man sympathy,as if all the love and compassion in the world could be
tossed off likethat, in one gulp _ as if that were all that could be
squeezed togetherday after day. A little less than a rabbit they have made
him. In thescheme of things he's not worth the brine to pickle a herring.
He'sjust a piece of live manure. And he knows it. When he looks around
afterhis drink and smiles at us, the world seems to be falling to
pieces.It's a smile thrown across an abyss. The whole stinking civilized
worldlies like a quagmire at the bottom of the pit. and over it, like a
mirage,hovers this wavering smile.
    It was the samesmile which greeted me at night when I returned from my
rambles. I rememberone such night when, standing at the door waiting for the
old fellowto finish his rounds, I had such a sense of well-being that I
couldhave waited thus forever. I had to wait perhaps half an hour beforehe
opened the door. I looked about me calmly and leisurely, drank everythingin,
the dead tree in front of the school with its twisted rope branches,the
houses across the street which had changed color during the night,which
curved now more noticeably, the sound of a train rolling throughthe Siberian
wastes, the railings painted by Utrillo, the sky, the deepwagon ruts.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, two lovers appeared; every fewyards they stopped
and embraced, and when I could no longer follow themwith my eyes I followed
the sound of their steps, heard the abrupt stop,and then the slow.
meandering gait. I could feel the sag and slump oftheir bodies when they
leaned against a rail, heard their shoes creakas the muscles tightened for
the embrace. Through the town they wandered,through the crooked streets,
toward the glassy canal where the waterlay black as coal. There was
something phenomenal about it. In all Dijonnot two like them.
    Meanwhile theold fellow was making the rounds i I could hear the jingle
of his keys,the crunching of his boots, the steady, automatic tread. Finally
I heardhim coming through the driveway to open the big door, a monstrous,
archedportal without a moat in front of it. I heard him fumbling at the
lock.his hands stiff, his mind numbed. As the door swung open I saw overhis
head a brilliant constellation crowning the chapel. Every door waslocked,
every cell bolted. The books were closed. The night hung close,dagger-pointed.
drunk as a maniac. There it was. the infinitude of ptiness.Over the chapel,
like a bishop's miter, hung the constellation, everynight, during the winter
months, it hung there low over the chapel.Low and bright, a handful of
dagger points, a dazzle of pure emptiness.The old fellow followed me to the
turn of the drive. The door closedsilently. As I bade him good night I
caught that desperate, hopelesssmile again, like a meteoric flash over the
rim of a lost world. Andagain I saw him standing in the refectory, his head
thrown back andthe rubies pouring down his gullet. The whole Mediterranean
seemed tobe buried inside him _ the orange groves, the cypress trees, the
wingedstatues, the wooden temples, the blue sea, the stiff masks, the
mysticnumbers, the mythological birds, the sapphire skies, the eaglets,
thesunny coves, the blind bards, the bearded heroes. Gone all that.
Sunkbeneath the avalanche from the North. Buried, dead forever. A memory.A
wild hope.
    For just a momentI linger at the carriageway. The shroud, the pall, the
unspeakable,clutching emptiness of it all. Then I walk quickly along the
gravelpath near the wall, past the arches and columns, the iron
staircases,from one quadrangle to the other. Everything is locked tight.
Lockedfor the winter. I find the arcade leading to the dormitory. A
sickishlight spills down over the stairs from the grimy, frosted windows.
Everywherethe paint is peeling off. The stones are hollowed out, the
banistercreaks; a damp sweat oozes from the flagging and forms a pale,
fuzzyaura pierced by the feeble red light at the head of the stairs. I
mountthe last flight, the turret, in a sweat and terror. In pitch darknessI
grope my way through the deserted corridor, every room empty, locked,molding
away. My hand slides along the wall seeking the keyhole. A paniccomes over
me as I grasp the doorknob. Always a hand at my collar readyto yank me back.
