"Betty Blue" - читать интересную книгу автора (Djian Philippe)
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We worked on the house for a good two weeks, Betty astounding me at every turn. It was a pleasure to work with her, especially now that she’d adopted my pace. She left me alone when I didn’t feel like talking. We stopped regularly to down a few beers, It was nice out. She restocked my mouth with nails, she never screwed up, and she was finally able to use a paintbrush without the paint running up to her elbow. I noticed a million little things that she took care to do correctly she was a natural. There are girls like that-you wonder how many more rabbits they have in their hat. In these eases working with a girl is the best, especially if you’re clever enough to have scored a new fifteen-inch foam mattress and can make her come down off her ladder with one well-placed beckoning glance.
Since we had to do our shopping on foot, and since we had a little extra money, I started checking out used cars. I read the want ads, Betty peering over my shoulder. Big cars were cheap because people panicked about gasoline. Big cars were the last flicker of a dying civilization, and now was the moment to take advantage of it. What difference does it make-sixteen or twenty miles to the gallon? Is it really worth making a big deal over?
We wound up with a Mercedes 280, fifteen years old and painted lemon yellow. I wasn’t wild about the color, but it ran well. At night I’d look at it through the window before going to bed. Sometimes a little ray of moonlight would hit it. It was by far the coolest car on the street. The front fender was a little dented, but it didn’t matter much. What bothered me most was that the headlight frame was missing. I tried not to notice. The back three-quarters looked like new, though. That’s how it is everything in life is but an illusion. Every morning I’d look to make sure it was still there. Eventually I got used to it. I got used to it until the day I had a fight with Betty-the day we were coming back from the supermarket.
She had just calmly run a red light-we had missed becoming pancakes by a hair. I offered a subtle reflection: “Keep this up and we’ll be walking home with the steering wheel in our hands. Is that the idea?”
We’d gotten up early that day. We were planning to start on the biggest part of the renovation. At seven in the morning, I took the first swing with the sledgehammer into the wall that divided the bedroom from the living room. I went right through it with ease. Betty was standing on the other side. We looked at each other through the hole while the dust settled.
“You get a load of that?” I said.
“Yeah… you know what it reminds me of?”
“Yeah. Stallone in
“Better than that. You writing your book.”
She came up with things like that from time to time. I was starting to get used to it. I knew that she was being sincere, but she also had this need to prick me with a needle, to see if I reacted. I reacted. When I thought about it, it gave me a feeling like having a bullet lodged in my back. It would move without warning. The pain made me groan inside. I looked away. But that wasn’t the most important thing. Sometimes life seemed like a forest full of vines-you have to grab hold of one before you let go of the other, or else you wind up on the ground with both legs broken. In the end, it was all amazingly simple-a child of four could understand. I discovered more things living with her than I ever would by sitting in front of a blank page, my brain boiling. The only thing worth anything here on earth is what you learn by doing.
With my finger I dislodged a little brick that was getting ready to fall.
“I don’t see really the connection between breaking a wall down and writing a book,” I said.
“I’m not surprised. Forget it,” she said.
I went back to smashing the wall without a word. I knew it hurt her when I said things like that-spoiled her fun-but I couldn’t help it. I had the feeling I was talking to myself. We spent most of the morning piling up boxes of broken plaster on the sidewalk. She didn’t unclench her teeth once. I didn’t want to annoy her. I even made a little small talk here and there, not needing a response-about how warm it was for January, how one sweep of the vacuum cleaner would make it look like nothing had happened, how she ought to at least stop and drink a beer, how I’ll be damned if the house doesn’t look completely different now, how won’t Eddie be thrilled when he gets a load of this?
I tried a potato omelet to get her mind off it, but it didn’t work-the spuds just stuck to the bottom of the frying pan like the lowlife trash they are. “There’s nothing more depressing than grabbing onto a branch that only breaks in the end.
It was hard to go back to work comfortably after that. I thought we ought to get a little air. We took the car-destination shopping center. I needed more paint, and I knew she had two or three things to buy-it’s rare when a girl isn’t out of some cream or moisturizing lotion, it’s rare when a girl refuses to go shopping. If everything worked out, I’d be able to chase away the dark clouds with a tube of lipstick, two or three new pairs of panties, or an industrial-strength candy bar.
