Authors: Raymond Queneau
“Hello, Madame Cloche, Hello, my little Titine,” and he pinched her waist.
“Hands off, I tell you. Y’not to touch me till we’re married.”
“Isn’t she naughty,” said the sexagenarian. “I’ve just been to the town hall; it’s all fixed. We’re going to get married on the 25th of August.”
“It’s the 25th, then?”
He sat down, and didn’t look as if he was thinking about anything much.
“I’ll have a white wine,” he declared automatically, moving his hand about in his pants pocket.
—oooooo—oooooo—
The beach was strewn with bodies without number, which were turning it from golden yellow to fly-black; there were some very little ones who cried without respite, and some very big ones who slept all the time. There were some who had breasts, and there were some who hadn’t; there were some in bathing suits, and some with more clothes on; some were deformed, and some were formed; some were bulky, and some were transparent. The ensemble was not impressive. Sitting on a broad, flat stone, that he had chosen with care, Etienne was following with listless eye the reduced activity of his balneal colleagues. Some suddenly got up and went to have a dip, and then came back to snooze until it was time for the well-filled aperitif. Sometimes the women going by caught his eye: Etienne was thinking of Narcense, of that man who, tormented by love and poverty, behaved in such a strangely agitated fashion. He saw him again, hanging in the forest, and the sole of his shoe with a leaf stuck to it; he saw him again, struggling, being taken away by the waiters. And the correspondence with Théo, and the meeting in the Langlumet restaurant. He noticed Alberte with Mme. Pigeonnier; then young Sensitif waved to him with great elegance. The water was lovely today, the people around him were saying. Pierre and Narcense, who had been gone for two days, hadn’t given any sign of life. Nor had Mme. Pigeonnier’s maid, and this worried Mme. Pigeonnier. It didn’t seem to affect Théo particularly. Odd, if what Pierre had insinuated was true? Then he wondered. “Why am I not Narcense?” and felt uneasy about the meaning of such a question.
He had been on his flat stone for about an hour, when a hand touched his shoulder. He followed it. It was Pierre, whose eyes were shining with excitement.
“Come somewhere quiet, I’ve so many things to tell you.”
And in spite of his habitual calm, he was practically trembling. They went to the end of the little jetty and sat down. Pierre spoke:
“First piece of news: you and I are dangerous crooks; at the moment we’re preparing a coup which ought to bring us a million: Mme. Cloche is also concerned with the same business and Narcense, another gangster, has refused to work with her. As she is suspicious of us, she has got her nephew to spy on us.”
“I don’t quite follow,” said Etienne.
Then Pierre described in detail the Cloche-Narcense interview just as Narcense himself had recounted it to him.
“The strangest thing of all,” he commented, “is that the old woman isn’t mad, and that it really does seem that a million could be behind our machinations. But how we can
look as if
we are preparing the said swindle, that’s something that seems very odd to me.”
Etienne didn’t say a word: the fact that, after having looked like a silhouette in Pierre’s eyes, he should have become a gangster in those of Mme. Cloche, started him off on meditative paths such as his grey matter had never yet set its neurons on.
“It’s obvious,” continued Pierre, “that all her conjectures are based on your visits to Blagny. How could you expect that anybody as artful as Mme. Cloche seems to be could conceive of someone going to have a drink at her brother’s just for the pleasure of it?”
“One day,” said Etienne, “I gave Belhôtel a potato peeler; that must have seemed funny to them, too.”
“And that business at Les Mygales, they know about that, don’t they? With all these data, Mme. Cloche’s effervescent brain has had something to work on, and so we’ve become dangerous gangsters. The transformation isn’t particularly unpleasant, so long as that romantic midwife doesn’t set the cops on our heels. Though it’s true that, you and I, we’re irreproachable from all points of view? isn’t it?”
“Do we know?”
“Marcel, you’re becoming skeptical; a dangerous obstacle to your meditation.”
“It isn’t being skeptical, to destroy error, and what graver error is there than to think you know what you don’t know? Now, do I really know whether you aren’t a thief and a murderer?”