Once inside the room I bolt the door. It's a miraclewhich I perform each
night, the miracle of getting inside without beingstrangled, without being
struck down by an ax. I can hear the rats scurryingthrough the corridor,
gnawing away over my head between the thick rafters.The light glares like
burning sulfur and there is the sweet, sickishstench of a room which is
never ventilated. In the corner stands thecoal box, just as I left it. The
fire is out. A silence so intense thatit sounds like Niagara Falls in my ears.

    Alone, with atremendous empty longing and dread. The whole room for my
thoughts.Nothing but myself and what I think, what I fear. Could think the
mostfantastic thoughts, could dance, spit, grimace, curse, wail _
nobodywould ever know, nobody would ever hear. The thought of such
absoluteprivacy is e-nough to drive me mad. It's like a clean birth.
Everythingcut away. Separate, naked, alone. Bliss and agony simultaneously.
Timeon your hands. Each second weighing on you like a mountain. You drownin
it. Deserts, seas, lakes, oceans. Time beating away like a meat
ax.Nothingness. The world. The me and the not-me. Oomaharumooma.Everything
has to have a name. Everything has to be learned, tested,experienced. Faites
comme chez vous, cheri.
    The silence descendsin volcanic chutes. Yonder, in the barren hills,
rolling onward towardthe great metallurgical regions, the locomotives are
pulling their merchantproducts. Over steel and iron beds they roll, the
ground sown with slagand cinders and purple ore. In the baggage car, kelps,
fishplate, rollediron, sleepers. wire rods, plates and sheets, laminated
articles, hotrolled hoops. splints and mortar carriages, and Zores ore. The
wheelsU- millimeters or over. Pass splendid specimens of Anglo-Norman
architecture,pass pedestrians and pederasts, open hearth furnaces, basic
Bessemermills, dynamos and transformers, pig iron castings and steel
ingots.The public at large, pedestrians and pederasts, goldfish and
spun-glasspalm trees, donkeys sobbing, all circulating freely through
quincuncialalleys. At the Place du Bresil a lavender eye.
    Going back ina flash over the women I've known. It's like a chain which
I've forgedout of my own misery. Each one bound to the other. A fear of
livingseparate, of staying born. The door of the womb always on the
latch.Dread and longing. Deep in the blood the pull of paradise. The
beyond.Always the beyond. It must have all started with the navel. They
cutthe umbilical cord, give you a slap on the ass, and presto! you're outin
the world, adrift, a ship without a rudder. You look at the starsand then
you look at your navel. You grow eyes everywhere _ in the armpits,between
the lips, in the roots of your hair, on the soles of your feet.What is
distant becomes near. what is near becomes distant.

    Innerouter. aconstant flux, a shedding of skins, a turning inside out.
You driftaround like that for years and years, until you find yourself in
thedead center, and there you slowly rot, slowly crumble to pieces,
getdispersed again. Only your name remains.

    It was springbefore I managed to escape from the penitentiary, and then
onlyby a stroke of fortune. A telegram from Carl informed me one day
thatthere was a vacancy "upstairs"; he said he would send me the fare backif
I decided to accept. I telegraphed back at once and as soon as thedough
arrived I beat it to the station. Not a word to M. Ie Proviseuror anyone.
French leave, as they say.
    I went immediatelyto the hotel at bis. where Carl was staying. He came
to the doorstark naked. It was his night off and there was a cunt in the bed
asusual. "Don't mind her, " he says, "she's asleep. If you need a layyou can
take her on. She's not bad. " He pulls the covers back to showme what she
looks like. However, I wasn't thinking about a lay rightaway. I was too
excited. I was like a man who has just escaped fromjail. I just wanted to
see and hear things. Coming from the stationit was like a long dream. I felt
as though I had been away for years.
    It was not untilI had sat down and taken a good look at the room that I
realized I wasback again in Paris. It was Carl's room and no mistake about it.