We drove slowly up the main street with the windows half open-the noonday sun like peanut butter slathered on holy wafers. I zipped into the parking lot. She hadn’t said a word the whole way, but I wasn’t worried-in thirty seconds I’d have her in the cosmetics department, and the game would be won. I pushed the shopping cart myself. She kept her hands in her pockets and her head turned aside. Twenty more seconds, I told myself.
There weren’t many people. I stayed behind her, letting her go, watching her toss box after box into the basket. I thought maybe I could get a discount at the checkout line-all I had to do was show them how damaged their packaging was. But I kept my mouth shut. I still had a few good cards left to play.
We went toward the beauty department. We went right by it, not even stopping. I didn’t get it. There was a foxtrot coming over the loudspeakers. Maybe she had decided to keep sulking until nightfall-at any rate that’s the way it was looking. I’d have to play it close to the chest.
Same story in lingerie. She didn’t even slow down. It didn’t matter, though-I stopped anyway. I parked in second gear. I picked out two pairs of panties in a hurry-shiny ones-and caught up with her a few seconds later.
“Look,” I said. “I got you size twenty-four. Nice, huh?”
She didn’t turn around. Fine. I took the panties and threw them into a bin of frozen food as we went by. Worst thing that’ll happen, I told myself, is that in a few hours the night will fall, and she will have kept her oath. I saw that I was going to have to bear with it. I slowed down and stopped in front of the paint with a beatific smile. As I was perusing the labels, I heard what sounded like the flapping of birds’ wings behind my back, followed by a small collision. I lifted my head up. Betty and I were the only ones in the aisle; she was standing farther down, looking at the books. Everything seemed calm. The books were arranged on five or six revolving stands in single file, just in front of the computer-memory stoves and microwave ovens. Despite the presence of a lovely girl in the area, there were no birds flying around. Still, I could have sworn… I lowered my eyes, looking at a can of acrylic one-coat, and the flapping noise started again. There were two noises this time-one following the other in some sort of aerial ballet. Indeed, such a loving mysterious prologue, the shadow of which I might have surprised, had I not first heard them splatter against yon far wall.
I turned toward Betty. She had just picked out a book-a fat one. She flipped through three pages, then threw it angrily over her head. This one didn’t go too far. It fell almost at my feet, then went sliding across the center aisle. I decided not to pay attention. I tilted my paint can and started reading the instructions calmly, while books went flying in all directions.
When I’d had enough I stood up. I picked up my paint can and put it into the cart. For a moment our eyes met. It was hot in the store. I would have loved something to drink just then. She shook her hair all around her, then grabbed the revolving stand in front of her and pushed it with all her might. It turned over with a horrendous crash. She overturned the others without breaking stride, then took off running. I stayed there, nailed to the floor. When I got my wits back, I turned the shopping cart around and walked away in the opposite direction.
A guy in a salesman’s coat showed up, running after me. He was so upset I thought he had the devil on his heels. He was red as a bloody poppy. He grabbed my arm.
“My God,” he said. “What just happened over there?”
First I took his hand off me.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Why don’t you go take a look?”
He didn’t know if he should let me go or survey the disaster area-I could see he was really torn between the two. His eyes were wide, and he was biting his lip, incapable of making a decision. I thought he was going to start whimpering. Sometimes things happen in life that are so horrible you have every right to scream your rage to high heaven, to bewail your helplessness. I pitied the guy. Perhaps he had been born there, raised from childhood in the store itself, passed his whole life there. Perhaps it was all he knew of the world. If everything worked out he could stay there another twenty years.
“Listen,” I said. “Take it easy. It’s not the end of the world. I saw it all-nothing’s broken. Some little old lady tipped the book stands over, but there’s no real damage. You’ve had a shock, that’s all…”
He managed to give me a pale smile.
“Yeah? Think that`s all?”
I gave him a wink.
“Sure. You’re fine.”
I made my way to the cash registers. I paid the bill to a made-up girl who bit her nails. I smiled at her, waiting for the change. She didn’t react. I was the five-thousandth guy who’d smiled at her like that since the beginning of the week. I got my money and split. In spite of everything, the sun was still shining when I came out. It was a good thing, too. If there’s one thing I hate it’s being abandoned by everybody at the same time.