Pierre didn’t answer; even though he didn’t find either of these hypotheses particularly unpleasant, as he said to himself in these words. Taking advantage of Etienne’s silence, he went on :
“There’s one way of finding out, and that is to find the little spy, Mme. Cloche’s nephew.”
“What for?” Etienne asked politely, just to look as if he were interested.
“It won’t be difficult; he’s staying with a midwife; there can’t be many, here. We’ll easily find him.”
“All right, let’s try.”
They discovered where Mme. Corcoran lived, without trouble; but that day the midwife was out visiting, and young Clovis must have been amusing himself somewhere, either down at the sea or in the country. The description they were given of him was too vague to rely on; he was due back about 7. While they were waiting, they walked up and down, talking of this and that. Etienne referred to Catherine’s disappearance; Pierre didn’t hide from him the fact that she had become his mistress and that she was waiting for him at Z
...
, at his brother’s, as was Narcense himself. It was then that Pierre realized sadly that he couldn’t parade all Catherine’s revelations; he was always forgetting that this young man had to keep up the appearance of being a paterfamilias. Another thing he wouldn’t have been able to do.
At about 7 o’clock, a few steps away from Mme. Corcoran’s house, they saw a child of thirteen or fourteen who looked like Clovis to them. He was carrying a basket full of shrimps, or stones, or rubbish, or which may well have been empty, and he didn’t see them. Pierre called: “Clovis!” Clovis raised his head, and saw them. They didn’t look so terrible, but, as this unexpected meeting, the child lost all his self
-
control. He dropped the basket and scrammed. Pierre Le Grand caught up with him and held him by one arm. The brat started yelling for help. A passing fisherman said to Pierre: “What d’you want with that kid?” A lady exclaimed: “What a brute!”
Pierre let go of Clovis, who fled. The two mens’ attitude elicited some stern comments.
The latter made themselves scarce, leaving the ill-informed crowd engulfed in its error.
A few steps farther on, Pierre burst out laughing: “I don’t think we acted very cleverly there.”
“I’m afraid not,” agreed Etienne. “For international gangsters, it isn’t very impressive.”
Pierre didn’t answer.
—oooooo—oooooo—
It is with as much surprise as indignation that we have heard about M. Système being bitten. We would like to inform the canine race that such deviationist behavior will not be tolerated within the area under the jurisdiction of the commune. Dogs were made to bite the dust, and not good citizens.
*
Little Octave Tandem, five years old, found a rusty knife in the street. He lost no time in taking it to the police station. The voice of conscience had spoken to this child.
*
Mme. Tendre Soucoupe, while clearing her dining room table, dropped a glass made of Czechoslovakian crystal. The purely material damage will be reimbursed by the France Assurance and Co., 11 rue des Moutons-Pressés, in the cantonal county town of the canton.
*
Some practical jokers having inserted a bullet in the head of M. Oréor Serventi, and this by means of a rifle disposed to this effect, the consequence has been a passage from life to extinction of the person incriminated. The wags were immediately taken to the recruiting office and appointed corporals first class.
*
A wine party was held last night in honor of Rude Agricole, postman in Blanc-Yeux, to celebrate his forty years of service. The mayor gave a little impromptu speech which impressed with its charming good nature. The most charming cordiality reigned throughout in this charming assembly. A dance brought this charming evening to a close. Next day, Rude Agricole resumed his duties, saying: On the fiftieth now. This charming utterance earned him the applause of the whole village who had hastened to the charming spot.
*
You can’t think of everything. Caromel Blanc, thirty-seven, a tailor at Cinq-Epis, suffering from a violent migraine, took twenty aspirins last night; but having omitted to take them out of their tube, the treatment had no effect. A subscription list has been opened.
*
Count Adhémar du Rut has returned to his castle for a few days, to rest from the fatigue of taking the waters. He will be exercising his
jus primae noctis
on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday of the coming week. Young men will be admitted.
*
Market Prices for August 11
th
.
Bread 1 franc per quantity
Beef 7 francs per piece
Potatoes 3 francs per heap
Radishes 1 franc 30 per fragment
String 0 francs 10 per bit
*
Pause for laughter.