Likea squirrel cage and shithouse combined. There was hardly room on
thetable for the portable machine he used. It was always like that.
whetherhe had a cunt with him or not. Always a dictionary lying open on a
gilt-edgedvolume of Faust, always a tobacco pouch, a beret, a bottle ofvin
rouge, letters, manuscripts, old newspapers, water colors,teapot, dirty socks,
toothpicks. Kruschen Salts, condoms, etc. In thebidet were orange peels and
the remnants of a ham sandwich.
    "There's somefood in the closet" he said. "Help yourself! I was just
going to givemyself an injection. "
    I found the sandwichhe was talking about and a piece of cheese that he
had nibbled at besideit. While he sat on the edge of the bed, dosing himself
with his argyrol.I put away the sandwich and cheese with the aid of a little
wine.
    "I liked thatletter you sent me about Goethe. " he said, wiping isprick
with a dirty pair of drawers.  "Ill show you the answer to itin a minute _
I'm putting it in my book. The trouble with you is thatyou're not a German.
You have to be German to understand Goethe. Shit,I'm not going to explain it
to you now. I've put it all in the book.. . . By the way, I've got a new
cunt now _ not this one _ this one'sa half-wit. At least, I had her until a
few days ago. I'm not sure whethershell come back or not. She was living
with me all the time you wereaway. The other day her parents came and took
her away. They said shewas only fifteen. Can you beat that? They scared the
shit out of metoo. ..."  I began to laugh. It was likeCarl to get himself
into a mess like that.  "What are you laughing for? "he said. "I may go to
prison for it. Luckily. I didn't knock her up.And that's funny, too, because
she never took care of herself properly.But do you know what saved me? So I
think, at least. It was Faust.Yeah! Her old man happened to see it lying on
the table. He asked meif I understood German. One thing led to another and
before I knew ithe was looking through my books. Fortunately I happened to
have theShakespeare open too. That impressed him like hell. He said I was
evidentlya very serious guy. "  "What about the girl _ what didshe have to
say?"  "She was frightened to death.You see, she had a little watch with her
when she came; in the excitementwe couldn't find the watch, and her mother
insisted that the watch befound or she'd call the police. You see how things
are here. I turnedthe whole place upside down _ but I couldn't find the
goddamned watch.The mother was furious. I liked her too, in spite of
everything. Shewas even better-looking than the daughter. Here _ I'll show
you a letterI started to write her. I'm in love with her. ..."  "With the
mother?"  "Sure. Why not? If I had seenthe mother first I'd never have
looked at the daughter. How did I knowshe was only fifteen? You don't ask a
cunt how old she is before youlay her, do you?"  "Joe, there's something
funnyabout this. You're not shitting me, are you?"  "Am I shitting you? Here
_ lookat this! " And he shows me

    the water colorsthe girl had made _ cute little things _ a knife and a
loaf of bread,the table and teapot, everything running uphill. "She was in
love withme, " he said. "She was just like a child. I had to tell her when
tobrush her teeth and how to put her hat on. Here _ look at the lollypops!I
used to buy her a few lolly-pops every day _ she liked them. "
    "Well, what didshe do when her parents came to take her away? Didn't she
put up a row?"
    "She cried alittle, that's all. What could she do? She's under age. ...
Ihad to promise never to see her again, never to write her either.
That'swhat I'm waiting to see now _ whether she'll stay away or not. She
wasa virgin when she came here. The thing is, how long will she be ableto go
without a lay? She couldn't get e-nough of it when she was here.She almost
wore me out. "
    By this timethe one in bed had come to and was rubbing her eyes. She
looked prettyyoung to me, too. Not bad looking, but dumb as hell. Wanted to
knowright away what we were talking about.
