The old geezer didn’t hang around long, he’d fill up in a hurry and start off again on his tricycle. Jongkind kept the conversation going, all by himself. “No trouble!” And he’d learned another word: ‘No fear!” He was proud of that, it made him jump with joy. He never stopped saying it. “Ferdinand! No fear!” he kept saying to me between mouthfuls.
Outside I didn’t like to be noticed … I gave him a few kicks in the ass … He got the drift, he left me alone … As a reward I gave him pickles. I always took a supply with me, my pockets were full of them … They were his favorite delicacy, that way I made him behave … He’d let himself be torn limb from limb for pickles …
There wasn’t much left in our living room … First the knickknacks went … then the upholstered pink couch, then the vases, then the curtains … For the last two weeks there was nothing left but the piano, the big black monumental Pleyel, all by itself in the middle of the room …
I wasn’t very eager to get back, because we weren’t very hungry anymore … We took precautions, we brought provisions along, we looted the kitchen before leaving. I wasn’t in any hurry at all … Even when I was tired, I was happier roaming around …We took a rest whenever we felt like it … We’d treat ourselves to a last stop on the steps or on the rocks right beside our garden gate … The top of the big staircase that led up from the harbor was almost under our windows … Jongkind and I would sit there as late as possible, saying nothing …
From there you could see a lot of ships, coming in or passing each other in the harbor … It was like a magic game … all the reflections moving on the water … the portholes coming and going, glittering the whole time … The train burning, trembling, setting the little arches on fire as it passed … Nora always played the piano while she was waiting for us … She left the window ajar … You could hear her plainly from our hiding place … She even sang a little … in an undertone … She accompanied herself … Her singing wasn’t loud at all … Actually it was no more than a murmur … a little ballad … I still remember the tune … I never knew the words … Her voice rose softly and floated down into the valley … It came back to us … The air over the river has a way of echoing and amplifying … Her voice was like a bird, beating its wings, the whole night was full of little echoes …
The people had all passed, the ones that were going home from work, the stairs were empty … “No fear” and I were all alone … We’d wait till she stopped, till she wasn’t singing anymore, till she closed the piano … Then we went in.
The grand piano didn’t last much longer. The movers came for it one Monday morning … They had to take it out piece by piece … Jongkind and I gave them a hand … First they put up a regular hoist over the window … They had trouble getting the piano through. All morning they were tinkering with ropes and pulleys in the living room … They lowered the big crate down to the veranda overlooking the garden … I can still see that big black cupboard rising into the air … over the view …
As soon as they started in, Nora went down to town, she stayed out the whole time … Maybe she had a call to make … She’d put on her best dress … She didn’t get back until late … She was very pale …
The old geezer didn’t come home until eight o’clock, just in time for dinner. He’d been doing that for several days. After dinner he went up to his room … He’d stopped shaving, he didn’t even wash, he was filthy … He smelled very sour. He sat down beside me. He began to eat, but he didn’t finish … He began to poke around in his pants, in the folds, in the cuffs … He pulled up his dressing gown … He looked all through his pockets … He was trembling all over … He belched a few times … He yawned … He grumbled … Finally he found his piece of paper. It was another letter, registered this time … This was at least the tenth we’d received from my father since Christmas … I never answered … Merrywin didn’t either … What was there to say? … He opens it, he shows it to me … I read it just to be on the safe side … I wade through pages and pages … It was copious and thoroughly documented … I start all over again. It was a formal order to return home … It was nothing new for them to bawl me out … Far from it … But this time there was a ticket … an honest-to-God ticket home via Folkestone!
My father was beside himself. We knew his letters. The others had been almost the same, desperate, complaining, full of hooey and threats … After reading them, the old geezer piled them up in a special box … He filed them very carefully by date and subject … He took them all up to his room … He shook his head a little and blinked … There was no call for him to comment … He kept all the letters on file, that was enough … Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof … and all the applesauce … Still, this was a new kind of ultimatum … This time there was a ticket … I had only to pack up and leave … Time to be going, son … Next week it would be … the month was almost up … My account was closed!
