Well then, Madame Nicois on her bed . . . I finished my dressing . . . I start talking to her about one thing and another . . . that the winter cold was over . . . soon there'd be lilacs . . . we'd frozen long enough . . . pretty soon the jonquils . . . lilies of the valley . . . this winter had been exceptional . . . broken all records . . . I pick up my cotton . . . she asks me for a roll . . . wants me to leave her one . . . ah, and the peach tree on the Route des Gardes . . . did it come through the cold all right? . . . I tell her . . . it's in blossom . . . the one that grows in the middle of the wall, between two blocks of granite . . . that tree was the spring itself . . . it was news to her . . . oh, I know how to buoy up people's spirits . . . give them a boost . . . in prison I saw hunger strikers, given up for lost . . . I got them to start eating again! . . . in a friendly kind of way . . . a little joke . . . and then another.

While we were chatting, I was putting my things away . . . oh, I almost forgot . . . the injections! . . . she needed one . . . two cc's of morphine . . . she'd drop off to sleep . . . then I'd leave . . . I inject my two cc's . . . I look out the window . . . I accuse other people of being voyeurs . . . but actually . . . I'm hopeless. . . . the complete peeper . . . I can't stand being looked at . . . but I myself, I admit . . . I'm terrible . . . wherever I am . . . well, there it was inevitable . . . the lights outside . . . I look into the distance . . . the Seine . . . Madame Nicois is dropping off . . . She's stopped talking . . . that window . . . I told you . . . looks out almost directly on the former Place Faidherbe . . . the riverfront . . . it's still pretty cold out . . . March . . . it's dark . . . you can see the water . . . I see it all right . . . naturally Madame Nicois doesn't . . . for one thing she's asleep . . . I even see people coming and going . . . men loading a barge? . . . I'll ask Madame Nicois . . . I wake her up a little . . .

"Say, Madame Nicois . . . have you seen those people down there?"

"Down where?"

"Loading the barges."

She doesn't know, she doesn't care . . . she turns over . . . she's asleep . . . I'll look all by myself . . . I've got to tell you that in addition to being a voyeur I'm a fanatic about the movement of harbors, about everything that goes on on the water . . . everything that sails or floats or docks . . . I was on the jetties with my father . . . a week's vacation in Le Treport . . . Christ, the things we saw! . . . the fishing boats moving in and out . . . risking their lives for mackerel . . . the widows and their kids imploring the sea . . . the emotion on those jetties . . . the suspense! . . . make the Grand Guignol and the billion-dollar thrillers from Hollywood look like a kindergarten! . . . Well, down there the Seine . . . oh, I'm just as fascinated . . . just as nuts about everything connected with water and boats as when I was a kid . . . if you're nuts about boats, the way they move, their comings and goings, it's for life! . . . there aren't many fascinations that last a lifetime . . . whenever a barge comes along, I've got my spygla.s.s . . . up in my attic . . . I keep my eye on it, I see the name, the number, the washing hung out to dry, the man at the wheel . . . I keep looking . . . the way it takes the arch at Issy, the bridge . . . either you've got the bug . . . or you haven't . . . if you've got an eye for those things, harbors, barges, docks, and dams . . . the movement . . . a measly little yawl puts into sh.o.r.e and down I go . . . on the run . . . I used to run . . . I don't any more . . . nowadays I'm satisfied with the spygla.s.s . . .

Any old moldy, knock-kneed barge working its way through a ca.n.a.l . . . I'd follow it to the next lock . . . oh, I've followed girls all right . . . lots of them . . . but I've spent a good many more hours fascinated with the movement on the water . . . the hide-and-seek of the arches . . . the next arch . . .. the big tank barge . . . another . . . a little yacht . . . a gull . . . two gulls . . . the magic of the bubbles in the current . . . the lapping of the water . . . you feel it or you don't . . . the procession of barges . . .

