Aminadab 0803213131

by Unknown

  .

  173

  Lucie listened attentively, then asked him with a troubled look: "Could you, if it came down to it, justify your presence in this room?" "Certainly," said Thomas, "nothing could be simpler. Even though I am not a domestic, I am nevertheless attached to you." "You are?" she said. "I am also very attached to you. Your eyes are bright, and you have large, beautiful hands. I would like to look at you more closely. Could you stand up?" Thomas thought that with her help it would be possible. "Wait," she said, seeing that he was already trying to move. "You must first know what you are getting into. Feelings are always very simple, but if one gives in to them without reflection, it is easy to lapse into danger ous and careless things. If our relations ever became serious, you would have various obligations to fulfill, obligations that you can only accept with joy, since they prove the solidity of your attachment. Do you wish to learn about them?" Thomas nodded yes. "Perfect," she said. "Naturally I have no intention of explaining to you in detail all the conventions concerning which we must first be in agree ment. That would be tedious, and my pride could not bear it. On your side, you may have some suggestions to make. A few examples then; that is all I will tell you about for the moment. First, I will ask that you speak as little as possible; words are of no use between us. For you it would be a cause of fatigue, for me a source of anxiety. Since the house is nothing but an immense sonorous cage, in which everyone hears what everyone else is saying, I would always have the impression that we are still exposed to the general throng and that when you tell me the secrets you keep for me, you want at the very same time to let your old acquaintances take advantage of the opportunity. Nothing could be more unpleasant. As for myself, I would end up thinking that you are still down below, and of course that would not be conducive to our relations. Second point: I will ask you please not to look at me. We still hardly know each other, and however much you may wish to please me, you cannot see me as I am. When your eyes turn to me, they are caught by one or two details, which they observe with a jealous care, and of the rest they grasp only a vague resemblance, which they fill out with imperfect recollections. Thus I am sure that right now you have a completely false image of me. You think that I am tall and energetic and that my bearing is majestic, whereas I am quite short and endowed with 1 74

  little resistance; my face is not oval or elongated, as you imagine it, but bony and large. Likewise, if my mouth is small, in accordance with your impression, my lips are thick, fleshy, and very red, which you do not seem to have noticed. As for my hands, I will say nothing about them; you saw them more or less as they are. These errors, for which you are not respon sible, can only cause misunderstandings if, instead of eliminating their causes immediately, you stubbornly attempt to correct them. You would then be falling from one mistake into another. I have sometimes been told that right next to me there is a second, more easily approachable person on whom I have placed the burden of welcoming my friends and to whom their eyes are naturally drawn. I am sure that this is a legend, but it shows you the kind of explanation a person may be driven to by the desire to see me and by the feeling that this vision does not do justice to the truth. Since, if you continue to observe me, you will soon admit that I am not always the same, you too will be tempted, in the long run, to doubt my presence, and your suspicions will intensify our disagreements and will make me suffer for nothing. Even now I feel them in the most painful way. Your gaze con stantly gives me the impression that I am absent for you and that instead of contemplating me, you are forming relations with someone else, rela tions from which I am excluded. To whom do you direct your admiration, your need for sympathy, your friendship? Alas, to all those you have seen before me; despite your promise, it is their images that you unconsciously seek with your eyes." Lucie stopped for a moment; Thomas continued to look at her. "It distresses me greatly," said the girl, "to reproach you with this when I see how much you like to look at me. But it is necessary and precisely in the interests of this vision that you want to preserve at all cost. If it is too unpleasant for you to lower your eyes, you can begin by looking only at my shadow; it will still be visible for a little while longer; night will not be long in coming, but if it leaves you only a few moments, I will light a lamp, and even in the darkness you will know that I am here. Now I would like to draw your attention to the third item in our contract. Are you ready for me to tell you?" she asked, as if she needed Thomas's assent in order to bring this question to her lips. "Good," she said, seeing that he was still listening. "A few words and I will be finished. Beginning from the moment when our union shall begin, you will be obliged not to think of me. This is a strict obligation that will suffer no relaxation. This prohibition applies above all 1 75

