“Oh,” said Gustave, modestly, “just because I can repair an aero, because I know how, I don’t call myself an inventor—I really can’t, since that’s the fact—but because I can, if necessary, make a few improvements to a machine…”
“Genius! I say that squarely, since I’ve come to make an appeal to your genius for invention. So, to conclude, I’m placing an order…”
“An order for what?”
“Listen!” The Duffers’ delegate leaned close to Turbille’s ear. “A machine! A machine for finding, for creating…a machine for…”
“For what?”
“A machine for doing impositions! Well, old chap, can you glimpse the magnificent invention, the enormous discovery? No one has dared to think of it until now, since there have been schools and impositions.16 Students have been annoyed, have suffered, have moaned in a cowardly fashion, without seeking the means of…”
“Yes, that’s a denial of Progress,” said Turbille thoughtfully.
“It required our Duffers’ Club, with a clear-sighted committee, to think of it. What glory, eh, for Chambourcy School, my dear Turbille, if you were to discover the machine for doing impositions!”
“I’ll devote myself to it!” exclaimed Gustave, getting carried away. “Yes, I promise you, I’ll work seriously on the question! I can already glimpse some possibilities, but I’ll require time, reflection, study…”
“That’s understood: seek, work—we’ll continue to suffer with patience…but don’t take too long.”
The promise sealed with a firm handshake, the delegates of the Duffers’ Club went way radiantly to take the good news to their electors.
Thus, Gustave forgot Koufra in the phonoclichotheque, and forgot the drama of the Tubes—and for a week or two, in the intervals of sports sessions, study-periods or lying on the grass, Gustave Turbille was to be seen daydreaming, with furrowed brow, in front of blank sheets of paper. He made notes, scrawled diagrams, rubbed them out and started again….
“What are you trying to do?” Koufra asked him, when he saw him so absorbed.
“Something quite serious…and difficult.”
“What?”
“You wouldn’t understand—at least, not yet! When it’s ripe, as you’re a friend, you’ll be the first to be informed…and even to profit from…hang on, yes, that’s an idea—you can help me with the experiments!”
Perhaps for the first time, Gustave performed badly at tennis, and had to be severely called to order by his partners. At the school, there were a few class receptions, with tea, cigars, refreshments and items of unpublished verse; the third form had the honor of being invited to one such soirée by the fifth form science students. It was a good party, but Gustave, the star pupil of the third, lacked enthusiasm during the joyous occasion, appearing more than distracted.
Koufra, forsaken, had to console himself by spending more time in the phonoclichotheque, where he interviewed ancient authors in long consultations, for he was not always content with authors sagely condensed and short phonograph rolls—a filtration process which the best minds had nevertheless judged quite sufficient for our overloaded generations.
“Something’s amiss with Turbille,” Monsieur Virgile Radoux said to him one day. “He was first a fortnight ago, now he’s 42nd. And his assignments are full of scribbles and scrawls—designs for machines. The authorization for the hammock will be withdrawn!”
XI. Rugby Football in the Greek Grammar Course.
A few days later, when Koufra was getting ready to take a solitary walk in the shade of the grounds, in order to bring a little order to his ideas and notes, he was suddenly accosted by Labrouscade, who surged out of a clump of bushes, requisitioned him and dragged him away at high speed to the phonoclichotheque in order to polygraph an issue of the Free Student there.
“You’ve had the first look at the articles, as a literary judge—today you’ll become a collaborator!”
“But we’re enemies,” said Koufra, in a cowardly attempt to avoid conscription. “It’s still not appropriate—our affair of honor….”
“Bah—when the time comes, we’ll meet one another, weapons in hand; until then, you can collaborate…”
Resigned, Koufra was following Labrouscade when his friend Gustave appeared unexpectedly in his turn, running in a state of high excitement and calling out.
“Hey, over there! Hey! Stop! Wait! Complications!”
“Eh? What? What’s getting complicated?” Labrouscade asked.
