Perhaps those who live in poverty will understand this attraction.
Billard was of so little importance and yet he meant everything to me.
•
On the place Saint-Michel a man in a bowler hat was giving out hand-bills.
He gave me several.
People do not want to be bothered with these leaflets. They have to get their hands out of their pockets, take the papers, crumple them up and throw them away. What labour!
As for me, I am sorry for these distributors.
I always accept what they offer me. I know that these men are not free until after they have distributed several thousand pieces of paper.
People who pass contemptuously by these outstretched hands instead of taking what they have to offer annoy me.
•
It was three o’clock. It is the time of day I dislike most. None of the little events of daily life cheers it up.
In order to put an end to my boredom I went back to the rue Gît-le-Coeur intending to call on Billard.
I passed in front of the door of the hotel four times, embarrassed at turning round. It is ridiculous to be embarrassed when one turns round in the street.
I did not go in.
I felt that Billard would not be glad to see me. On the day when he asked me for the fifty francs I ought to have given them immediately. He must certainly hold it against me that I made him wait.
However, I stayed there, at the corner of the street, keeping an eye on the hotel.
I had been looking at the windows of the houses for some minutes when Billard, accompanied by a man I did not know, appeared in the doorway.
I wanted to run to him, but as he would have thought that I had been waiting for him for several hours, I stopped myself. He would never have been willing to admit that I had only just arrived.
People do not believe in chance, especially when it is that alone that can provide one with an excuse.
Billard had a new scarf. The hair at the back of his neck had been trimmed. The gestures he made as he spoke seemed to me those of a stranger. I have noticed that that is always the case when you catch sight of a friend with somebody you do not know and you yourself are unseen.
I hid behind a car. Billard would not be able to recognize me by my feet.
The two men were walking quickly in the middle of the road.
Then an odd and rather stupid idea came to me.
I turned into a parallel street and set off at the double. When I had covered a hundred metres I made my way along a street which crossed it back to the one I had just left.
Motionless in front of a shop, I waited.
To control the heaving of my chest, I breathed through my nose. My socks had fallen down over the uppers of my shoes.
The two men were approaching. To hear the clatter of their four feet you would have said that a horse was walking along the pavement.
In a few seconds Billard and his companion would be there.
I no longer dared to look at the shop window for fear that my eyes might meet those of Billard in the glass.
For a moment I thought of turning round with an absent-minded look. But I was afraid this absent-minded look might not seem natural.
Besides, Billard would see me. The street was narrow. He would imagine that I was just hanging about and would speak to me first.
That was what I wanted.
Unfortunately the two men passed me without a word.
The certainty that I had been seen prevented me from beginning the comedy over again.
•
I have no luck at all. Nobody takes any interest in me. People treat me as if I were cracked. Nevertheless I am kind and generous too.
Henri Billard was a scoundrel. He would never repay my fifty francs. That is how the world always rewards you.
I was angry and miserable. The feeling that my whole life would elapse in loneliness and poverty increased my despair.
•
It was hardly four o’clock. I should have to wait for at least two hours before going to a restaurant.
Transparent clouds were hurrying along below other black clouds. The streets were losing the tiring atmosphere of the afternoon, no doubt because of the appearance of the evening papers.
I have noticed that these papers arouse the passers-by, even those who do not buy them. A newspaper is made to be read in the morning. When it appears in the evening it seems that it must have some important reason for doing so.
Billard had offended me deeply. All the same I could not bring myself to leave his neighbourhood.
I walked quickly along the streets where I thought I had been noticed, slowly along those where I was going for the first time.
A woman with a limp made me think of Nina. It was impossible that she should love Billard. She was too young. A girl of eighteen does not live with a man of forty unless she is forced to.
Little by little the idea of going to see Nina insinuated itself into my mind.
I felt brave enough. When I am alone with a woman my shyness does not bother me. I rather have the impression it makes her like me.
Yes, I should know how to talk to that girl. I should revile Billard to her. She would understand. She would leave him. And, who knows? Perhaps she would love me!
At the sight of the Cantal Hotel’s white globe I had the feeling that, in order not to wake in the middle of a wonderful dream, I was forcing myself to sleep.
I entered the hotel, trying to persuade myself that I had come directly from home, that I was late, that after all there was nothing in the least odd about my visit.
I climbed the stairs slowly, so I should not get out of breath. My hands, wet with sweat, squeaked on the banister.
A maid with her hair tied up in a duster was sweeping a dark corridor. Through an open window I saw a courtyard and the back of a house where some meat-safes were hung up like bird-cages.
In the middle of the last flight I stopped.
If a door had opened I should have continued on my way. I did not wish to appear to be a shady character as people do when they hang about on landings.
I was extremely agitated. My ears were humming as if I were listening to the sound of the sea in a shell. My shirt was wet under the arms.
Having ascended the last few steps I knocked.
