Yvette laughed."Maybe she uses a bicycle pump, " she said. "No, seriously,
" she added,"the stomach comes from drink. She drinks like a fish, Ginette.
Whenshe comes back from the country, you will see, she will be blown upstill
more. Her father is a drunkard. Ginette is a drunkard. Maybe shehad the clap,
yes _ but she is not pregnant. "
    "But why doesshe want to marry him? Is she really in love with him?"
    "Love?Pfooh! She has no heart. Ginette. She wants someone to look after
her.No Frenchman would ever marry her _ she has a police record. No,
shewants him because he's too stupid to find out about her. Her parentsdon't
want her any more _ she's a disgrace to them. But if she can getmarried to a
rich American, then everything will be all right. . . .You think maybe she
loves him a little, eh? You don't know her. Whenthey were living together at
the hotel, she had men coming to her roomwhile he was at work. She said he
didn't give her enough spending money.He was stingy. That fur she wore _ she
told him her parents had givenit to her. didn't she? Innocent fool! Why,
I've seen her bring a manback to the hotel right while he was there. She
brought the man to thefloor below. I saw it with my own eyes. And what a man!
An old derelict.He couldn't get an erection! "
    If Fillmore.when he was released from the chateau, had returned to Paris,
perhapsI might have tipped him off about his Ginette. While he was still
underobservation I didn't think it well to upset him by poisoning his
mindwith Yvette's slanders. As things turned out, he went directly fromthe
chateau to the home of Ginette's parents. There, despite himself,he was
inveigled into making public his engagement. The banns were publishedin the
local papers and a reception was given to the friends of thefamily. Fillmore
took advantage of the situation to indulge in all sortsof escapades. Though
he knew quite well what he was doing he pretendedto be still a little daffy.
He would borrow his father-in-law's car,for example, and tear about the
countryside all by himself; if he sawa town that he liked he would plank
himself down and have a good timeuntil Ginette came searching for him.
Sometimes the father-in-law andhe would go off together _ on a fishing trip,
presumably _ and nothingwould be heard of them for days. He be-

    came exasperatinglycapricious and exacting. I suppose he figured he
might as well get whathe could out of it.
    When he returnedto Paris with Ginette he had a complete new wardrobe and
a pocketfulof dough. He looked cheerful and healthy, and had a fine coat of
tan.He looked sound as a berry to me. But as soon as we had gotten awayfrom
Ginette he opened up. His job was gone and his money had all runout. In a
month or so they were to be married. Meanwhile the parentswere supplying the
dough. "Once they've got me properly in their clutches," he said, " be
nothing but a slave to them. The father thinks he'sgoing to open up a
stationery store for me. Ginette will handle thecustomers, take in the money,
etc. . while I sit in the back of thestore and write _ or something. Can you
picture me sitting in the backof a stationery store for the rest of my life?
Ginette thinks it's anexcellent idea. She likes to handle money. I'd rather
go back to thechateau than submit to such a scheme. "
    For the timebeing, of course, he was pretending that everything was
hunky-dory.I tried to persuade him to go back to America but he wouldn't
hear ofthat. He said he wasn't going to be driven out of France by a lot
ofignorant peasants. He had an idea that he would slip out of sight fora
while and then take up quarters in some outlying section of the citywhere
he'd not be likely to stumble upon her. But we soon decided thatthat was
impossible: you can't hide away in France as you can in America.
    "You could goto Belgium for a while, " I suggested.
    "But whatll Ido for money?" he said promptly. "You can't get a job in
these goddamnedcountries. "
    "Why don't youmarry her and get a divorce, then?" I asked.
    "And meanwhileshell be dropping a kid. Who's going to take care of the
kid, eh?"
    "How do you knowshe's going to have a kid?" I said, determined now that
the moment hadcome to spill the beans.
    "How do I know?"he said. He didn't quite seem to know what I was
insinuating.