“The Paris-Naples Tube affair!” said Gustave, out of breath. “I’ve just come from Villennes—it’s odious! It’s revolting! An abominable injustice! Let me catch my breath.”
“What is it?”
“Well, it concerns the poor Villennes girls—the victims of the tube and the school! Oh, it goes without saying that the pupils cannot bow down before the administration ukase, bend their necks beneath the yoke. ‘I see no alternative but revolution!’ Colette roared. When she puts her mind to it, you know, she’s serious—she’d get her claws into the minister himself! Valérie is with her, resolved to brave anything to obtain satisfaction.”
“But what’s it all about?”
“You know very well. The missed voyage, the tour of Italy won in the competition, which consisted of 16 days of forced seclusion in the depths of the tube. The failed voyage ought not to count—it should begin again…”
“Naturally.”
“Well, the administration has decided that the failed voyage counted, and it won’t begin again, under the pretext that it would disrupt the regular progress of studies. So, general discontent, agitation….Colette and Valérie fuming like volcanoes. Unfortunately, the others are wet chickens; the ferment isn’t taking hold. We have to do something—Chambourcy must support Villennes!”
“We must!” said Labrouscade, resolutely. “And you were right to come to me. The Free Student, forgetting past polemics, will fight for Villennes. I’ll add something to my article—an energetic protest—and you’ll help me to get the issue out.”
“I can’t, myself,” said Gustave, “being required elsewhere…another affair, important for Chambourcy, and I’ve promised…but I’m counting on you!”
Gustave had cares and worries; he was beset by them. Troubled by preoccupations on the subject of the tube catastrophe, he was unable to get his machine for doing impositions up and running. He, Gustave Turbille, universally considered as an inventor of genius, had not yet found anything! O misery!
He had been spending all his recreation time on his boat, the Old Homer, in solitary thought, or with Koufra, silent by order, drifting slowly on the Seine near Chambourcy—but nothing came to him! Koufra maneuvered the sail at random; Gustave, at the tiller, sometimes forgot to steer. It was pleasant sailing all the same. One day, they passed distractedly through a squadron of canoes, which caused at least two dozen duckings and raised a squall of furious cries—for the water of the Seine, as Labrouscade knew very well, was beginning to seem chilly, especially for unexpected baths. On another occasion, the Old Homer came into slightly-too-sharp contact with the hydroplane of a student in the upper sixth. The result of the collision was a double bath and damage on both sides. Monsieur Turbille had to send a check for the repairs.
Gustave continued his meditations, on land now, in outdoor classes or in study periods. He collected impositions on several occasions for falling asleep in his hammock during lectures, even interesting ones.
“So much the better,” he said to the delegates of the Duffers’ Club, who were pressing him for results. “I have a personal interest in pursuing my research; that will spur me on…besides, I’m on the track.”
Autumn drew on. The weather was still so fine that classes continued to be held in the arbors, now yellow and red. A few pupils, desirous of taking further advantage of the last fine days, had proposed to Monsieur Radoux that classes be held on the water. Why not? By bringing together a few vessels, it would be easy—and so delightful!
&nb
sp; The form-master, however, being truly old-fashioned, did not much like changes and innovations. He made objections and refused to ask the headmaster for authorization. In consequence, they stuck to the arbors.
That day, in spite of the fine weather, it was a little cooler; Monsieur Radoux assumed that that would only make them keener to get to grips with the difficulties of Greek grammar, which a stern and erudite professor was explaining over the phonograph loudspeaker. Besides, it was necessary to work seriously, for Greek had to be finished in four lessons.
They worked—at least, the entire class sincerely intended to work; but they had reckoned without the great and solemn rugby football match between the pupils of the Classical and Modern sixth forms, who had been doing battle for two hours, amid an enormous tumult of shouting, punctuated by whistle-blasts—which was slightly troubling, both to the third form’s ardor for work and Monsieur Radoux’s poetic inspiration, which was too often disposed to take flight at the slightest disturbance.
“Oh, Monsieur,” a student said, at frequent intervals, “it’s difficult to grasp, and we can’t hear very well with the footballers—could you begin the passage again?”