    "She lives herein the hotel, " said Carl. "On the third floor. Do you
want to go toher room? I'll fix it up for you. "
    I didn't knowwhether I wanted to or not, but when I saw Carl mushing it
up with heragain I decided I did want to. I asked her first if she was too
tired.Useless question. A whore is never too tired to open her legs. Someof
them can fall asleep while you diddle them. Anyway, it was decidedwe would
go down to her room. Like that I wouldn't have to pay the patronfor the night.
    In the morningI rented a room overlooking the little park down below
where the sandwich-boardmen always came to eat their lunch. At noon I called
for Carl to havebreakfast with him. He and Van Norden had developed a new
habit in myabsence _ they went to the Coupole for breakfast every day. "Why
theCoupole?" I asked. "Why the Coupole?" says Carl. "Because the
Coupoleserves porridge at all hours and porridge makes you shit. "_ "I see,"
said I.
    So it's justlike it used to be again. The three of us walking back and
forth towork. Petty dissensions, petty rivalries. Van Norden still
bellyachingabout his cunts and about washing the dirt out of his belly. Only
nowhe's found a new diversion. He's found thatit's less annoying to
masturbate. I was amazed when he broke the newsto me. I didn't think it
possible for a guy like that to find any pleasurein jerking himself off. I
was still more amazed when he explained tome how he goes about it. He had
"invented" a new stunt, so he put it."You take an apple. " he says. "and you
bore out the core. Then yourub some cold cream on the inside so as it
doesn't melt too fast. Tryit some time! It'll drive you crazy at first.
Anyway, it's cheap andyou don't have to waste much time. "
    "By the way," he says, switching the subject, "that friend of yours,
Fillmore, he'sin the hospital. I think he's nuts. Anyway, that's what his
girl toldme. He took on a French girl, you know, while you were away. They
usedto fight like hell. She's a big. healthy bitch _ wild like. I
wouldn'tmind giving her a tumble, but I'm afraid she'd claw the eyes out ofme.
He was always going around with his face and hands scratched up.She looks
bunged up too once in a while _ or she used to. You know howthese French
cunts are _ when they love they lose their minds. "
    Evidently thingshad happened while I was away. I was sorry to hear about
Fillmore. Hehad been damned good to me. When I left Van Norden I jumped a
bus andwent straight to the hospital.
    They hadn't decidedyet whether he was completely off his base or not, I
suppose, for Ifound him upstairs in a private room, enjoying all the
liberties ofthe regular patients. He had just come from the bath when I
arrived.When he caught sight of me he burst into tears. "It's all over, "
hesays immediately. "They say I'm crazy _ and I may have syphilis too.They
say I have delusions of grandeur. " He fell over onto the bed andwept quietly.
After he had wept a while he lifted his head up and smiled_ just like a bird
coming out of a snooze. "Why do they put me in suchan expensive room?" he
said. "Why don't they put me in the ward _ orin the bughouse? I can't afford
to pay for this. I'm down to my lastfive hundred dollars. "
    "That's why they'rekeeping you here, " I said. "Theyll transfer you
quickly enough whenyour money runs out. Don't worry. "
    My words musthave impressed him, for I had no sooner finished than he
handed me hiswatch and chain, his wallet, his fraternity pin, etc. "Hold on
to them." he said. "These bastardsH rob me of everything I've got. " And
thensuddenly he began to laugh,

    one of thoseweird, mirthless laughs which makes you believe a guy's
goofy whetherhe is or not. "I know you'll think I'm crazy. " he said, "but I
wantto atone for what I did. I want to get married. You see, I didn't knowI
had the clap. I gave her the clap and then I knocked her up. I toldthe
doctor I don't care what happens to me, but I want him to let meget married
first. He keeps telling me to wait until I get better _but I know I'm never
going to get better. This is the end. "
    I couldn't helplaughing myself, hearing him talk that way. I couldn't
understand whathad come over him. Anyway. I had to promise him to see the
girl andexplain things to her. He wanted me to stick by her, comfort her.
Saidhe could trust me, etc. I said yes to everything in order to soothehim.