    I gave him aninkling of what Yvette had said. He listened to me in
complete bewilderment.Finally he interrupted me. "It's no use going on with
that, " he said."I know she's going to have a kid. all right. I've felt it
kicking aroundinside. Yvette's a dirty lit-

    tie slut. Yousee, I didn't want to tell you, but up until the time I
went to thehospital I was shelling out for Yvette too. Then when the crash
cameI couldn't do any more for her. I figured out that I had done enoughfor
the both of them.... I made up my mind to iook aftermyself first. That made
Yvette sore. She told Ginette that she was goingto get even with me.... No,
I wish it were true, what she said. ThenI could get out of this thing more
easily. Now I'm in a trap. I've promisedto marry her and have to go through
with it. After that I don't knowwhatll happen to me. They've got me by the
balls now. "
    Since he hadtaken a room in the same hotel with me I was obliged to see
them frequently,whether I wanted to or not. Almost every evening I had
dinner with them.preceded, of course, by a few Pernods. All through the meal
they quarrelednoisily. It was embarrassing because I had sometimes to take
one sideand sometimes the other. One Sunday afternoon, for example, after
wehad had lunch together, we repaired to a cafe on the corner of the
BoulevardEdgar-Quinet. Things had gone unusually well this time. We were
sittinginside at a little table, one alongside the other, our backs to a
mirror.Ginette must have been passionate or something for she had
suddenlygotten into a sentimental mood and was fondling him and kissing
himin front of everybody, as the French do so naturally. They had justcome
out of a long embrace when Fillmore said something about her parentswhich
she interpreted as an insult. Immediately her cheeks flushed withanger. We
tried to mollify her by telling her that she had misunderstoodthe remark and
then, under his breath, Fillmore said something to mein English _ something
about giving her a little soft soap. That wasenough to set her completely
off the handle. She said we were makingfun of her. I said something sharp to
her which angered her still moreand then Fillmore tried to put in a word.
"You're too quicktempered," he said, and he tried to pat her on the cheek.
But she, thinking thathe had raised his hand to slap her face, she gave him
a sound crackin the jaw with that big peasant hand of hers. For a moment he
was stunned.He hadn't expected a wallop like that, and it stung. I saw his
facego white and the next moment he raised himself from the bench and
withthe palm of his hand he gave her such a crack that she almost fell
offher seat. "There! thatll teach

    you how to behave!"he said _ in his broken French. For a moment there
was a dead silence.Then, like a storm breaking, she picked up the cognac
glass in frontof her and hurled it at him with all her might. It smashed
against themirror behind us. Fillmore had already grabbed her by the arm,
but withher free hand she grabbed the coffee glass and smashed it on the
floor.She was squirming around like a maniac. It was all we could do to
holdher. Meanwhile, of course, the patron had come running in andordered us
to beat it. "Loafers!" he called us. "Yes, loafers; that'sit!" screamed
Ginette. "Dirty foreigners! Thugs! Gangsters! Strikinga pregnant woman! " We
were getting black looks all around. A poor Frenchwomanwith two American
toughs. Gangsters. I was wondering how the hell we'dever get out of the
place without a fight. Fillmore, by this time, wasas silent as a clam.
Ginette was bolting it through the door. leavingus to face the music. As she
sailed out she turned back with fist upraisedand shouted; "I'll pay you back
for this, you brute! Youll see! No foreignercan treat a decent Frenchwoman
like that! Ah, no! Not like that! "
    Hearing thisthe patron, who had now been paid for his drinks and his
brokenglasses, felt it incumbent to show his gallantry toward a splendid
representativeof French motherhood such as Ginette, and so, without more ado,
he spatat our feet and shoved us out of the door. "Shit on you, you dirty
loafers!" he said. or some such pleasantry.
    Once in the streetand nobody throwing things after us, I began to see
the funny side ofit. It would be an excellent idea, I thought to myself, if
the wholething were properly aired in court. The whole thing! With
Yvette'slittle stories as a side dish. After all, the French have a sense
ofhumor. Perhaps the judge, when he heard Fillmore's side of the story,would
absolve him from marriage.
    Meanwhile Ginettewas standing across the street brandishing her fist and
yelling at thetop of her lungs. People were stopping to listen in, to take
sides,as they do in street brawls. Fillmore didn't know what to do _
whetherto walk away from her, or to go over to her and try to pacify her.