‘Who’s there?’
‘Baton . . . Baton.’
‘Oh! right . . . wait . . . I’m washing.’
Stuck in front of the door like a man from the gas company, I listened for the tiniest noise, afraid of hearing the voice of Billard or a stranger.
Light was coming through the keyhole. Anyone else would have looked. I did not. It is true I should have died of shame if anyone had surprised me crouching at the door.
Nina appeared at last.
Freshly washed, with her hair wet round the temples, her eyelashes stuck together, darker than usual, her lips moist, without a wrinkle, she was smiling. She had lovely teeth: you could not see her gums.
‘Come in, Monsieur Bâton.’
‘I’m disturbing you.’
‘No.’
She ought to have repeated her denial several times.
She walked ahead of me, not embarrassed by her limp.
When she stopped, she held her body upright again.
‘Is Monsieur Billard here?’
‘He has just gone out.’
‘That’s a pity.’
‘Wait for him, then.’
I settled myself in the same place as the day before. It is a habit of mine. I always sit in the place I chose the first time.
The room no longer had the air of cleanliness which a polished floor, a wardrobe with a mirror and a black marble fireplace give by lamplight.
Bits of gleaming wood were coming loose from the furniture. The wallpaper looked as if it had been dried in the sun. The air smelt of toothpaste. There were machine-embroidered flowers on the curtains. The casters of the bed had made lines on the wooden floor.
‘Don’t turn
round, Monsieur Bâton, I must finish getting dressed.’
This word dress made me want to seize the girl bythe waist, no doubt because it made me think of undressing.
I was afraid Billard would arrive. What on earth would he have said if he had found me there while his mistress was putting on her clothes! He would have been jealous.
I could hear the little noise of the press-studs, the crackling of a clean blouse being unfolded and from time to time the cracking of a joint.
My eyes hurt from squinting so hard at the girl.
When she had finished dressing she came and sat down opposite me.
Even though it was unnecessary I turned: it was an instinctive movement.
I saw a pair of knickers with the legs touching at just one point and, on the floor, the prints of a foot, with five toes.
‘How are you, Monsieur Bâton?’
‘Fairly well . . . and you?’
She did not reply. Without bothering about me, she was filing her nails.
As I imagined that once her nails had been filed she would take an interest in me, I counted the fingers which had not yet been attended to.
She put down her whitened file.
‘You must get bored when Henri is away?’
‘Yes, a bit.’
She pulled down her skirt to hide her stunted leg.
‘You must be happy with him.’
‘Yes.’
As Nina’s reply seemed decidedly lacking in enthusiasm, I murmured.
‘I understand.’
She looked closely at me. Her hands stopped moving.
‘I understand,’ I repeated. ‘He bores you.’
‘Who?’
‘Billard.’
There was a silence. She was motionless. Only her eyes moved. Both at once.
Now I was quite sure she did not care for her lover. She was too ill at ease when I spoke of him. She did not defend him.
I got up. For the first conversation it would be better not to rush things.
As she was showing me out, she gave me her hand quite frankly, without bending her elbow.
Since we were alone, I kept her hand in mine.
I found myself on the landing. She was standing in the doorway. She was looking at my ears to see if I were blushing.
‘Good-bye.’
‘Good-bye.’
I had just a second left to arrange a meeting before she closed the door.
‘Tomorrow, at three o’clock,’ I mumbled.
She did not reply.
Without looking at the steps, a bit like a fairy, I flew down the stairs.
VI
A few seconds later I was outside, red to the collar; I was short of breath as if it were windy.
I looked at my reflection in a window. A vein I did not know I had ran across my forehead from top to bottom.
I should gladly have gone back to the hotel and kissed Nina. She liked me. It took somebody as shy as I was not to know how to take advantage of the situation. No doubt she regretted that I had not been more enterprising. My feebleness must have annoyed her.
But if she were intelligent she would be grateful to me for having respected her. It is improper to kiss a person one hardly knows.
I was about to have a mistress who would love me and who, in return for giving herself to me, would ask for nothing.
•
In order that the night should seem less long, I went home late.
When I had taken off my jacket, I leaned on my elbows at the window. The mild air reminded me of the evenings of the previous summer. The moon, covered with watery stains, lit up the edge of a cloud.
Then I went to bed.
I had to sleep, otherwise I should not have looked good in the morning.
My face is not symmetrical. My jaw is more prominent on the left. When I am tired this becomes more obvious.
Nevertheless I could not manage to close my eyes. It was in vain that I kept on remaking my bed, that I stood naked at the window to cool myself, I still thought about Nina. I saw her before me, mistily, like a picture on a postcard, without legs, or else I tried to think of a way of getting her to my room without the concierge’s noticing.
As I still could not get to sleep, I decided to review in my imagination all the incidents of my life in the army. It is odd that, in the memory, places where one has been unhappy become pleasant.
