Death on the Installment Plan

by Louis-Ferdinand Celine

  “Ferdinand! You’ve just saved my life … Ah, yes! My life! It’s the truth. I heard it all. Ah! It’s just as I feared! That ape would have torn me apart. Right then and there! Did you realize that?” Then he’d stop and think. He began to feel worried about what I’d been shouting … my little session with the visitor …

  “But I do hope, Ferdinand, tell me now, that I haven’t fallen as low as all that in your esteem? You’d tell me, wouldn’t you? You wouldn’t hide it from me, would you? I’ll explain my position if you want me to. Go ahead … I do hope these little acts you put on have no effect on your feeling for me! That would be too dreadful. Your affection for me is unchanged? You can count on me to the hilt, you know that. I’m a man of my word. You do understand me? You’re beginning to understand me, aren’t you? Tell me you understand me.”

  ‘Yes, yes. Of course … I think … I think I’m beginning …”

  “Then listen to me, my dear Ferdinand! … While that lunatic was raving, I was thinking .of thousands of things … while he was turning our stomachs … mouthing his delirium … I was saying to myself: My poor Courtial! All these scenes, this ranting, this infamous uproar is lacerating your existence abominably … without furthering your cause any! When I say cause, you understand, I don’t mean money. I’m speaking of the great intangible treasure! Immaterial wealth! The great Decision! The eternal theme, the infinite acquisition! The idea that is worthy of our enthusiasm … You’ve got to understand me, Ferdinand … Quicker! Quicker! Time is passing! A minute! An hour! At my age, Ferdinand, that’s eternity. You’ll see … It’s all one, Ferdinand, all one!” His eyes moistened … “Listen to me, Ferdinand. I hope you’ll understand me fully one day … yes! … that you’ll really appreciate me … When I’m not here to defend myself … Then it’s you, Ferdinand, who will possess the truth! … You who will refute the calumnies … It’s you, I’m counting on you, Ferdinand. I’m counting on you! If people come to you … from all four quarters of the world … and say : ‘Courtial was nothing but a skunk, the crummiest bastard of them all! A swindler! There was never another like him …’ What will you say, Ferdinand? … Just this … You hear me? ‘Courtial made only one mistake. But that mistake was fundamental! He thought the world was waiting for the spirit … to help it change … The world has changed … That’s a fact … But the spirit hasn’t come to it! …’ That’s all you’ll say … Absolutely … Not another word! You will add nothing! … The order of magnitudes, Ferdinand! The order of magnitudes! Maybe the infinitestimal can be inserted in the immense … But how are we to reduce the immense to the infinitesimal? Ah? Our misfortunes have no other source, Ferdinand! No other source! All our misfortunes! …”

  When he’d had a big scare as he had that afternoon, he felt a touching solicitude for me. He didn’t want to see me sulking …

  “Go on out, Ferdinand!” he’d say … “Go take a walk … Go to the Louvre. It’ll do you a world of good! Go up to the Boulevards! You like Max Linder. Our joint still stinks of that mammoth! Let’s go, Ferdinand. Let’s clear out. Shut up the shop. Hang out the sign. Join me at the Three Musketoons! It’s on me. Take some money out of the drawer on the left … I won’t leave with you … I’ll sneak out through the hall … Take a look in at the Insurrection … You’ll see Formerly … Ask him if there’s anything new … You’ve placed a bet on Scheherazade, I hope? And did you put your winnings on Violoncelle? You’re still betting for yourself, eh? You don’t even know where I am … Understand?”

  He began to dish out his Great Decision routine more and more often … He’d disappear into the cellar, supposedly to meditate, for hours on end … He’d take a big fat book with him and his big candle. He must have owed every bookie in the neighborhood money, and not just Kid Formerly at the Insurrection, but at the Musketoons, and even the Brasserie Vigogne on the rue des Blancs-Manteaux … That was a real dive … He gave orders that he wasn’t to be disturbed … I wasn’t always very happy about it … his shenanigans made it my business to deal with all our daily screwballs … our discontented subscribers … the harmless little characters with stupid questions … the thoroughbred maniacs … whole broadsides of them swept over me … I had them all on my neck … bellyachers of every description … the repulsive mob of deep thinkers … the fanatics of gadgetry … They kept pouring in . . coming and going … The bell was having fits … It rang the whole time … They were preventing me from repairing my Enthusiast … Courtial was cluttering up the cellar with his clowning … And that was my main job after all … I was responsible, I’d be to blame if he broke his neck … which was touch and go every time! … In other words, his act was for the birds … In the end I told him, on this count and several others, that this couldn’t go on … that I was fed up … that I washed my hands of it … that we were heading for trouble … It was plain as day … But he hardly listened. It left him cold … He disappeared more and more. When he was in the cellar, he wouldn’t let anybody disturb him … Even his candle bothered him … Sometimes he put it out so it wouldn’t interfere with his meditations.

