"Betty Blue" - читать интересную книгу автора (Djian Philippe)

9

I slid open the little serving window that went into the kitchen and stuck my head through it, plunging myself for the thousandth time into the overwhelming food odors that reigned inside. It was quieter than the dining room, though. It was Friday night and everyone was out. We’d had to add tables. I looked at Mario bent over the ovens, his face aglow and his eyes half closed.

“Make me another one with mushrooms, and one plain!” I called out.

Though he never answered, you knew he heard you. It was something engraved in his brain. I leaned in a little farther to get one of those tiny bottles of San Pellegrino and downed it in one swallow. I’d taken to doing that lately. I put away about thirty or forty a night-it made me feel just a little bloated by closing time. Eddie looked the other way.

Eddie manned the register. Betty and I worked the dining room. If you ask me, you needed at least four waiters for that dining room, but there were just the two of us. We ran like chickens with our heads cut off, carrying trays where our heads should have been. By eleven o’clock I was dead on my feet, but the San Pellegrino was free and we were getting good money, so I couldn’t complain.

I grabbed my steaming pizzas and headed for the two little blondes who’d ordered them. They weren’t too bad, but I wasn’t up to making snappy chatter-I wasn’t there to have fun. People were shouting at me from all sides. It hadn’t been that long ago that I had to strain my ears to pierce through the silence of the night-walked out on the porch and felt myself surrounded by space. It seemed only natural. Now here I was squeezing my ass to steer through the noise of clattering plates and bursting voices.

Betty took it better than I did-she knew how to deal with it. Sometimes we’d cross paths, and she’d give me a wink. It gave me my strength back. I tried not to notice her bangs soaked in sweat-I didn’t let myself look. Every once in a while I’d light a cigarette for her and leave it in the ashtray by the kitchen window, hoping that she’d find the time to take a few drags and think of me. I don’t suppose she always did.

We’d been working there about three weeks, and they’d never been busier. We didn’t know which way to turn. I’d been out of it for a while. We were all sort of numb. The only thing I saw clearly were my tips. What really got me was to see all the people standing outside waiting. It was getting on toward midnight, and we apparently wouldn’t be closing for a while. The smell of anchovies was starting to make my stomach tum. I was sticking biscuits in a peach melba when Betty came up to me. In spite of the brouhaha and the circus going on all around us, she managed to whisper a few words in my ear.

“Shit,” she said. “You better take over number five or I’m going to wind up pushing that cunt right through the window.”

“What’s her problem?”

“She’s got it in for me,” she said.

l went to check it out. There were two at the table – this old guy, sort of hunched over, and this woman. She was about forty but already on the edge of the abyss-just out of the beauty shop. The perfect bitch, out on the town with some poor jerk, dry as a saltine.

“Oh, there you are!” she said. “That girl is retarded! I ordered a pizza with anchovies, and she brings me one with ham. Take this away right now…”

“Don’t you like ham?” I said.

She didn’t answer. She gave me a dirty look and lit a cigarette, exhaling through her nose. I took the pizza with a smile and headed for the kitchen. I passed Betty on the way. I wanted to drop everything and hug her-help her forget the old bag-but I left that for later.

“See what I mean?” she asked.

“Exactly.”

“Before all that, she made me bring her new silverware. There was a drop of water on her fork.”

“It’s because you’re prettier than she is,” I said.

I got a smile out of her, and made my way back to the kitchen.

Mario was scowling, his hands on his hips. Things were sizzling in the oven, and greasy steam was hovering in the air. Every little thing seemed covered with a glowing cloud.

“You back here for a breather?” he asked.

“A little correction,” I said.

I went back to where they kept the garbage, three huge cans with handles-repulsive. I got a fork out of a stack of dirty silverware, then scraped the top of the pizza, getting rid of all the ham. Then I took two or three tomatoes that were lying around and started putting the pizza back together again. It was easy to find the tomatoes-that’s what people leave behind most-but it took quite an effort to locate four anchovies, not to mention the glistening lacework of grated cheese that I had to run under the faucet because of a cigarette butt. Mario watched me, his eyes wide, pushing back the oily hair that kept falling over his fore head.

“I don’t understand what the fuck you’re doing there,” he said.

I smashed all the ingredients together and held the little jewel out for him to see.

“Stick this in the oven a minute,” I said.

“Shit…” he said, shaking his head.

He opened the oven door and we stood there, squinting.

“Some people deserve to eat this sort of thing,” I said.

“Yeah, you’re right. Boy, it’s enough to give you a heart attack tonight…”

“I think we still got at least an hour to go, man.”

I got my pizza back and took it to the lady. I set it on the table delicately. It was just like new-piping hot and crispy. The lady made like I wasn’t even there. I waited until she’d swallowed the first bite, then went away, avenged.

