London Bridge

by Louis-Ferdinand Celine

  I look, he’s holding it out arm’s length over his head, it’s twenty after three. He’s going to catapult it at me. I don’t wait around… Kee-rash! Smack in the mirror! The glass explodes! Into smithereens! He comes through unscathed, cackling.

  “Ah! You rotten bastard!” I lunge for his neck.

  “Son of a bitch! Son of a bitch! You’ll pay for everything!”

  “Wah! Wah!” He’s hollering, I squeeze hard, he’s bawling his head off!… “Wah! Wah!” I’m kneeling on top of him, bouncing up and down, his body’s my trampoline…

  “Let it out! Let it out! Yell, you bastard! Ain’t nobody around!”

  Knock! Knock! Knock! Somebody’s at the door…

  “Please!… Please!” a voice calls… It’s Virginia…

  She walks in, wearing a nightgown.

  “Look!” I go… “There, look!…”

  Don’t have much else to say. The other guy under me’s an awful sight. I’ve messed him up a little more with my one arm, whacking away with my elbow. I split open his shiners. They were bleeding, we sop them up, the carpet’s all splattered with blood. Virginia goes down to the pantry, it’s four in the morning. She’s going to make us some coffee.

  Sosthène’s moaning, he pukes, I punched his belly one too many times. He socked me in the head. My mind just keeps on reeling.

  At long last we wind up going to bed. I apologize to Virginia when she comes back up from the kitchen.

  She’s not pleased.

  “Sleep!…” she goes to me. “Sleep! You’re no good!”

  I want to shake Sosthène’s hand.

  He’s already snoring away, dead to the world. I think I really got him sore. Still no word from the Colonel.

  *

  Meanwhile one thing for sure was that he still hadn’t come back… One day… two… no word… We stopped talking about him… It was a touchy subject with Virginia anyway… She might have been pretty worried… He was her uncle, her only relative… lousy bastard that he was, he was her bread and butter despite everything.

  I flipped through the Mirror and the Daily Mail, especially under the “Personals”… Not even the smallest item… It was really extraordinary. The servants were clueless. Apparently it’d been years since anything like this had happened to him… He’d already run away on occasion… The last time was in 1908… Shrim, the head butler, remembered that in 1905 he’d flown the coop for two months in exactly the same way, without letting either him or anyone else know. Just like that, on the spur of the moment, boom! Out of there! Nobody had even found out why, or what he’d been up to outside. One fine evening he’d come back, grungy and flea-ridden, his trousers in tatters. Shrim had put him to bed himself. Three straight days sacked out. Then he picked up his life where he left off as though nothing had happened. Nobody had asked any questions. Maybe this was the same sort of deal. Maybe he’d be back in two-three months, maybe two-three days! Maybe he’d joined up again! Re-enlisted in the service of the Royal Pioneers? And he’d be dropping us a line from the front? Maybe it was the same wind that was blowing over Cascade’s pimps? The wind of heroes! He’d be back, fuck it, whenever he felt like. He hadn’t left any orders. The suppliers kept up their deliveries all the same. His bank took care of the bills.

  Virginia felt a little better. It was just that she got tired so easily. She went white over the pettiest trifle. Pregnancy wasn’t her cup of tea. Now her back was killing her. And she used to be so always on the go. An impish, bouncy kid… Ah! I was as gentle as a lamb! We went back out to play with the little birdies in the garden… Virginia was an old friend, especially for the chaffinches, their beady eyes very curious, they’d fly over to peck crumbs from her hand. Birds are the most adorable creatures. Funny little pompons with tricks for looking bigger, puffing themselves up in their feathers. Crafty devils. In your hand a bird’s nothing at all, a sprite of the air. “Tweetwee!” a wee flake of wind. Ah! To be a bird! With the pure sky to pass your life in! Shit, just not the same! I pointed this out to Virginia, as nicely as could be, of course… Little darling, little friend… she was a bird herself in a way… And wild man that I was, I’d played a nasty trick on her… Yet even sitting down this way, she’d get a little queasy and tuckered out… she had to stretch out on her back. I waited on her hand and foot, I can assure you. I played the daddy, and she the mummy, it made her laugh, but too hard! A little tear rolled down her cheek… I kissed her quickly… What I thought was: a child!… I sat there dumbfounded… Without moving a muscle.