Through Madame Nicois' window I saw that the waterfront was busy . . . I could tell . . . men . . . I saw it was a barge. . . either you've got an eye for those things . . . or you're a stupid landlubber . . . a different animal . . . okay . . . crazy about buses, for instance . . . okay . . . well, after staring hard at the waterfront I saw that this movement wasn't at all what I'd thought . . . no sign of a barge . . . no shipment of junk . . . or coal . . . this was something entirely different . . . absolutely . . . I wouldn't have believed it . . . my excuse is that the riverfront at the former Place Faidherbe is never lighted . . . the township can't afford it . . . in the first place there aren't enough people . . . in the second place the kids smash all the lamps . . . their greatest Joy! . . . bang . . . it takes skill! . . . the township gave up long ago! result: total darkness! . . . makes you think of Suez! . . . besides, the street is all jagged cracks . . . enormous holes . . . needs a complete repair job . . . so does our path . . . what doesn't? . . . and what prevents them from fixing the road? . . . the big factory is spreading out . . . still through the window I'm looking at this movement . . . they're not loading sand or coal . . . I tell Madame Nicois, lying there . . . I wake her up . . . the riverfront doesn't interest her in the least . . . she was back at what we were talking about before . . . the late vegetation, the spring . . . she won't talk about anything but the spring . . . I listen . . . we're not on the same wave length . . . me, it's the riverfront . . . and I can tell you . . . what I see in the blackness isn't normal and it's not a barge! . . . ah, those piercing eyes of mine! . . . d.a.m.ned if it isn't abateau-mouche. . . I can even see the name . . . in enormous red letters:La Publiqueand the number: 114 . . . how do I see it? . . . Maybe a feeble glow from a light bulb? . . . from a shop window? . . . no . . . all the store fronts are locked up tight . . . but I'm positive! I look, I can see the whole square . . . and there it is:La Publique. . . pulled up by the dock . . . and the comings and goings on board . . . the people in twos . . . in threes . . . mostly in threes . . . they've come from up top . . . same path as we use . . . I imagine . . . they get into the boat . . . they talk to somebody . . . and they get off again . . . did I say: they talk? . . . well, that's what it looks like, I can't hear them . . . Ican only see them . . . groups of three . . . coming and going on the gangplank . . . I can see their faces some . . . well no, not exactly . . . rather their silhouettes . . . yes, of course, dim, muddled silhouettes . . . unclear . . . I'm muddled myself . . . who wouldn't be? . . . I was a little shaken . . . in fact, I'd had a rotten shock! . . . that's right, a shock . . . the whole of Europe on my a.s.s . . . yes, the whole of Europe . . . plus my friends . . . my family . . . all competing to see who could grab more away from me . . . not leaving me time to say boo . . . my eyes! . . . my nose! . . . my fountain pen . . . the ferocity of Europe! . . . the n.a.z.is were no lovebirds, but don't tell me about the sweet gentleness of Europe . . . I'm not exaggerating . . . that little warrant . . . and all those public prosecutors . . . I admit it's left me kind of groggy . . . for instance, I'm not quite sure about seeing these comings and goings on the sh.o.r.e . . .