The form-master went to the phonograph loudspeaker, in order to put it back a little, and the professor, suddenly interrupted, jabbered a little, then recommenced the poorly-understood passage in his firm voice.
“Louder! Louder! We can’t hear anything…”
The grave professor shouted his lesson thunderously, while he was seen on the telephonoscope, cool and serious, buried in his detachable collar, gently turning pages and making delicate and measured gestures.
“Louder still, please!”
But the phonograph loudspeaker, out of breath, could not give any more voice without bursting.
A further explosion of loud shouting suddenly died away, and the football crowd clustered together. Suddenly, the football fell right on top of the phono, rebounded, and shot through two rows of pupils like a bullet, banging heads and carrying away books and notebooks. The entire class was on its feet. At the same time, a whirlwind of older boys, smashing through clumps of trees and bushes, raced after the ball, knocking everything over—pupils, benches and rocking-chairs. Gustave’s hammock, abruptly unhooked, fell down, and Gustave with it, furious at suddenly finding himself on the ground, enveloped in his canvas.
“I had the idea!” he cried. “I had it, and bang! It’s gone!”
In spite of the form master’s calls to order and energetic objurgations, it was the end of the Greek class. Everyone was in the air, or on the ground, in the general chaos. The ball ran on, dispatched by kicks, projected and borne away. All of 3A joined the crowd, with no regard for the rules, and took part in the match.
Monsieur Virgile Radoux raised his arms in the air, despairingly.
Through the furious cries, the exclamations and the laughter, the voice of the phono loudspeaker could still be heard; the professor recited his lecture imperturbably, continuing his earnest gestures on the screen of the telephonoscope—but the game-players and the pupils of 3A were far away, the rule-bound rugby football degenerating into a chaotic game of soule—or choule, as it is pronounced in Picardy.17
Monsieur Radoux continued to protest, although he had every reason to be proud of his class, for the pupils of 3A seemed to be on the point of winning a victory over the two sixth forms, partly thanks to the vigor and experience of G. Turbille—who, having been disencumbered of his hammock, had leapt on to the ball like a first-class forward.
Sixth-formers, fifth-formers and the pupils of 3A were no longer anything but a confused mass, a swarm of heads, arms and legs agitating vertiginously. That confused mass rolled in the bushes and tumbled over grassy banks. Now it came back again, by virtue of a shift in the bustle, into the third form’s classroom. Monsieur Radoux’s pupils were no longer as victorious, but still as animated and joyful; they continued the game with enthusiasm.
As well as the Greek lesson, they had forgotten something else—which was that the telephonoscope, as well as being seen, could also see, and that the Headmaster, once alerted, could observe the disorder of the class from his office.
The Greek professor suddenly disappeared from the tele screen. The Headmaster replaced him, and spoke.
He was scarcely heard at first; only Koufra noticed his presence. Terrified, he withdrew from the mêlée and ran to his bench to hide his head in a heap of discarded notebooks.
On the screen, the Headmaster tired himself out making indignant gestures; he folded his arms or thumped his fist on his desk. The phonograph loudspeaker thundered.
Gradually, the pupils of 3A, decisively beaten, abandoned the game. They could hear now…
“Intolerable disorder…exemplary severity…considerable imposition…for the whole class, tale note, Monsieur Radoux…the whole class…with the exception, nevertheless, of that young pupil over there, Koufra, easily recognized…”
He shouts of the footballers drew away. Void game; match to begin again. The classes in the arbors, somewhat disturbed everywhere, albeit a little less than 3A’s, resumed calmly.
3A breathed hard, dusted itself down, rubbed ribs and shins. Monsieur Radoux searched for his papers; he had lost a sonnet that only lacked a line and a half, carried off during the brawl.
“To work, Messieurs; let us resume where we were,” the form master said, sternly.
Where had they been at the moment of the players’ irruption? No one knew any longer. There was nothing to do but begin the lesson again. The professor reappeared; the phono loudspeaker resumed in a louder voice.