  Finally I gave it to him straight … I was so griped that I couldn’t control myself … I told him to try the sewer . . that was the ideal place to look for his Decision … That did it. He blasts me:

  “Ferdinand,” he shrieks. “What’s that? Is that a way to talk to me? You, Ferdinand? To me? Stop right there. Merciful heavens, I beg you! Have pity! Call me whatever you please! Liar! Boa! Vampire! Skunk! if the words I utter are not the strict expression of the ineffable truth! You wanted to do away with your father, didn’t you? So young! Heavens above! That’s the truth! Is it a delusion? A phantasmagoria? No, it’s the unbelievable, deplorable reality! … Whole centuries won’t wipe out the shame of it! That’s a fact! It’s God’s own truth! You don’t deny it? I’m not making it up? Well then? And now what? Will you kindly tell me what you’re after? To kill me in my turn? Why, it’s obvious! It’s plain as day! Biding your time! … Waiting for the propitious moment! … when I’m relaxed … unsuspecting … And do me in! … abolish me! … annihiliate me! … That’s your program! … Where have I been keeping my wits? Ah, Ferdinand, heavens above! Your nature! your destiny! are darker than the darkest Erebus! … Oh, you’re sinister, Ferdinand, though you don’t look it! Your waters are troubled! What monsters there are, Ferdinand, in the crannies of your soul! Slithering, evasive! I don’t know them all! … They pass! … They sweep everything away! … Death! To me! To whom you owe a thousand times more than life! More than bread! More than air! than the sun itself! The power of Thought! Ah, reptile, is that what you’re up to? Am I right? Relentless! Crawling! Mercurial! Chameleonlike! Unpredictable! … Violence … tenderness … passion … strength … I heard you the other day … You’re capable of anything, Ferdinand! Everything! Only the outer coating is human! But I see the monster within! Do you know where you’re headed? Was I warned? Yes, I had plenty of warning … guile! … affection! … and then suddenly, every syllable a revelation … homicidal frenzy! Yes, frenzy! … A cataract of base instincts! Ah yes, that’s the sign, my friend. The mark of the criminal … The lightning that denounces the murderer, the congenital, innate pervert! … That’s you, right here in front of me! So be it! You’re not dealing with a coward, the weakling you may have been expecting to terrorize! You’ve got another think coming! I stand up to my destiny! I asked for it! I’ll see it through to the bitter end! All right, kill me if you can! … Go ahead! I’m waiting! Undaunted! What are you afraid of? … I’m right here! I defy you, Ferdinand! You exasperate me! Do you hear? You’re driving me out of my wits! I’m nobody’s fool! I’m wide-awake! Are you afraid to look a Man in the whites of his eyes? I measured the risks the day I took you on! Let’s call it my last act of daring! Go ahead! Strike! I defy my assassin! Hurry! …”

  I let him drool … I looked away … at the trees … at the gardens in the distance … the lawns … the nursemaids … the sparrows hopping around the benches … the fountain bob
bing in the breeze … That was better than answering … or even turning around to look at him … He’d hit the nail on the head without knowing it … for two cents I’d hit him over the head with the paperweight … the big greaser, Hippocrates … my hand was itching … it weighed at least six pounds … I had a rough time … I controlled myself … It was heroic of me … The bastard kept right on:

  “The younger generation nowadays have murder in their bones! That kind of thing, take it from me, Ferdinand, will land you in La Santé! With a hood over your eyes! That’s right, a hood! Merciful heavens! And I’ll have been to blame! …”

  I had a tongue in my head too … I felt the mustard rising … Enough was enough! … “Maître,” I said right then and there. “Go shit in your hat. And make it quick! Get away from me! I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to take your pants down. I’m going to tattoo your ass. Till it looks like thirty-six bunches of peonies … I’m going to bust open your asshole, stink and all! That’s what’s going to happen to you if I hear one more fucking word out. of you.”