d.a.m.n . . . I'm digressing . . . I'm getting you mixed up . . . thisbateau-moucheis really pulled up alongside . . . I see it . . . n.o.body can tell me different . . . I can even make out groups of people . . . coming and going . . . trailing through the darkness of the landing . . . over the gangplank . . . going aboard . . . they can't be excursionists . . . impossible . . . it's not that kind of place . . . besides it's the end of March . . . a glacial wind . . . sure, we've seen worse . . . Korsor up there! Baltavia, the Belt! . . . on the subject of ice, I'll have a few things to tell you . . . but this right here is no slouch . . . a mean shivery wind . . . you'd want to be out strolling around . . . and thisbateau-mouche,La Publique. . . it wasn't a dream . . . no, I could see it . . . but like everything else, all misty . . . my own weakened state? . . . anemia? . . . or from staring so hard? . . . Madame Nicois had stopped listening to me . . . she was dozing . . . I couldn't expect her to help me untangle the pros from the cons . . . whether it was a realbateau-mouche? . . . in the first place, even when she was awake, Madame Nicois had lost most of her bearings . . . you only had to see her on the way to my place . . . catching hold of branches . . . catching this and that and the other . . . it wasn't drunkenness that made herstagger . . . She just wasn't what she used to be . . . she couldn't have done six feet on the landing . . . ploof! . . . she'd have been in the drink! . . . six feet . . . it was up to me to go see . . . not to her . . . I'm not the hesitant type . . . was I c.o.c.keyed or not? . . . bra.s.s tacks! . . . either it's La Publique La Publique, or I'm screwy drunk! . . . on what! my senses off kilter? . . . facts are facts . . . Agar's even more rationally positivistic than I am . . . the least thing unusual in the air? . . .grrr. . .grrr!. . . a cyclone . . . you can't hold him . . . he'll make hash out of the former Place Faidherbe and all those people . . . people? . . . that are coming and going . . . and the shops . . . he'll make them open up . . . I've just got to say: Agar! . . . he's the loudest of the pack . . . the neighbors, for instance . . . their nerves . . . "Give him a shot, Doctor . . . put him out of his misery . . . he's making our lives unlivable . . ." suburban neighbors . . . it doesn't take much to make their lives unlivable! fatigue, the wear and tear of commuting their nerves are on edge . . . your mutt is the last straw . . . plus the aggravations of life . . . exasperated wives, the housekeeping . . . being too near the department stores . . . you and your wolf pack are all they need . . .

Meanwhile Agar would put me straight . . . ghosts or not ghosts? Illusion? or what? some effect of the water? I'll be right back, Madame Nicois!" The stairs . . . there we are on the sidewalk . . . me and the dog . . . people coming . . . going . . . crossing the former Place Faidherbe . . . absolutely . . . Agar sniffs at them . . . he doesn't bark . . . I can't see their faces . . . they're wearing hoods . . . not real hoods, rags . . . ragged hats . . . kind of turbans pulled way down, anyway their faces are hidden . . . to give you an idea that this wasn't normal . . . besides it was dark . . . or pretty near . . . it's never completely dark . . . Agar doesn't bark . . . I approach the landing . . . I see it . . . positive . . . thebateau-mouche. . . a real one . . . and the number: 114 . . . and the name . . . I go still closer . . . it's an old one . . . none of the phonybateaux-moucheyou see today . . . showcases for tourists . . . all gla.s.s! . . . that I seepa.s.sing when I look down from my window . . . this was a genuine old one . . . obsolete . . . older than myself . . . with an enormous anchor . . . up front . . . life preservers all around . . . chaplets of life preservers . . . garlands of life preservers, yellow, pink, green . . . life boats . . . and the big collapsible smokestack . . . and the captain's bridge . . . even the paint was period . . . coal tar and lilac . . . the name plate must be new,La Publique. . . I'm not talking through my hat . . . I know mybateaux-mouche, I'm not making anything up . . . every Sunday when I was little, for my complexion, we took one at the Pont-Royal, the nearest landing . . . twenty-five centimes round trip to Suresnes . . . every Sunday from April on . . . rain or shine . . . airing the G.o.ddam kids . . . all the kids of central Paris . . . I wasn't the only pale and pasty kid . . . and our families . . . out for the "cure" . . . that's what they called it, the "cure" . . . Suresnes and back . . . a bowl of air . . . full in the wind! . . . twenty-five centimes . . . it wasn't exactly the quiet type of cruise . . . you could hear the mothers . . . "Stop picking your nose! . . . Arthur! Arthur! . . . breathe deeply! . . ." The fresh air made the kids caper in all directions! climb all over . . . from the engines to the s.h.i.thouse . . . picking their noses, fiddling with their flies . . . and especially over the propeller . . . watching the big whirlpools . . . the eddies of bubbles . . . There were always fifteen . . . twenty . . . thirty of them . . . hypnotizing themselves . . . and their mothers and fathers with them! . . . and the clouts! . . . hey, Pierrette! . . . hey, Leonce . . . we were all there . . . howls! . . . tears! . . .smack. . .wham!. . . breathe that air! . . . you weren't going to lay out twenty-five centimes apiece for nothing! . . . You little roughneck, you'll end up in jail! . . ." children, the family plague! . . . "breathe, breathe, d.a.m.n it! . . ."Bingo!. . .Zing!"Breathe, I tell you!" Childhood in those days meant clouts! "Breathe deeply, you little thug!"Whack!"Leave your nose alone, you hoodlum! You stink, you didn't wipe your a.s.s, pig! . . ." Illusions about good instincts. .h.i.t our families later, much later, complexes, inhibitions, etcetera . . . "You stink, you didn't wipe yourself! stop poking in your pants!" was enough in 1900,and tornadoes of whacks . . . for emphasis and punctuation . . . an unswatted kid would grow up to be a convict . . . a criminal . . . a murderer . . . G.o.d knows what . . . and you'd be to blame . . .