  “It’s raining, dear!”

  So it was. Had to go back inside. She had a little cough too… still and all she was robust, with a sturdy build for a little girl, muscular, springy, you name it…

  Fine, we go indoors. I phone two-three places… I still wanted to get some idea what’d become of that clown! Where he might have holed up! In the Jellicot Bar? Where they had these special canteen-style barmaids who talked dirty to the little geezers? Might have appealed to the queer bird. A hangout for old fogy veterans – just his type – who played poker. Or maybe at the Squadron Club? Where his mail was sent, where Shrim would take his suitcase whenever he’d go to the theatre and stay out all night? No sight of him there either. I tell myself: I don’t know what’s cooking, but it doesn’t smell good. Sosthène just sat there. He quit putting himself out. He didn’t want to lift a finger for any reason. He was waiting for his prophecy to be fulfilled, for those cops to show up and haul us in. Everybody behind bars. He was betting on it in front of the servants. A sure thing.

  Virginia just laughed off his ideas, his buffoonish outbursts, his “Oh dear! Oh my!” over every little thing… plus those sighs he heaved… Whenever he talked a little fast she made him repeat every word…

  “Say it again, Captain!”

  She’d nicknamed him Captain. But he refused to learn English, he fought against it tooth and nail, not to mention his ths and thous…

  “I’ll give you a lesson right away if you slip your robe back on and dance the way you did the other day!” He had to do another Piccadilly for us! But he was the only one who was against it! No more Piccadillys, no more nothing! He wasn’t in a magic mood, the Goa trance and battle had pooped him out so much he couldn’t even foresee when the supernatural powers would seize him again. During the brawl with the cops he’d put out so much, his energy had sunk so far below any potential “Fourth Sphere” that now he was burnt out, no joke, probably for the next several years. And naturally it was all my fault. Because if I’d played my little napkin ring the way I should have, clack-clack, if I hadn’t sabotaged the whole thing, etc. etc. He kept trying to pick a fight with me. Nasty bickering to get his mind off the present situation… and he still had a way to go with the masks… he had to get back to the experiments… He wanted to quit! I blew his big chance for him!… If only I’d played my little drumsticks on Piccadilly… absolutely as agreed… kept up the rhythm, clack-clack… clack-clackkk… events would have taken a wonderful turn… the great miracle would have occurred… His visions of glory were carrying him away again. I kept my mouth shut. It was pointless… plain dishonesty, that’s all… I didn’t dare think about the future! My hands were damn full! I thought: tough, the die’s cast, whatever happens will happen! Meanwhile, we’ve got bed, board and heat… Catastrophe for catastrophe, it’s less trouble just to stay put… What’s magical is that we never leave each other’s side, not even for a second, Virginia and I, that we never end up apart, neither on good nor bad days, and that this may hold true for the rest of our lives…

  In a way I was turning into a responsible guy, as least as far as emotions went… All the same there was still a bill we had to settle, complications… Feelings don’t patch up everything… I hashed the situation over with Sosthène. We were having a nice chat…

  Brrrring! The telephone…

  “Hello! Hello! Who is it?”

  “St Paul’s Cathedral…”

  Those very words just like that…
<
br />   “What did you say?”

  We’re surprised…

  “Call Mr Sosthène to the phone! We want to talk with him…”

  A rather hoarse voice.

  “Mr Sosthène isn’t here!”

  My quick wits.

  “He is so! He is so there!”

  They’re insistent.

  “And so who are you?”

  “I’m the Good Lord.”

  Click! We hang up… joker.

  Who was it?

  We start wondering.

  Who could be in the know?

  “Sosthène,” I lay into him… “You opened your mouth!… You blabbed to the servants! You’ve been acting like a dirty pig!”

  He swears to me up and down. Not much of a guarantee. OK, so it gave us a smile, but I’m in no mood for a repeat.

  I take the phone off the hook.

  Rap! Rap! Rap! Now it’s the door…

  A policeman. I say: “This is it!” No.

  “Mr Sosthène de Rodiencourt? Miss Virginia O’Collogham?”

  He hands over two cards, spins on his heels, leaves. Two summonses, the same for both.

  Will call at Room 912

  Friday 6th, 3 p.m.

