by Unknown
get his presence altogether, imperceptibly taking on again, although with a little more restraint, their insouciant and jovial demeanor. Thomas jumped to the bottom edge of the bed. Because of his compan ion, he was forced to bend down a little, but he tried nevertheless to stare fixedly at the three who had filed in one behind the other with the puerile, and no doubt ironic, desire to avoid exposing themselves to the view of the stranger. So it was the first one he saw almost the whole time, although the two others, slipping out of the line, showed themselves occasionally in a brief flash. He would have liked to consider them one at a time in order to see who they were. The one he could see wore an elegant but oversized jacket, and he slid his hands into its folds to show its defects. The other two seemed to be dressed in a much coarser material. Thomas stretched out his hand to grab one of the armchairs. He was immediately surrounded by the three maitres d'h6tel, who jostled one another as they seized the chair and placed it at his disposal and then grabbed his companion, whom they pushed along with kicks and blows. Thomas found himself seated rather comfortably, but the young man had caught one leg in the arm of the other chair and could only keep his balance by supporting himself with one hand on the floor. He began to moan in pain. "That's enough," said Thomas. "We have to talk now." The other men intervened as well. All they wanted was to reduce the prisoner to silence, but with their spastic gestures, they hit him so roughly that the moaning began again in earnest. The noise was unbearable. "Make him shut up!" shouted Thomas. He was so close to the captive that this moaning voice seemed to be coming from his own breast, and it was difficult not to give in to the desire to lament for himself as well. One of the three men cautiously opened his jacket a little. He pulled out a handkerchief and folded it twice; then after looking inquiringly at his comrades, he fell upon the young man, threaten ing to gag him. "What a silly idea," thought Thomas. "That won't fix any thing." He shook his head but was unable completely to prevent the plan from being carried out, for the handkerchief fell to the floor, and the maitre d'h6tel finally placed his hand over the mouth of the bellowing wretch. The two others came closer, and for the first time Thomas saw them distinctly. He wondered how he could ever have compared them to this one who was now so close to him. They were much older; their hair was almost gray. Nor did they have the same sort of look on their faces, although wherever they looked, they too gave rise to an unpleasant sensation. 26
((I entered this house inadvertently," Thomas said to them. ((I was passing by on the street outside when someone made a sign to me; I only wanted to stay for a moment. But now I'm in a predicament, for I don't know any one, and no one is expecting me." He noticed that the two men listened attentively. This was already a comfort. ((My situation," he continued, ((has not yet been officially defined. To be a tenant would not seem to me to be a bad thing, but would I be admitted as such? Would I be able to fulfill the requirements? Would I have any guarantees? I arrived only a short time ago, but I have seen enough to make me fear entering into anything with out due consideration." He addressed a cautious glance at his listeners, who nodded their heads. ((I could also try to return to the outside. Out side there are difficulties, and it is not always pleasant to go by foot. But at least one knows where one is going. Have you been assigned to take me somewhere?" The two men looked at each other as if they wanted to pre pare a response in common, but they remained silent. ((I understand," said Thomas, who had hoped for an explanation. ((You cannot answer me. My question is not one that should be addressed to you. From now on I will wait until I am questioned." He fell silent; his words were so futile that he had to wonder whether they had really been spoken at all. Nevertheless, the two men were still standing motionless before him. ((Are they not here to serve me?" he thought, and he could not help shouting: ((Well who are you anyway?" They responded together by holding out their arms, which were encircled byan inscription in Gothic letters. It was a sort of motto. This time Thomas was able to decipher it. I serve alone. The third of the men, seeing that his comrades were making themselves known, did not want to be forgotten, so while maintaining his hold on the prisoner, whose face he hid with his arm, he offered his inscription to be read. It was the same, but instead of being embroidered, it was written carelessly in ink on a white band. ((How can you be of any service?" asked Thomas. ((Service?" they replied in a single voice. One ofthem took from his pocket a small notepad, which he opened to a random page. He waited with a pencil at the ready. ((Now it's time for the interrogation," thought Thomas. It was a relief; now he had only to submit to the will of others. However, there was a long pause before one of them made up his mind to begin. Speaking was not their strong point. The number-two man, after standing for a while with 27
