Death on the Installment Plan (65 page)

None of them could wait … Every damn one wanted us to get his screwball invention under construction this minute … this second! … Hurry, hurry … get it working! … Christ, were they impatient to dive to the bottom of the ocean … Each for his own private treasure… They all wanted to be first! They said it was in the rules. They brandished our prospectus … We shouted back that we were sick of their stinking shenanigans and listening to their racket … we told them it was all a lot of hooey … Courtial climbed up on the winding staircase to tell them the whole truth … He shouted at the top of his lungs … The occasion was so solemn he’d put his topper on … He made a clean breast of it, I was there … He was perfect, a show like that could only happen once … He told them straight from the shoulder that we’d lost our backer … that the whole contest was dead and buried … No more millions than butter on his ass! … He explained that the bulls had locked him up … this fellow we were expecting to … this priest … that he’d never get out, they’d put him into a straightjacket, that the whole business was gone overboard! … “Overboard, overboard!” At these words they stamped with enthusiasm … They took up the chorus: “Overboard! Courtial! Lower the bell! …” They kept coming back. There were more of them every time, bringing new projects … They laughed in your face if you tried to reason with them … It didn’t take … Their minds were made up … They all knew that you’ve got to suffer if you’ve got the faith! The faith that moves mountains, that upsets the seas … Theirs was sensational! When it came to faith, they were in a class by themselves! Besides they were convinced we wanted to keep all the mezuma for ourselves instead of sharing it with them … So they camped outside the door … They watched the exits … They settled down along the fence … They lay down, they made themselves at home … They weren’t in any hurry … They had their conviction … it was solid rock! … No use trying to shake it … They would have massacred us on the spot at the slightest sign of contradiction … They were getting more and more ferocious … The slyest and sneakiest of the lot came around in back … They slipped in through the gymnasium … They’d motion us to join them … Whispering with us in the corner, they’d suggest terms, an increase in our cut … forty percent instead of ten for us on the first spoils raised … if we’d take care of them right away, ahead of the rest … They thought we were mighty greedy … They tried to bribe us … They held out prospects of golden grease …

Courtial refused to look at their stuff, he wouldn’t say a word or even listen to them … He didn’t even feel like going out anymore … He was afraid they’d spot him … The best place as usual was the cellar.

“You’d better take the air” was his advice to me. “They’ll rub you out! Go sit under the trees … on the other side of the fountain . , . They better not see us together … Let them wear themselves down . , . Let them holler till they’re blue in the face … It’s just a momentary riot … It’ll die down in a week or ten days …”

He was way off. It went on much longer …

Luckily we’d saved a little nest egg … what I’d swiped off the canon … almost about two thousand francs … Our idea was that once the storm had subsided we’d take a powder one night with our dough … We’d take our stuff and give ourselves a change of air … move to a different neighborhood … Around here it was getting too hot … We’d start another Genitron along entirely new lines … with different inventors … We wouldn’t even mention the diving bell … It seemed perfectly feasible … why not? … The hard part was putting up with their guff for two three weeks.

Meanwhile I had a rough time convincing the old cutie that she’d better stay home in her cottage in Montretout … and wait for the storm to blow over … She wouldn’t listen, she didn’t see the danger … I knew our customers … She riled them up with her manner, her pipe, her veil … I heard them passing mean remarks … Besides, she stood up to them … You couldn’t tell what would happen … They were perfectly capable of skinning her alive … Inventors get terrible waves of fury, they see red … They disembowel everything in their path! She wouldn’t have chickened out, that was sure … She’d have fought like a lioness, but why ask for trouble? … We had nothing to gain … That wouldn’t save their cottage … In the end, after a lot of gulping and heartrending sighs, she saw it my way …