Betty was waiting for me. She was sitting on the hood of the car like in the fifties. I couldn’t remember what shape car hoods must have been in during those years, but it served them right. And I didn’t care. I didn’t want her crumpling the metal. If we paid a little attention, we could make the car last till the year 2ooo. Fifties, my ass. I wasn’t about to start wearing pleated pants big enough for three people, with suspenders that make them ride up your nuts.
“Been waiting long?” I asked.
“No, just warming my buns.”
“Try not to scratch the paint job getting down. The guy at the garage just polished it…”
She said she wanted to drive. I gave her the keys and put the things in the trunk, reveling in the warm air, momentarily transfixed in space by the supernatural stillness of things-their intensity. I grabbed a package of spaghetti and heard it all break in my hand, like glass, but I didn’t kid myself-who ever heard of a guy getting touched by grace in a shopping center parking lot, especially with a girl drumming her fingers on the steering wheel and fifty-seven bottles of things left to unload from the shopping cart, beer included?
I sat next to her and smiled. She jammed the motor a little before getting it started. I opened my window. I lit a cigarette. I put my glasses on. I leaned forward to turn on some music. We started down a long street, the sun slamming through the wind shield. Betty was like a golden statue with half-closed eyes. Guys were stopping on the sidewalk to watch us go by, cruising at twenty miles per hour. What did they know, the poor fools where were they at? I let the air run over my arm-it was almost warm. The radio played nontoxic music. It was all so rare that I took it for a sign. I thought that the moment had come at last, that we were going to make up with each other there in the car, and finish the trip laughing. At first I had actually thought there were birds in the shopping center, no fooling.
I took some of her hair from the headrest and played with it.
“It’d really be dumb if you kept pouting all day…”
I’d already seen this scene in
“Hey, you hear me?”
No response. I was wrong. I’d been fooled by a ray of sunshine and a light breeze. I’d been a chump. The last words fell from my mouth like stale candy. It must have been around four o’clock. There were no cars in front of us. I was feeling understandably edgy. After the business in the shopping center, was it too much to ask that she give it a rest? There was an intersection with a green light on the other side. It had been green for quite a while-an eternity, I’d say. By the time we went through, it was bright red.
So she went through a red light without batting an eye. So I told her that if she kept that up we could walk home, and so that’s where we left off. I waited there resolutely. She got out of the car and held the door open as if it were me who had screwed up. “I am not getting back in this car,” she said.
“No kidding,” I said.
I slid over behind the wheel. She crossed the curb to the sidewalk. I put it in gear and took off up the street.
After a few minutes, I realized I was in no hurry. I made a detour over to the garage. The guy was sitting at his desk with his legs crossed, hidden behind a newspaper. I knew him, he owned the place. It was he who had sold me the Mercedes. It was nice out, it smelled like spring. There was an open pack of gum on his desk-a brand I liked.
“Hello,” I said. “Could you check the oil, when you have a minute…?”
I was trying to read the headlines upside down, when the newspaper crumpled, and suddenly there was his fat head. His head was much bigger than normal-half again as big, you get the picture. I wondered where he went to buy glasses.
“Jesus Christ… WHY???” he said.
“Well, don’t want to get low…”
“But this is the fifth time you’ve been here in the last few days, and every time we check it it’s full-I’m not joking, you know-it’s not down one drop. Now are you going to come here every day and drive me nuts? I told you, the car does not
“Okay, this’ll be the last time. But I want to make sure,” I said. “Listen, understand something: selling cars like this at prices like that is not what’s going to set me up for life. I have more important things to do. You follow?”
I threw him a bone:
“Okay, I’ll come back and get it changed at fifteen hundred,” I said. He sighed, the asshole. What could I do if the world worked like that? You don’t lose a drop for a few days, then one morning the car hemorrhages all over the street. He called over to a bright looking guy with a sprinkling can.
“Hey, you. Drop that and go check the oil in the Mercedes.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Don’t worry, the level’s line, but the customer isn’t. Go look at it carefully. Check it out in full sunlight. Wipe it off and put it in again, and make absolutely sure that the level is up there between the two little marks. Make sure that you both agree before you put the thing back in.”
“Thanks. I’ll feel better,” I said. “Mind if I take a piece of gum?”