his eyes lowered, began to move imperceptibly toward the door, as if he wanted to escape from a harrowing ordeal. But he bumped against a shelf and jumped back terrified by the noise of clanking saucers and cups. His acolytes rushed toward him. Thomas thought they were going to smash everything to pieces, and in fact, with their abrupt and clumsy movements, they knocked over two large vases, which shattered into pieces, spilling out all their water. They were unconcerned with this mishap. One of them triumphantly seized a cup and saucer and placed them on the table. Then they ran toward the door, yelling: "To the kitchen!" The door closed so violently that the bell jingled overhead. Thomas was glad to be free of their presence, but he wondered whether he had really taken as much advantage of this visit as he had wished. Of course, they were from down below, so they knew nothing of the house, properly speaking, but the things that went on in the basement floors were some times the most important of all. He turned to the young man. "Do you know them?" he said. Now his companion was sitting in the armchair and was trying to copy the gestures and the attitude of his neighbor. He shook his head in horror. "So you really don't know them?" he asked again. But he could elicit no sign of assent. He tried to picture how the lower floors were arranged, if they were easily accessible, if they kept a large staff busy, and many other things besides. All this was not easy to imagine. Thomas was drawn out of his thoughts by the very quiet sounds of the bells. First he heard one in the distance, and it was as if it had never be fore struck a human ear. He heard a second one, which was no less calm. For the first time he felt at peace; perhaps he would have no rest, but his journey would have an end. One after the other, the bells were heard to sound, and their sound spread through the air in such a way that the air too was a bell softly ringing. Soon there were too many at once; the call came from every floor; it made one wonder just how high the house could rise and why no one was answering. After a few moments, there were footsteps echoing in the hallway. Someone opened a door. There was the beginning of a conversation, and Thomas bent his ear, but without being able to catch anything, for the walls were very thick. Other doors were opened or closed. The boards creaked under the footsteps. The noise of a service elevator shook the wall, causing it to rumble as if it were going to give way. Thomas looked with surprise at the part of the room where the noise was coming 28
through, which the shaking lamps lit up in an irregular pattern. He looked along the wall for something new, and then his gaze fell again on the por trait. It made him feel impatient. Was there, then, nothing else to look at here? Besides, it was not even a portrait. It was a narrow opening covered by a slab of mica that let a little daylight seep through. Without losing a moment, he rose to go to the window. He had to make the young man get up too. The latter, clinging to the armchair in which he was comfortably seated, pointed excitedly at the chain; one of its links had slipped under the leg of the table and held them both back. Thomas had to push the table back with violence; the cup turned over on the saucer, and its edge was badly chipped. Then he dragged his companion to the bed and kneeled down on the mattress to make him climb up too. It was not easy. The young man sank into despair and began to bellow outright. "Why are you feeling sorry for yourself?" shouted Thomas. "Are you afraid of something?" What was there to be afraid of? He
glanced up at the skylight, which was now right next to him, and without a care for the savage resistance of his companion, he climbed up onto the second ledge. His right leg and right arm were left hanging in the other direction. But despite this uncom fortable position, he did not feel the burdensome attachments; he felt only the taut movement that allowed him to advance as if he were free from all constraints. The prisoner finally followed him. He heard the bed creak ing under the tremendous weight and had the impression that the springs were snapping and standing on end with a loud crashing sound. For a few seconds it made a deafening noise. The mattress was vigorously protest ing. This horrible racket was a far cry from the silent repose Thomas had found in the bed. "What are you up to now?" he shouted. He turned around immediately and saw the damage. Almost all of the springs had cut through the stuffing, as if suddenly the mattress were one that had been worn out by long use and ready to cave in at the first touch. The iron hoops shone in the light. Certain pieces of steel, brilliant and polished, had passed through the sheets like knives, others followed the outline of the mattress cover and were still hidden in the stuffing. Thomas looked with consternation at the remains of this ingenious machinery that, for him, had provided such a good rest. He noticed in the gaping hole of the bed an apparatus with pieces that seemed to spin endlessly over and 29