Hewas standing in the middle of the street with his arms outstretched,trying
to get a word in edgewise. And Ginette still yelling: "Gangster!Brute! Tu
verras, salaud! "  and other complimentary things.Finally Fillmore made a
move toward her and she, probably thinking thathe was going to give her
another good cuff, took it on a trot down thestreet. Fillmore came back to
where I was standing and said; "Come on,let's follow her quietly. " We
started off with a thin crowd of stragglersbehind us. Every once in a while
she turned back toward us and brandishedher fist. We made no attempt to
catch up with her, just followed herleisurely down the street to see what
she would do. Finally she slowedup her pace and we crossed over to the other
side of the street. Shewas quiet now. We kept walking behind her. getting
closer and closer.There were only about a dozen people behind us now _ the
others hadlost interest. When we got near the corner she suddenly stopped
andwaited for us to approach. "Let me do the talking, " said Fillmore,"I
know how to handle her. "
    The tears werestreaming down her face as we came up to her. Myself. I
didn't knowwhat to expect of her. I was somewhat surprised therefore when
Fillmorewalked up to her and said in an aggrieved voice: "Was that a nice
thingto do? Why did you act that way?" Whereupon she threw her arms
aroundhis neck and began to weep like a child, calling him her little
thisand her little that. Then she turned to me imploringly. "You saw howhe
struck me, " she said. "Is that the way to behave toward a woman?"I was on
the point of saying yes when Fillmore took her by the arm andstarted leading
her off. "No more of that, " he said. "If you starta-gain I'll crack you
right here in the street. "
    I thought itwas going to start up all over again. She had fire in her
eyes. Butevidently she was a bit cowed, too. for it subsided quickly.
However,as she sat down at the cafe she said quietly and grimly that he
needn'tthink it was going to be forgotten so quickly;  he'd hear more about
in lateron ... perhaps tonight.
    And sure enoughshe kept her word. When I met him the next day his face
and hands wereall scratched up. Seems she had waited until he got to bed and
then,without a word, she had gone to the wardrobe and, dumping all his
thingsout on the floor, she took them one by one and tore them to ribbons.As
this had happened a number of times before, and as she had alwayssewn them
up after-ward. he hadn't protested very much. And that madeher angrier than
ever. What she wanted was to get her nails into him,and she did, to the
bestof her ability. Being pregnant she had a certain advantage over him.
    Poor Fillmore!It was no laughing matter. She had him terrorized. If he
threatenedto run away she retorted by a threat to kill him. And she said it
asif she meant it. "If you go to America, " she said, " follow you! Youwon't
get away from me. A French girl always knows how to get vengeance." And the
next moment she would be coaxing him to be "reasonable, "to be "sage, " etc.
Life would be so nice once they had the stationerystore. He wouldn't have to
do a stroke of work. She would do everything.He could stay in back of the
store and write _ or whatever he wantedto do.
    It went on likethis, back and forth, a seesaw, for a few weeks or so. I
was avoidingthem as much as possible, sick of the affair and disgusted with
theboth of them. Then one fine summer's day, just as I was passing theCredit
Lyonnais, who comes marching down the steps but Fillmore. I greetedhim warmly,
feeling rather guilty because I had dodged him for so long.I asked him, with
more than ordinary curiosity, how things were going.He answered me rather
vaguely and with a note of despair in hisvoice.
    "I've just gottenpermission to go to the bank, " he said, in a peculiar,
broken, abjectsort of way. "I've got about half an hour, no more. She keeps
tabs onme. " And he grasped my arm as if to hurry me away from the spot.
    We were walkingdown toward the Rue de Rivoli. It was a beautiful day,
warm. clear,sunny _ one of those days when Paris is at its best. A mild
pleasantbreeze blowing, just enough to take that stagnant odor out of your
nostrils.Fillmore was without a hat. Outwardly he looked the picture of
health_ like the average American tourist who slouches along with money
jinglingin his pockets.
