Death on Credit

by Louis-Ferdinand Celine

  Not everybody had finished yet… there were still some kids waiting… I saw the others now… stammering their confessions across the table cover… the map of France, the continents…

  Since hearing those words about starting out in life, I looked at my little friends as if I’d never seen them… Their dread of failing made them strain against the desk, wriggling as if they were caught in a trap.

  Was that what it meant to start out in life?… They were trying to stop being kids that very moment… struggling to arrange their faces, to look like men…

  We all looked pretty much alike, all dressed the same way, in our school smocks. They were all like me, small shopkeepers’ kids… or their parents did tailoring at home or sold stationery or something… They were all pretty puny… They opened their eyes big and round, they panted like puppies in their effort to answer the old guy…

  Lined up along the wall, the parents watched the proceedings… The looks they shot at their offspring were fierce, electric, enough to cramp anybody’s style.

  The kids were wrong every time… They shrank up even smaller… The old man was untiring… he answered for everybody… The kids were all dunces… The mothers’ faces were getting redder and redder… Thousands of thrashings threatened… There was a smell of impending massacre… Finally all the kids were finished… It was all over, except for the list of successful candidates… And then miracle of miracles… everybody had passed! The government inspector made the announcement from the platform… He had a paunch with a chain on it, a great big watch charm that jiggled between sentences. He sort of bumbled and got all the names screwed up… It didn’t matter…

  He took advantage of the occasion to say a few words… they were really kind words… cordial and encouraging… He told us that if we conducted ourselves as valiantly in later life we had nothing to fear, we’d be rewarded.

  I’d wet my pants and shat in them something awful too, I could hardly move. I wasn’t the only one. None of the kids were able to walk right. But my mother caught a whiff while pressing me to her bosom… The stink was so terrible we had to make it fast. We couldn’t stop to say goodbye to all my little friends… My studies were over… to get home even faster we took a cab…

  We made a draught… The cab had funny windows that rattled all the way. She spoke of Caroline again. “How glad she’d have been to see you succeed!… Ah! I only hope she has second sight!…”

  My father was on the first floor with the lights out, waiting to hear the results… He was so excited he had taken in the outside display and the lamps all by himself…

  “Auguste! He passed!… Do you hear?… He passed!… He came through with flying colours!…”

  He received me with open arms… He lit the lamp to get a good look at me. He gazed at me affectionately. I’d never seen him so moved… His whole moustache was trembling…

  “That’s splendid, my boy! You’ve given us a lot of trouble!… But now I congratulate you!… Now you’ll be starting out in life… The future lies open before you!… If only you take the right course!… The straight and narrow!… Work hard!… Struggle!…”

  I begged his forgiveness for having always been bad. I hugged and kissed him with all my heart… Only I stank so bad he began to sniff…

  “Ah! What’s this?” He pushed me away. “Oh, the stinker… the little pig!… He’s filled the whole place with shit!… Ah, Clémence, Clémence!… For God’s sake take him upstairs before I lose my temper! He’s revolting!…” That was the end of his effusions.

  They scrubbed me hard, they drenched me in cologne.

  The next day we went looking for a really respectable establishment where I could start my business career. A place where they wouldn’t be too easy on me, where they wouldn’t let me get away with anything.

  If you really want to learn, you’ve got to be on the jump! That was Édouard’s opinion. He had twenty years of experience. Everybody agreed with him.

  * * *

  In business it’s absolutely essential to look your best. An employee who lets himself go is a disgrace to his firm… You’re judged by your shoes!… Never look down-at-the-heel!…

  The Prince Regent, near Les Halles, had been in business for a century… You couldn’t hope for better. A lifelong reputation for ferocious pointed dress shoes… they were known as “duckbills”. Your toenails are driven into your flesh, the man of fashion is a cripple! My mother bought me two pairs, guaranteed to last for ever. Then we went across the street to the Deserving Classes clothing store… We took advantage of the sales, I needed a complete outfit.

