Aminadab 0803213131

by Unknown

  matter after all because the journey was over. Looking at the arm he gently touched, he thought: "Why could she not be a woman like any other, with whom I could forget my cares, rest in comfort, and become once again the man I used to be? But what is it that distinguishes her? Can I not hold her wrist in my hand? Is she not my own? Will I not, in a moment, fall asleep by her side? Who could take her away from me now?" All these thoughts were very relaxing. He had not felt such calm in a very long time. "Like wise," he said to himself, looking at the room again, "how could I complain about such a beautiful dwelling as this? It is a magnificent structure, and I never would have dreamed of finding such a grandiose residence. When it comes to quiet and calm, it too is perfect. No one contests my right to stay here; no one asks me to leave; on the contrary, I am welcomed and smiled upon; if there have been a few disapproving comments here or there, they had no practical consequences, and it was all soon forgotten. Why then am I so anxious?" Half closing his eyes, he looked at the fingers on her hand; they were smooth and pink but a little plump, as if they had never done any hard work. It was a very pretty hand, and it was a pleasure for him to hold it. The girl did not seem to mind this admiration. "I don't want to trouble you," she said to him, "but I must ask you a ques tion. Have you stared at Barbe's arms with the same look in your eyes? Did you not find them pleasing? What was your impression?" A strange question. "Barbe," said Thomas absently. "Yes," said the girl, "Barbe, the maidservant. You certainly know her; she was your friend." Thomas did not want to answer; he had the impression that if he turned toward this memory, he would suddenly lose his footing and would see everything disappear that still made it possible for him to live. "It would actually be very helpful if you remembered her," continued the girl. "The moment has come to compare the present and the past, and it is an important choice to make. But perhaps," she added, "you prefer to withhold judgment." Thomas made an effort to recall the features of the maidservant. It was not easy. She had shown herself in very different guises, and in addition there had been the story from the two employees who had given a memo rable description of her. How to sort out all these memories? 166

  " The decision does not appear to be easy," said the girl. "You are certainly right not to commit yourself lightly. Take your time. The essential thing is to judge well." Thomas wanted to ask if it was really necessary; would his choice change the situation? Would it give him the means to return to the place from which he had set out? No, of course not. But since he could not make his explanations clear, and since he was not free to say no to anything at all, he answered in a low voice: "My choice is here." "Perfect," said the girl. "Of course 1 will take your word for it, and if it were only me, 1 would refrain from asking what your reasons are. But, un fortunately, we must do things according to the rules. A few words, then, to justify your choice, and we will never speak of it again." Thomas was very embarrassed. Not only did he have no more than a vague image of the maidservant, he also did not know how to describe the impression on which his preference was based. There was no way for him really to speak of it. The girl was beautiful, but it was not because of her beauty that he preferred her; was it her seriousness that seduced him, this air that gave her smallest gestures an extraordinary value? No, for this rather frightened him. Then perhaps he liked being with her simply be cause she was there, because she benefited from the grandiose surround ings, from his fatigue, his abandonment? How foolish it all was. The girl, probably displeased by the prolonged silence, moved away and crossed her arms. No longer feeling her body in contact with his, Thomas said to himself: "Well that's no good. Now I'll have no point of comparison at all." So he was obliged to declare: "Don't move away. I'll give you all the explanations you want." He was glad to see that she accepted his request. For a few moments, the calm and even some of the intimacy returned, and in his state of absorp tion, he really believed that the girl was held in place by his contemplation and that he was forgetting all other cares. He was therefore surprised when he heard her say, in a very gentle voice, and without the serious tone she had used before, as if such gravity were insufficient to bring out the seri0usness of her words: "I am far from believing that it is a sign of ill will, but all the same, your silence is surprising. Anyone else would interpret it as a real insult. How to explain your hesitation to speak a few polite words without much importance, words that you are free to choose, on the con dition, of course, that you provide assurances that the past is dead? Do you