  to any friendly thoughts that you may wish to address to me and that may show through on your face, giving your presence a kind of reality com pletely at odds with the already precarious situation that you must come to accept. It is necessary, if circumstances require it, that I be able to claim that you are not here and even that I do not know who you are. For this purpose, your legal absence must to some extent coincide with your real absence. A few precautions will therefore be useful. If you continue to mur mur my name within yourself, or if you wonder at every moment what I am doing, you will not be able to prevent your features, your gestures, and even your clothes from betraying the impressions to which you are subject and which will reveal to any well-informed observer that if you are think ing of me, then you are also close to me. I myself cannot disagree with this opinion. On the contrary, what will happen if you strictly follow my rec ommendations? I can see nothing but advantages to be gained. First, ma terially, your situation will be greatly improved. By emptying your mind, you will gradually eliminate from your person whatever is still somewhat rough or even crude. Your features will be refined and will take on an ap pearance that better suits them. Your eyes will become softer and grayer. Everything that makes it such that no one wants to see or hear you any more - because when one saw and heard you before the impression was too strong - these excrescences, this brilliance devoid of delicacy, these violently emphatic contours will disappear. Your physique will be perfect. I t will then be very pleasant, especially for those who, like me, will not look at you, to know that perhaps their senses have registered you but that they were neither harmed nor affected by your presence. Yet another advantage, and I will be quite certain that you belong to me and that our intimacy will not be disturbed in any way. Not to think about me: that will mean think ing about me without there being anything to separate us. By refusing me the gift of a few particular thoughts, you will be offering me not only all your other thoughts, not only your thought and attention as a whole, but also your distraction, your absence, and your distance; you will absolve me of all that is yourself, and you will open up to me all that is not you. That, then, is what I ask of you, because I want to remain as close to you as pos sible. Neither silence nor night nor the deepest repose will stand in the way of our friendship, and this room will be for us a favorable place for sleep." Thomas renewed his efforts to rise by holding on to the foot of the desk. He was very frustrated with his legs, which would not bend, but he thought 1 76

  that if he could reach the board that served as a writing surface, he could grab onto it, and even if it fell on him, he would not let go of it until he was completely upright. The desk was heavy, and if the girl held him steady, it would have been enough to make the maneuver much easier, but, on the contrary, she moved farther away, so as not to risk being struck by the repercussions of these dangerous oscillations; then, having stood up, she merely flashed a friendly look in Thomas's direction. Contrary to all reasonable expectations, the desk did not fall; it was more solidly attached to the floor than one might have believed; perhaps the girl had screwed it down when she put it back in its place, and the oscillations no doubt had another cause - such as the wind that was violently blowing outside and that gave rise, in this part of the house, to some considerable shaki
ng and trembling. Once he was standing, Thomas thought about what Lucie had just said to him, but a moment later he thought he had begun to fall asleep, for he jumped with a start upon hearing the girl say in a loud voice: "Who's there? Who knocked?" Yet it did not seem to him that anyone had knocked at the door. The silence was even more complete than before, when at times there seemed to be distant sounds of people coming and going in the house. Now there was absolute peace. "No one is there," said Thomas, after listening intently for a moment. "Are you expecting a visit?" He asked this question only to emphasize the extraordinary quality of such an idea. "But there is someone. Listen," said Lucie, « someone knocked." Thomas listened again, but no more now than before was the slightest noise to be heard; it is true that, turned toward the desk, he was better situated to hear what was happening in the bedroom than to pick up the muffled sounds from the hallway. Since there was no use in contradicting the girl, he remained silent but without appearing to take any part in her waiting, and soon Lucie too abandoned her expectant attitude, saying in a promising tone, in order to forget these few moments of distraction: "Now the night will not make us wait much longer. There is already a thick fog in the vestibule, and the stained glass windows are beginning to shine with the first flames lit by the guardians. I will go draw the curtains and close the doors. Stay here until I return." Thomas wanted to say to her: Do not bother with the room; it needs 1 77