through one another. Without disturbing the silence - indeed, it seemed that the silence was all the greater - a movement began to shake the entire bed in a rhythm that at first seemed gentle and soothing but that eventu ally became insatiable. Thomas felt the vibrations and experienced a sort of nausea that obliged him to rock back and forth from right to left in a rapid motion. The prisoner had turned to look in his direction. The unfor tunate man must have been suffering terribly; the springs had pierced his sides, and he was lying atop knife blades and razors. "But I really don't wish you any harm," Thomas said to him, but at the same time, with his finger pointed to the skylight, he made a sign to him to rise. This skylight was easier to reach than he had thought. He held out his hand to the captive, and with his fingers entwined in these other enormous fingers, he helped him to stand up. He was astonished at his size. How big he was! One would have thought there were two men combined into one, so massive was his body. He moved toward the wall, and while only a small portion of the light from the window reached Thomas, this large man was easily able to look through the mica. What did he see? There was no way to ask him. The light was pleasant, but it wasn't the light of day, as one might have thought; it was the gleam of a gently burning fire that seemed to reach this point only accidentally. The window itself was there only by chance. It had been placed there out of a builder's whim or else according to a design that had since been abandoned. Viewed from up close, it ap peared even smaller than it had from farther away. It was possible to look through it only when one's eyes managed to catch the right angle through the slot. Thomas pulled himself up onto the shoulders of his companion. Blood had flowed from his wounds, but now it had dried. Now they were so tightly bound that they formed a single being, and Thomas had the impression that they could never again be separated. Through the skylight he could clearly see part of another room; its walls were covered with a glossy white paint, and the paving stones on the floor were white as well. The room was situated well below where Thomas was. It was buried deeply underneath the house, so deeply that all the other floors seemed to have been built in order to press it even farther down. It was not a cellar. On the contrary, it had been magnificently accommodated, as if it were meant to shine forth in broad daylight. Thomas immediately rec ognized the kitchens. A great fire burned in the hearth. On the wall were 30
hung pots and pans, which did not seem to be in very good condition and at which a rather aged and sickly man stared intently. It could be that since he was an invalid and could no longer perform any other tasks, they had entrusted him with guarding these utensils, but he put all his pride into fulfilling his function as no other could. And perhaps the task was actu ally very important. From time to time he took hold of an object, usually in a general state of ruin, looked it over, shook it, held it up to his nose, then hung it up again with all sorts of careful maneuvers. Obviously this man had a considerable duty to carry out. But those with less experience were incapable of understanding. Some kitchen boys, whose only point of pride was the blinding whiteness of their uniforms, stopped behind him and imitated his gestures with exaggerated seriousness. They took from their pockets some meager item and pretended to ponder it, passing their hands over their foreheads before putting it back into their pockets. Sec onds later they threw him to the ground and hurried away. Thomas did not understand everything he saw and would have needed some explanation. But the pleasure he took in observing was all the greater. Despite the distance between him and these prideful people, he felt less out of his element; he was attracted by a brilliant and tempting hope; his eyes had open ed wide onto something that was better suited to his vision than all the other things of the earth. Someone was rolling through the middle of the room a cart carrying huge steaming plates that could be opened and closed at will by lifting a hinged cover. The steam was very thick. The cook who stood by this mobile kitchen was twisting valves and spigots, and the steam rose majestically in a golden plume. What was sim mering in the pots was no doubt less precious than this steam -which rose slowly in billowing wreaths only to be sucked into a large pipe leading up to the higher flo ors - for a kitchen boy, shabbily dressed, emptied the con tents of the dishes from time to time into crude containers. The cook was not dressed in a very nice uniform either; he wore enormous boots that seemed to be covered with unspeakable filth, but the solemnity of his bear ing, the slow deliberateness of his gestures, and, above all, the brilliance of his face when he approached the ovens gave him an importance that was immediately recognizable. He did not cease to inspire a great deal of re spect in Thomas. How nice it would be to stand at his side and to watch his work more closely! The activity to which he devoted himself appeared to be very monotonous and required few fine qualities. He stood upright, 31
