Authors: Louis-ferdinand & Manheim Celine
Rigadoon (30 page)
"No, Louis . . . no . . . I'm fine . . . what about you?"
"Oh, I'm all right!"
It looked like we were all set . . . ah, the poverty of our times! . . . Racine, Aeschylus, even Sophocles could keep you panting for three or four tragic acts with next to nothing . . . the ancients were grandiose sex pots, sumptuous cuckolds, incestuous monsters, believe you me, such discombobulating assassins, they had the gods in a dither . . . today, I ask you: a continent needs to be wiped out? . . . nothing to it, two three minutes . . . at the most! . . . where are you going to find time to enjoy the show? . . . there in that kitchen of abundance, that chamber of luxury, we had nothing to hurry about . . . but all the same, what was going on outside? . . . our Red Cross man had taken us aboard with all our kids . . . now I knew how many . . . eighteen! . . . all of them Swedish from one minute to the next! . . . that Red Cross man had a good heart . . . I don't think he was taken in . . . later on I was in even tighter squeezes . . . without doctors and medicine I'd never have come through . . . that's why in the great epileptic moments, purges, massacres, assorted lunacies, the doctors . . . black, yellow, or white regardless . . . get it in the neck . . . they know too much, they stick together too much, they're too clannish, unforgivable and unforgiven . . .
But let's get back to our kitchen . . . I didn't know if we were still in the station . . . or if we were moving . . . and the switch? . . . I couldn't look, I'd have to stand up, the Red Cross man had sat us down with our backs to the partition . . . he hadn't put us there to exhibit us . . . but that didn't stop them from yelling outside . . . that mob was good and mad . . . high time for the train to make up its mind! . . . two shots! . . .
bang! bang!
no intention of investigating . . . revolver shots sure as hell! . . . at that exact moment we start moving . . . you don't mean it? oh yes! . . . very slowly but
choo!
. . .
choo!
. . . sure enough . . . who fired those shots? . . . I never found out, I never even asked . . . as long as we're in a train and it's moving . . . kind of cautiously, I'd say . . . hey, a nurse! . . . she doesn't look our way, she takes a tray and serves herself . . . a whole tray and then another . . . sandwiches and salads . . . she doesn't say a word . . . she's fairly young, not bad-looking, but not the smiling type . . . she walks away, back to her car, I suppose . . . another nurse comes and serves herself . . . they're dressed pretty much like ours, with starched caps . . . six nurses come in, one after another, not one of them says a word, the last takes nothing but porridge . . . bowls and bowls . . . I guess they're not supposed to look at us . . . orders . . . all right with us . . . as long as they don't throw us out . . . wouldn't be so easy now with the train moving . . . unless . . . unless . . . nothing is ever sure . . . I tell Lili, a good time to sleep, we could do with some sleep, here on these chairs we certainly have a right, weeks and weeks of sleep to catch up on, since Montmartre actually, since 1939, come to think of it . . . it's not just the sirens on the roofs, it's the ones inside you, they don't make any noise but they keep you awake all the same . . . when it came to not sleeping, we held the world record . . . right now it was time to keep a weather eye open and not to believe we were out of the woods . . . the train was moving along, pretty fast in fact, I tried not to look out, I stayed where they'd put us, way back in the corner, so did Lili and Bébert in his bag . . . he'd eaten . . . rather greedily . . . the cook told us again in sign language to help ourselves, anything we wanted . . . there was plenty to choose from! I've told you . . . no beanery victuals, all fresh stuff . . . the best . . . Gargantua would have had himself a feast, but us? . . . I ask Lili . . . she's not hungry, not at all, neither am I, all I ask is to keep rolling and not to be thrown out . . . a few more nurses come in, they fill up plates and platters and bowls . . . they certainly saw us, even if we were in the shadow . . . way in back . . . and still as a mouse . . . they just didn't look in our direction . . . I see by my compass that we're still headed north . . . you never can tell! I know this line . . . in about two hours, I figure, we'll be in Copenhagen . . . if it's nonstop . . . but we've got to turn east! . . . I wouldn't want them to go wrong! . . . one thing for sure, our Red Cross man hasn't been back to see us . . . no doubt about it, he has a good heart, he could have turned us away, us and our snotnoses . . . he must have caught on . . . luckily I'm extremely cautious by nature, life has taught me absolute discretion, you wouldn't think so from my books, but the fact is I'm the soul of self-effacement . . . I see a character let's say once, I make an appointment with him for thirty years later, naturally I find him completely changed, so putrid and bloated it's no use even talking to him . . . naturally I'm discreet . . .
But I'm losing you! . . . so there we are in our corner . . . on our two chairs . . . this kitchen car was rolling . . . rolling . . . ah, our Red Cross man! he's in the corridor, coming our way . . . he motions me not to get up . . . he slips in between the two tables . . . he asks us . . .
