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

13

I woke up the next morning. I didn’t think twice. I got out of bed and, while the coffee was heating, did twenty push-ups without batting an eye. I don’t usually do things like that, but somehow it felt right. I stood up again and walked to the window. A ray of sunshine hit me in the face. It made me smile. I went to turn off the coffee, and broke the knob on the stove in half. I felt fit-incapable of coming up with a single thought, but wound tight as a spring and responsive as a remote-control engine. This was fine with me. From time to time it feels good to unplug your brain. I watched myself get dressed, straighten up the room, and do a few dishes. I smoked a cigarette before I left-the last cigarette of the condemned man. The condemned man wasn’t me, but I smoked it for him, to save time.

When he asked me through the door who I was, I said I was producing a television show on Literature. The first thing I saw when he opened up was the bandage across his cheek. His eyes bulged when I gave him a hard right to the stomach. He folded in half. I went in, closed the door behind me, and delivered another one. This time he went down to his knees. It hurt me to see him like that-eyes popping out and mouth twisted in an inaudible cry-it hurt me. I sent him rolling into the living room with my foot.

He landed under a table. Ile tried to get up, but I was on him in two steps. I grabbed him by the lapels of his housecoat and twisted my fist in it to strangle him. I dragged him coughing and spitting to an armchair, and sat down. I let up a little on the lapels, so he could catch his breath, but at the same time gave him a sharp knee in the nose, to maintain the psychological edge. I moved aside quickly to keep the blood from getting all over me.

“If you think I’m doing this because you shit on my book, you’re wrong,” I said. “Has nothing to do with that.”

He slowly got his breath back. His face was finger-painted in blood from his touching his nose. I held him fast.

“If you think that, you’re wrong,” I repeated. “Real wrong, you get me?”

I fired my fist into the top of his skull. He let out a moan.

“I don’t hold it against you, because it isn’t really your fault, I recognize that. I didn’t write the book for someone like you. So let’s consider that a simple misunderstanding-no harm done. That’s all there is to say as far as you and me go. You agree?”

He let me know he agreed. I grabbed him by the hair and yanked. Our eyes met.

“Still, you don’t know shit from shinola,” I said.

I punched him in the ear. I took the telephone in my lap.

“I’ll make it brief,” I said. “That girl is the only thing that counts in my life. So you take this phone and you withdraw your complaint, or I’ll be forced to do something unpleasant, okay?”

All those swear words echoing in that room furnished in Louis XVI-it was like sprinkling confetti on the bed of a dying man. He nodded his head immediately, a small bubble of blood hanging from his lip. I tied a noose around his neck with the telephone cord and then let him be. I listened in while he told his little story to the cops.

“Good,” I said. “Now say it one more time…”

“But…”

“I said say it again.”

He repeated the magic words in a tired voice and I gave him a sign to hang up the phone. I sat there deciding whether or not to smash a few more things before leaving, but I thought better of it-I was starting to lose my nerve. I pulled the cord just a little, to squeeze his Adam’s apple.

.

“You’d be foolish not to forget this ever happened,” I said. “It’s up to you if we ever see each other again. Of the two of us, it’s me who’s got less to lose.”

He looked at me, his head nodding, fingers clenched on the telephone cord. The blood was starting to dry on his nose-blood is something that never lasts too long. For a moment I almost asked myself what I was doing there. I’m used to that kind of change, though-l can slip from one level of consciousness to another with the ease of a leaf floating down a river, regaining its gentle pace after falling over a sixty-foot waterfall. The guy was nothing to me. He was just the cheap image of something that had nothing to do with reality.

I left without saying another word. I quietly closed the door behind me. Outside I got a hit off the icy wind.

We made a lot of money at the pizzeria Christmas Eve-a real haul. Eddie couldn’t believe his eyes. We went all out. The night before I’d brought in double the usual amount of champagne, without saying anything. Now there was only one bottle left standing, and there was money overflowing from all sides. It was almost daylight by the time the last customer left. We were dead. Lisa put her arms around my neck; she’d worked all night with us and done a hell of a job. I picked her up by the waist and sat her on the counter.

“Tell me what I can get you,” I said.

“I want something fabulous,” she said.

Betty melted into a chair, sighing.