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his arms crossed over his chest, his head slightly tilted in order to smell the vapor given off by the dishes, and when he turned aside for a moment, finding himself in the ordinary atmosphere, his face lost all expression; he looked neither happy nor unhappy; he was only an aging man who had difficulties breathing and moving. Thomas closed his eyes. "Would it not be better," he said to himself, "if I tried to go home." He felt his appetite growing and was afraid that they would forget to serve him for good. "When are we going to eat?" he said very quietly, bending down toward his companion. He did not wait for an answer and turned back to the kitchen. The spec tacle did not hold the same interest as the first time. Around a table stood men dressed in large white aprons washing dishes. In the center of the table was a hole filled with water. They threw all sorts of containers into it at ran dom and pulled them out just as quickly; each one worked with care, but the water was so filthy that, despite the rapid pace of their gestures, the im plements always soaked too long in the waste and were covered with greasy spots that could no longer be wiped away. These implements interested Thomas because they did not resemble the ones used in his own country. Everything was more highly perfected. The bowls had an indentation for the lips, and a mask, attached to the rim of the porcelain, allowed one to breath the hot steam while the liquid poured into the mouth. The mask was skillfully painted, and to look at it, one could only think that the presence of a fellow dinner guest was perhaps unnecessary. Some of the pots and pans - there were all shapes and sizes of them shone brightly in the gleam of the fire. None was the same as any of the others, and yet they seemed to be the parts of an important machine that could only vaguely be imagined as a whole. It made one think of an in tricate ensemble of metal with cogs, gears, and chains. It could no longer simply be a question of cooking. At this instant, steps sounded in the hall way, and the door opened. There was no time to
jump down. The two men fell like a block, and Thomas found himself on the floor half crushed by the enormous body of his companion. He suffered from bruises, but he suf fered even more from being caught like this. How could he have behaved so childishly? It was frightful. The young man was astonishingly light on his feet as he stood up, and Thomas too was quickly upright. Before him was one of the maitres d'h6tel holding in each hand a coffeepot and gazing at him with a rather grave expression. Thomas cast him a harsh look in 32
return; there was no room for any but the most serious things. As soon as they were seated - and now the young man obediently followed all his movements - the maitre d'hotel approached and filled the cup. The brew was very hot; the odor it gave off seemed to seep into the entire room. Thomas could not hold back a smile, so great was his pleasure in this sweet smell. "Is this drink prepared in the underground floors?" he asked. But he soon stopped smiling, for his only thought now was to bring the cup to his lips. The liquid scalded him. It was not the heat that attacked his throat and entrails. It was the acrid odor, something intense and corrosive. He drank it all in a single draught without even leaving any residue in the bottom of the cup. Although he had a vague notion of the crudeness of his behavior, he was unconcerned for the moment with any idea of restraint. "Can I drink a second cup?" he asked hurriedly. There was no answer, and yet an answer was what he wanted. Even be fore he could look up to stare at the maitre d'hotel, his cup was full; the steam was rising in thick plumes, and there was nothing left but to drink once again. "Another cup?" asked the maitre d'hotel when Thomas had finished. He had no s ense of what was impertinent in this question. This time the brew seemed to him rather insipid and lukewarm. His lips absorbed only the flavor of a liquid that has been exposed too long to the air and has gone stale. The maitre d'hotel stood opposite him in a slight bow. He was not as lively as he was when he had come before. He was like a man who has ful filled his duty and devoted all his strength to it. Thomas had the impression that now he could easily enter into a conversation with him. He hesitated. What questions could he ask? What explanations could he hope for? Was not everything quite clear from a certain point of view? He turned to look at his companion, who in turn stared at him with frightened eyes. Such sad looks. It was as if he were contemplating his very self in his solitude and abandonment. He noticed that the door had remained partly open and that a thin shadow was cast across the floor. Was there someone standing hidden in the hallway? Outside the room there was silence. Everyone had returned to their rooms, and they were not permitted to walk about. He stared straight ahead. It was less the shadow that interested him - at times it blended in with the shadows of the hallway- than the lightly colored boards of the door. They were almost white, and a few lines in a uniform, 33
