Trio (11 page)

He plonks it down on the stone in all simplicity, his commemorative flowers too, but remains embarrassed and silent, no doubt so as to seem to want to say a great deal more, a subterfuge that is less rare than his aristocratic appearance, I come out with some vague words about the nip in the air, the matutinal hour, how was it that the cemetery had already opened its gates, he replied that the caretaker had died during the night, which had caused some confusion among the administration, and as he had come very early to wait for the opening he had taken advantage of this momentary disorder, he has not the slightest difficulty in getting up early because sleep has deserted him.

A miraculous herb tea, it’s called psspss.

This story for incorrigible babes in arms.

Span dismal or cheerful days.

Me talking about my late wife, him about his, old history all that, good or bad times in days gone by are pleasant companions when you’re old, a new contradiction, don’t let’s be sorry for ourselves but apropos of cemeteries where’s your family vault, wasn’t it beyond the fountain, so long since I set foot there, the time will come soon enough, as for his poor wife he’d met her, can you imagine, in the cemetery, or am I mixing things up, rather macabre isn’t it, he’d been fascinated by her as she was putting flowers on her parents’ tomb, an air of sincere piety, modestly dressed, and the little five-franc pot of chrysanthemums, that was quite adequate in those days, do you approve of useless expenditure, I realized right away that she would be a good housewife, do you know how to judge a woman you’ve
 
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Repeat, I am dead, I shan’t keep silent anywhere no matter what happens, but isn’t it cold.

The time it takes to transcribe a phrase.

Silence that you’re afraid won’t be
 
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Take stock of the unbearable situations.

The burial took place in the province he came from, the announcement said died after a long illness bravely borne, he rests by the side of
 
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A missing link.

The adjacent tomb was apparently that of a nephew, never any flowers on it, the family lives in the Antipodes.

What does he do all day.

And his godson, isn’t it something like what they call illegal confinement, his mother complains that she never has her child to herself but you know how it is, the old man dazzles her with the idea of his inheritance and she accepts the conditions of his blackmail, neither more nor less, for in fact Théodore never leaves his uncle’s side, the old man is so attached to the spoiled brat, he’s his godson, as godfather the master had suggested calling him Théodore, at first his sister didn’t want to give him that rather daft Christian name, but as it means gift of God she finally accepted it, being very religious.

Outside the kitchen door, out of breath, not having troubled to say good morning, where’s the master, said Louis, the maid was shocked at his impertinent manner and turned around, look here, what’s the matter, come in and shut the door, it was already open said Louis, the kid hadn’t shut it said the maid, she was stirring a sauce, these drafts, my rheumatism, what brings you here, the master isn’t down yet, I never disturb him before noon, I’ll wait then said the other, it’s not far off noon, no, the alarm clock says ten to but it’s fast, it’s a quarter to, she said, go and wait in the salon there’s some magazines there but don’t smoke your filthy pipe, tasting her sauce, adding a little salt, where did I put the pepper, pass it to me, there, on the shelf, no, there, by the tea-caddy, he picks up the pepper and hands it to her then goes into the salon which is practically adjacent, a little hall first where the stairs go up to the second floor, then side by side the dining room and the salon.

I was just finishing my toilet when I heard Louis questioning the maid, she told him to wait, the kid hadn’t shut the door, he’s gone off with the magazines, she said, but you can do without them for a few minutes, fifteen at the most, he’d taken them into his own domain, the barn where he’s fixed himself up a cosy corner between the cart and the place where they keep the tools, he must have heard Louis arrive in his car but his little radio which he keeps on all the time will certainly have drowned all the conversation.

Or, recalling years later that he couldn’t have been present when Louis had told the maid the news because he would have acted immediately, must have heard it a long time after, when it was too late.