Result: thebateaux-mouchewere noisy . . . punitive and educational . . . deep breathing, uninterrupted clouts . . . all over . . . on the anchor in the bow . . . in the stern over the propeller!Smack!wham! "Jeannette . . . Leopold! . . ." "Denise! . . ." "you've done it in your pants again!" Something to remember their Sunday by! . . . pasty-faced, snot-nosed, disobedient brats . . . the trouble the parents went to to make them get the benefit of the fresh air! which they were absolutely determined not to breathe! . . . Pont-Royal-Suresnes and back!

When everybody went over to one side, the whole boat listed . . . naturally . . . the parents too! . . . The mothers started up again! "You little thug, you do it on purpose!" Andwham!bam!. . . "Breathe! Breathe!" The captain yelled from his shack . . . they should control themselves! . . . "Not all at once!" . . . through his megaphone . . . No use! . . . they knotted up worse and worse! . . . kids and parents and grandmothers . . . and clouts! and counterclouts! . . . and peepee here and peepee there . . . everybody at the same rail! . . . Going to capsize! . . . Can there be joy without disorder? . . .biff!bang!Clotilde! . . .boo hoo! bang!clouts for all Gaston! . . . your pocket! . . . you're touching yourself! . . .bam!. . . pig!

There were a lot of us taking the air . . . a cruise like that was just the thing for our little asthmas, whooping coughs, bronchitises . . . Pont-Royal-Suresnes . . . the shops, the streets of central Paris . . . Gaillon, Vivienne, Palais-Royal . . . were all full of pasty-faced kids who breathed only on Sunday . . . Opera . . . Pet.i.ts-Champs, Saint-Augustin, Louvois! . . . all aboard for the cure! . . . pour out of those back rooms! . . . And get the full benefit! . . . Breathe! Breathe! Pont-Royal-Suresnes.

When it comes to asphyxia, our Pa.s.sage Choiseul was the worst of the lot, the unhealthiest: the biggest gas chamber in the whole City of Light . . . three hundred gas jets workingaround the clock . . . child-raising by asphyxia . . . the Seine was better, you've got to admit . . . the cure! . . . cruise or back room, the clouts were the same . . . in those days the "program" wasn't revised every week! oh no! . . . but clouts or not, the air, the foam, the propeller, the swell, the great seething eddy of bubbles, it was a paradise! . . . and "the gulls, mama!" bang! . . . "don't lean over!" especially when we got to Boulogne, the kids couldn't keep still! the Bois! . . . the air was too heady! . . . the mothers couldn't keep up with them . . . you'd see them weeping . . . sobbing . . . all over . . . on every bench . . . "Clemence! Clemence! . . . Jules, where are you? . . ." A certain amount of order was restored after the Point du Jour . . . the lads calmed down some . . . there were no more trees . . . only houses . . . the return trip . . . the Paris air . . the Pont de l'Alma . . .