  She bought me three pairs of trousers, of such good quality, so long-wearing, that we took them a little bigger, with a ten-year hem. I was still growing fast. The jacket was as sombre as possible – besides, I kept my armband, my mourning for Grandma. I had to look thoroughly serious-minded. Collars are important too, you mustn’t go wrong… a wide collar can atone for a multitude of sins when you’re young and scrawny. The only flight of fancy permitted was a frivolous snap-on bow tie. Naturally there had to be a watch chain, but darkened too for mourning. I had the whole works. I looked respectable. I was all set. Papa wore a watch too, but his was gold, a precision instrument… He counted every passing second on it to the very end… The long hand fascinated him, the one that goes round fast. He’d sit there for hours looking at it…

  My mother herself took me to introduce me to Monsieur Berlope, Ribbons and Trimmings, on the Rue de la Michodière, just across the boulevard.

  Being the soul of honesty, she had told him all about me in advance… That he’d have his hands full with me, that I’d be a hard row to hoe, that I was pretty lazy, disobedient by nature, and passably scatterbrained. That was her idea… I always did my best. In addition she warned them that I picked my nose incessantly, that it was a passion with me. She suggested that they try to shame me. She said they’d always been trying to better me, but it didn’t help much… While listening to these details, Monsieur Berlope was slowly paring his nails… He looked thoughtful and grave. He was wearing a terrific waistcoat sprinkled with golden bees… I remember his fan-shaped beard too, and his round embroidered skullcap that he didn’t take off for us.

  Finally he answered… He’d try to train me… He still hadn’t looked at me… If I showed willingness, intelligence and zeal… Well, he’d see… After a few months behind the counter, maybe they’d send me out on the road… with a salesman… to carry the sample cases… I’d get to know the customers… But before taking any chances, he’d have to see what I was good for… If I had a business head!… If I was cut out for the job… if I had the competence… the loyalty…

  After what my mother had said, all that seemed mighty doubtful…

  While speaking, Monsieur Berlope ran a comb through his hair, spruced himself up, took a look at his profile, there were mirrors all over the place… He was doing us an honour in seeing us… Mama never tired of saying so… it was a big favour to be interviewed by the boss in person.

  Berlope & Son didn’t hire just anybody, not even on trial, not even without pay!

  The next morning at seven o’clock sharp I was already on the Rue Michodière, outside their iron shutter… I jumped to it… I helped the errand boy… I turned the crank for him… I wanted to show my zeal first thing…

  Of course it wasn’t Monsieur Berlope himself that broke me in, it was Monsieur Lavelongue… He was a real bastard, you could see that right away. He had his eye on you all day long, always trying to catch you off your guard… Wherever you went, he came pussyfooting along behind you… He slithered after you like a snake, from corridor to corridor… His arms dangling, ready to pounce, to crush you… on the lookout for a cigarette… for the least bit of a butt… for any poor tired bastard that sat down…

  Before I’d finished taking my coat off, he gave me the lowdown.

  “I am your personnel di
rector!… What’s your name?”

  “Ferdinand, sir…”

  “Well, you’d better get this straight… No monkey business around here… If you’re not absolutely up to snuff in a month from now… I personally will fire you… Understand?… Have I made myself clear?”

  Having made himself clear, he vanished like a ghost between the piles of boxes… He was always mumbling something or other… When you thought he was miles away, he was right on top of you… He was a hunchback. He’d hide behind the customers… The salesmen lived in terror of him from morning to night. He always had a smile on his face, but it was a special kind of a smile… Really poisonous…

  * * *

  Silk gets into a worse mess than any other kind of material. All the different widths and lengths, the samples and leftovers, get rumpled and twisted and scattered all over the place… By the end of the day it’s a horrible sight… Enormous mounds, all tangled up like bushes.