  Scotland Yard 1.

  I’m first to read, then Virginia, then Sosthène.

  I decide: “Well, gang! No way you’re going… I’m sure this is fake.”

  I don’t beat around the bush… the way I explain it gives Virginia the shakes… I’m just so sure… that it’s some horrible ambush… Not that she’s one bit scared… couldn’t be more energetic, brazen… but she gets another weak spell, it’s her condition… We’re forced to stretch her out on her back, her teeth chattering. She looks at me… I’m a big blur… don’t look like myself… She’s a little dizzy… I pat her hands… They’re ice cold… I kiss her… I kiss her… I see her lifeless… stop seeing her… stop seeing anything.

  Her smile returns… brings me back to life… I belong to her like a bird… I’m in the cage of her happiness… she can take me any place she wants… I don’t want her to go away any more… I don’t want to leave her for a single second… I’ll forget about all my woes, my arm, even my head, the perpetual noise inside, the aches and pains all over my body, the Consulate, the summons – all just by seeing her happy… I want her to be utterly happy… For the moment that’s complicated… the road’s sort of bumpy. The proof is the summons… Mustn’t show up, it’s a trap… Our minds are made up.

  But if we don’t go, they’ll come here! That’s no solution!

  Moral: get the hell out of here! Make tracks! For a week or two! Go off for a spin! The rest of us, off for a spin too! A terrific binge! The Colonel had buzzed off, and so if he came back unexpectedly it shouldn’t be too big a surprise to see that we went out for a little fresh air ourselves…

  That was one approach!

  “And anyway, damn, we got nothing to lose! Come on, let’s hit the road!”

  Virginia was all for it. But what about being down to our last penny? You had to allow for out-of-pocket expenses… A jaunt for three doesn’t come free! So Virginia gets this bright idea. I don’t make any suggestions. She goes up to the third floor, into her uncle’s study. Not a moment’s hesitation. She opens a two-three-four drawers… we can hear her shaking out the bureau… she brings us down seven pounds fifty… Pretty piddling, we wouldn’t travel too far on that… Even so, two weeks… maybe three… time enough for the cops to think we’re miles from anywhere… or out of the country… We played out our scheme pretty well… didn’t sound the alarm… behaved completely normal, like the Colonel… informed the lackeys that we’d be back for dinner… we were going out for a stroll around town…

  Maybe it wasn’t the cleverest strategy, maybe it didn’t fool anybody. We were caught with our pants down, and had to think fast. A pretty strange sight we must have looked.

  Here we are out on the street.

  Ah! Heads up! Keep on your toes! Mustn’t be spotted again in Tottenham! Or Piccadilly! Run away! Run away! From the wolf’s jaws! Ah! Oddballs get picked out in a snap!

  I think: We’ll blend in better on streets mobbed with people. Let’s head east… Poplar!… We hop on a 116 bus… Come to think of it, even more tempting… down by Greenwich, the docks, the pubs… And I had some unsettled business in that neck of the woods… Ah! But that’s the spot that draws me… we have our favourite neighbourhoods… not to mention the London pub, the Hospital, the long raspberry-and-black bastion-like building where Clodovitz was on staff, the doctor buddy of my friends. It took balls to show my face in those parts… Tough! I was hooked! So we hop on a bus. The route, the colourful shops, seen from the upper deck while being rattled around, cheerfully bouncing back and forth, the whole world is dancing. Virginia was starting to feel more confident. I’d brought along her fur. She was glad to have it. I kept a close eye on her. She felt better out in the open.

  Now that we were on our way, escaping from that Willesden prison, I felt perky… I shouted out to the passers-by… “Hello! Hello!” in a burst of joy…

  “Aren’t we having the time of our lives?”

  Sosthène was out of it…

  “Hi there, little fellow! We’re free!”