The phonograph seemed to be angry, but minds were no longer on Geek grammar; the entire class was thinking about other things: the exciting match that was coming to a conclusion in the distance, and the terrible imposition suspended over all their heads. Little notes were passed to Turbille.
Hurry up and find it! The time has come! The whole of 3A is counting on you!!!—with 15 exclamation marks. If you don’t find it by tomorrow morning, my poor old chap, you’re dishonored!
Gustave, scratching his head and feverishly tearing at his hair, replied with a simple statement, which circulated from bench to bench. “It will be found tomorrow morning—I pledge my word and my head.”
XII. The Aero-Moto-Mechano Driving Test.
A Breakdown on a Bell-tower.
The members of 3A, gathered in the refectory for breakfast the following morning, were anxiously awaiting Gustave—but Gustave was not very prompt. When he finally appeared, followed by the inseparable Koufra, all gazes turned toward him. He seemed distracted, detached from worldly matters, indifferent to everything that was not the morning chocolate. The entire class shivered.
“Well? Well?” said the class-members, all at once.
“Well, what? It’s very hot, the chocolate.”
“Yes! Yes! No! No! That doesn’t matter…the machine?”
“Oh, the little invention? Yes? Good! Good! It’s done, of course—didn’t I promise?”
Oof! They could think about the exam, in tranquility.
Gustave was the third form champion at every sport; he gave sound advice to Koufra. The latter, while drinking the chocolate that arrived scalding hot through the pipes, appeared to be executing all the movements recommended by Gustave for tennis, golf, running or the high jump on his chair, and he continued to do so in the corridors, stretching the muscles of his arms and flexing his legs.
Luckily, the Sun was still shining superbly. The proofs of the exam would have been disagreeable in rainy weather, for the sky had to be dispensing diluvian downpours for the exam to be postponed. In real life, does one not go out routinely in an airplane in downpours and squalls? It is necessary to become accustomed to ignoring the atmosphere’s little whims.
In spite of the advice and example of his mentor, Koufra did not shine much in the morning’s tests. Weak at tennis, he recovered a little in the 100 meters flat race, but was only passable in the 100 meter hurdles, p
assable in discus-throwing passable in the long jump, passable in boxing—in spite of a copious nose-bleed sustained by poor defense of that delicate organ—and, alas, utterly useless at the high jump, which cost him a fall and another nose-bleed.
“What would have happened,” said Gustave, to console him, “if you’d had a white person’s nose, more fragile and more exposed by virtue of its dimensions?”
A god siesta in the Sun in Gustave’s hammock sufficed to relieve poor Koufra of his fatigue and his emotion.
After lunch, 3A rested, lying blissfully on the grass of the lawns or on the grassy banks of the study-halls. They were no longer thinking about the terrible imposition. Peril averted. It was sorted: Gustave’s invention gave them tranquility for the present and also for the impositions of the future. A seductive prospect! O marvels of science!
At half past two, Gustave Turbille, getting up with one bound, called on his friend. He had to shake him and threaten to unhook the hammock to convince him to wake up. Koufra had indulged in a complete siesta—so, when he had rubbed his eyes thoroughly, he declared himself to be in good form and ready to confront further proofs.
It was now the most difficult part of the exam, for him, at least: aero-moto-mecano piloting.
In addition to the lessons of the special professors—which professors, along with those of the other sports, were alone in giving their courses at the school other than via the phono loudspeaker—Koufra had had the lessons and advice of G. Turbille, a clever fellow whose superiority in aero-moto-mecano, etc. was recognized by the entire third form, and was considered as well up on those delicate matters as the professionals.
Gradually, by dint of listening to and meditating upon Gustave’s advice, Koufra—initially full of anxiety when confronted with the engine of an aeroclette—had ended up familiarizing himself with that disquieting machine, always flexible and obedient in expert hands, but slyly restive or madly capricious in others, the inexperienced and the timid. With Gustave beside him, he had learned to control the apparatus, and had now begun to undertake short solo flights over the school’s aviation-field.
Chalet in the Sky Page 8