But after twelve when the maid hadn’t heard the master come down she went into the salon where Louis had dropped off, he spends his nights at the warehouse during the grape harvest, there’s always something to be done, he’s paid for it, she woke him up by yelling on your feet, in there, imitating in her stentorian voice that of a regimental sergeant-major, he jumped, then from the second floor came the old man’s voice demanding what is it, what’s the matter with you.

Voices from all around.

This imposition, invincible fatigue.

The slate, always come back to that.

They burst out laughing, she went back to her kitchen calling out nothing, nothing, come down, you’re wanted, he came down a few minutes later, grumbling, went into the salon where Louis greeted him, asking him to shut the door, she would have liked to hear their conversation.

October, abundant grape harvests, superb skies, sunsets purple and pink, blue, green, mauve, ashen, opaline, mornings misty if not foggy, the sun breaks through around midday, sometimes a sudden shower but the season was splendid, still almost summer, no yellow leaves on the trees, and the temperature, they barely had to light the stove one day out of two but nothing lasts, it would soon be winter, they had laid in their supply of fuel, the price of wood is prohibitive but the master must have his log fire, an expense I don’t approve of when you see all the misery there is in the world, that’s not the way
I
was brought up.

Or tell the grocer’s wife that some of the personnel at the winery are sick, they haven’t been selling retail for the last month, and apropos of the flu, asking for news of several of her relations that she claims she never has time to see in order to steer the conversation around to her own health, her rheumatism, the drafts, and end up with the apotheosis, the bit of news that will go the rounds of the district.

Bedridden for years, helpless, fabulously wealthy, the old man had been cheated out of millions by an unscrupulous nephew, forged signature, no one any the wiser, he decamped with the loot, how could they bring proceedings against him, everyone thinks the uncle is deranged and anyway what about the family, his sister, no he wouldn’t do it, you could never be too careful, whoever would have suspected the nephew of being a crook, always so correct, black tie, and a churchgoer, ah, how right they are when they say
 
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Or that no one had ever got to the bottom of it, there were so many papers on his table, old dossiers, old newspapers, the narration, as it’s called, of the facts in question appears to have gone unnoticed, and you can say that again, or been lost, discarded with the rubbish, his wastebasket always full, I almost had to empty it twice a day.

Because he confused what he was saying, and when I say saying, his gibberish, with what was happening to him, not much but enough for, well, his conversation with Louis for instance, I won’t insist on that given the circumstances.

Taking not the slightest bit of notice of anyone else, the women might have been alone in the world, psspss, those obscenities from mouth to ear, there’s always something more to say, just try and imagine the scene but anyway it’s classic, the old man, his night-light by his side, he isn’t asleep, three in the morning, he hears a noise, but why make you waste your time with this antediluvian story, what interest is it, I ask you.

And personally, his habit of never finishing his phrases, it drives me crazy, just because he’s losing his marbles is no reason why everyone else should suffer, but I’m boring you again.

Cutting in from time immemorial.

We’ll get there in the end with a little method.

His eyes mist over, don’t let’s be in too much of a hurry, he was wearing the latest fashion in trousers, a little American-style denim jacket with patches over the elbows, that’s the ultimate in casual elegance with the young people of today, and a hand-knitted, thick woolen scarf.

As he didn’t open his trap anymore I try to get him to confide in me, have you killed someone, he nods yes, that’s nothing, I say, it happens to everyone, nature, ups and downs, was it by poison, or firearms, or strangulation, or drowning, he was absentmindedly pulling the petals off a chrysanthemum, my question embarrassed him, well, let’s talk about something else then, and turning toward the inscription on the grave, then you knew that Mortin, he jumps, turns around too, stands up, beating heart, and says, he is the person I have come to honor, how comes it, what
 
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He stands there dazed, then gives me a sideways took, don’t worry young man, pull yourself together, nothing here that isn’t natural, my presence must have distracted you, then, pointing to my sepulcher, look at my dwelling place instead, a vagabond with no history, no duplicity, tell me about yourself, that will calm you.

With a little method.