  Life was looking great to me… I kissed Virginia while bumping around… rounding corners… the bus sent us flying into each other… it’s intoxicating, the wind whipping our faces… this freedom… It sends Sosthène to sleep… his head bouncing around at every twist and turn… From Willesden to the Elephant is a pretty long ride, a good hour… The Strand, Cheapside… the crush of cars… swarms, mobs every which way… bumper to bumper, higgledy-piggledy, sideways, forward and backward… a snarl-up the world has never seen since… I’m talking about the winter of 1916. You had to see the thoroughfare, vehicles tearing apart, smashing up, exploding London’s huge streets. From America torrents of grub and gear, a huge jumble of weapons, cannons, cannon fodder, landaus, trains of equipment, omnibuses, the last hansoms, whole columns on the march, Tipperary, steam engines smack in the middle of the street, gigantic cooking pots, the whole mess all heaped on top of each other, player pianos, pontoon bridges in sections, or partially assembled, tricky manoeuvres from one intersection to the next, the outlets, the sidewalk in upheaval, cracking apart, the whole wooden walkway splintering under the thud of traffic, ramming, ploughing up the kerbsides in its rush towards Victoria, the grand embarkation for Flanders, the continent in commotion, kingdoms in turmoil…

  It was a truly magical carousel, a thousand times more fun than some old merry-go-round. Our 116 bus was riding out far, we were getting our dough’s worth… Ah! Traffic’s so pleasant, it soothes many a setback…

  I hugged my Virginia tightly, I bellowed my love to her, the bus drowned my words in its roar… its vibration…

  “You’re an angel, Virginia! You appear and the sun comes out!”

  More delicate, more sensitive than an angel by a long shot, a thousand times over! In the state she was in! Poor little baby doll, so fragile! What gentle valour!

  “Virginia, you’re an angel!”

  Sosthène couldn’t really make up his mind whether leaving Willesden was such a hot idea… Now he was starting to second-guess himself… with every bump, misgivings… “What if the Colonel doesn’t find us? What if the police come back to see us?… What if the servants telephone?… To the Engineers Club?…” An endless litany of “what-ifs”!…

  I say: “Why don’t you put on a happy face, it’s a beautiful day, spring is in the air, and new offensives! I’d put all the gloom behind me now!”

  It hadn’t rained for two or three days, the sun actually peeked out from time to time. Having a March that’s not too soggy might actually be cause for celebrations, processions of gratitude… In London downpours are the norm, spring opens the floodgates. Sosthène wasn’t thrilled, or feeling festive, his mind was on Scotland Yard.

  “Look, Sosthène, look at all the soldier boys.” I point o
ut the sidewalk for him to admire, the war-ready companies rolling in huge waves toward Victoria, an endless sea of khaki…

  “Look at their faces: they’re not crying, yet they’re off to that son-of-abitching front… by tonight they’ll be lined up in the trenches! Young, bursting with health! Sosthène, you’re just a selfish bum! You just think about your own belly! Not a pretty sight at your age!”

  No answer.

  “Maybe you miss dancing?”

  I was teasing him.

  “You can see we’re out for a ride, can’t you?”

  He just bumped along, in a total fog.

  The bus rumble-grumbles, smokes, backfires, spews all the way up Fleet Street, the press hub, magazines, marble walls, huffing and puffing herky-jerky higher and higher, bingo! Top of the hill, and one last bump to a stop… Rrrring! The bell! Full speed ahead! Charge, short bursts, barrel along! Watch out, bikes! Nose dips, rears, on our way up again! Ludgate Hill! The big Dome right in front of us! Immense! Gigantic St Paul’s Cathedral! Our telephone call! We have a chuckle… The spot’s not exactly pleasant, but right after the small square the river comes up fast, Blackfriars Bridge, a vista opens out. Below on the water the stream of yellow, pale pink fog, ebbing in sunlight.

  The bus turns onto the bridge, starts across. The mists envelop it, the double-decker sails through mid-air. We can’t see a thing any more. It’s absolutely impenetrable. I suggest we get off, that we take in the view from the parapet, the boats, the banks, the activity.

  But maybe Virginia’s tired?… No! No! She wants to go for a walk too!…

  In one way the neighbourhood’s safe and clear… no danger of running into anybody we shouldn’t… guys like Matthew… or snoops… these parts are just for work… people on the job, in a hurry… without wandering eyes… just racing along… they’re not nosy. We lean our elbows on the ledge… don’t see much… everything veiled in mist. We can make out the ships, hear their heavy heaving, the lapping water… the current breaking against the arch… whirling in the huge hole… the ships digging, furrowing, roaring, churning up the foam, gliding along… shooooo.