    "I don't knowwhat to do any more, " he said quietly. "You've got to do
somethingfor me. I'm helpless. I can't get a grip on myself. If I could
onlyget away from her for a little while perhaps I'd come round all
right.But she won't let me out of her sight. I just got permission to runto
the bank _ I had to draw some money. Ill walk around with you a bitand then
I must hurry back _ she'll have lunch waiting for me. "
    I listened tohim quietly, thinking to myself that he certainly

    did need someoneto pull him out of the hole he was in. He had completely
cavedin, there wasn't a speck of courage left in him. He was just like
achild _ like a child who is beaten every day and doesn't know any morehow
to behave, except to cower and cringe. As we turned under the colonnadeof
the Rue de Rivoli he burst into a long diatribe against France. Hewas fed up
with the French. "I used to rave about them. " he said. "butthat was all
literature. I know them now. ... I know what they're reallylike. They're
cruel and mercenary. At first it seems wonderful, becauseyou have a feeling
of being free. After a while it palls on you. Underneathit's all dead;
there's no feeling, no sympathy, no friendship. They'reselfish to the core.
The most selfish people on earth! They think ofnothing but money, money,
money. And so goddamned respectable, so bourgeois!That's what drives me nuts.
When I see her mending my shirts I couldclub her. Always mending, mending.
Saving, saving. Faut faire deseconomies! That's all I hear her say all day
long. You hear it everywhere.Sois raisonnable, mon cheri! Sois raisonnable!
I don't want tobe reasonable and logical. I hate it! I want to bust loose. I
want toenjoy myself. I want to do something. I don't want to sit ina cafe
and talk all day long. Jesus, we've got our faults _ but we'vegot enthusiasm.
It's better to make mistakes than not do anything. I'drather be a bum in
America than to be sitting pretty here. Maybe it'sbecause I'm a Yankee. I
was born in New England and I belong there,I guess. You can't become a
European overnight. There's something inyour blood that makes you different.
It's the climate _ and everything.We see things with different eyes. We
can't make ourselves over. howevermuch we admire the French. We're Americans
and we've got to remain Americans.Sure. I hate those puritanical buggers
back home _ I hate 'em with allmy guts. But I'm one of them myself. I don't
belong here. I'm sick ofit. "
    All along thearcade he went on like this. I wasn't saying a word. I let
him spillit all out _ it was good for him to get it off his chest. Just the
same,I was thinking how strange it was that this same guy, had it been ayear
ago, would have been beating his chest like a gorilla and saying:"What a
marvelous day! What a country! What a people! " And if an Americanhad
happened along and said one word against France Fillmore would haveflattened
his nose. Hewould have died for France _ a year ago. I never saw a man who
was soinfatuated with a country, who was so happy under a foreign sky.
Itwasn't natural. When he said France it meant wine, women, moneyin the
pocket, easy come, easy go. It meant being a bad boy, being ona holiday. And
then, when he had had his fling, when the tent top blewoff and he had a good
look at the sky, he saw that it wasn't just acircus, but an arena, just like
everywhere. And a damned grim one. Ioften used to think, when I heard him
rave about glorious France, aboutliberty and all that crap, what it would
have sounded like to a Frenchworkman, could he have understood Fillmore's
words. No wonder they thinkwe're all crazy. We are crazy to them. We're just
a pack of children.Senile idiots. What we call life is a five-and-ten-cent
store romance.That enthusiasm underneath _ what is it? That cheap optimism
which turnsthe stomach of any ordinary European? It's illusion. No,
illusion'stoo good a word for it. Illusion means something. No, it's not
that_ it's delusion. It's sheer delusion, that's what. We're likea herd of
wild horses with blinders over our eyes. On the rampage. Stampede.Over the
precipice. Bango! Anything that nourishes violence and confusion.On! On! No
matter where. And foaming at the lips all the while. ShoutingHallelujah!
Hallelujah! Why? God knows. It's in the blood. It'sthe climate. It's a lot
of things. It's the end, too. We're pullingthe whole world down about our
ears. We don't know why. It's our destiny.The rest is plain shit... .
    At the PalaisRoyal I suggested that we stop and have a drink. He
hesitated a moment.I saw that he was worrying about her, about the lunch,
about the bawlingout he'd get.
    "For Christ'ssake. " I said, "forget about her for a while. I'm going to
order somethingto drink and I want you to drink it. Don't worry, I'm going
to get youout of this fucking mess. " I ordered two stiff whiskies.
    When he saw thewhiskies coming he smiled at me just like a child again.
    "Down it! " Isaid. "and let's have another. This is going to do you good.