But say, I'd better go easy, I'm forgetting about you . . . telling you stories of childhood . . . I didn't go down there to get you mixed up . . . I'd better watch my step . . . as I was telling you, my sight's a little blurred . . . the former Place Faidherbe and the riverfront . . . but all the same, I see people . . . some kind of people . . . and thebateau-mouche. . . oh! thebateau-mouchemuch more clearly . . . no Illusion about that! . . . and all these characters coming and going . . . crossing the square . . . and coming back . . . I may be fuzzy, but I can still see the boat's name:La Publique. . . and its number: 114 . . . those are the facts . . . While I'm about it, I look around . . . all around the former Place Faidherbe . . . the shops . . . not a single one open . . . or lit . . . not a showcase . . . but I see distinctly that thisbateau-mouche,La Publique, isn't the present model . . . far from it! . . . like the ones I see from my window up there, crammed with tourists . . . I've told you about that, haven't I? . . . or even the 1900 model . . . this one's a real antique, practically all wood . . . and another thing that puzzled me . . . the way I could see these people coming and going . . . it was dark . . . it was black night . . . not a lamp lit . . . neither on the square nor on the road . . . and the shops . . . no neon lights . . . I'd better watch myself . . . and not geteverything balled up like Madame Nicois . . . neon, shop windows, gas jets! how can I expect you to keep track? . . . anyway, this coming and going . . . by twos . . . and threes . . . no doubt about it . . . the feel of the air? . . . it was almost cold . . . the visibility? I could see the other side . . . yes, the opposite bank! . . . the island! . . . and the factory! . . . the whole factory . . . while I'm about it, as long as I've come down here, I look at everything . . . and up in the air . . . the sky . . . I try to see . . . nothing . . . stars? . . . I'm not sure . . . blinking lights? . . . maybe planes . . . no! it was just plain dark! The kids had smashed them all . . . so if there was a certain glow, it didn't come from the moon or the lamps on the riverfront or the reflections in the water . . . my bug is reason! . . . I've got to find an explanation . . . I'm a doctor . . . I take it seriously . . . I can't stomach the abnormal . . . a fact is a fact . . . either it is or it isn't! . . .vide latus. . . well, maybe a certain phosph.o.r.escence if you want to call it that? . . . a very subtle phenomenon! The few times in my life that such subtleties . . . anomalies! . . . have come my way . . . they still give me the creeps . . . I'm positivism personified . . . a fact is a fact . . . Thisbateau mouche? A mystery? . . . To h.e.l.l with that! I'll turn it over . . . keel up . . . I'll examine the bottom . . . and all these people . . . phantoms or not! . . . and the island across the way . . . and the factory on it . . . I'll sink it to see if it floats! the factory! ah! ah, the world wants to laugh! I'll give you something to laugh about! . . . but the opposite bank? I see it more clearly than this one! better than in broad daylight . . . I even saw theHerac.l.i.tuson the opposite sh.o.r.e . . . a real barge, no hocuspocus . . . with washing hung out to dry . , . and food being cooked . . .

Ah, and that wasn't all I could see over there . . . the beach with the little poplars too, Billancourt . . .

Well anyway, strange as it may seem, I'd come down here to see if it was a dream or not a dream . . . hot air, people, bubbles, or Christopher Columbus? Cortez? . . . ectoplasm or nothing? . . . I had to make sure . . . I'd brought my Agar down . . . if he barked . . . it was people . . . he didn't goin for mirages! . . . hey! he was sniffing . . . he kept sniffing at them . . . what does that make me look like? . . . I tried to stir him up:ksst!Agar! . . . Agar! . . .ksst!. . . nothing doing . . . him, the accomplished noisemaker . . . the neighbors' scourge! . . . "He's making our life unlivable . . ." All right, I've had enough of this! I barked myself to get him started . . .bow wow!to makehimanswer me! Go lay an egg! . . . he sniffed at these pa.s.sersby, that's all . . . if he were willing to bark, Lili would hear him . . . that would give her some news of me . . . we'd been gone for quite some time . . . you could hear the sounds of the Seine and the riverfront very nicely up there . . . if Agar barked, all, the other dogs would answer him . . . you hear everything fine up at our place . . . sound rises! . . . the factory whistles, the bells, the kids yelling, the clanking of the dump trucks . . . everything . . . but Agar just doesn't feel like barking . . . he makes as much noise as a tugboat . . . when he feels like it . . . But now . . . nothing! he sniffs . . . at all these people, one by one . . . and the gravel . . . and then he p.i.s.ses . . . and goes back to sniff . . . If that's the way it is, I'll shout up at Lili myself . . . up in the direction of Bellevue . . . "Ho, Lili . . ." I've got a bit of voice myself . . . take my word for it . . . a rifle-range voice . . . the voice of the Twelfth Cuira.s.siers . . . "Ho, Lili!" . . . it carries at least to the Porit d'Auteuil . . . I can hear myself . . . the echo . . . At that exact moment, a hand! a hand touches my arm . . . I don't turn around . . . Agar sniffs hard . . . harder . . . I turn around . . . somebody . . . a kind of a clown-gaucho-boyscout, well, somebody in disguise . . . enormous fringed pants . . . felt hat with more fringes . . . hat, pants, short shirt . . . colored . . . all colors . . . a c.o.c.katoo . . . And those spurs! . . . an enormous hat, yellow, blue, green and pink, pulled down almost to the beard . . . that's right . . . a white curly beard . . . Santa Claus . . . this character was hiding his face . . . you couldn't see it . . . he was hiding . . . between his beard and the umbrella of his hat . . . What would you have done in my place?