Just as I hardly ever sing the songs of my childhood in order not to blunt the memories they evoke, so I only think about my life as a soldier when I cannot do anything else. I like to keep a store of memories in my mind. I know it is there. It is enough for me.
I was becoming drowsy when the woman from the dairy, who was no doubt coming back from the cinema, banged her door.
She closed her window, then she washed. She never washed herself in the evening. I could hear the same noises as I had outside Billard’s door. I have noticed that new experiences in everyday life often come in groups.
I got out of bed.
With my toes in the air because of the cold, I roamed about the room, vaguely hoping that the woman from the dairy would see me through some hole in the wall.
•
It was already dawn when I fell asleep. I did not hear the Lecoins’ alarm clock, nor the sweeping of the concierge who, every morning, bumps into my door on purpose.
When I woke up, the square of sunlight had gone past my bed and was trembling on the wall.
It was late. I got up in a hurry, with my eyes half-closed and one cheek striped like a leaf by a crumpled sheet.
As soon as I was dressed I brushed my clothes thoroughly.
My brush is so old that the bristles stick in the fabric.
I have to pick them out one by one.
Then I went out.
It was a beautiful spring day. The sun was overhead. I was walking on my shadow.
I own a safety-razor. But the blade is blunt.
That is why I went into a barber’s shop.
The proprietor was sweeping up hair. He was in his shirt-sleeves. He wore nickel-plated arm-bands above the elbows. His tie was held in place by a clip.
He shaved me very well.
At exactly three o’clock, with my skin taut and my face powdered, I knocked at Billard’s door.
Nina must be waiting for me.
The veins in my hands were bigger than usual.
Nobody answered. Nina, who was a tease, must be trying to keep me on tenter-hooks.
I knocked, more loudly this time.
With my ear glued to the door, I listened. You can hear better like that.
Not a sound broke the silence.
Then I banged with my fist. The same silence. Nina was not there. I looked through the keyhole, because there was nobody about. I could see half the window with a curtain that was too long.
Nina had not waited for me; Nina did not love me.
Suddenly, I was seized with senseless terror. If the girl were dead, there in the room, I should be suspected.
I rushed down the stairs, jumping the last two steps of each floor.
That is how my involvement with the Billard pair came to an end. I have not gone back to see them even to ask for my fifty francs.
I avoid the place Saint-Michel. However, if Billard had wanted to, we could have been so happy.
I am looking for a friend. I do not think I shall ever find one.
NEVEU THE BARGEMAN
I like wandering about beside the Seine. The docks, the basins, the sluice-gates make me think of some distant port where I should like to live. In my imagination I see sailors and girls dancing together, little flags, motionless ships with sails furled.
These thoughts do not last.
I know the wharves of Paris too well: only for a moment do they look like the misty cities of my dreams.
•
One afternoon in March I was walking along the embankment. It was five o’clock. The wind blew out my overcoat like a skirt and I had to hold on to my hat. From time to tim
e a passenger steamer with its glassed-in windows passed by on the water, moving more quickly than the current. The bark of the trees glistened with moisture. Without turning round it was possible to see the tower of the Gare de Lyon, with its clock-faces already lit up. When the wind dropped, the air smelled of dried-up gutters.
I stopped and, leaning on the parapet, gazed miserably before me.
The funnels of the tugs were tilted backwards as they approached the bridges. Some barges with people living on them were tied up by taut cables in the middle of the river. A long gangplank reached from a lighter to the bank. The workman who was venturing out on it bounced with every step, as if he were on a sprung mattress.
•
I had no intention of dying, but I have often wanted to arouse pity. As soon as a passer-by approached I hid my face in my hands and sniffed like someone who has been crying. People turned as they went past me.
Last week I came within a hair’s breadth of throwing myself into the water in order to make it appear I was in earnest.
•
I was gazing at the river, thinking of the Gaulish coins there must be on the bottom, when a tap on my shoulder made me jerk up my elbow, quite instinctively.
I turned round, embarrassed at having been frightened.
There facing me was a man in a sailor hat, with the fag-end of a cigarette protruding from his moustache and an identity disc rusting on his wrist.
As I had not heard him coming, I looked at his feet. He was wearing rope-soled shoes.
‘I know you want to die,’ he said.
I did not reply: silence made me interesting.
‘I know I’m right.’
I opened my eyes as wide as I possibly could, to make them water.
‘Yes, I know.’
Since my eyes would not water, I closed them. There was a silence, then I murmured:
‘That’s right, I want to die.’
Night was falling. The street-lamps were coming on. Only one part of the sky was still light.
The stranger approached and spoke into my ear:
‘I want to die too.’
At first I thought he was joking: but, as his hands were trembling, I was suddenly afraid that he might mean it and that he might invite me to die with him.
‘Yes, I want to die,’ he repeated.
‘Oh, come on!’
My Friends Page 5