I don'tcare what the doctor says _ this time it'll be all right. Come on,
downwith it! "
    He putit down all right and while the garsym disappeared to

    fetch anotherround he looked at me with brimming eyes, as though I were
the lastfriend in the world. His lips were twitching a bit. too. There was
somethinghe wanted to say to me and he didn't quite know how to begin. I
lookedat him easily, as though ignoring the appeal and, shoving the
saucersaside, I leaned over on my elbow and I said to him earnestly:
"Lookhere, Fillmore, what is it you'd really like to do? Tell me!"
    With that thetears gushed up and he blurted out: "I'd like to be home
with my people.I'd like to hear English spoken. " The tears were streaming
down hisface. He made no effort to brush them away. He just let everything
gushforth. Jesus, I thought to myself, that's fine to have a release likethat.
Fine to be a complete coward at least once in your life. To letgo that way.
Great! Great! It did me so much good to see him break downthat way that I
felt as though I could solve any problem. I felt courageousand resolute. I
had a thousand ideas in my head at once.
    "Listen. " Isaid. bending still closer to him, "if you mean what you
said why don'tyou do it ... why don't you go? Do you know what I would do.
it I werein your shoes? I'd go today. Yes, by Jesus, I mean it ... I'd go
rightaway, without even saying good-bye to her. As a matter of fact
that'sthe only way you can go _ she'd never let you say good-bye. You
knowthat. "
    The garqoncame with the whiskies. I saw him reach forward with a
desperate eagernessand raise the glass to his lips. I saw a glint of hope in
his eyes _far-off, wild, desperate. He probably saw himself swimming across
theAtlantic. To me it looked easy. simple as rolling off a log. The
wholething was working itself out rapidly in my mind. I knew just what
eachstep would be. Clear as a bell, I was.
    "Whose moneyis that in the bank?" I asked. "Is it her father's or is it
yours?"
    "It's mine! "he exclaimed. "My mother sent it to me. I don't want any of
her goddamnedmoney. "
    "That's swell!" I said. "Listen, suppose we hop a cab and go back there.
Draw outevery cent. Then well go to the British Consulate and get a visa.
You'regoing to hop the train this afternoon for London. From London
you'lltake the first boat to America. I'm saying that because then you
won'tbe worried about her trailing

    you. She'll neversuspect that you went via London. If she goes searching
for you shellnaturally go to Le Havre first, or Cherbourg. ... And here's
anotherthing _ you're not going back to get your things. You're going to
leaveeverything here. Let her keep them. With that French mind of hers
shellnever dream that you scooted off without bag or baggage. It's
incredible.A Frenchman would never dream of doing a thing like that . . .
unlesshe was as cracked as you are. "
    "You're right!"he exclaimed. "I never thought of that. Besides. you
might send themto me later on _ if shell surrender them! But that doesn't
matter now.Jesus, though, I haven't even got a hat! "
    "What do youneed a hat for? When you get to London you can buy
everything you need.All you need now is to hurry. We've got to find out when
the train leaves."
    "Listen, " hesaid, reaching for his wallet, "I'm going to leave
everything to you.Here, take this and do whatever's necessary. I'm too weak
.... I'm dizzy."
    I took the walletand emptied it of the bills he had just drawn from the
bank. A cab wasstanding at the curb. We hopped in. There was a train leaving
the Garedu Nord at four o'clock, or (hereabouts. I was figuring it out _
thebank, the Consulate, the American Express, the station. Fine! Just
aboutmake it.
    "Now buck up!" I said, "and keep your shirt on! Shit, in a few hours
you'll be crossingthe Channel. Tonight you'll be walking around in London
and you'll geta good bellyful of English. Tomorrow youll be on the open sea
_ andthen, by Jesus, you're a free man and you needn't give a fuck what
happens.By the time you get to New York thisll be nothing more than a bad
dream."
    This got himso excited that his feet were moving convulsively, as if he
were tryingto run inside the cab. At the bank his hand was trembling so that
hecould hardly sign his name. That was one ", thing I couldn't do forhim _
sign his name. But I think, had it been necessary, I could havesat him on
the toilet and wiped his ^ ass. I was determined to shiphim off, even if I
had to fold him up and put him in a valise.