  have memories that still trouble you? Does my presence prevent you from seeing clearly what your thoughts are? At least tell me the reason for your embarrassment." Thomas could hardly overcome the confusion these words caused him. Such consideration! How nicely she was speaking to him! He had never heard anything so pleasant, so persuasive. He would have liked to merge with these words so as to know all their sweetness; he would have liked to be as true and as perfect as they were. He turned to the girl and wanted to express his satisfaction to her and to make it clear to her, by a gesture at least, that he was in agreement with her. Certainly a gesture would be enough; words were superfluous; a gesture or even a facial expression, a simple wink, would bring everything into the clear. It was impossible that she would reject his prayer, that she would not read on his face how much he needed her and how in the heart of his distress he had chosen her since always. As he pulled himself toward her along the ground, she stood up, saying: " The hours are passing, and we are getting nowhere. You know, we will have to reach a decision. I interpret your silence as a desire to give me the initiative and to avoid any more errors. Confide in me then; I will make things easier for you." She took a few steps, hesitantly at first, then with more confidence; she put the room back in order, put the desk back in its place, set the stool down next to it. After picking up the notebook, she sat down and at tached a label to it, on which Thomas read the name Lucie - the name of its owner, no doubt. He stared at her continuously, as if losing sight of her at this moment would have led to incalculably serious consequences. She was seated now at some distance from him, and he no longer had the protection that her contact and her proximity had brought him; this only made it all the more necessary for him to keep her in view. After tearing a page out of the notebook, she began to write in a dark and miniscule handwriting. From what he could tell, it was not the choice of the words or the structure of the sentences that preoccupied her; rather, her efforts were directed at the details of the letters - as though she were drawing rather than writing - and she placed great emphasis on the downstrokes and the upstrokes, the punctuation signs, and all the various accents. This work took time. Although Thomas knew that she was working for him and that a decisive advantage would result from this effort, he wondered if the help he would find in it could ever compensate for the displeasure of such 168

  a prolonged separation. Already his eyes looked at her less intently; his contemplation of her, instead of appeasing him, became mechanical and sterile; what he saw did not bring her closer to him; rather, it made him more conscious of the distance that divided them. Finally the girl set down her pen, and after glancing at Thomas, as if to reassure him that she was still there, she said: "There now, that settles our problems." It was good to hear this, but it was perhaps premature, for she re-read under her breath the page she had just written, and after finishing, she remained silent, as if she were weighing both sides, without quite know ing how the scales would fall. Was she satisfied with the final impression? Thomas could not tell. She only said to him, gently and somewhat reti cently, in the tone that is used to prepare a sick person for bad news: "I will read out the declaration 1 have composed for you; if you approve, you will sign, and the incident will be closed." Hearing this, Thomas was very disappointed. He had hoped she would bring the page over and that they would read it together, that not only would the separation come to an end but also would be replaced by a greater intimacy that these lines would seal; instead, he was being offered more postponements, the prolongation of the same state of th
ings. Paying no attention to the disillusion she was causing, the girl began to read: "In order to resolve the misunderstandings that could result from certain incidents of my past life, and to dismiss in advance any incorrect and malicious interpretations, 1 believe it necessary to make the following statement, which alone should stand as an accurate representation of the truth. Of course 1 am speaking in your name," said the girl, interrupting herself, then she continued: "I entered the house with the explicit inten tion not to interfere with its customs, to remain here for as long as it was desired that 1 be kept on, and, if possible, to die here in accordance with its principles and in harmony with its people. From my very first steps, 1 recognized that all the regulations of this imposing edifice were inspired by order and justice. 1 neither observed any negligence in the staff nor any discontent among the tenants; 1 was charmed by the welcome 1 received, which was unwarranted for a man of so little merit. Each time 1 exchanged words with any person unknown to me, 1 admired the value of their advice, and 1 can only congratulate myself for having always followed it. Thus, considering the benefits 1 have received from my stay among such virtuous men, with the conviction of having lived modestly, simply, and correctly,