"Who are you?" I ask him . . .

But all of a sudden I knew . . . Christ Almighty! . . . I hugged him! It's him all right! We hug each other . . .

"Ah, it's you! It's you!"

We hug each other some more . . . It's Le Vigan! Christ, am I happy! Le Vigan! Here!

"It's you . . . it's you! . . ."

Honest to G.o.d, it's him . . . talking of surprises . . . right here, in this clown's rig . . . Le Vigan?

"Where have you been?"

"What about you?"

It's a fact, we hadn't seen each other in a long time . . . since Siegmaringen . . . a long time . . .

We'd both been hunted down . . . full time . . . and in court . . . he'd been heroic . . . the way he stood up to them . . . in handcuffs! . . . and defended me! . . . you won't find many like him . . . n.o.body, in fact . . . and the pack of jackals in the hall! . . . and they had to listen to him! . . . couldn't help themselves! . . . saying I was the only patriot! . . . the only real patriot! . . . and they were a lot of driveling, griping, poisonous hyenas!

Running into him there on the Quai Faidherbe! . . . Le Vigan! . . . Le Vigan . . .

"Well? . . . Well, Le Vigan, how about it?"

"Not so loud!"

I whisper: "You from thebateau-mouche?"

I want to know all about it . . .

"Yes . . . yes . . . Anita too! . . . careful . . . not too loud . . . Anita, my wife . . . she's inside . . ."

Usually I catch on quick, but this was too much all at once . . .La Publique, Le Vigan . . . Le Vigan done up like a gaucho! . . . with a white beard, when I thought he was in Buenos Aires . . . and with some Anita . . . Anita? . . . I couldn't quite figure it . . .

"She's inside . . . she's the fireman's helper . . . you don't know the fireman either?"

"No." Why would I know the fireman?

"You know him all right . . . of course, you know him . . . It's Emile! Emile of the L.V.F. . . . from the littleFrancoeur Garage . . . where you kept your motorbike."

That stirred up my thoughts . . . why yes . . . yes . . . the Francoeur Garage . . . in the alley . . . yes . . . that's it! Emile . . . the L.V.F. . . . my motorcycle . . . I almost remembered . . . sure, that's it . . . sure enough! who'd gone off to Versailles . . . and then to Moscow! . . . certainly! . . . we'd heard about it . . . and then he'd come back from Moscow . . . must have, or he wouldn't be here! . . . but how'd he get to be a fireman? here on the former Quai Faidherbe? . . .La Publique? . . . fireman? . . . and Anita? and the admirable Le Vigan? . . . ah, good old Le Vigan . . . he's the cashier, he shakes his money pouch, he pokes it, what a pouch! . . . hanging down over his stomach . . . and clinking . . . he shows me . . . he opens it . . . full of gold coins . . . kind of like a game bag! . . .

"So you take the money?"

"I'll say . . . but hard coin . . . nothing else . . . no paper . . . Charon's bark! . . . what did you expect! . . ."