    It was lunchhour when we got to the British Consulate, and the place was
closed.That meant waiting until two o'clock. Icouldn't think of
anythingbetter to do, by way of killing time. than to eat. Fillmore, of
course,wasn't hungry. He was for eating a sandwich. "Fuck that! " I
said."You're going to blow me to a good lunch. It's the last square
mealyou're going to have over here _ maybe for a long while. " I steeredhim
to a cosy little restaurant and ordered a good spread. I orderedthe best
wine on the menu, regardless of price or taste. I had allhis money in my
pocket _ oodles of it. it seemed to me. Certainlynever before had I had so
much in my fist at one time. It was a treatto break a thousand franc note. I
held it up to the light first tolook at the beautiful watermark. Beautiful
money! One of the few thingsthe French make on a grand scale. Artistically
done, too, as if theycherished a deep affection even for the symbol.
    The mealover, we went to a cafe. I ordered Chartreuse with the coffee.
Whynot? And I broke another bill _ a five-hundred franc note this time.It
was a clean, new. crisp bill. A pleasure to handle such money.The waiter
handed me back a lot of dirty old bills that had beenpatched up with strips
of gummed paper; I had a stack of five andten franc notes and a bagful of
chicken feed. Chinese money, withholes in it. I didn't know in which pocket
to stuff the money anymore. My trousers were bursting with coins and

    I bills. It mademe slightly uncomfortable also. hauling all that dough
out in public.I was afraid we might be taken for a couple of crooks.
    When we got tothe American Express there wasn't a devil of a lot of time
left. TheBritish, in their usual fumbling farting way, had kept us on pins
andneedles. Here everybody was sliding around on castors. They were sospeedy
that everything had to be done twice. After all the checks weresigned and
clipped in a neat little holder, it was discovered that hehad signed in the
wrong place. Nothing to do but start all over again.I stood over him, with
one eye on the clock, and watched every strokeof the pen. It hurt to F hand
over the dough. Not all of it. thank God_ but a good part of _ it. I had
roughly about , francs in my pocket.Roughly, I say. \ I wasn't counting by
francs any more. A hundred, ortwo hundred. more or less _ it didn't mean a
goddamned thing to me.As for him. he was going through the whole transaction
in a daze. Hedidn't know how much money he had. All he knew was that he had
to keepsomething aside for Ginette. He wasn't certain yet how much_ we were
going to figure that out on the way to the station.
    In the excitementwe had forgotten to change all the money. We were
already in the cab,however, and there wasn't any time to be lost. The thing
was to findout how we stood. We emptied our pockets quickly and began to
whackit up. Some of it was lying on the floor, some of it was on the seat.It
was bewildering. There was French, American and English money. Andall that
chicken feed besides. I felt like picking up the coins andchucking them out
of the window _ just to simplify matters. Finallywe sifted it all out; he
held on to the English and American money,and I held on to the French money.
    We had to decidequickly now what to do about Ginette _ how much to give
her, what totell her, etc. He was trying to fix up a yarn for me to hand her
_ didn'twant her to break her heart and so forth. I had to cut him short.
    "Never mind whatto tell her, " I said. "Leave that to me. How much are
you going togive her, that's the thing? Why give her anything?"
    That was likesetting a bomb under his ass. He burst into tears. Such
tears! It wasworse than before. I thought he was going to collapse on my
hands. Withoutstopping to think. I said: "All right, let's give her all this
Frenchmoney. That ought to last her for a while. "
    "How much isit?" he asked feebly.
    "I don't know_ about , francs or so. More than she deserves anyway."
    "Christ! Don'tsay that! " he begged. "After all, it's a rotten break I'm
giving her.Her folksll never take her back now. No. give it to her. Give her
thewhole damned business. ... I don't care what it is. "
    He pulled a handkerchiefout to wipe the tears away. "I can't help it, "
he said. "It's too muchfor me. " I said nothing. Suddenly he sprawled
himself out full length_ I thought he was taking a fit or something _ and he
said: "Jesus,I think I ought to go back. I ought to go back and face the
music. Ifanything should happen to her I'd never forgive myself. "
    That was a rudejolt for me. "Christ! " I shouted, "you can't do that!