  certain, in addition, that it would have been impossible for me to do any wrong in the presence of such examples and under the direction of such august laws, I have the duty, at a particularly important moment in my life, to thank all those who have granted me so much favor, by communicating to them a solemn testimony of my gratitude." When she had finished reading, Thomas saw that the girl was not think ing of coming to him but was resting from her work, with her hands on the desk, saying nothing; he tried unsuccessfully to get up. During the last few moments he had lost a great deal of his strength, although a little while be fore he had already been very weak. It was quite unfortunate, but there was no reason to be sad about it; instead of going to the girl by walking straight ahead, with his head high enough to keep it on her level, he would drag himself along the floor, and perhaps this painful position would convince Lucie to come to him. He set off immediately but realized that his legs were half paralyzed. He pushed on the floor with his arms to move the rest of his body along, but he had to keep raising his head to see if he was mov ing in the right direction. Nevertheless, despite these difficulties, which he had not foreseen, and despite a dull anxiety about the future, which the thought of his semi-paralysis caused him, he felt so full of hope that he completely disregarded his fatigue, and soon enough he had crawled up next to the desk. Still out of breath, he said with a stutter: "Here I am," not only to make known his arrival but also to convince himself of it - as if it were something utterly incredible - to taste all the joy of success, and to put an end to his adventures. The girl held out the paper to him and said: "Write your name at the bottom and make the characters as legible as possible. One can never take too much care with one's writing." That was easy enough. The text filled an entire page. At the bottom, in an empty rectangle, there was a large space for a signature; an arrow began at the top of the sheet on the right and crossed the page diagonally, lead ing the eye directly to this spot below. Thus, whoever had this paper in his hand could not doubt that this was the most important part of the text. To show how highly he estimated the importance of his task, Thomas asked whether, before providing the definitive version, he might practice a few times. "Naturally," said the girl, and she quickly tore several sheets out of the notebook and gave them to him. On a page that already showed several finely executed words intersecting one another, he set about drawing the letters, one by one. The first letters were almost illegible, for his hand was 1 70

  still numb from the recent strain, and it trembled and shook as it traced out the confused characters; but his attempts quickly improved, and soon he found himself quite enchanted with the results. After receiving approval for the example he displayed, he immediately began to inscribe his name. The first letter, in a magnificent calligraphy, stretched across a large por tion of the rectangle. It was then that, wanting to involve the girl in his enthusiasm and wanting also to be certain that she would appreciate it, he asked her if she knew his name. "Ifyou worked more quickly," she said to him, "I would know it already." Thomas heard the response as nothing other than an invitation to do better, and Lucie's haste seemed to him a good omen. "Fine," he said. "I won't waste any more time. But would you mind spell ing out the letters for me one at a time? That would help me, for when I write one, I no longer think of the others, and the whole escapes me." Lucie shook her head. "I meant what I said," she replied. "Your name has not come this far. So hurry and sign." Thomas thought for a moment and took up his pen, as he had been asked; but then he suddenly realized that his task had become ludicrous and impossible. Why should he sign now? She did not know who he was, and this was a sorry comedy. Any other name besides his own would have done the job . He handed her the sheet on which he had signed the first letter of his name, a monumental letter that in itself had the importance of a word, and as she tried to pronounce it in a quiet voice, lending it the significance that the presence of the other letters should have given it, she only increased his regrets, for he sensed how much she could have con soled him simply by naming him. "I cannot be satisfied with this incomplete signature," she said, "but time is passing, and we still have a number of things to clarify. Your state ment relates to the past and protects you, grosso modo, from the demands through which the various floors of the house might make claims on you. So now you are a little more free. Nevertheless, the primary difficulty re mains, for you still belong to the staff, and, in this capacity, your stay with me will be tolerated only within strictly defined limits. If you do not find a way to escape from the rules, I will be obliged to send you away." Thomas expected this, too; but since he was too weak to reflect on this dreadful prospect, he declared with all the strength he could manage: "I am not a domestic." 171