I didn't want to seem surprised . . . anyway it was all perfectly natural . . .

"Yes, yes . . . of course . . ."

"Charon's bark . . . you know . . ."

"Yes . . . yes . . . naturally . . ."

"Well, you see, this is it now . . ."

Naturally . . . why not? . . .La Publiquewas Charon's bark . . . It's all right with me . . . They call itLa Publique? . . . Fine . . . fine . . . I have no objection . . .

"Then these are all dead people?" Just trying to get things straight . . . "All those people getting in?"

"What else would they be?"

So they were dead people . . . fine! . . . I wouldn't ask any more questions . . . he was there, that was the main thing . . . and not dead! . . . not dead! . . . in this screwy get-up! . . . masquerading . . . with a beard! . . . and what a beard! . . . hanging down over his game bag . . .

"Where's your la.s.so?"

Why not, while he was about it? I'm tactless . . .

"Let's not talk about la.s.sos!mazuma first, son!"

The way he talks! and in English!

"Shekels, son! . . . and only sunbeams! . . . get that through your skull . . . and make it fast! Take it from me, Charon knows his business . . . hang around and you'll see . . ."

Friendly, isn't he?

"But just tell me this. How is it I can see you? . . . and the boat? . . . there's no light on the sh.o.r.e . . . look!"

A last shred of doubt after all . . .

"It's because you're just the one to see us . . . it's special . . . you wouldn't understand . . ."

A convenient explanation.

"And besides, I'm not allowed"

"You're not allowed? . . . and say, Agar not barking, is that special too?"

"Maybe . . . maybe . . ."

"You can't tell me that either?"

"No, d.a.m.n it!"

Agar, the horrible bl.u.s.terer, all of a sudden mute . . . discreet . . . special . . . am I supposed to believe that? . . . magic? . . . Agar . . . the boat . . . Le Vigan . . . all magic? . . . all dead? . . . sure . . . sure . . . why not? . . . even dead people are something . . .

I had to keep up the pretense: "Why'd you come back? . . . Couldn't make a go of it over there?" I knew his situation . . . It was still mighty dangerous for him around here . . .

"I couldn't take it any more . . . that's all . . . See?"

"Bored?"

"Yes."

"I understand . . ."

That's a fact. I understood . . . you know if you've been through it . . . you can't stand it any more . . . one fine day you're ready to risk everything . . . to have been born somewhere else . . . death, okay, but back home! that attraction . . . you can't reason about it . . . not the least bit . . . you just crawl . . . that animal magnet . . .

"Okay! Okay! . . . if that's how it is . . . but those people over there . . . coming and going . . . never stopping . . .crossing the square . . . getting on . . . getting off . . .whatare they doing?" Maybe he could tell me that at least! . . .

"They're going home . . . to get the fare."

I'm getting on his nerves . . .

Going home to get something? . . . those stiffs seem to be pretty innocent . . . h.e.l.l!. . . I've been thought dead . . . reported dead . . . suppose I'd have gone home and asked for a handkerchief . . . or a pin! . . . my heirs took over quick! wiped me out! . . . what did I find? . . .. thin air and threats! . . .

That's a good one," I say . . . "You expect to find something if you go home? . . ."

"Home? Where?" He's flabbergasted.

"Where you hung out . . . On the Avenue Junot . . ."

"h.e.l.l, no."

"Then those people aren't dead?"

"Can't you tell? . . . Don't you catch the aroma?"

He was right . . . I smelled it . . . Agar sniffed at them . . . but I couldn't make him bark . . . Agar who barked at any d.a.m.n thing . . . at a leaf in the wind . . . he's given up barking . . .

"He doesn't bark at you either . . . this place has got him down . . . it's not just the dead people . . . what about you? Are you alive? . . ."

A last vestige of doubt . . .

"But tell me, how'd you get here? . . . how'd you get away?" He should explain.

It was complicated . . . I listen . . . he was working in the Argentine . . . He'd found . . . a stroke of luck . . . some extra work with his wife, Anita . . . on location . . .