“Make that two,” she said.

I went up to her, raised her chin, and kissed her theatrically. I could hear them laughing behind me, but I didn’t care. I took my time. I found that it was even better after the kind of day we’d had-a broiling kiss served up hot. Then I went and started on the drinks, Mario came around to see what was going on, but was too tired to stay-he just kissed the two girls and split. I’d made enough for five, which left us with four very full glasses. It was something I’d come up with on the spur of the moment, something a bit rough around the edges.

It leveled Eddie right off the bat. He didn’t notice, but everyone else did. He started regaling us with some wild idea about seeing the sun rise over the snow. He couldn’t live without seeing it.

“What the hell are you bothering us with that shit for?” I said.

“Man, can you imagine anything prettier? What’s Christmas without a little snow?”

“It’s like a peanut with nobody inside.”

“Hey, we can go in the car. Try not to spoil my fun, okay?”

I felt the girls going soft. They were not particularly low on the idea.

“Shit, you have any idea what it’ll be like out there in the cold? You playing with a full deck, guy?”

“I just want to see your face when the first rays come through the flakes. I want to see you wisecrack then…”

“It’s not that. I’m sure it’s great-the sun, the snow, and all that stuff-it’s certainly awesome, but it’s not that. What I’m wondering, Eddie, is just how you think you’re going to drive in the condition you’re in?”

“Shit,” he said. “Shit-I’m going to teach you something. There is no condition that I can’t drive a car in.”

His eyes were shining like flying saucers. It’s the gin, I said to myself. I had to admit that I’d been a little heavy-handed with the gin-I’d let myself go.

“You’re going to get us all killed!” I said.

Everyone laughed, except me. Five minutes later we were in the car, waiting for Eddie to find the keys. I sighed softly. “What’s with you?” he said. “Don’t you think this is fun? It’s Christmas-don’t worry about a thing! Everything’s going to be hunky-dory. Here they are…”

He jingled his keys under my nose and one of them gave me a spark-blue and cold. Nice little cunt of a key, I thought-go piss up a rope. I hunched down in my seat.

We crossed town in the wee hours. The streets were practically deserted, and that made it nice-we could drive down the middle at low speeds, spotting the lights from far away in the mild dawn fog. I wondered where all the people were, if the sidewalk hadn’t swallowed them in the night. The girls were laughing in the backseat. We left the city, headed for the blazing horizon, we had to hurry. We all had drawn-out faces-all so tired. Still, a new energy slowly slid into the car. We rounded the cape and headed for the sun on that December morning, lighting cigarettes and talking nonsense, while a new day was getting ready to be lived. We drove for a while, until we came to a snow-covered field. There were a few large buildings-factories-in the background, but we didn’t have time to find anything better. By then it was a matter of minutes. We parked on the side of the road. The sky was clearing. There was the sensation of abominable temperatures-approaching zero, with icy winds. We got out of the car anyway, slapping our arms.

In two seconds flat, my nose started running, and my eyes teared. Seats were expensive for this early bloodless morning-it was enough to make your hair fall out. After the work we’d put in the night before, the tranquility of this little corner of the world seemed somehow grotesque. I mean it. Eddie had his hat pulled down over his eyes; he was smoking a cigarette and sitting on the hood of the car, his face turned toward the flames.

“Jesus Christ,” I said. “Jesus Christ, Eddie, you falling asleep there…?”

“Stop blabbering and look…”

He motioned to me to turn around. lust then a grazing ray of sunlight swept over the field of snow. We witnessed a festival of sparkles-golds and blues. In the end it was nothing to write home about-I had to struggle to keep from yawning. It’s all a matter of disposition here on earth. That morning I was rather disposed to shiver, trampling those dear little flakes underfoot. I was not interested in anything too profound. I was interested only in finding someplace warm, where I could do something that wasn’t too tiring-blinking for instance-and as little of that as possible. Betty had been out of jail for two days, and I hadn’t slept in three nights. It would take more than a ray of sunshine to get me excited, I was still standing only by the grace of God. A whole day talking to Betty, a whole night decorating the dining room, and finally that miserable Christmas Eve running around between tables, body racked with pain. I was not about to let a frigid little wind come crack every tooth in my mouth, and then smile about it.

