . . . luckily . . . how old can he be? . . . about my age . . . my age now . . . he speaks French almost without an accent, except his "vous" are kind of clipped . . .

He stands up . . .

"My respects, madame!"

He bows.

"Good luck, my friends!" . . . that's for Le Vig and me.

A little pat for Bébert . . . he leaves . . . with his baton under his arm . . . the way he came, same door . . . I'm kind of wondering . . . never mind! our two cops aren't wondering at all! they know the scenario! same car with the blurred windows . . . they put us in . . . actually they help us! . . . same road . . . back to the station, I think . . . no problem! . . .

"The train ought to be ready!"

Says our tricolor cop . . . he must know . . . I ask him:

"You coming with us?"

"What did you think? . . . the more the merrier!"

We're riding along . . . here's the station! . . . the square . . . no reception committee . . . Captain Siegfried? evaporated! the raspberry stationmistress? . . . her three children? maybe the trains evaporated too . . . no! . . . there it is, all made up . . . our cops weren't lying! . . . a sign!
Sigmaringen
. . . "special" for us . . . nobody else! . . . we get in quick and settle down, we and our cops . . . no other passengers . . . a tiny coke locomotive, had time to see it . . . same kind of train, wood and tin, as up there, our fish train . . . oh well, Ulm-Sigmaringen is only seventy miles . . . barring accidents we'll be there about six . . . or seven.

"We'll be there for dinner!"

He's thinking about dinner! . . . anyway no planes upstairs . . . a few little "booms" but far away . . . shaking us up, pretty bad in fact, but not as bad as the fish train . . . nothing to complain about . . . and what they'd said at the brewery . . . I'm telling you all this helter-skelter . . . I'll straighten it out later . . . the station . . . the cops . . . Rundstedt . . . the brewery . . . and back again . . . now for a laugh . . . Mademoiselle de Lespinasse ceased to make judgments . . . impressions! from that point on she only had impressions! . . . my impression was that we'd been kidnapped, Le Vig, Lili, me, and Bébert . . . kidnapped! . . . we'll find out later on . . . maybe . . .

"Oh, have pity! . . . Oh, Maître! . . . Oh, would you?"

"What?"

"What you think of the taenia . . ."

"All the good in the world!"

"His marriage! . . . whom do you see him marrying? . . . his ideal woman in your opinion?"

"Mistinguett!"

"Your reasons, Maître!"

"They'll be happy in his jar, united in formaldehyde, cozy . . . she a stiff, soon a skeleton . . . he, don't forget, is only a ring . . . detached from the tapeworm's tape . . . he can only crawl, wriggle . . . at the very most! in seats of pants, toilet bowls, on bedside rugs . . . best he can do! . . . a tragic fate! I can prove it: his convulsions under the microscope . . . he takes the form of a face with two kinds of eyes, globulous, divergent . . ."

"You think so, Maître?"

"I am . . . harumph! . . . a parasitologist! doctorated! don't forget it!"

"You're cruel!"

"No! . . . the life of the taenia is horrible . . . I admit . . . I forgive him everything! . . . if he migrates from our rectal ampulla, he can only . . . via the Sorbonne, betrayals, café terraces, plagiarisms, and mutations . . . end up in the toilet bowl . . . or on rare, privileged occasions, in a five-percent formaldehyde solution behind the bar . . . waiter! my friends here would like to try it! . . ."

"And supposing he marries Mistinguett's skeleton, Maître?"

"Ladies and gentlemen, I will answer no more questions . . . dear gossip-mongers, get out!"

"A question! . . . just one! one more! . . . have you any friends? many?"

"No! scared shitless, the whole lot! canaries! . . . all of them!"

"Not one?"

"Not one! . . . less than one . . . anything as long as the lightning doesn't strike them! . . . their beloved selves . . . it should strike me! . . ."

"You're embittered, Maître, sorrow . . ."

Curses! they'll never leave . . .

"No! I'm a biologist, I tell you, that's all! . . . only biology exists, the rest is hot air! . . . all the rest! . . . in the world dance marathon . . . the 'Gametes Ball' . . . the blacks and yellows always win! . . . the whites are always the losers, 'make-up base,' painted over, effaced! . . . politics, speeches, bullshit! . . . only one truth! biology! . . . in half a century, maybe sooner, France will be yellow, black around the edges . . ."

"And the whites?"

"Folklore, striptease, jinrikisha . . ."

"Has anyone ever told you you were nuts, Maître?"

"Ten times a day for thirty years!"

"Do you expect to be hanged?"

"It's too late, I couldn't take it, I'd break into pieces! . . ."

"Into rings, Maître! . . . into rings!"

Hee hee . . . so funny! the imps! they've wasted fifteen minutes of my time! . . . they beat it! oh well! . . . they'll do for a page . . . more or less . . .

"Sigmaringen!"

"You were there! you left!"

Obviously . . . it was a mistake to go showing our faces in Berlin . . . and still further north! . . . right! . . . I admit it, ridiculous . . . but under the circumstances mightn't you have done something even stupider! . . . telling about it now, it's simple! . . . "we're all of us so wise after the event!" no doubt about that! . . . commentaries, philosophy! . . . we laugh ourselves sick! myself here twenty years later, I know where I'm going . . . not hard to make you laugh! . . . the game's over . . . the ball has stopped rolling . . . nothing else going to happen? . . . go on! full speed ahead! . . . grist for your baloney mills? . . . no! no! no!

We're in this train, reserved entirely for us . . . no other passengers, no need to talk . . . just look at the fields, the roadbed, rocks, and thickets, two . . . three farms . . . way in the distance . . . but what's going to happen? where are they taking us? are they real cops? . . . we'll find out at the end of the line . . . maybe . . . this coke rattler is making pretty good time . . . plenty of smoke though! . . . we'll be pitch-black when we get there . . . who cares! . . . the jolting bothers me more . . . but nothing to complain about, not as bad as the
Warnemünde
, anyway it's no time to saw wood, I've got to think . . . what'll we find? . . . Restif, I hope . . . our two cops, the Kraut and the other one, they must know . . . maybe we won't find anybody . . . neither at the
Löwen
nor the
Bären
. . . transferred? . . . escaped? . . . how do I know? . . . Restif must still be there . . . him and his "Valiance" commando . . . if they'd left we'd have heard about it . . . he and his men, they were going to reconquer all of France in less than a month, the citadels and ports, the whole works . . . serious operation, pretty ticklish . . . they probably hadn't completed their preparations yet . . . Marion° had told me: it'll take them at least a year! . . . there'd been twenty Z-days already . . . and twenty counter-orders . . . hold everything! today they'd call it
suspense
. . . basic Franco-pidgin . . . we're not very talkative, sitting there with our two cops . . . easy to see why . . . we were definitely expecting some infernal machine on the tracks . . . or all of a sudden from the air . . . after all, we'd been traveling . . . so to speak . . . for months . . . east . . . north . . . zigzagging from switch to switch, bombed roadbeds, local rattlers, special trains . . . we had a right to feel kind of tired . . . which didn't prevent us from finding out that this was only the beginning . . . that we still had plenty of surprises ahead of us . . . funny and not so funny . . . even some musical surprises, I'll tell you about them . . . just then I was getting ready to ask the cops a question . . .