I went out to the car with the junior mechanic to open the hood. I showed him where the gauge was.
“This is the car of my dreams,” he said. “The boss doesn’t understand.”
“You’re right,” I said. “Never trust anybody over forty.”
A little way up the road, I stopped for a drink. As I was getting ready to pay, the article about Betty and the paint-bombs fell out of my wallet. I asked the bartender for another drink. Later, I stopped in front of a newsstand. I looked at all the headlines, one by one. I was drunk. I bought some rag that was about cooking, and another one that wasn’t.
In my travels I’d gotten far away from the house. I found myself in a part of town I didn’t know. I drove slowly. I was almost at the edge of town when I realized that the sun was setting. I started home calmly. Night had one foot on the ground by the time I pulled up in front of the pianos. It had fallen suddenly. It was an eerie night-a night I wasn’t going to forget.
It was simple. When I walked in she was there in front of the TV, eating a bowl of cereal, with a cigarette in her hand. It smelled of tobacco. It smelled of sulfur.
There were three obligatory-girls-with-feathers dancing on TV, and a guy braying into a microphone-something exotic and mushy. I noted how it did not at all go with the tension that reigned in the room. I was not, after all, strolling along a deserted beach in the third world, with miles of fine sand on either side of a hotel terrace, and a bartender making me a special cocktail with curaçao in the shade. No, I was merely on the second floor of a house, with a girl who had swallowed fire, and it was night. Things took a turn for the worse right away. All I did was go into the kitchen, lowering the sound on the television on my way. I had barely opened the refrigerator when the thing started booming.
After that it was the usual story-nothing too original this time. I drank my beer and threw the can hard into the wastebasket to set the mood. Who would be crazy enough to think you can live with a girl like that without incident? Who’d want to deny that such things are necessary?
We had already attained an honorable state-a few lingering lightning bolts in our eyes, the kitchen door swinging open and slamming shut-and for my part I would have been happy to stop there. My comebacks were losing their punch, and the temperature was stabilizing. I was ready to settle for a tie game, if it would keep us from having to go into extra innings.
I have never been able to explain certain of the things she did. I have never understood them either, thus making it impossible for me to avoid them. So there I was, panting in the corner, hoping to get saved by the bell, when she looked over at me and made a fist. It startled me. We’d never really hit each other. Since I was at least five yards away from her I didn’t panic. I felt like a native in the jungle, wondering what that thing is that the white hunter is aiming at him. This fist of hers-first she raised it up toward her mouth as if she were going to kiss it, then an instant later she put it through the kitchen window. For a split second I thought I heard the window scream.
The blood came spurting out of her arm, as if she’d just crushed a bunch of strawberries in her hand. I don’t like to say it, but I suddenly lost my nerve. A cold sweat squeezed my head like a tourniquet. I heard a whistling in my ears. Then she started laughing. She made such an odd face that for a moment I didn’t recognize her. She reminded me of an angel of darkness.
I ran to her like an angel of light, grabbing her arm with the same disgust I’d feel grabbing a rattlesnake. Her laughter hurt my ears, and she kept pounding me in the back, but somehow I managed to examine her wounds.
“Jesus Christ. You fucking idiot-you’re lucky, you know…” I said.
I took her into the bathroom and ran water over her arm. Now I was getting hot. I started to feel the punches she was giving me. I could no longer tell if she was laughing or crying. Whatever it was, she was really letting loose on my back. I had to hold her down with all my strength to wash her hand off. Just as I was getting the bandages out, she grabbed me by the hair and jerked my head back. I screamed. I’m not like some people--it hurts like hell when someone pulls my hair, especially when they go at it full throttle. I almost started crying. I sent my elbow backward. I hit something. She let go.
When I turned around, I saw her nose was bleeding.
“Shit, I don’t believe it…” I moaned.
Still, all in all it had calmed her down. I was just about able to put her bandages on in peace, except for the bottle of Mercurochrome she spilled all over in a last spasm. I didn’t have time to get my foot out of the way. The night before, I had put a coat of white polish on my shoes. Now one of them was bright red, which made the other one look stunningly white-it was quite a startling effect. Her hand was still bleeding, but her nose was better. She whimpered. I didn’t feel like comforting her. What I wanted to do was grab her and shake her, and make her apologize for what she’d done to her hand. I was prepared just to let her cry for days on end if it came down to it.