Nora didn’t seem to know what was going on … She was completely absorbed … absent … The old geezer wanted her to know … He shouted loud enough to wake her up. She came up from her daydream … Jongkind began to bawl … Suddenly she jumped up and looked through the box, she wanted to read the letter again. She deciphered it out loud …
I have no further illusions about the future you hold in store for us—alas, we have had only too many occasions to experience all the ferocity, all the wickedness of your instincts, your terrifying selfishness … We all of us know your taste for idleness and dissipation, your well-nigh mon-trous appetite for luxury and pleasure … We know what to expect … We realize that no amount of gentleness, no amount of affection will ever check or diminish your unbridled, implacable impulses … It seems to me that in that respect we have done our utmost, tried everything! And now we are at the end of our rope, there is nothing more we can do. We can spend no more of our slender resources trying to save you from your fate … We can only trust in God …
In this last letter I wished to warn you, as a father, as a friend, for the last time, before your homecoming, to put you on your guard before it is too late, against any useless bitterness, any surprise, and futile rebellion at the fact that in the future you must count on yourself alone, Ferdinand. On yourself alone.’ Count on us no longer, I implore you, for your daily keep, your subsistence. Your mother and I are at the end of our tether. There is nothing more we can do for you …
We are literally collapsing under the weight of our liabilities, both old and recent … On the brink of old age, our health, already undermined by continual anguish, backbreaking toil, reverses, perpetual worry, privations of all kinds, is failing, breaking … We are in extremis, my dear boy. Materially speaking, we have nothing left … Of the small sum we received from your grandmother, nothing remains … absolutely nothing … not a sou! On the contrary, we have gone into debt … under what circumstances, you are well aware … The two houses in Asnières are mortgaged to the hilt! … In her business, in the Passage, your mother is faced with new difficulties which I presume to be insurmountable … A change in the styles, an absolutely unforeseen caprice of fashion, has just annihilated our prospects of a relatively successful season … All our hopes have been shattered … For once in our lives we took a chance … At great expense, by scrimping on all our expenses and even on our food … we laid in a large stock of “Irish” boleros last winter. And then suddenly, without the slightest warning indication, our customers’ taste took a radical swing, they began literally to shun this item in favor of other styles, other whims … It is beyond understanding! Destiny seems to have conspired against our frail bark … It seems likely that your mother will be unable to get rid of a single one of her boleros. Not at any price! She is now trying to convert them into lampshades for the new electrical appliances! … Futile efforts! … How long can this go on? Where are we headed? For my part, at La Coccinelle, I am subjected every day to the subtle, perfidious, treacherous attacks of a cabal of young clerks who have recently been taken on … Endowed with high university degre
es (some of them have their Master’s), taking advantage of their influence with the director, of their family ties and social connections, of their “modern” upbringing (a well-nigh total absence of scruples), these ambitious young men have a crushing advantage over mere rank-and-file employees like myself … No doubt they will succeed (and very quickly, it appears) not only in getting ahead of us, but in ousting us altogether from our modest positions … Without wishing to take too dark a view, it is only a question of months! On that score it is impossible to harbor any illusions.
For my part, I am trying to hold my own as long as possible … without losing all dignity and self-respect … I am doing my best to minimize the chances and risks of a scandal whose consequences I dread … all the consequences … I control myself … I restrain myself … I contain myself to avoid any possibility of a scene, a skirmish! Unfortunately, I am not always successful … In their misguided zeal these young opportunists provoke me deliberately … I have become the target, the butt of their malice … I feel pursued by their plots, their sarcasms, their incessant jibes … They amuse themselves at my expense … Why? … I am lost in conjectures … Is it the mere fact of my existence? As you can imagine, this persistent hostility, their very presence, is bitterly painful to me. Moreover, all things considered, I feel myself defeated in advance in this contest of smoothness, skulduggery, and malice! … What weapons have I to defend myself with? Without a fortune or family, with nothing more to my credit than a record of service honestly, scrupulously, rendered La Coccinelle over a period of two and twenty consecutive years, my blameless conscience, my perfect probity, my meticulous and unswerving sense of duty … What have I to expect? Obviously the worst … This ample inventory of sincere virtues will, I fear, be counted rather against me than to my credit on the day when my accounts are settled … Of that, my dear son, I have a clear presentiment! …
If my position proves untenable (as it is rapidly becoming), if I am discharged once and for all (any pretext will do, there is more and more talk of reorganizing the whole office)—what will become of us then? Your mother and I cannot think of this eventuality without a sense of the most terrible and justified anguish, without positive terror!
On an off chance, in a last impulse of self-defense, I have undertaken (a desperate measure) the task of learning to operate a typewriter, outside the office of course, taking advantage of the little time I can spare from deliveries and errands for the shop. We have rented the machine (an American make) for several months (one more expense). But here again I harbor no illusions … At my age, as you can well imagine, it is not easy to assimilate so novel a technique, new methods, new habits, new ways of thinking! Especially crushed as we are by continual misadventures … mercilessly tormented! … All this, my dear son, leads us to take the darkest view of our future. And beyond the slightest doubt or fear of exaggeration, we cannot afford the least mistake … not even the most trifling imprudence … if we, your mother and I, are not to end our existence in the most utter destitution!
We send you our love, my dear child. Once again your mother and I exhort you, adjure you, implore you, before your return from England (if not in our interest or for love of us, then at least in your own interest) to make a brave decision, to resolve above all to apply yourself body and soul to the success of your undertakings.
Your affectionate father,
Auguste.
P. S. Your mother asks me to inform you of the death of Madame Divonne last Monday at her haven in Kremlin-Bicêtre.
She had been confined to her bed for several weeks. She was suffering from emphysema and a heart ailment. She suffered little. The last few days she slumbered constantly … She was not aware of the approach of death. We had been to see her the day before, in the afternoon.
The next day, it must have been about noon, Jongkind and I were in the garden waiting for lunchtime … The weather was beautiful … Along comes a character on a bicycle … He stops, he rings at our gate … It was another telegram … I ran to take it, it was from my father … “Return immediately, mother worried. Auguste.”