He didn't seem exactly nuts to me _ just caved-in like.Typical Anglo-Saxon
crisis. An eruption of morals. I was rather curiousto see the girl, to get
the lowdown on the whole thing.
    The next dayI looked her up. She was living in the Latin Quarter. As
soon as sherealized who I was she became exceedingly cordial. Ginette she
calledherself. Rather big, rawboned, healthy, peasant type with a front
toothhalf eaten away. Full of vitality and a kind of crazy fire in her
eyes.The first thing she did was to weep. Then, seeing that I was an
oldfriend of her Jo-Jo _ that was how she called him _ she ran downstairsand
brought back a couple of bottles of white wine. I was to stay andhave dinner
with her _ she insisted on it. As she drank she became byturns gay and
maudlin. I didn't have to ask her any questions _ shewent on like a
self-winding machine. The thing that worried her principallywas _ would he
get his job back when he was released from the hospital?She said her parents
were well off. but they were displeased with her.They didn't approve of her
wild -ways. They didn't approve of him particularly_ he had no manners, and
he was an American. She begged me to assureher that he would get his job back,
which I did without hesitancy. Andthen she begged me to know if she could
believe what he said _ thathe was going to marry her. Because now, with a
child under her belt,and a dose of clap besides, she was in no position to
strike a match_ with a Frenchman anyway. That was clear, wasn't it? Of course,
I assuredher. It was all clear as hell to me - except how in Christ's
nameFillmore had ever fallen for her. However, one thing at a time. It wasmy
duty now to comfort her, and so I just filled her up with a lot ofbaloney,
told her everything would turn out all right and that I wouldstand godfather
to the child, etc. Then suddenly it struck me as strangethat she should have
the child at all _ especially as it was likelyto be born blind. I told her
that as tactfully as I could. "It doesn'tmake any difference, " she said, "I
want a child by him. "
    "Even if it'sblind?" I asked.
    "Mon Dieu,ne dites pas ca.' " she groaned. "Ne dites pas cd/ "
    Just the same,I felt it was my duty to say it. She got hysterical and
began to weeplike a walrus, poured out more wine. In a few moments she was
laughingboisterously. She was laughing to think how they used to fight
whenthey got in bed. "He liked me to fight with him, " she said. "He wasa
brute. "
    As we sat downto eat. a friend of hers walked in _ a little tart who
lived at theend of the hall. Ginette immediately sent me down to get some
more wine.When I came back they had evidently had a good talk. Her friend,
Yvette.worked in the police department. A sort of stool pigeon, as far as
Icould gather. At least that was what she was trying to make me believe.It
was fairly obvious that she was just a little whore. But she hadan obsession
about the police and their doings. Throughout the mealthey were urging me to
accompany them to a bal musette. Theywanted to have a gay time_ it was so
lonely for Ginette with Jo-Jo inthe hospital. I told them I had to work, but
that on my night off I'dcome back and take them out. I made it clear too
that I had no doughto spend on them. Ginette, who was really thunderstruck
to hear this,pretended that that didn't matter in the least. In fact, just
to showwhat a good sport she was, she insisted on driving me to work in a
cab.She was doing it because I was a friend of Jo-Jo's. And therefore Iwas a
friend of hers. "And also. " thought I to myself, "if anythinggoes wrong
with your Jo-Jo youll come to me on the double-quick. Thenyou'll see what a
friend I can be! " I was as nice as pie to her. Infact, when we got out of
the cab in front of the office, I permittedthem to persuade me into having a
final Pernod together. Yvette wantedto know if she couldn't call for me
after work. She had a lot of thingsto tell me in confidence, she said. But I
managed

    to refuse withouthurting her feelings. Unfortunately I did unbend
sufficiently to giveher my address.
    Unfortunately,I say. As a matter of fact, I'm rather glad of it when I
think backon it. Because the very next day things began to happen. The very
nextday, before I had even gotten out of bed, the two of them called onme.