Q. What’s the difference between an asthmatic pork-butcher and a party given by intellectuals?
A. One’s all chine and wheeze, and the other’s all wine and cheese.
Q. Why is a gambler like a man whose wife is called Elizabeth?
A. They both like to lay their bet (Bet).
*
Isaac Poum will visit you at your home every day from 5 to 7. He omits nothing, and remains expressive. Results guaranteed.
*
Colonel and Mme. Pot have pleasure in announcing to those who were kind enough to be their guests last night that Private Louis Gamahuche has been sentenced to thirty days’ imprisonment for having replaced the Sauternes 1919 with a well-known brand of bleach. This regrettable error having been thus rectified, Colonel and Mme. Pot request their yesterday’s guests to be kind enough to come back this evening to finish the turkey, of which there still remain several good portions.
*
Théodore Marcel, 15, now on vacation at X
...
, has just finished reading the third volume of
Les Misérables
. All our congratulations to this young representative of the French intelligentsia.
*
M. Curieux Fontaine, lawyer, of Pinceau, informs the tradesmen of here and elsewhere that he will no longer be responsible for the debts of his wife, who is gadding about like a whore, with alcoholic bravado. Such behavior, alas!, seems to be on the increase in our land; nor does the scourge now spare the cradle of our ancestors now reposing in the tomb. Ways must be found of reacting against the profligacy of the new layers of society and the insubordinate and lascivious ventures of noncommissioned officers on bicycles.
(Official Announcement)
*
Codicille Plusdun, Freemason, was observed last Thursday answering the call of Nature against the wall of the Enfoui cemetery. This new proof of the disrespect of Judaic and pro
-
Bochian masonry toward the best and most healthy of our institutions could not be suffered in silence.
*
Does this apply to you?
Working late into the night on my archaelogical studies I had gotten into the habit of drinking very strong black coffee. I gradually felt my heart beating tumultously, and this made the exercise of my ministry very painful.
The doctor in the county town prescribed pure water without caffeine, my trouble has disappeared, and it seems I have recovered my youth, I feel so fit.
M. le curé de V
...
. (Ardeche)
Do you, like this ecclesiastic, suffer from an inexplicable feeling of indisposition? Cure it by taking pure water without caffeine. On sale at all good druggists: 5 fr. 95 a liter.
*
The coffee that you purchase
From Jean-Baptiste Averse
Is good, but it is better
At the Café du Commerce.
(Advertiser’s Announcement)
*
Why neglect your beauty after death? Look after your bones.
Just think that in five hundred years, or a thousand years, or more, your remains may be exhibited in a museum. Don’t you want to appear there at your most advantageous?
Thanks to the potion of the Eternals, you can prepare to have skeleton of pleasing aspect, and guaranteed unbreakable.
IT WILL BE THE ADMIRATION OF THE FUTURE GENERATIONS.
Twelve-liter flask:
Price by arrangement.
Apply to Dr. Effaré, 15 rue des Mages, Paris.
*
After carefully reading this fragment of the
Little X
...
Echo,
Narcense made use of it and threw it down the hole. Then he went up to bed.
S
EVEN
o’clock, they’re not back yet. The fire’s boiling under the pots, the table’s laid, the wines are waiting. Camélia, the new one, is drying up glasses and sniffing: it’s a habit. Plenty of regular customers. Mme. Belhôtel is sitting at the cash register proud of her culinary efforts. It won’t be long now before the wedding party comes back from the country where it must have spent a happy afternoon.
Good old Taupe! Getting married at his age! Out of the entire neighborhood, there was only one person who said: It’s obvious he doesn’t mind if his wife deceives him, and the same person had added: She’s got a screw loose, Ernestine, marrying an old boy that hasn’t got a bean—and had then also added: It’s Dominique that wants his child to have a father. Mme. Belhôtel repeats these words to herself, and
adds nothing of her own invention.
The new one was snub-nosed; Dominique didn’t like that; they’d replace her later on. Had she put enough salt in the soup? Huh, there goes Jojo, the haberdasher’s son. All the same, really
can’t
mind if his wife deceives him.