I wrapped the bandage one more time around her hand to finish up and gave her a Kleenex for her nose, without saying a word. Then I went into the kitchen to clean up the broken glass. Or more accurately, I lit a cigarette and stood there looking at the broken glass, twinkling on the tile like a school of flying fish. A cold draft came in through the window. I shivered. I was wondering about the best way to go about it-was it worth the effort to get out the vacuum cleaner or should I just use a broom and dustpan?-when I heard the downstairs door slam. I put everything on hold. One second later a man appeared on the street, foaming at the mouth, with one red shoe on his foot.
She had a good fifty-yard head start. I let out a long howl that propelled me like a jet, and I caught up fast. I could see her little ass dancing in her jeans, her hair flying sideways as she went.
We went across the neighborhood like two shooting stars. I gained ground inch by inch-she took it with ease. Under any other circumstances I’d have taken my hat off to her. We were puffing along like locomotives. The streets were practically deserted-clouds of weed-scented fog coming down here and there-but I wasn’t there to admire the scenery. I was engaged in hot pursuit with fire in my soul, wild race-to-the-finish music on the soundtrack. I called out to her a few times, then decided to save my breath. A few pedestrians turned to watch us. Two girls yelled out some bullshit, cheering Betty on. Their voices carried all the way around the corner. I pitied the next defenseless dude who crossed their path.
I got to within three or four yards of her, the sweet smell of victory whistling in my ears. Dig in, I said to myself, just hang in there, champ, it’s almost in the bag… There’s the finish line… I felt such exhilaration that I must have sent off vibes. She must have gotten them loud and clear too, because-and I don’t know how she did this-I suddenly found myself with a garbage can between my legs. I went flying over it and made a crash landing on the other side, in a blaze of glory.
I got back up as soon as I could. She’d gained at least thirty yards on me. My lungs burned when I breathed, I started running again. That’s what I was there for-I had to catch that girl no matter what. Had she known my determination, she would have hung it up, cried uncle. She would have known that a little garbage can wasn’t enough to stop me. She would have faced the music.
My knee hurt. It had happened when I fell. She was slowing down, though, and I wasn’t that far behind. Without knowing it, we’d covered quite a bit of ground. We found ourselves in a sort of industrial park, with a lot of warehouses and railroad tracks running down the middle. It was not, however, one of those abandoned areas full of savage beauty-one of those places covered with rust and overgrown weeds, bathed in the supernatural light of moonbeams. It was the opposite of that. All the buildings were new, and there was fresh asphalt all around. I don’t know who paid the electric bill around there, but it was as bright as day.
Betty rounded the corner of a blue-and-pink warehouse. It was a sort of tender pink. She wasn’t really running anymore. My knee was as swollen as a little pumpkin. I dragged my leg and gritted my teeth, my breath short and my brain hyperventilated. What gave me courage was to see her finally out of energy. She was only a little ways ahead of me, and the warehouse, which seemed endless, served as a crutch for her-she had to lean on the wall as she went. I was starting to get cold now. All my clothes were drenched with sweat, and I suddenly felt the winter night get me in a stranglehold from head to foot. I looked down at my measly sweater and shivered.
When I looked up, I saw that she’d stopped. I didn’t take advantage of the situation by jumping on her, I just started walking normally-you might even say slowly. I preferred to wait till she’d finished vomiting. There’s nothing worse than throwing up when you’re out of breath-it just about strangles you.
As for me, my blue jeans were blown up like a sausage around my knee. We were getting down to the dregs now, our own little museum of horrors, like two crippled loons thrown out of the last open bar. The light was so harsh that it felt like we were being filmed-a documentary on married life. I waited till after her last heave to speak.
“Hey, we’re going to freeze to death,” I said.
I could hardly see her-her face was covered by her hair. I wasn’t kidding, either-it was all I could do to keep my teeth from chattering. I felt like the guy who takes one last look at the sunset before sinking away forever into a snowdrift.
Before we turned completely blue I decided to grab her by the arm. She pushed me away. I had had it by then, however. The drama had begun early that morning and it was now the middle of the night and winter. I felt that I had already paid top dollar for the day. I was not going to spend one more penny. I grabbed her by the collar. Her arm had not even made it back to her side yet. I slammed her against the side of the warehouse, sniffling through my runny nose.