  no care; there will be time enough to watch over it later. But he thought that such suggestions would not be sensible and that, since he could no longer fulfill his functions as a domestic, he should be grateful to the young woman for performing them in his place. As for the night, that was cer tainly a mistake. There was, on the contrary, more light than when he ar rived, and the presence of the fog could be explained by many other causes, particularly the bad ventilation of the building. Besides, if it really was almost night, the wind would not be rising in such gusts, to the point of shaking the roof and rattling the vaults; everything would have been much more calm. After moving a few steps away, the young woman abruptly turned around and said: "Our conversation has been most useful. You have understood perfectly what I wanted, and I feel that we are in agreement on every point. So do not lose confidence. Your fidelity will be rewarded." Thomas heard her walk away and listened to her footsteps until the on slaught of wind had drowned out their last echoes. The racket that shat tered the silence from time to time - making one think of demolition work being carried out by bungling laborers - seemed deeper, more desolate, more foreign to all efforts at comprehension than the calm, already so empty, that it drove away. "I am probably lost," he said to himself. "I no longer have the strength to wait, and if ! could hope to overcome my weak ness again for a short while, as long as I was not alone, now I have no more reason to make any new efforts. It is of course a very sad thing to come so close to a goal without being able to grasp it. I am sure that if I reached these last steps of the stairs, I would understand why I have struggled in vain to search for something I have not found. It's a stroke of bad luck, and I am dying of it." He fell clumsily to the floor and was unable to pro tect his head with his hand. When he regained consciousness, he heard through the beating of his heart the distant sound of clanging metal; it sounded like the grating of a lock. He attributed this noise to the rattling of the room's framework as it was shaken by the wind. Was someone opening the door? He lifted his head, which he had buried in his arms, and saw that his fall had landed him next to the first step of the little set of stairs. There was no consolation in this. It was rather the supreme insult, this invitation to take the last steps, whereas he was already digging a pit for himself in the floor. At this moment, the door opened with a clatter, and although it was far away, he smelled the icy humid air from outside. "It looks like I didn't have the right key," he said to himself. "How could I have fulfilled 178

  my task as a domestic without the necessary tools? I really have no reason to reproach myself." The door did not close again, and he thought that the young woman had not left the room and was hesitating to pass through the doorway. There were several possibilities to consider: perhaps she had no intention of leaving and only wanted to ventilate the room; or else she wanted to chase away the intruder who had come to knock a moment ago, and she was giving a sign that she would remain loyal to her commitments. He stayed with this thought and was not surprised to hear the sound of voices. The negotiations were beginning, and they continued for a few mo ments. This prospect encouraged him; he tried to use this delay to gain a few inches by grasping onto the edge of the steps. First he reached out his arm and took hold of a piece of wood, which he pulled toward him with all his strength; he struggled tenaciously and managed to bring his head close to a round carpet covered in thick, rough hair that gave off a strong bitter smell, similar to the smell of pepper. He pressed it against his cheek and was relieved no longer to feel the cold, hard fioor. "How is the dis cussion going?" he said to himself with a certain detachment, thinking of the girl. He still heard voices, the halting and combative voice of a man, and the voice of Lucie, which sounded remarkably deep. Important inter ests were no,doubt at stake, and he followed the back and forth movement of the responses, which resembled the chaotic calls of the wind. The girl shouted to him, as though forcing him to participate in the conversation: "It's someone to visit you." Then she quickly returned, followed a few steps behind by the visitor who had been delayed by closing the door. Thomas waited until she came up next to him before worrying about this extraordinary news, but first she called to the man walking behind her, and holding his arm, she again took up her place by the desk. Thomas made a great effort to recognize this visitor, who was arriving at such a bad moment; he was a young man, strongly built, with an imposing presence, a man who held his head high and seemed to be conscious of his dignity. "I am your former companion," he said to Thomas, without giving him the time to draw his own conclusions from the examination. "Yes," the young woman interrupted, "he has come to verify that every thing is happening according to the rules." And she added, anticipating an objection: "It's the customary practice." Thomas asked him to kneel down next to him so that he could observe 1 79