  I was going to grab him for real … The stinker was quick, though … He beat it into the back room … He saw I meant business, that I’d put up with as much as I was going to … He stayed right there in his hole … fiddling with the parallel bars … He let me alone for a while … He’d gone far enough … A little later he came out … He passed through the shop … He took the corridor on the left … he went out … He didn’t go up to his office … At last I could work without being bothered.

  It was no rest cure to sew and darn and patch that rotten balloon cover, to fasten together the pieces that were coming apart … It was an awful chore … Especially because I used the carbide lamp so as to see what I was doing … which was pretty risky down there in the cellar … with all those adhesives … that are always lousy with benzine … It was trickling around all over the place … I could see myself a living torch! … The cover of the Enthusiast was a ticklish business, in a good many places it was a regular sieve … More rips! More tears! And worse every time he went up, every time he landed … from dragging through plowed fields! … from catching on the eaves … on whole rows of roofs, especially on days when the wind was from the north … She left big patches and little shreds in the forests, on the branches, between steeples … on the ramparts … She picked up tin chimneys! roofs! tiles by the ton! weather vanes on every trip! But the worst punishment, the most terrible rips were when she got impaled on a telegraph pole! … Half the time she’d split in two … To give the devil his due. you’ve got to admit that des Pereires took some pretty bad risks on his aerial tours. The ascent was wild enough … it was a wonder he made it with the thing only half-inflated … for reasons of economy … But what was really awful was bringing his moth-eaten contraption down … Luckily he had plenty of experience. He knew his business. All by himself, at the time when I met him, he had chalked up 1,422 balloon flights! Not counting captive balloons … That was an impressive total! He had all the medals, all the diplomas, all the licenses … He knew all the tricks, but what always dazzled me was his landings … It was marvelous the way he always landed on his feet. The second the end of the rope scraped over the ground, the second the thing slowed down … he rolled himself up in a ball at the bottom of the basket … when the wicker touched the muck … and the whole thing was about to bounce up again … he had a feeling for the exact moment … He shot up like a jack-in-the-box … he unwound like a spool … he fell like a regular jockey … in his tight-fitting frock coat … He seldom hurt himself … He didn’t lose a button … He didn’t waste a second … He ran straight ahead … He sped over the furrows … He didn’t turn around … He chased after the Enthusiast, at the same time blowing the little bugle he had slung over his shoulder … He made his own music … what a guy! His cross-country race went on a long time, until the whole balloon settled … I can still see him sprinting … It was a beautiful sight, in his frock coat and panama … To tell the honest truth, my autoplastic sutures weren’t so hot … but he wouldn’t have done it himself … He hadn’t the patience … he’d only have messed things up even worse … After all, that patching was an art! Despite my infinite stratagems and vast ingenuity, I often despaired of that beastly gasbag … She was thoroughly fed up … After being taken out for sixteen years regardless of conditions … in cloudbursts and tornadoes … she only held together by patches and weird darns … Every time we blew her up was a catastrophe … After she’d come down and dragged along the ground, it was worse … When a whole strip was missing, I’d borrow a piece of the Archimedes‘ old hide … She was all in pieces, a lot of rags, piled up every which way in the cellar … That was the balloon of his beginnings, a bright red captive, an enormous bag. She’d done the fairs for twenty years … I was mighty careful … infinitely meticulous … about pasting the whole thing together … I got some curious effects … When at the cry of “Let her go” the Enthusiast rose over the crowd, I could recognize my patches in the air … I could see them wobbling and shriveling … It didn’t make me laugh.

  But in addition there were the preparations, the preliminaries … The balloon racket was no rest cure … don’t get that idea … You had to get ready, make arrangements, palaver for months in advance … We had to send out leaflets, photographs … saturate the whole of France with prospectuses! … get in touch with the local big shots … put up with the insults of the festival committees, all terrible tightwads … So in addition to the inventors, we had these mountains of mail in connection with the Enthusiast.