"You see the spurs? . . . take a look . . . 'gaucho' . . . picture was supposed to take two months . . . give me a part right away . . . I didn't ask, h.e.l.l! . . . they practically forced me . . . ask Anita . . . historical picture . . . first a gaucho . . . then a bandit . . . and then a rebel general . . . a picture about their history . . . okay by me . . . just then Peron falls . . . and he was paying the subsidy! I say: good-bye, I'm clearing out, let's go . . . I wasn't going to hang around . . .me and Anita . . . no soap! . . . Lebrun! Petain! Hitler! I'd had enough, fun! . . . Peron . . . count me out! . . . all the ports closed . . . guarded . . . lovely! . . . only place you could get a freighter to France was Santiago, Chile . . . put that in your pipe . . . the whole of South America . . . the whole pampas . . . three months in the gra.s.s . . . gra.s.s this high . . ."

He shows me . . .

"You don't know the pampas? . . . three months . . . Anita in espadrilles . . . me, I had boots . . . I made new soles for Anita . . . for myself, too . . . out of bark . . . not so easy . . . if you find a truck tire, okay . . . but trees! . . . in the Cordilleras you find everything . . . everything . . . a whole camp full of trucks . . . kitchens . . . everything . . . it was high time! get a load of this! . . . a train! . . . a real train! . . . a city of gauchos! . . . and espadrilles! whole barns full of espadrilles! and boots! . . . Did we outfit ourselves! . . . you should have seen it . . . they gave us everything . . . that's right . . . and dough . . . I didn't want to take it, they forced me, they got sore . . . they'd seen me, they had a movie house, they knew me . . . sound and all . . . they'd seen me inGoupil. . .

"You were terrific!"

He wouldn't let me go on . . . how unforgettable he was, etc. etc. Not just inGoupil, in a raft of other pictures . . . he's got to do all the talking . . . I've got to b.u.t.ton up . . . and make it fast . . . there wouldn't be time . . .

Time? What do you mean?"

"Charon, see?"

He's got the terrors again . . . Charon . . . the alleged Charon . . . But there was one thing . . .

"How'd you find thebateau-mouche?"

"Through Emile . . . through Emile . . ."

He calls him . . .

Emile's working . . . he walks down the gangplank . . . rolls, I should say . . . Le Vigan introduces me. "It's Ferdinand!"

Emile doesn't know me . . . not at all . . . and I don't recognize him, either . . . I don't rememberhim. . . of course I've changed . . . maybe he has too? . . . I look back . . .

Le Vigan tells me all about it . . . the tribulations . . . the things that had happened to Emile . . . no joke . . . he'd come from the cemetery . . . Emile! Yes, Emile! . . . I had a right not to recognize him . . . straight out of the cemetery . . . the ma.s.s ditch . . . here's the way it happened: as he was coming out of the post office, the cops grabbed him . . . they'd been tailing him . . . handcuffs . . . two seconds flat . . . "This way!" They take him away . . . they try to . . . the crowd won't let them . . . they pull him away from the cops! "Stinking L.V.F." The whole crowd rushes him . . . They lynch him! tear him to pieces! right then and there! every bone in his body! femurs! head! pelvis! . . . they gouge out one eye! that's why he was wearing a bandage . . . and walking so funny, under himself you might say, like a spider, revolving . . . I saw him coming down the gangplank, unrecognizable, like a monstrous insect . . . dumb, you've got to admit, showing himself on that particular day . . . and at the Post Office . . . the main one . . . the cops were nothing . . . but the crowd . . . they didn't even give him time to get to the police station . . . on the rue du Bouloi . . they'd made hash out of him . . . hash and chunks of bone . . . on the sidewalk outside of the Post Office . . . the main one . . . a cart came by from the Food Market . . ."Take him for meat!" they yell! The butcher didn't want him . . . "to Thiais!" To the ma.s.s ditch . . . direct! . . . h.e.l.l, it was bound to happen . . . he fell on a glorious day of Vengeance . . . Emile wasn't the only one . . . thousands were lynched that day . . . that same day . . . recognized for L.V.F.'s . . . or something else . . . all over . . . in the provinces . . . in Paris . . .