I run upstairs, I meet Nora on the landing, I pass her the wire, she reads it, she comes down, she dishes out our soup, we begin to eat … Bingo! She bursts into tears. She’s bawling, she can’t stop, she gets up, she leaves the room, she runs into the kitchen. I hear her sobbing in the hall … it threw me to see her acting like that. It wasn’t her way … she never did that … Just the same, I didn’t bat an eyelash … I stay where I am with the idiot, I finish feeding him … It was time for our walk … I wasn’t in the mood … That incident had cramped my style.
And then I thought of the Passage. All of a sudden the idea began to haunt me … my arrival, all the neighbors … the search for some wonderful job … No more independence … no more silence … No more roaming around … My childhood would be starting in again, the whole stinking business, I’d have to start in again where I left off … I’d have to show enthusiasm! Oh, the lousy luck, the slimy horror of it all … The misery of working for people! The deserving young man! … Twelve dozen crappers! I couldn’t stand thinking about it … The mere thought of my parents and my mouth was full of birdshit. My mother, her skinny stilt leg, my father with his bacchanalias, his hysterical damn foolishness …
Kid Jongkind was tugging at my sleeves. He didn’t catch on. He still wanted us to go out. I looked at him: “No trouble.” We’d be leaving each other soon … This little screwball that swallowed everything in sight … I guessed he’d miss me out of his world … I wondered how he actually saw me … As an ox? As a lobster? … He’d got really used to having me take him out, with his big round eyes, his perpetual cheerfulness … He was lucky in a way … He was pretty affectionate if you were careful not to get his goat … He didn’t really like to see me thinking … I went over and looked out the window a second … Before I could turn around the little joker had jumped up on the table … He calms down, he pees! It splashes in the soup … He’s done it before, I run over, I grab him, I make him come down … Just then the door opens … Merrywin comes in … He moves mechanically, his features are frozen … He walks like an automaton … First he goes around the table … twice, three times … He starts in again … He’s wearing his fancy rig, the black lawyer’s robes … but underneath he has on a whole sport outfit, golf pants, binoculars … a nifty nickel-plate flask, and a green smock belonging to his wife … He’s still walking the same way, like a somnambulist … he goes down the steps in jerks and jolts … He roams around the garden a while … he even tries to open the gate … he hesitates, he comes back, he heads for the house … still completely in a dream … He passes in front of Jongkind again … He salutes us majestically, with a sweeping gesture … His arm rises and falls … He bows a little each time … He’s addressing a crowd far in the distance … He seems to be responding to a tremendous ovation … And then finally he goes back upstairs … very slowly … with perfect dignity … I can hear him closing the door …
These weird goings-on … this mechanical man … had frightened Jongkind … He couldn’t keep still. He had to get out of there, he was in a panic. I clicked my tongue at him and shouted whoa! whoa! … like you talk to a horse. Usually that quieted him … I finally had to give in … We went out across the fields …
Near the Scottish barracks, we ran into the Hopeful College kids who were out for a walk. They were on their way to the cricket field on the other side of the valley. They were carrying their bats and their wickets … we recognized all our old boys, they waved to us, all very friendly … Naturally they had filled out and grown … They were very gay … They seemed glad to see us … their new rig was orange and blue … their caravan looked mighty bright against the horizon.
We looked after them … We came home very early … Jongkind was still trembling.
We were at the top of Willow Walk, the path leading to the school, when we passed the truck, the big van with three horses … more movers …
; They avoided the steep hill, they went all the way around by the garden, they took more things away. This time they really cleaned the place out … they took the scrapings … We looked inside, the flaps were rolled up … They had the two maids’ beds, one of the kitchen cupboards, the little china closet, and the old geezer’s tricycle … and a lot of other junk … They must have emptied the attic! The whole joint! There wouldn’t be anything left! … They even took the bottles, you could hear them rolling around in the bottom of the crate … There wouldn’t be much left the way they were going about it…
I began to be worried about my two or three scraps and my shoes. If they kept on looting this way, there was no limit, anything could happen … The inside of that van looked like a regular auction room. I took the stairs four at a time, I wanted to see the extent of the damage. And besides it was time to eat … The table was laid sumptuously … with the best silver … and the dishes with the flower patterns, and all the cut glass … It stood out beautifully in the naked room …
The meal consisted of potato salad, artichokes vinaigrette, cherries in brandy, a luscious cake, a whole ham … Real abundance, and in addition there were daffodils strewn over the tablecloth, in between the cups … It was really something. It was a real surprise.
I was amazed. Jongkind and I stood looking at the marvels … neither he nor she came down … We were both famished … First we take a little taste of everything … And then we make up our minds … we dive in, we gobble … we dig in with our fingers … nothing to it once you’re started … It’s delicious! Jongkind was beside himself with pleasure, he was as happy as a king … We didn’t leave much … Still nobody came down …
Death on the Installment Plan Page 29