“Having style means knowing when you’re going too far,” I said.
The night had made me mean. Instead of listening to me, she started flailing, but I held her flat against the corrugated metal-I no longer felt my strength. I couldn’t have let go of her if I’d wanted to. Something in her must have understood this; she started screaming and pounding the wall. The warehouse rang like the bells at the gates of Hell.
It wasted me to see her like that-mouth twisted, staring me down as if I were a perfect stranger. I couldn’t take that very long-her rage, her yelling, how she had me trapped there, little girl wild with anger, claws out. I slapped her across the face to bring her back down to earth. I didn’t like doing it, but I slapped her with all my might, in a kind of mystic frenzy, as if trying to chase a demon out of her.
Just then a police car pulled up, like a flying saucer. I let go of Betty. She slipped on her heels. They opened their doors. The car sent off blue light-beams, like a child’s toy. One cop did a forward roll out onto the ground, ending up on his feet, aiming something at me. An older one got out normally, on the other side. He had a long billy club in his hand.
“All right, what’s going on here?” he asked. It was all I could do to swallow my saliva.
“She wasn’t feeling well,” I said. “I wasn’t beating her up-I was afraid she’d have a nervous breakdown. I know it’s a little hard to believe…”
The older one laid his billy club on my shoulder and smiled.
“Why should it be hard to believe?” he said.
I sniffled. I looked over at Betty.
“She seems to be better now,” I sighed. “I guess we can go now…”
He put his billy club on my other shoulder. I felt myself freezing to death.
“This is a strange place to have a nervous breakdown, isn’t it…?”
“I know. It’s just that we ran all the way…”
“Yeah, but you’re young. It’s good for the heart to run a little.”
The pressure from the billy club made my collarbone tremble. I knew what was going to happen, but I didn’t want to believe it. I felt like someone watching the pressure mount in his water heater, hoping that the valves will close all by themselves. I was paralyzed. I was frozen stiff. I was disgusted by what was happening. The old guy leaned over toward Betty without letting go of me. I felt like I was grounding his billy club-it had slid off my shoulder and stuck across my stomach.
“And the little lady… how is the little lady feeling?” he asked.
She didn’t reply. She parted the hair in her eyes to get a look at the cop. I saw that she was feeling better. I took this as a small consolation prize, while waiting for the water heater to explode m my face. I let myself bathe in the softness of despair. After a day like that, I was incapable of getting agitated.
“I’d like to get this over with,” I mumbled. “You don’t have to make me wait…”
He leaned back slowly. My ears were ringing. I hurt all over. The seconds stretched out like the freestyle event of a gum chewing competition. I waited for the old guy to straighten up. He looked at me, then he looked at the young cop-still standing there, poised for action, one eye closed, legs still, stock-still. Those dudes must have tempered-steel thighs. The old one sighed.
“Jesus Christ, Richard. How many times do I have to tell you not to aim that thing at me?”
All the other guy moved was his lips.
“Don’t worry. I’m not aiming at you, I’m aiming at him.”
“Yeah, but you never know. I wish you’d put that thing down…”
The young cop didn’t seem too hot on the idea:
“I’m not too comfortable with this kind of nut,” he said. “You seen the color of his shoes? You get a look at that?”
The old one nodded.
“Yeah, but remember, the other day we passed this guy in the street who had green hair. You got to cope with it…That’s how the world is these days. You can’t get bent out of shape over things like that.”
“Especially since it’s just a stupid accident,” I added.
“There, you see…?” said the old one.
Halfheartedly the cop lowered his gun. He ran his hand through his hair.
“One of these days we’re going to be in deep shit if we aren’t more careful. You’re asking for it. Didn’t it occur to you to frisk this guy? No, of course not. All you’re interested in is making me put my gun away, right…?”
“Listen, Richard, don’t take it personally.”
“Yeah. Right. Shit, man, every time it’s the same story…”
He leaned over furiously and picked up his hat, then got into the car and slammed the door. He pretended to look elsewhere, chewing on his thumbnail. The old cop looked irked.