  him more easily and, if need be, speak to him. A great deal of negotiation was required to arrive at this result. The young man thought that Thomas was asking him to go away, and serious about his role, he refused by shak ing his head irrefutably. When he finally understood that he could recon cile Thomas's request with his assigned duties, he made up for his delay with an exaggerated haste, and as if leaning over were not enough, he lay all the way down on the floor. Thomas considered him for a moment with surprise. "You find me changed?" inquired the young man, looking annoyed. Then, so that the question would not long remain without an answer, he added: "It's quite natural. When you met me, I was coming out of a serious illness and had not entirely recovered. Now that's an old, long-forgotten story. Besides," he added in a flattering voice, "you have certainly changed as much as I have." Despite these explanations, Thomas continued to look at him all the same. He seemed like a man who later in life had undergone a phenome nal development, who had from force of thought molted and transformed into the model of vigor and strength he was bound to become one day. His scars were no longer visible, except around his mouth, which, when he spoke, lifted up toward his eyes a little. Through a mysterious association of ideas, Thomas thought about that woman seen by some to hover next to Lucie and who alone communicated with them. "If you are looking now to see if there really are any resemblances be tween me and you," said the young man, "you are making a mistake, and I must warn you about the illusion you may let yourself fall into. It is a well-known fact that when people have lived for a long time together, they come to have identical mannerisms and common expressions. But the re semblance goes no further. I advise you not to linger over these remarks, whose superficial character will not stand up to serious consideration." "Where do you live now?" asked Thomas. "I have not yet left the old room on the f
irst underground floor," he said. "It's a temporary assignment that will be modified as soon as the tenants have re-assembled." Thomas asked another question in a weak voice, but since the young man could not understand him, Lucie had to kneel down to listen to him as well. "This is the customary practice?" repeated Thomas. 180

  "It's more than that," said Lucie, "it's an obligation. The agreements we have discussed, to the extent that they are of a personal nature, must be guaranteed by a third party who oversees their execution. This supervi sion is indispensable because, with the feelings that draw us together, we would be incapable of mutually overseeing ourselves in a sufficiently rig orous manner, and from this there would result problems that must be avoided. The intervention of this young man is therefore an excellent sign; soon, nothing will stand in the way of our intimacy." The former companion thought it useful to complete the response: "My role is very important," he said. "I have the responsibility of serving as a mouthpiece for you when your weakness no longer allows you to express yourself and when there is something particularly important that you need to say. I am also supposed to facilitate your knowledge of events that you could no longer experience directly or that you seem especially inclined to misinterpret. Since no one in the house has been more closely asso ciated with your existence, I was especially suited for this role, and I hope that the way in which I carry out my duty will give you complete satisfac tion. Now," he added, turning to Lucie, "everything seems to me to have been clearly specified; would you be so kind as to take down what I say? A simple formality," he shouted for Thomas's sake. "One more word," said Thomas, as the young man was about to stand up. "The thought never occurred to me to compare myself to you, and I find that we do not resemble each other in any way at all. For me, you are only a former companion." "Really?" said the young man incredulously. "Well, then, it's all for the better. So we are all agreed and ready to begin." He quickly stood up, as if he were afraid that Thomas might have some thing more to add, and touching Lucie lightly on the shoulder, he drew her attention to the vestibule where there was something he wanted her to see. They both stood there staring in that direction. Thomas, annoyed by the silence, also wanted to look at whatever it was that so aroused their curiosity, but he only succeeded in troubling the young man. "Night is coming," said the latter. "We are only waiting for the moment to light the lamps; when the last reflections of light have faded from the furniture and the floors, we can consider the day to be over. Have a little patience, it will only be a few moments." Thomas thought that his work was not completely wasted, since the fur-