Even though I was freezing to death, we didn’t leave right away. The girls decided that they simply couldn’t leave without feeding the little birds. I was starting to feel weak. The sun was coming up but it wasn’t giving off much heat. I felt death approaching. The girls miraculously managed to find some crackers in the glove compartment, and off they went, rosy-cheeked and Santa Claus-smiling. It was “Oh this” and “Ah that” and “Let’s smash these crackers into a thousand crumbs and throw them in the air by the fistful.”

I sat in the car with the door open, my feet outside. I smoked a cigarette while the sparrows came and landed in the snow like rain.

Eddie was out there too. I watched them all laughing, dumping tons of food on the poor birds’ heads, imagining that each crumb represented the equivalent of a large steak and french fries, and it occurred to me that you could probably kill them like that: force-feeding them fifteen or twenty main dishes in a row, things they’d never ordered.

“Merry Christmas, fellas!” Eddie yelled. “Come and get it, boys!”

One bird showed up after the others. I saw him come from the end of the sky, then change course suddenly, his two legs sticking forward. He set himself down away from the others, apparently uninterested in what his friends were up to. He looked away while the steaks tumbled onto his back. I thought it must be the village idiot-he needed a few extra minutes to get what was happening.

He started coming toward me-taking little hops, his feet together. He stopped ten inches from my shoes. We looked at each other for a few seconds.

“Right,” I said. “Maybe you’re not as dumb as you look.”

I had the feeling that something was going on between the bird and me. I decided to take matters into my own hands. I asked the others to throw me a cracker, caught it on the fly. It seemed to be less cold out than before. Life is full of small nothings that warm your heart. You can’t ask for the moon. I crushed the cracker with my fingers and leaned forward. The bird foraged under his wings, like somebody who has lost his wallet. I started dropping the crumbs under his nose, smiling in advance. I knew I was working a miracle-making a small mountain of food appear at his very feet. He looked at me and cocked his head.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You’re not dreaming.”

I don’t know what the little jerk was thinking of-here was this freight car full of merchandise in front of him and he seemed not to even see it. I could hardly believe my eyes, couldn’t get over it. I wondered if there was something wrong with the crackers. How could you possibly not notice that sunlit hill of goodies glowing like a gold-leafed temple, unless you were doing it on purpose. Still, he looked away, ignoring what I’d done, and hopped away to a place where there was nobody around and not a bite to eat. He looked like a penguin walking straight for a precipice.

I got out of the car. I swallowed a cracker and went after him, pacing him as he went. I got snow in my shoes. When he stopped I stopped, and when he flew away there was nothing left to do but go back to the car with the weight of a few snowflakes- disguised as the world-on my shoulders. Yes, I had eaten the cracker myself, and it was good. It would have been better with a little cherry jam on it, but who’s counting…

Then we went home. I shoved my feet under the radiator while Eddie got out the champagne and the girls took the cellophane off the scallops.

“Can I do anything to help?” I asked.

No, I couldn’t do anything-nothing special left to do. I tried to make myself as comfortable as possible, closed my eyes, and grabbed my drink. Had some asshole come along and whispered in my ear that we only die but once, the ear he would have fallen on would have been deaf.

We ate a little while later. It must have been somewhere around ten o’clock. I hadn’t eaten a thing since the night before. Still, I wasn’t hungry. I turned my attention to the champagne instead. I needed a kick. I never let my glass leave my hand. In the end I was rewarded for my tenacity. I felt myself float gently off my chair-banking right, then gliding into the middle of the general merriment, overtaking several laughs along the way.

“How come you’re not eating?” Eddie asked. “You sick?”

“No, I’m saving myself for the yule log.”

Eddie had a napkin tied around his neck and was squinting with satisfaction. I liked him. Human beings like that don’t grow on trees-when you find them it’s like a little miracle. I decided to light up a cigar. Everyone was sitting there with a smile and a cigar. You have to light them at just the right moment. When you know how to go about it, life can disappear into a cloud of blue smoke. I rocked back and forth in my chair with the lightness of someone who lacks for nothing, and knows the sound of a good cigar being rolled next to his ear. The daylight was weak, but I hung tough. My neck was a little stiff was all, but it was no big deal. I said, Now nobody move, stay right where you are, because I am now going to bring us the yule log and I don’t want anybody getting in my way. There are some things a man has to do alone.