  From morning to night the store is full of dressmakers’ errand girls, clucking and griping, never satisfied. They rummage, they complain, they splash around… the place is a nuthouse of silks and satins… wriggling and writhing under the stools…

  After seven o’clock we have to put it all away, what a mess!… There are too many of us… We suffocate in the stuff… An orgy of loose ends. Thousands and thousands of colours… moiré, satin, tulle… Wherever those yak-yaks get a hand in, it’s worse than a battlefield. There isn’t a single box left. The numbers are all mixed up. We get the hell bawled out of us and then some!… By every louse in the department! Fat salesmen with slicked-down hair or wigs à la Mayol.*

  Cleaning up is the newbies’ job… Rolling up the spools, pinning up ends, turning the baby ribbon… the masses of felt… macramé, velvet… the riot of changeable silk… all the leftovers, the whole sickening avalanche of remnants… it’s all for the apprentices. You’ve hardly got it straightened out when some more wreckers start in… making more havoc… ruining all your work…

  They put on airs… they make idiotic remarks, they’re so kittenish you want to puke… and always carrying their patterns around, looking for some other shade, the one we haven’t got…

  In addition to this I had my regular job that was pretty exhausting… running back and forth to the stockroom. About fifty times a day. It was on the seventh floor. I had to tote all the boxes. Whole carloads of tag ends, of mixed-up snippets or plain rubbish. All the returns were my job… The marquisettes, big pieces and little pieces, the styles of a whole season – hauled them up seven flights. It was really a rough job. Enough to kill a mule. With all my hurry and effort my collar with the bow tie on it worked itself up around my ears. And yet it was double-starched.

  Monsieur Lavelongue was very hard on me, and unfair. As soon as a customer came on the scene, he motioned me to beat it. I wasn’t ever allowed to hang around. I wasn’t fit to be seen… Naturally with all the layers of dust in the stockroom and the way I sweated, my face was one big smudge. But the moment I left he began to give me hell for disappearing. It was impossible to please him…

  The other punks were in stitches at the way I was always running, the way I raced up the stairs. Lavelongue wouldn’t let me rest a minute:

  “A little sport is good for young people!…” That was his line. I’d hardly come down when they’d slip me another load!… “Get going, kid! You can’t fool me!”

  Smocks were not worn in the garment district in those days, it wasn’t considered proper. With the kind of work I was doing my beautiful jacket was soon threadbare.

  “You’re going to wear out more than you make!” my mother complained. That wasn’t hard, because I wasn’t paid at all. It’s true that in some trades the apprentices had to pay to learn. In a way I was lucky… I was in no position to complain. I raced up to the stockroom with so much vigour that the other kids called me the Squirrel. Even so, Lavelongue always had it in for me. He couldn’t forgive me for having been taken on by Monsieur Berlope. The mere sight of me gave him the collywobbles. He couldn’t stand my guts. He did everything he could to discourage me.

  He even complained about my shoes, he said I made too much noise on the stairs. It’s true I had a tendency to walk on my heels, my toes hurt something terrible, especially towards closing time they felt like hot coals.

  “Ferdinand!” he’d yell. “You’re insufferable! You make more racket all by yourself than a whole bus line!…” That was an exaggeration.

  My jacket was coming apart in several places. I was a bottomless pit for suits. They had to have another one made out of one of Uncle Édouard’s old ones. My father was in a constant temper, he was having the worst kind of trouble at the office. While he was away on vacation, those bastards, the clerks, had taken advantage of his absence to slander him…

  Monsieur Lempreinte, his boss, believed every word they told him. His trouble was stomach cramps. When he was really in pain, he saw tigers on the ceiling… That didn’t help.

  * * *

  I didn’t know what to do to make a good impression at Berlope’s. The harder I raced up the stairs, the more Lavelongue couldn’t stand me. I really gave him a pain in the neck.

  At around five o’clock he went out for a cup of coffee, and I took the opportunity to take my shoes off for a minute up in the stockroom. I’d do it in the can too when nobody was there. So one day those cocksuckers go and tell the boss. Lavelongue did a hundred-yard dash, I was his obsession… He was there in two seconds flat.