"You haven't eaten at all?"
"Later!. . . Later! . . ."
What I really want to know is where this train is taking us . . . I mean, where we're supposed to get off . . .
"Wherever you like!"
I know where I want to go, Copenhagen . . .
"Certainly! certainly!"
Sweden? . . . impossible! I'd suspected as much . . . but Copenhagen, fine, perfect! . . . Copenhagen would be about three hours . . . splendid! suits me fine! . . . I've got friends in Copenhagen, they're expecting us! . . . I even have their addresses . . . I show him . . .
Staégers Allee, Ved Stranden
. . . and
Landsman Bank
. . . my bank . . .
He's not very demonstrative, I can see that, I'd even say impassive . . . "oh! oh! oh!" he goes, as if those two addresses frightened him . . . and that bank . . . and he starts warning us!
"Beware!
. . . Copenhagen is very anti-German! all Denmark! . . . worse than Sweden! . . . don't say you came from the Nazis! never! don't tell anybody anything! . . . you've come out of chaos and that's all! the train to Flensburg: chaos . . . Hamburg: chaos! bombs! the Swedish children with you? . . . chaos! found! lost! you understand?"
I understand all right! you won't catch me putting my foot in it! . . . anyway another three hours to travel in this kitchen . . . the soul of discretion . . . absolutely no desire to show ourselves . . . Bébert is hungry, he sticks his head out of his bag . . . the cook gives him some pâté . . .
yum! yum!
. . . he dives in . . . he does it justice . . . this providential colleague, I forgot to tell you, has left two coats for us on a stool, one for me, I put it on . . . brand new, magnificent . . . and for Lili one of those nurse's capes, lined with astrakhan, I think . . . the lap of luxury! . . . seems to me that with these over our rags we can show ourselves anywhere . . . I'm not wasting my time, I'm thinking, I don't fall asleep for a second, I'm figuring out what we'll do . . . so the Danes are murderers . . . hell's bells, they won't be the first! . . . all the same, it's good to know what you're up against . . . I may as well tell you, I knew Copenhagen, though I certainly got to know it better . . . I certainly know it better than his Excellency the Ambassador, all bloated with credentials, immunity, and petits fours . . .
"Don't you worry, Lili. . . I think the worst is over . . ." I can see that Lili isn't so sure . . . she has her doubts about the reception we'll get. . . even with me rigged out very present-ably and her in her astrakhan lining . . . my weakness is optimism . . . well, not really, for one thing I've got my compass to rely on! sure enough, we've changed direction, right angles! . . . east! . . . east it is! . . . Copenhagen's at least another two hundred miles . . . I'm pretty sure . . . two arms of the sea to cross . . . the Little Belt . . . at the Little Belt there's a bridge . . . the Great Belt it's a ferry . . . anyway the train's running along, smooth as silk like before '39 . . . at the Little Belt I'll look . . . it'll be safe by then . . . I think . . .
I can't say that we felt the Little Belt, that arm of the sea, the bridge . . . maybe we were in too much of a daze to feel anything . . . that train, I've got to admit, kind of lulled you, no more roller coaster . . . of course there'd been sabotage and bombs here and there, so we'd been told . . . but there was no sign of it, the train was running along perfectly, like a charm . . . I'm not moving, neither is Lili, like we were asleep . . . never fear, it's not even a half sleep, you could call it resting . . . in a deliberate, rigid kind of way . . . once you've gotten into the habit of this very special wakeful somnolence, you've moved once and for all into a different world, where your subtle witticism hasn't a leg to stand on! it grates, and so . . . a damn sight worse . . . does your hearty buffoonery! the ideal of the Species! how are you going to charge your batteries under those conditions? . . . disaster in the symposiums, asylums, bistros, penitentiaries! . . . intoxication is dead! life is unlivable! . . . I ask you, isn't this stuff insipid? . . . my contract with Achille calls for something entirely different! let's get on with our story! you couldn't deny it, we were moving right along . . . I'll look out in a little while, I'll raise the blind . . . the cook won't object . . . at the Great Belt we'll certainly have to open our eyes . . . there it's not a bridge, it's a ferry . . . the train goes aboard and it takes you across, I've told you, I'd done it before . . . this arm of the sea is very calm . . . all the same we'll have to look . . . nobody's been to see us, to ask us where we've come from and where we're going . . . luckily! . . . if only it lasts! a mouthful! little did I suspect . . . this must be Nordport . . . our train slows down . . . this must be it . . . hell, I'll look! just as I thought . . . the city, the station, not a crack, as far as I can see, no damage . . . looks funny, almost suspicious, a small town like this, absolutely peaceful, you can't help wondering: what are they waiting for?