Not now. It'stoo late. You're going to take the train and I'mgoing to tend
to her myself. Ill go see her just as soon as Ileave you. Why, you poor boob,
if she ever thought you had tried torun away from her she'd murder you,
don't you realize that? You can'tgo back any more. It's settled. "
    Anyway, whatcould go wrong? I asked myself. Kill herself? Tant mieux.
    When we rolledup to the station we had still about twelve minutes to kill.
I didn'tdare to say good-bye to him yet. At the last minute, rattled as he
was.I could see him jumping off the train and scooting back to her.
Anythingmight swerve him. A straw. So I dragged him across the street to a
barand I said: "Now you're going to have a Pernod _ your last Pernodand I'm
going to pay for it ... with your dough. "
    Something aboutthis remark made him look at me uneasily. He took a big
gulp of thePernod and then. turning to me like an injured dog, he said: "I
knowI oughtn't to trust you with all that money, but . . . but. . . . Oh.well,
do what you think best. I don't want her to kill herself, that'sall. "
    "Kill herself?"I said. "Not her! You must think a hell of a lot of
yourself if youcan believe a thing like that. As for the money, though I
hate to giveit to her, I promise you go straight to the post office and
telegraphit to her. I wouldn't trust myself with it a minute longer than is
necessary." As I said this I spied a bunch of post cards in a revolving
rack.I grabbed one off _ a picture of the Eiffel Tower it was _ and madehim
write a few words. "Tell her you're sailing now. Tell her you loveher and
that youll send for her as soon as you arrive. . . . I'll sendit by
pneumatique when I go to the post office. And tonight I'llsee her.
Everythingll be Jake. you'll see. "
    With that wewalked across the street to the station. Only two minutes to
go. I feltit was safe now. At the gate I gave him a slap on the back and
pointedto the train. I didn't shake hands with him _ he would have
slobberedall over me. I just said: "Hurry! She's going in a minute. "And
withthat I turned on my heel and marched off. I didn't even look round tosee
if he was boarding the train. I was afraid to.  I hadn't thought,all the
while I was bundling him off. what

    I'd do once Iwas free of him. I had promised a lot of things _ but that
was onlyto keep him quiet. As for facing Ginette, I had about as little
couragefor it as he had. I was getting panicky myself. Everything had
happenedso quickly that it was impossible to grasp the nature of the
situationin full. I walked away from the station in a kind of delicious
stupor_ with the post card in my hand. I stood a-gainst a lamppost and
readit over. It sounded preposterous. I read it again, to make sure thatI
wasn't dreaming, and then I tore it up and threw it in the gutter.
    I looked arounduneasily, half expecting to see Ginette coming after me
with a tomahawk.Nobody was following me. I started walking leisurely toward
the PlaceLafayette. It was a beautiful day. as I had observed earlier.
Light,puffy clouds above, sailing with the wind. The awnings flapping.
Parishad never looked so good to me; I almost felt sorry that I had
shippedthe poor bugger off. At the Place Lafayette I sat down facing the
churchand stared at the clock tower; it's not such a wonderful piece of
architecture,but that blue in the dial face always fascinated me. It was
bluer thanever today. I couldn't take my eyes off it.
    Unless he werecrazy enough to write her a letter, explaining everything,
Ginette neednever know what had happened. And even if she did learn that he
hadleft her , francs or so she couldn't prove it. I could always say thathe
imagined it. A guy who was crazy enough to walk off without evena hat was
crazy e-nough to invent the , francs, or whatever it was.How much was it,
anyhow? I wondered. My pockets were sagging with theweight of it. I hauled
it all out and counted it carefully. There wasexactly , francs and centimes.
More than I had thought. The francs andcentimes had to be gotten rid of. I
wanted an even sum _ a clean , francs.Just then I saw a cab pulling up to
the curb. A woman stepped out witha white poodle dog in her hands; the dog
was peeing over her silk dress.The idea of taking a dog for a ride got me
sore. I'm as good as herdog. I said to myself, and with that I gave the
driver a sign and toldhim to drive me through the Bois. He wanted to know
where exactly. "Anywhere," I said. "Go through the Bois, go all around it _
and take your time,I'm in no hurry. " I sank back and let the houses whizz by,
the jaggedroofs, the chimney pots, the colored walls, the uri-

    nals, the dizzycarre fours. Passing the Rond-Point I thought I'd go
downstairsand take a leak. No telling what might happen down there. I told
thedriver to wait. It was the first time in my life I had let a cab
waitwhile I took a leak. How much can you waste that way? Not very much.With
what I had in my pocket I could afford to have two taxis waitingfor me.