It kept up like a runaway train for another hour or so-even Eddie had to lend a hand-and then the place started clearing out slowly and we could breathe a little-we could light the first cigarette of the evening.

“Shit, that’s good,” said Betty.

She was leaning against the wall with her eyes closed and her head bent slightly forward. She held the smoke in as long as possible. We stood in this little alcove where no one could see us from the dining room. All at once she seemed totally done in. Fatigue sometimes makes life painful and sad, there’s no way around it. I looked up at the ceiling and smiled wanly. In a way it was a victory just to end up on our feet. Every job I’ve ever had has only served to demonstrate that man has supernatural powers of resistance. It’s tough to get him down. I took the cigarette that Betty was holding. It wasn’t good-it was divine.

All that was left to do was serve a few desserts-two or three banana flambé-type concoctions-and the game would be won. Then we could go sit in the booth in back and let Eddie take over. I could already see her slipping her shoes off, her head in my lap, my forehead against the windowpane, watching the empty streets, looking for the first sentence of my new novel.

Among the last customers to leave were the lady and her old boyfriend. The guy had hardly touched his food but the lady had eaten-and drunk-enough for two. Her eyes were glazed. She was on her third coffee.

What happened next was entirely my fault. The day seemed to be over, and I had stopped paying attention. I let Betty take care of the dining room-clean out the last stragglers. I was a fool. I felt a chill down my back a fraction of a second before the storm hit. Then there was an incredible sound of things being smashed.

When I turned around Betty was standing nose to nose with the lady. The table was overturned. She was white as death and the lady was red as a poppy, blazing in the sun.

“Bitch…” said the one in red. “I want to see the manager immediately, you hear me?”

Eddie went over, frowning, not knowing what to do with his hands. No one else moved. The few customers left in the dining room were happy to get their money’s worth. It’s always a delicate situation for an owner when one of his employees is getting ready to tangle with a customer. Eddie was uneasy.

“Okay, let’s calm down,” he moaned. “Now what’s going on here?”

The lady was half choked with rage.

“What’s going on is that the service has been abominable all evening long, and if that wasn’t enough, this little twit refuses to bring me my coat! What kind of place is this, anyway?”

Her boyfriend looked away sadly. Betty seemed paralyzed. I threw my dish towel on the floor and went over. I turned to Eddie.

“It’s all right,” I said. “Just put their bill on my account and get them out of here. I’ll explain later…”

“Jesus, now I’ve seen everything,” the lady said. “I’d like to know just who’s in charge of this greasy spoon!”

“Fine. What color is your coat?” I asked.

“Don’t stick your nose in this! Co back to your dish towels!” she said.

“Easy does it…” I said.

“That’s enough! Get out of my sight!”

At these words Betty let out a horrifying scream-almost animal-the kind that makes your blood run cold. I had barely seen her grab the fork off another table when the room seemed to light up, and she jumped at the lady with the speed of lightning.

She plunged the fork wildly into her arm. The woman let out a shriek. Betty pulled the fork out and plunged it in again, a bit higher up. The woman fell over backward and tumbled over a chair, her arm covered with blood. Everyone seemed petrified, but the lady shrieked even louder when she saw Betty coming at her again brandishing the fork. She tried to climb up on her back.

It was suddenly hot as hell. It woke me up. I had just enough time to grab Betty around the waist to keep her from doing something really stupid. I pulled her backward with all my strength and we rolled under a table. My muscles were so tense that I felt like I’d fallen over with a bronze statue in my arms. When our eyes met, I realized that she didn’t even recognize me anymore-then I felt the fork go into my back. The pain went up to my skull. I managed to grab her hand and twist it until she let go of the fork. It rang on the tile like something that had fallen from the sky, shining and covered with blood.

The people immediately gathered around us. All I could see was their legs, but by then my mind wasn’t registering anything. I felt Betty trembling under me. I felt sick.

“Betty,” I said. “It’s all over. Calm down. It’s all over…” I held her hands against the floor and she shook her head, moaning. I didn’t understand anything-all I knew was that I couldn’t let her go. I felt miserable.

Eddie stuck his head down under the table. I could see other faces crowded together behind his. I moved around so they couldn’t see her, and gave Eddie a frantic glance.

“Eddie, please… get them out of here…”

“Shit, what the hell happened?” he said.

“She’s got to have some space. EDDIE, GET THEM THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, GODDAMMIT!”

He stood up and I heard him talking to people, moving them toward the door. Brave Eddie, wonderful Eddie. I knew that what I had asked him to do wasn’t easy-people turn into mad dogs when you try to take their bones away. Betty was shaking her head like a metronome, while I stammered out stupidities like What’s wrong sweetheart, aren’t you feeling well?…

I heard the door shut. Eddie came back. He crouched down next to the table. He seemed genuinely upset.

“Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell is wrong with her?” he asked.

“Nothing. She’s calming down now. I’ll stay with her.”