  "Good," said Lucie. "I thought so. When I saw you struggling with my furniture, it was clear that a mistake had been made, or perhaps that the employees had played a joke. Consequently, your situation is much clearer, although not necessarily better. Indeed, I no longer have any reason to ask you to leave, but as for you, you no longer have any grounds for staying. Your entry here was illicit, and although the abuse of confidence was not directly committed by you, you associated yourself with it, calling down upon yourself and accepting in advance any consequences that such an action may bring. Therefore, we must separate." "And if I really was a domestic?" asked Thomas. "Are you or are you not?" said the girl. "How can I respond to you, since my response depends strictly, as is natural, on your situation? If you were a domestic, I do not know what would happen and what decisions your presence would necessitate, for you would most likely have a completely different appearance. In principle, however, there need not be any abso lute impossibility in letting you stay in some dark corner of the room, on condition that nothing brings your presence to my attention, but all rela tions between us would be strictly forbidden. In any case, this hypothesis is no longer conceivable; there is no going back on a statement as categorical as yours." "What should I do?" Thomas asked feebly. "Unfortunately," said the girl, "I see but one solution: you must leave. The fact that you would not submit to servile tasks eliminates, in a sense, the greatest obstacles between us; no bond is possible with a man who is already bound to a task. As for you, you are free; in that sense everything would be fine. But this advantage - and you should know that it is con siderable and that it can console you for a great many things - deprives you of every pretext that would allow you to stay here, even illegitimately. You yourself understand this. With the freedom you have earned, how could you seriously invoke any duty or obligation whatever in order to prolong your stay? By virtue of what constraint could your presence be justified, a presence that could not be accounted for in any other way? Can you say: 'I must stay'? Obviously not. The situation appears to me to offer no other choices." Thomas, half turned toward the desk, could not look at the
door that would soon open on him once again, perhaps, but it remained in his thoughts. 172

  "I cannot leave the room," he said, pointing to the paper, which the girl was folding and unfolding dreamily. "After the statement that 1 have just signed and that makes it impossible for me to go back, the other parts of the house have ceased to exist for me. Everyone would refuse to receive me, and there would be no place for me. Everything has, so to speak, collapsed in the wake of my passage. Have you thought of this difficulty?" "It's glaringly obvious," said Lucie, "and you have probably not grasped how serious it really is. Not only have you made yourself undesirable in the rest of the building, in that you have politely and definitively taken leave of everyone you have encountered here - this past has disappeared, and it is best never to refer to it again -but you have likewise nearly been driven from this room, which cannot be separated from the other rooms or floors. By now you have but one foot on the ground, and when 1 look at you somewhat distractedly, 1 see you half suspended in the void and barely hanging onto the tip of a cornice. Rest assured," she added, noticing how her words were terrifying Thomas, "that is only an image; you are in no real danger. And yet that is how it stands with you, and there is no need to get upset about it. Such a situation is all to your honor." "Really?" said Thomas timidly. "Your statement is very beautiful," said the girl, tapping the paper gently on the desk. It powerfully attracts me to you. Thus, whatever problems it may cause, it should remain in your eyes a source of pleasure and satisfac tion. Contrary to custom, 1 will even let you hold it for a moment. It will bring you comfort. On the other side of the paper, 1 can feel the imprint of the letter you traced. You inscribed it in the most magnificent way. It establishes a true point of contact between us." The girl laid the document on a corner of the desk and placed a large inkwell on top of it, forgetting to give it to Thomas. He was on the point of reminding her of her promise when she leaned toward him and touched his shoulder with the end of her penh ol der "Would yo u," she said, "take a look behind yo u ? It seems to me tha t nigh t is coming on. " Thomas had to lie down on his back; raising his head a little, he looked at the first room and noticed an intense ray of light falling on the orna ments of pearl and silver decorating certain pieces of furniture, giving them a resplendent glow; but the wall hangings remained very dark. "Not at all:' he said, turning back around, "night is still far away. The day has not dimmed."