Jo-Jo had been removed from the hospital _ they had incarceratedhim in a
little chateau in the country. just a few miles out of Paris.The chateau,
they called it. A polite way of saying "the bughouse." They wanted me to get
dressed immediately and go with them. They werein a panic.
    Perhaps I mighthave gone alone _ but I just couldn't make up my mind to
go with thesetwo. I asked them to wait for me downstairs while I got dressed,
thinkingthat it would give me time to invent some excuse for not going.
Butthey wouldn't leave the room. They sat there and watched me wash anddress,
just as if it were an everyday affair. In the midst of it, Carlpopped in. I
gave him the situation briefly, in English, and then wehatched up an excuse
that I had some important work to do. However,to smooth things over, we got
some wine in and we began to amuse themby showing them a book of dirty
drawings. Yvette had already lost alldesire to go to the chateau. She and
Carl were getting along famously.When it came time to go Carl decided to
accompany them to the chateau.He thought it would be funny to see Fillmore
walking around with a lotof nuts. He wanted to see what it was like in the
nuthouse. So off theywent. somewhat pickled, and in the best of humor.
    All the timethat Fillmore was at the chateau I never once went to see him.
It wasn'tnecessary, because Ginette visited him regularly and gave me all
thenews. They had hopes of bringing him around in a few months, so shesaid.
They thought it was alcoholic poisoning _ nothing more. Of course,he had a
dose _ but that wasn't difficult to remedy. So far as theycould see, he
didn't have syphilis. That was something. So. to beginwith, they used the
stomach pump on him. They cleaned his system outthoroughly. He was so weak
for a while that he couldn't get out of bed.He was depressed, too. He said
he didn't want to be cured _ he wantedto die. And he kept repeating this
nonsense so insistently that finallythey grew alarmed. I suppose it wouldn't
have been a very good recommendationif he had committed suicide. Anyway,
they began to

    give him mentaltreatment. And in between times they pulled out his teeth,
more andmore of them. until he didn't have a tooth left in his head. He
wassupposed to feel fine after that, yet strangely he didn't. He becamemore
despondent than ever. And then his hair began to fall out. Finallyhe
developed a paranoid streak _ began to accuse them of all sorts ofthings,
demanded to know by what right he was being detained, what hehad done to
warrant being locked up, etc. After a terrible fit of despondencyhe would
suddenly become energetic and threaten to blow up the placeif they didn't
release him. And to make it worse, as far as Ginettewas concerned, he had
gotten all over his notion of marrying her. Hetold her straight up and down
that he had no intention of marrying her,and that if she was crazy enough to
go and have a child then she couldsupport it herself.
    The doctors interpretedall this as a good sign. They said he was coming
round. Ginette, ofcourse, thought he was crazier than ever, but she was
praying for himto be released so that she could take him to the country
where it wouldbe quiet and peaceful and where he would come to his right
senses. Meanwhileher parents had come to Paris on a visit and had even gone
so far asto visit the future son-in-law at the chateau. In their canny way
theyhad probably figured it out that it would be better for their daughterto
have a crazy husband than no husband at all. The father thought hecould find
something for Fillmore to do on the farm. He said that Fillmorewasn't such a
bad chap at all. When he learned from Ginette that Fillmore'sparents had
money he became even more indulgent. more understanding.
    The thing wasworking itself out nicely all around. Ginette returned to
the provincesfor a while with her parents. Yvette was coming regularly to
the hotelto see Carl. She thought he was the editor of the paper. And
littleby little she became more confidential. When she got good and tightone
day, she informed us that Ginette had never been anything but awhore, that
Ginette was a bloodsucker, that Ginette never had been pregnantand was not
pregnant now. About the other accusations we hadn't muchdoubt. Carl and I,
but about not being pregnant, that we weren't sosure of.
    "How did sheget such a big stomach, then?" asked Carl.