  Courtial had taught me to write letters in the official style. I didn’t make out too badly … After a while I didn’t make too many mistakes … We had special stationery for the balloon racket with a natty letterhead: “Paris Section of the Friends of the Dirigible Balloon.”

  At the end of winter we’d start selling the municipal authorities … The programs for the season were drawn up in the spring … In principle we expected to have all our Sundays booked up shortly before All Saints. We’d needle committee presidents over the phone. It was my job again, going to the post office. I’d go during rush hours … I tried to get away without paying. They’d catch me at the door …

  We applied for every fair, convention, and carnival in all France … No town was too small. Anything was down our alley. But naturally if we had any choice, we tried not to go any farther than Seine-et-Oise … or Seine-et-Marne at the worst. It was shipping our equipment that ruined us, the sacks, the bottles of gas, the gear, all our crazy gadgets. For the game to be worth the candle, we had to be back at the Palais-Royal that same night. Otherwise it would run into money. Courtial cut his prices as low as possible … they were absolutely reasonable: two hundred and twenty francs … plus the cost of the gas, and pigeons released for two francs a piece … We made no mention of altitude … Our most famous rival, maybe the most immediate threat, was Captain Guy de Roziers, he asked a good deal more. He performed hazardous feats with his balloon, the Intrepid … He’d take his horse up with him and sit in the saddle in midair … at an altitude of 1,200 feet guaranteed! … His price was five hundred and twenty-five francs, return fare payable by the township. But the ones who beat us to the draw even more often than the equestrian were the Italian and his daughter, “Calagoni & Petita” … We ran into them wherever we went … They were immensely popular, especially in garrison towns! They were very expensive, they did all sorts of tricks up in the sky … Besides, they threw down bouquets, little parachutes, and cockades from a height of 1,800 feet! They asked eight hundred and thirty-five francs and a contract for two seasons … They really cornered the market …

  Courtial didn’t go for the showy stuff … that wasn’t his style … No theatricals! Certainly not. His show was definitely scientific: an edifying demonstration. He explained everything in a neat little preparatory chat and wound up with pigeons, which he released ever so gracefully … He himself served notice in his brief introductory patter: “Ladies and gentlemen �
�� if I’m still flying a balloon at my age, it’s not out of vain bravado … you can take my word for that … out of any desire to impress the crowd … Take a look at my chest! You see before you all the best known, most highly prized, most envied medals for merit and courage! If I take to the air, ladies and gentlemen, it is for purposes of popular education … that is my lifelong aim! Everything in my power to enlighten the masses! We are not appealing to any morbid passion, to sadistic instincts, to emotional perversity! … I appeal to your intelligence! Your intelligence alone!”

  He said it again for my benefit, he wanted me to get it straight: “Ferdinand, never forget that we must preserve the character of our performances at any price … the mark of the Genitron … They must never degenerate into buffoonery! masquerades! aerial tomfoolery! empty-headed tricks! No, no, and again no! We must preserve the tone, the spirit of Physics! Of course we have to entertain … and never forget it! That’s what we’re paid for. It’s only right and proper! But better still, if possible, we must fire the minds of these rustics with a desire for exact knowledge, for genuine enlightenment. Of course we have to go up. But we must also elevate those yokels you see standing around with their mouths open! Ah! it’s not easy, Ferdinand …”

  It’s perfectly true that he would never have left the ground without first explaining all the details, the principles of aerostatics, in a cozy little talk. To command his audience, he balanced himself on the edge of the basket, resplendently decorated, in frock coat, panama, and cuffs, with one arm passed through the rigging … He explained the working of the valves, the guy rope, the barometers, the laws of weight and ballast. Then carried away by his subject, he embarked on other fields, expatiating, ad-libbing without order or plan, about meteorology, mirages, the winds, cyclones … He touched on the planets, the stars … Everything was grist for his mill: the zodiac, Gemini … Saturn … Jupiter … Arcturus and its contours … the moon … Bellegophorus and its relief … He pulled measurements out of his hat … About Mars he could talk at length … He knew it well … It was his favorite planet … He described all the canals, their shape and itinerary! their flora! as if he’d gone swimming in them! He was on the friendliest terms with the heavenly bodies. He was a big success.