I knew Alexandre well, he said, a generous friend, unhappy, persecution complex, failed author, he’d chosen me as his confidant, I learned everything about him, the poor wretch totters, I hold him by the leg, sit down again, which he does and continues his confession, which, the farther it advances the less it holds my attention, in short, held himself responsible, having one day abandoned his benefactor, for the death of the latter, a bit later he starts sobbing, I try to console him, displays of emotion, a few entries deleted, then effaced.

Or that nonsuit without appeal.

Why make you waste your time.

My name is Théodore, he said next, arranging the chrysanthemums as best he could on the marble, and mine is Dieudonné, I said, call me Dodo, if there’s anything I can do for you
 
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There were forget-me-nots around the edge of the grave, which made me say to the forlorn young man, nothing is sweeter than memories, don’t you think, you don’t have anyone anymore, this is what I suggest, over there, at the intersection of the side-alley and the alley where you appeared to me, you see that abandoned vault just like mine, make it your refuge and we’ll correspond through our hearts, our thoughts, well, whatever you like, and he was already making his way toward the place indicated with a little rawhide suitcase in which he had put his things.

His things, yes, that suitcase, when was it that I dared ask him what it contained, one evening no doubt when we were sitting in front of his niche, but as it had just been raining the grass was wet, he pulls out of his suitcase a cloth which he spreads out underneath us, and what else of interest have you in that suitcase, I ask, it isn’t just curiosity
 
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My things, he replies, nothing much, in the way of clothes I have a couple of pairs of socks left and I don’t know what else, the important thing is my papers, he shows them to me arranged in little piles, I ask him are they classified in alphabetic order, chronological order, what are they about, it’s fascinating, I was afraid he was going to turn out to be an obsessive collector of God knows what, no though, it was just his things, their order was only apparent, here, he said, this cutting for example relates part of the speech made at the inauguration of the Suez canal, and this one is the announcement of the engagement of one of my grandmother’s uncles, and this photo a little two-month-old Newfoundland puppy, and those are my school essays, and so on.

We were surrounded by the papers, it might have begun to rain again, let’s put them back in the suitcase, I said, we shall get the benefit of them gradually with the passing days, they’ll keep us company, and since you seem to be gifted, then I tell him about the slate which had been hidden until then, maybe we could try to write some essays together on the subjects contained in your box of treasures, an absurd idea which would only complicate things by multiplying the number of the irresponsible.

He put away his cuttings, they were held together by bits of string, rubber bands, clothespins, paid no attention to me for a long moment, then put his suitcase back in his niche saying forget what’s worrying you Monsieur Dodo, it can’t be really serious, looking at you one envies your diaphanous state, everything can be seen on your face, it won’t do you any good to cross out, delete, efface, consider me a little like your slate, I will only remember what you want me to of your words.

I had thought I saw innocence in his eyes, was it perfidy.

Traces of effacement.

The time it takes to transcribe a phrase.

Entries crossed out and then effaced.

Was it the story of a father or of a son, words of the one or of the other.

Surging back, the old myths, cockchafers of despair.

As for the kid, he was still listening to his radio in the barn, the maid had to call him to lunch once, twice, finally she went to fetch him, come on Théo, your uncle’s already at table, and wash your hands quickly, the kid turned off his radio and first ran to the washhouse and rinsed his fingers then still running went and joined his uncle in the dining room, they ate in silence, the master just managed to ask his nephew what he was doing with his Thursday holiday, a vague reply from Théodore who was struggling to peel a pear, his uncle took it out of his hands and peeled it for him, then the boy went out and the old man drank his coffee by himself, the maid came back to clear the table, he was dozing in his armchair, she made an awkward movement as she was picking up the coffee tray, the cup fell to the floor and smashed, the master jumped and called her a clumsy creature, you can’t pretend it was the cat.

He went out into the garden and made his way over to the well, what a noise coming from the bottom, that illocalizable murmur, never give up, words confused here, the web of their days.