“She should rinse her face off.”

“Yes, I’ll take care of it. Just leave us alone.”

“You don’t want me to help?”

“No, it’s fine. It’s fine…”

“All right. I’ll wait out in the car.”

“No, don’t bother. Don’t worry, I’ll close up. Go on home, Eddie. Fuck, just leave me alone with her.”

He waited for a moment, then touched my shoulder and stood up.

“I’ll go out through the kitchen. I’ll close up behind Mario.”

He turned all the lights off before he left-all except a small lamp behind the bar. I heard them talking in the kitchen for a second, then the back door closed. Silence poured into the restaurant like glue.

She wasn’t shaking her head anymore, but her body was stiff as stone against me. It was almost frightening. I felt like I was lying across railroad tracks. I let go of her gently, and when I saw that it was okay, I slid over next to her. I saw that we were drenched in sweat. The tile was glazed and sticky, covered with cigarette butts-a dream.

I touched her shoulder-her wonderful small shoulder. I shouldn’t have. Her reaction was terrifying. The touch of my hand set something off in her brain. She turned, groaned, and burst into sobs. It was like someone had stabbed me.

I stroked her gently, pressing against her back, but nothing helped. She was crouched down in a fetal position, her hair falling all over her amid the shit-fists held tight against her mouth. Crying and moaning. Her stomach jumped as if there were a beast trapped inside it. We stayed like that for quite a while, the pale light of the street reflecting on the floor. It was as if all the world’s misery had convened under that table. I was broken, at the end of my wits. It did no good to talk. I had no magic words. I’d tried them all. It was a bitter pill to swallow for the writer. I wasn’t sure she even knew I was there.

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I got up and moved the table away. I had a hard time lifting Betty up-she seemed to weigh six hundred pounds. I lost my balance a little going behind the counter, and wreaked havoc with the bottles, but this was the least of my problems. I wedged my ass against the stainless-steel sink and got the cold water running.

God forgive me. I rolled her hair up in my hand-I had a sort of veneration for her hair-and when I was sure I had a good grip on her, I stuck her head under the faucet.

I counted to ten while she struggled. The water sprayed all over the place. I didn’t like doing it, but I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know anything anymore. Anything about women… anything about anything.

I let her choke just a little, then let her go. She let out a big cough, then threw herself at me.

“You son of a bitch!” she screamed. “You son of a bitch!”

She slapped me across the face. I managed to get out of the way of a second slap, as well as a kick in the shins. She pulled her hair back and looked at me. Then she slid all the way down the bar, covering it with hot tears. I didn’t get shaken, though-I’d seen this before-what happens when your nerves start to let go. All there is to do is wait. I used the pause to fill up a glass. I pushed up on the measuring spigot of a bottle hung upside down-one shot, two, three… Over the lips, past the gums, look out stomach here it comes… I downed it in one gulp with my head tilted back, and with the same movement backed up against the wall. I closed my eyes. I listened to her crying. I needed a breather.

I breathed for a second, but when I accidentally pushed back on my wound I jumped. I rushed back to the measuring spigot, gnashing my teeth. Fill ‘er up-I poured two more glasses and then slid up beside her. I put my arm around her shoulder. I looked at my glass gleaming in the lamplight, then downed it.

By now she was feeling better-just sniffling. She was sitting with her knees against her chest, her forehead on her knees, and her face behind her hair, which I separated with my hand to offer her a drink. She shook her head. I had an extra glass on my hands, so I stretched my legs out in front of me to relax a little. I’d gone past the tired stage and now felt myself sort of floating. It was a nicer feeling than an hour ago-wiped out, but painless. I kissed her neck softly. She’d been cold before, now she came alive. I swallowed my drink to celebrate-it was the least I could do.

“Usually people fall off their stools on the other side of the bar,” I said. “I’m glad we’ve managed to be different.”

That night I fucked Betty with new passion. By some miracle we’d found a taxi just as we came out of the restaurant, and I’d hugged her tight all the way home-very tight. We went in through the back door to avoid running into Lisa and Eddie, but the house was silent and dark-we could have just gone straight in and up to bed. Though we hardly said two words to each other, we made up for it in other ways: I said all I had to say-several times-in the depths of her vagina.

She fell asleep after that, but I didn’t feel like sleeping. I lay there with my eyes wide open, alone in the darkness, I was dead, but my eyes wouldn’t close. I lay there a long time, thinking over what had happened. I decided that the old woman had gotten what was coming to her, and the rest didn’t matter. Betty was simply the kind of girl you shouldn’t hassle. Besides, Fridays were always deadly. I got up to piss. The minute I saw the commode I threw up. My God, I said, no wonder I couldn’t sleep. I washed my mouth out and went back to bed. I was in dreamland in no time. I dreamed I was in the jungle, lost in the middle of the jungle. It was raining like I’d never seen.