“Jesus Christ,” he said. “You know, I been in this business forty years. I think I ought to know by now when to start getting suspicious.”
“Fine. Knock yourself out. I couldn’t care less…”
“Hey… look at them, would you? The girl can hardly stand up, and the guy-I’d break his head open before he could make half a move…”
“Leave me alone…”
“You’re a real pill, you know that?”
The young one leaned over to roll up the window. Then he turned the siren on and folded his arms. The old one got livid. He ran over to the car, but the other one had locked the doors from the inside.
“OPEN UP! STOP THAT RIGHT NOW!!” he screamed.
Betty put her hands over her ears. Poor thing, she had barely gotten her wits back-she must have been totally confused. It was clearly just another tacky police patrol. The old one was leaning over the hood, looking through the windshield, the veins in his neck sticking out like rope.
“RICHARD, I’M NOT KIDDING NOW…I’M GIVING YOU TWO SECONDS TO TURN THAT OFF, YOU HEAR ME?”
The horror lasted another few seconds, then Richard turned the thing off. The old guy came back, wiping his hand across his forehead. He scratched the end of his nose, his eyes staring nowhere. The silence was refreshing.
“Pffff…” he said. “All they send us now are the young, supertrained ones. I think it damages their nerves a little…”
“Sorry. It’s my fault,” I said.
Betty was wiping her nose off behind me. The old guy pulled his pants up a little. I looked up at the starlit sky.
“You just passing through?” he asked.
“We’re taking over the piano store,” I said. “We know the owner.”
“Yeah? You mean Eddie?”
“Yeah. You know him?”
He gave me a bright smile.
“I know everybody. I haven’t left town since the last war.”
I shivered.
“You cold?” he asked.
“Huh? Oh yeah, yeah. I’m frozen stiff.”
“Okay, why don’t you both just get in the car? We’ll take you home.”
“No bother?”
“No. I just don’t like to see folks walking around these warehouses. Nobody’s got any business here at night.”
Five minutes later they dropped us off in front of the house. The old cop put his head out the window while we got out.
“Hey, I hope your little lover’s quarrel is over for tonight, eh?”
“Yes,” I said.
Betty opened the door and went up while I watched them go. I waited till they disappeared down the street. If I hadn’t been so cold I wouldn’t have been able to lift my feet off the sidewalk. I was totally blank just then, like I was opening my eyes after a lobotomy. But it was a winter’s night and the sky was clear. The icy air had the street in its grip, and it was torturing me. I took the opportunity to whimper a little bit, then turned back to the house.
I went upstairs as well as I could with a cracked knee and the certainty that I had caught my death that night. Still, I had to smile when I hit the apartment and found it so warm. I felt like I was slipping into an apple turnover.
Betty was lying on the bed. She was still dressed, her back to me. I sat down in a chair, my knee held out straight and my arm slung over the backrest. Goddamn son of a bitch, I said, deep down inside of me, watching her breathe. The silence seemed like a rainfall of sequins on glue-covered toast. We had still not exchanged one word.
But life goes on. I got up and went to examine my leg in the bathroom. I pulled my pants down. My knee was round, almost shiny-not too pretty to look at. When I stood up, I looked at myself in the mirror. The head goes well with the knee, I said, they go hand in hand: if one brings tears to your eyes, the other one just makes you scream out loud. I was joking, but it’s true that I had no idea what to put on my knee-we didn`t have anything even vaguely resembling salve in our first-aid kit. In the end I just rolled my pant leg down as gently as I could, swallowed two aspirin, and went back into the living room carrying what was left of the Mercurochrome, some cotton compresses, and a large bandage.
“I think we ought to redo your bandage,” I said.
I stood there like I was waiting to take her order. She didn’t move. She was in exactly the same position she’d been in a while before-it’s possible that her knees were a little closer to her chest, or that a lock of hair had fallen off her shoulder in absolute silence, but I wouldn’t have sworn to it. I squeezed the back of my neck a while before going over for a closer look. It made me look like I was thinking of something. I wasn’t.
She was sleeping. I sat down next to her.
“You awake?” I said.
I leaned over to take her shoes off. They were sort of tennis shoes-ideal for crossing town at a dead run. It made you wonder about the logic of things. Only yesterday, she’d been walking around in stiletto heels, me waiting to catch her at the foot of the stairs. I tossed the little white things off the foot of the bed and unzipped her windbreaker. She was still sleeping.