So I got up, went to the fridge, and was just about to get the log out when the telephone rang. Eddie went to answer it. There were little elves stuck in the frosting, and a Christmas tree-they formed a little troop, the one in front holding a saw in his hand, with the rest close behind, advancing on the poor little tree, cute enough to eat, with the obvious intention of fixing its wagon. Very big deal. I wondered if the guy who had hatched it went out and cut himself a tree every morning with a handsaw like that, and if so, why not with a bread knife? I offed the little buggers with a flick of the finger-the last one screaming in horror as he fell into the void, as if I’d pulled his arm off. The screaming hurt my ears.

I looked up and saw Eddie wavering by the telephone, his mouth wide open and his face ravaged. Lisa moved back from the table, knocking over her glass. I don’t know why, but the first thing I thought of was that he’d just been bitten in the leg by a rattlesnake. The receiver was hanging strangely by its cord. The image went through my mind like a hedge-hopping fighter plane that buzzes you, flips you like a pancake till you fall out of your hammock. All this lasted a fraction of a second. Eddie ran his hand through his hair with a dazed look.

“My God, you guys…” he moaned. “My God in Heaven…”

Lisa got up with a bolt, but something nailed her to the floor.

“Eddie, what is it?” she said. “Eddie!”

I saw he was going to collapse, his hair all disheveled. He gave us a pathetic look.

“It can’t be true,” he mumbled. “My mom… my dear… It hurts… How could you do this to me…?”

He tore the napkin from his neck and wrung it in his hands. Something welled up in his chest like a geyser. We waited. He shook his head back and forth, his mouth twisted.

“I’M NOT FOOLING, SHE’S DEAD!!!” he screamed.

On the sidewalk somebody went by with a transistor radio playing a commercial for a laundry detergent that makes everyday chores a breeze. When it was quiet again we ran over to Eddie, grabbing him and sitting him down; his legs couldn’t hold him up anymore. Fatigue, alcohol, and a mother who has just died on Christmas night-it was all well beyond the maximum weight for excess baggage.

He was looking straight ahead, his hands folded on the table. No one knew what to say. We stared at each other, wondering what to do next. Lisa kissed him on the forehead and licked away the beginning of a tear.

Betty and I being there, shifting our weight from one foot to the other without saying a word, didn’t help matters much. I couldn’t just slap him on the shoulder-Be okay, old pal-I never had that sort of ease. Death has always left me speechless. I was going to give Betty the sign that we should leave them alone together, but just then Eddie stood up abruptly, his two fists pushing on the table and his head down.

“I got to go down there,” he said. “The funeral’s tomorrow. I got to go…”

“Of course you do,” said Lisa. “But first you better get some rest. You can’t go down there like this.”

You only had to look at him to know he wouldn’t make it a hundred yards. Lisa was right. Before anything else he needed a few hours of sleep. We all did, in fact-anybody’s mother could understand that. But he was on a roll.

“I’m going to change. I got just enough time to change clothes…”

He was going off the deep end; at that point peeling a banana would have been too strenuous for him. I tried to get him back on course.

“Listen, Eddie. Be reasonable. Lie down for a few hours, then I’ll call a taxi. You’ll see, it’ll be better that way.”

He gave me a look, then started unbuttoning his shirt awkwardly.

“I don’t need a fucking taxi…”

“Really? You going on foot? I don’t know, how far is it?”

“If I leave now I think I can be there before nightfall,” he said.

This time it was me who collapsed into a chair. I pinched the bridge of my nose, then grabbed him by the arm.

“Are you kidding me, Eddie? You joking? You think you’re going to drive seven or eight hours in a row, when you can hardly keep your eyes open? You think we’re going to let you? You’re nuts, man…”

He started whining like a little boy, leaning on me. It was the worst thing that could have happened. I know my limits. Still, he insisted.

“But you got to understand,” he said. “It’s my mother, man. My mother died!”

I looked elsewhere-at the table, at the floor, at the white light waiting for mc by the window-and I stopped myself there. There’s always a brief moment of hypnotic terror that comes when you realize that you’re a rat. It’s a fairly nauseating sensation.