Our sad experience! . . . hell, ever since Montmartre! . . . oh well, this is Denmark, we'll see . . . as I've told you, just as I'd been thinking, this Great Belt was very calm, the sea was tourist-blue . . . a healthy swell, though, just enough to put a pretty crest of foam on the waves . . . the gulls are circling around them . . . just the thing for a poster, irresistible . . . actually the gulls aren't just pecking at the foam, they're diving at the propellers, at the eddies, and especially at the portholes of the galley, the peelings, the scrapings . . . all the stuff that floats, scatters far and wide . . . out there in the foam . . . in the swell . . . as far as the horizon with its enormous clouds climbing up to the sky . . . the crossing will take a good hour, I figure . . . I knew the far shore where we'd be landing, Korsör . . . everything in due time, I'll show you the place . . . now the ticklish part, getting off the ferry, the whole train passes over the joint, each car gives a little jump . . . the passengers have been taking the air during the crossing . . . I see the nurses, no intention of showing ourselves! . . . quick, back to our kitchen, all aboard! . . . about seventy miles to Copenhagen . . . still on our two chairs in the back of the kitchen car . . . absolutely somnambulistic from exhaustion, I've told you, I see that Lili's nodding, but this is no time to give in . . . or for Bébert to come out of his bag, she's holding it on her knees . . . I think we must have dozed off once or twice . . . since Flensburg without knowing it, without realizing, and hell! we mustn't! . . . we ought to be adjusting ourselves to this . . . if you see what I mean . . . this atmosphere of peace . . . you can tell by the way we're rolling, smooth as silk! . . . hee hee! . . . isn't it funny? . . . no! . . . it's not funny! . . . people like us from rue Girardon . . . passage Choiseul . . . and Bezons, et cetera, we're not at peace at all . . . no more in Denmark than in Bavaria or anywhere else . . . absolutely made to be tortured . . . hell, I can't even count the journalists who've come around and stolen hours of my time, and the Television, driving me up the wall with their
O Maaître!
. . . with their trailer and their hundreds of mikes . . . and vanishing as they came . . . gone forever . . . to tell you the truth, the whole world is howling because the arena has gone out . . . that's where they want us . . . Petiot started the ball rolling, not to mention Cousteau and Landru and Vaillant . . . and even people who don't exist yet, embryos in incubators, who'll evolve into worse rippers and manglers than anything known up to now . . . we'll see . . . you get the picture, with a dib and a dab I'm trying to give you an idea of their lowdown ways . . . ever since
Journey
it's been a scramble . . . who could steal more from me, plagiarize more, stuff himself fuller . . . the whole stinking horde! . . . since 1933, it seems to me, I've been feasting them all, they're at the table, at my table, and always asking for more . . . and more! they guzzle and swill and they never, never admit it . . . guests you might say, except that I never invited them, and they think it's owing to them . . . and in addition, not satisfied, they've done everything in their power since 1933 to have me skinned, drawn, and quartered . . . expunged, to fix it so they exist and I've never existed! . . . the villainy of those scavengers! since 1933 it's been going on, since 1933 I've been protesting, the pillaged host! you'll say it's their right, okay, but later on they'll say: "the stupid bastard never even knew it!" that's where I draw the line! I'm sorry, my indignation . . . it sticks in my craw, one trifling remark and I caught fire . . . forgive me! . . . back to our train, I mean our kitchen car . . . I've told you, springs and comfort like before the war, you couldn't even feel the tracks . . . and they refused us nothing . . . all we had to do was help ourselves, the fat cook kept telling us . . . take this! take that! I accept a cup of coffee, so does Lili, for Bébert it's pâté . . . he dives in . . .
yum! yum!
. . . perfectly at home! . . . think I'll take a chance on looking out . . . lift up the blind . . . I knew the landscape . . . farms like in Normandy . . . except for the pastures . . . up there the land is so barren, the grass so rare that the cattle never get out of the barn . . . the winter's so long, implacable, practically all year round . . . for two months it's almost possible if they hurry, fling themselves on their impossible soil, absolutely hysterical, and make it yield, yield come hell and high water, their own technique, everything, wheat, cattle feed, spuds, beans . . . and the payoff, wait, is that everything has the same "Baltic" taste . . . absolutely insipid . . . codfish, strawberries, beans, asparagus, a hundred percent interchangeable . . . same "Baltic" taste . . . luckily, in two hundred years the waves and the wind will have "reclaimed" the whole place, wiped it out, melted it down . . . Denmark, Tivoli, prisons, monarchy, and agriculture, all those horrors . . . I know whereof I speak! . . . two years they kept me in a cell for no reason at all, for the hell of it, one good thing at least, they'll never ask me to send them a tourist . . . still, I'm not so sure, some people are perverts, there were guys in the galleys that didn't have to be, that liked to suffer in a big way, crazy about dying under the whip . . . and in the snazzier, richer classes, take the motorists, their only dream is to buck a stone wall, uproot the biggest plane tree . . . and spill their guts in the bushes! . . . faster! oh, faster! . . .