  “Will you come out of there, you little skunk? Is that what you call working?… Jerking yourself off in every corner you can find… Is that your way of learning the trade? Flat on your arse with your dick in the air!… That’s the younger generation for you!”

  I found another place where I could give my dogs a little air. I’d hold them under the faucet. My shoes were always getting me in trouble… at home too… after making such a sacrifice, my mother would never have admitted that she had bought them too narrow. It was just my laziness again! My unwillingness! I was always in the wrong.

  The stockroom where I took the boxes was little André’s headquarters, his job was repairing the boxes and going over the numbers with a brush and blacking. He’d started in the year before. He lived miles away in the suburbs, he had a long way to travel… The hole he lived in was after Vanves, the neighbourhood was called “the Coconut Palms”.

  He had to get up at five o’clock so as not to spend too much on trams. He brought a basket. His grub was in it. It was closed with a rod and padlock.

  In the winter he didn’t budge, he ate in the stockroom, but in summer he’d go out to the Palais-Royal and eat on a bench. He’d leave a couple of minutes ahead of time to be there at twelve sharp when the cannon went off. He liked that.

  He never showed himself much, he always had a cold, he was always blowing his nose even in the middle of August.

  His clothes were worse than mine, all patches. The other apprentices were always picking fights with him because he stuttered and didn’t make sense… He preferred to stay upstairs, no one came up to bother him.

  His aunt whopped the hell out of him too, especially when he pissed in bed, terrible lickings, he described them in detail. Mine were nothing in comparison. He wanted me to go to the Palais-Royal with him, he wanted to show me the whores, he spoke to them, so he claimed. He had some sparrows too that would even fly down on his bread. But I couldn’t go. I had to go straight home. My father had sworn he’d have me locked up in La Roquette if he caught me bumming around.

  On the subject of women, my father was a holy terror… if he suspected me of wanting to see what it was like, he flew into a ferocious temper. It was enough that I jerked off. He brought it up every day on the slightest pretext. He was suspicious of little André… He had the instincts of the common people… He was a hoodlum’s kid… With me it was entirely different, I had respectable parents an
d I shouldn’t ever forget it, I was reminded every night when I got home from Berlope’s, so tired I couldn’t see straight. I’d get an old-time thrashing if I dared to talk back!… I’d better not keep bad company! I already had too many foul habits that I’d picked up God knows where!… If I listened to little André, I’d be sure to end up a murderer. My father could swear to it. Actually he regarded my loathsome vices as a part of his misfortunes, of the terrible troubles that fate had heaped on him…

  I did have terrible vices, it was undeniable, it was awful. That’s the truth. He didn’t know how to go about saving me… And I didn’t know how to go about making amends… Some children are simply untouchable.

  Little André smelt bad, his smell was more acrid than mine, the smell of really poor people. He stank up the whole stockroom. His aunt cropped his hair short with her own scissors, he looked like a lawn with a single tuft left in front.

  With all the dust he breathed in, the snot in his nose turned to putty… it was stuck tight… His favourite pastime was prying out a chunk and quietly eating it. Since we blew our noses with our fingers in the middle of all the blacking and bogies and numbers, we ended up looking like Negroes.

  Little André handled about three hundred boxes a day… His eyes were always dilated from trying to see in that attic. He kept his pants on with strings and safety pins.

  Now that I was doing the dumb-waiter work, he stopped coming in through the salesrooms. That was better for him, it spared him a lot of rough treatment. He came in through the court, slipped past the caretaker’s lodge, and went up the outside stairs… If there were too many numbers, I’d stay late and help him. After hours I was able to take my shoes off.

  When we wanted to shoot the shit, we had it pretty nice. On account of his nose we slipped into a little nook between two beams, sheltered from the draughts.

  André was lucky with his feet, he had stopped growing. Two of his brothers were still living with another aunt in Les Lilas. His sisters were with his old man in Aubervilliers… His father read all the gas meters in the region… He hardly ever saw him, he didn’t have time.