    I took a goodlook around but I didn't see anything worth while. What I
wanted wassomething fresh and unused _ something from Alaska or the Virgin
Islands.A clean fresh pelt with a natural fragrance to it. Needless to
say.there wasn't anything like that walking about. I wasn't terribly
disappointed.I didn't give a fuck whether I found anything or not. The thing
is,never to be too anxious. Everything comes in due time.
    We drove on pastthe Arc de Triomphe. A few sightseers were loitering
around the remainsof the Unknown Soldier. Going through the Bois I looked at
all the richcunts promenading in their limousines. They were whizzing by as
if theyhad some destination. Do that, no doubt, to look important _ to
showthe world how smooth run their Rolls Royces and their Hispano
Suizas.Inside me things were running smoother than any Rolls Royce ever
ran.It was just like velvet inside. Velvet cortex and velvet vertebrae.And
velvet axle grease, what! It's a wonderful thing, for half an hour,to have
money in your pocket and piss it away like a drunken sailor.You feel as
though the world is yours. And the best part of it is. youdon't know what to
do with it. You can sit back and let the meter runwild, you can let the wind
blow through your hair, you can stop andhave a drink, you can give a big tip,
and you can swagger off as thoughit were an everyday occurrence. But you
can't create a revolution. Youcan't wash all the dirt out of your belly.
    When we got tothe Porte d'Auteuil I made him head for the Seine. At the
Pont de SevresI got out and started walking along the river, toward the
Auteuil Viaduct.It's about the size of a creek along here and the trees come
right downto the river's bank. The water was green and glassy, especially
nearthe other side. Now and then a scow chugged by. Bathers in tights
werestanding in the grass sunning themselves. Everything was close and
palpitant,and vibrant with the strong light.

    Passing a beergarden I saw a group of cyclists sitting at a table. I
took a seat nearbyand ordered a demi. Hearing them jabber away I thought for
amoment of Ginette. I saw her stamping up and down the room, tearingher hair,
and sobbing and bleating, in that beastlike way of hers. Isaw his hat on the
rack. I wondered if his clothes would fit me. Hehad a raglan that I
particularly liked. Well, by now he was on his way.In a little while the
boat would be rocking under him. English! He wantedto hear English spoken.
What an idea!
    Suddenly it occurredto me that if I wanted I could go to America myself.
It was the firsttime the opportunity had ever presented itself. I asked
myself _ "doyou want to go?" There was no answer. My thoughts drifted out,
towardthe sea, toward the other side where, taking a last look back, I
hadseen the skyscrapers fading out in a flurry of snowflakes. I saw
themlooming up again, in that same ghostly way as when I left. Saw the
lightscreeping through their ribs. I saw the whole city spread out, from
Harlemto the Battery, the streets choked with ants, the elevated rushing
by.the theaters emptying. I wondered in a vague way what had ever happenedto
my wife.
    After everythinghad quietly sifted through my head a great peace came
over me. Here,where the river gently winds through the girdle of hills, lies
a soilso saturated with the past that however far back the mind roams onecan
never detach it from its human background. Christ, before my eyesthere
shimmered such a golden peace that only a neurotic could dreamof turning his
head away. So quietly flows the Seine that one hardlynotices its presence.
It is always there, quiet and unobstrusive, likea great artery running
through the human body. In the wonderful peacethat fell over me it seemed as
if I had climbed to the top of a highmountain; for a little while I would be
able to look around me, to takein the meaning of the landscape.
    Human beingsmake a strange fauna and flora. From a distance they appear
negligible; close up they are apt to appear ugly and malicious. More than
anythingthey need to be surrounded with sufficient space _ space even more
thantime.

    The sun is setting.I feel this river flowing through me _ its past, its
ancient soil, thechanging climate. The hills gently girdle it about: its
course is fixed.