I went to get some Kleenex to blow my nose. I sucked on a couple of throat lozenges while washing my hands. The night now seemed like a storm over a forest fire. I took some deep breaths and let the water run over my hands for a few minutes. I closed my eyes.
After that I went back to take care of her bandage. I went about it gently, as if I were putting a splint on the foot of a bird. I took the gauze off, millimeter by millimeter, without waking her. I delicately spread her hand out to make sure that the cuts were clean, and put the Mercurochrome on with the little pipette. I rebandaged it-just tight enough-and cleaned the blood out from under her nails. I got as much of it out as I could. I knew I was going to fall in love with her little scars. I could feel it.
I downed a big glass of hot rum in the kitchen. It made me sweat, but I knew I had to medicate myself in one way or another. I picked up the pieces of glass from the window, then went back to her. I smoked a cigarette. I wondered if I hadn’t chosen the hardest path-if living with a woman wasn’t perhaps the most terrible thing a man can do-if it wasn’t like his selling his soul to the devil or growing a third eye. I remained plunged in the abyss of perplexity, until Betty started moving. She was rolling around gently in her sleep. A breath of fresh air crossed my soul, banishing my dark thoughts like mouthwash on bad breath.
You should get her into bed, I told myself, she must be uncomfortable like that. I picked a magazine up off the floor and thumbed through it distractedly. My horoscope told me that I would have a difficult week at the office, though the time was right to ask for a raise. I’d noticed already how the world was starting to shrink. Nothing much surprised me anymore. I got up to eat an orange-brilliant as lightning and chock-full of vitamin C then went back to her, faster than a speeding bullet.
I put on my magic fingers to undress her. It was like a huge game of pick-up sticks-breathe wrong and you lose. I had a hell of a time with her sweater, trying to get her head through the neck opening. She started twitching her eyelashes when I did. I felt the perspiration pearl up on my forehead-I just made it by a hair. After that, I decided not to worry about taking off her T-shirt or her bra. I wasn’t going to fret over a couple of straps-I just unbuckled it.
The pants were less of a problem, and the socks came off by themselves. Her panties were child’s play-I passed them under my nose before letting them fall-O dark flower… O little striped thing whose trembling petals close in a man’s hand… I held you to my cheek for but a second in the wee hours of the morning. After such a sensation I no longer wanted to die. I went and got the bottle of rum to treat my bronchial pneumonia.
I sat on the floor, my back against the bed. I took a swig for my leg, which was hurting me, and one for her hand. And one for the night that was finally ending. And one for the whole world. I tried not to forget anyone. I noticed that if I leaned my head back, my skull touched Betty’s thigh. I stayed in that position for a moment, my eyes wide open, my body floating in the intergalactic desert like a guillotined doll.
When I felt fit for action, I lifted her up in my arms. I held her fairly high-high enough so all I had to do was bow my head to furrow my face against her belly. Slowly the heat from her body made me glow. I decided to stand as long as I could. My arms were as stiff as monkey wrenches, but it was the best thing I could find as far as resting my soul was concerned. So I hung tough, bending my nose on her soft skin, growling softly. The rum made my skin sweat, emptying out all the poison in me. I didn’t ask any questions.
After a while, she opened one of her eyes a little. I must have been trembling like a leaf. My arms were about to break.
“Hey… hey, what are you doing…?”
“I’m about to put you to bed,” I whispered.
She went right back to sleep. I set her down on the bed and pulled the covers over her. I started walking around the house. I was sorry I’d eaten the orange. I was tired, but I knew I wasn’t going to get to sleep. I went and took a shower. By accident I sprayed some cold water on my knee. My heart started pounding inside my chest.
I wound up in the kitchen. I devoured a ham sandwich, standing by the window. I looked at the lights from the other houses the reflections spilling into the shadows like underwater lights. I chugged a beer down in one gulp. The Mercedes was parked just below. I opened the window and dropped my empty beer can on its head. The noise didn’t bother me at all. I closed the window. In the end it was sort of the car’s fault that the shit had hit the fan like it did. It was at that moment, in fact, that I stopped going to the window every morning to see if it was still there.
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