She hadn’t come that day … Courtial was sawing wood in the cellar … We’d had lunch together at Raoul’s Escargot on the corner of the Faubourg Poissonnière … not bad, I’ve got to admit … He’d done all right for himself … I didn’t hang around the shop … I came right out and settled down as usual at a healthy distance on a bench across the way, behind the rotunda … From there I could watch the approaches … I could even step in if the situation got really rough … But it was a quiet day … Nothing special … Just the usual ferment … groups talking things over, chewing the fat … that’s how it had been since the beginning of last week … Really nothing out of the way … No call to be scared … no fireworks … They were only simmering … Along about four o’clock a kind of calm settled … They sat down in a straggle … Their talk was no louder than a murmur … They must have been all in … They were strung out in a line along the shop fronts … You could smell how tired they were … They’d have to give up pretty soon … I was beginning to think of the prospects … we’d have to move and dream up another racket … find a fresh batch of suckers … start up a new line of business … We had our little nest egg. But how long could it last? Hell! Two thousand francs melt away easy … if we wanted to start the paper up again and make the payments on their cottage … Actually it wouldn’t be possible to do both at once … Anyway, I was off in my daydreams … really absorbed … when far in the distance … in the Impasse du Beaujolais … I see a big lug all by himself making a terrible uproar … waving his arms in all directions … He comes charging up right in front of our joint … He grabs the handle … He shakes the door like an apple tree … He yells for des Pereires … Say, that boy is stark raving mad, he’s off his rocker … He raises hell a while … Nobody answers … He takes a brush and daubs the whole shop front with green paint … Smut, I guess … He shoves off, still raving … Oh well, that didn’t amount to much … I’d feared a lot worse …

Another hour or two go by … The sun was beginning to go down … The clock strikes six … That was the nastiest time, the time I dreaded most … the stinking hour, made to order for riots and disturbances … especially with our customers … the crummy time of day when all the shops disgorge their little maniacs, their extra-clever employees … That’s when the lunatics are on the loose … the spawn of the offices and factories … They come out in droves, bareheaded … they run after the bus … the artisans stung by the radiations of Progress. They take advantage of the last few minutes of daylight … They leap, they bound … They’re the sober kind, water drinkers … They run like zebras … This was the battle hour! … I could feel them coming … it gave me a bellyache … This was the time they regularly landed on us … we were their aperitif …

I pondered a little while longer … I began to think about our dinner too … I’d go and wake Courtial up … he’d asked me for fifty francs. But suddenly I give a start … A terrible noise is coming at me! Through the Galerie d’Orléans … swelling, coming nearer … It was more than a hum … It was a rumble! A storm! … Thunder under the glass roof! … I jump up … I run over to the rue Gomboust, where the worst of the ruckus seemed to be coming from … I bump into a horde of haggard maniacs, roaring frothing brutes … There must be at least two thousand of them bellowing in the chasm … And more keep gushing out of the adjoining streets … They’re compressed, squeezed against a big heavy cart … looks like a gun carriage … Just as I get there, they’re busy demolishing the double garden-fence … They uproot it at one blow … That flat cart made a terrible battering ram … They smash both arcades … Blocks of stone are falling like marbles … crashing, collapsing, bursting into smithereens right and left … It was terrifying . . They come down like thunder, harnessed to their infernal machine … The earth was trembling half a mile away … They’re bouncing in the gutters … They’re all delirious … bobbing and jumping around their catafalque, carried on by the fury of the charge! … I couldn’t believe my eyes! … They’re berserk! … There’s at least a hundred and fifty of them pulling at the shafts … galloping under the arches with that enormous load behind them!

More lunatics roaring, tangling, tearing each other apart, trying to get a better hold on the shaft … the keel … the axles … I come closer … Christ! It’s our inventors! … I see pretty near all of them! … I recognize them one by one… There’s De la Greuze, the café waiter … he’s still got his slippers on … And Carvalet the tailor … He’s having trouble running … He’s losing his pants … There’s Bidigle and Juchère, the two who do their inventing together … who spend their nights at Les Halles … carrying baskets … I see Bizonde! I see Gratien, the one with the invisible bottle! There’s Cavendou … There’s Lanémone with his two pairs of glasses … the one who invented the mercury heating system … I see the whole gang of punks … all yelling blue murder! Christ, are they mad! … I climb up on the fence! Above the tumult … I get a good look at the character in the driver’s seat, the big guy with the curly hair that’s egging them on, the ringleader … I see the monumental contraption! It’s a cast-iron shell … a fantastic mess! It’s Verdunat’s diving bell! Armored to the hilt! … That’s it all right, I’ve seen the model a hundred times … his famous project … I’d know it in the dark! With the luminous portholes and the diverging searchlight beams … Hell’s bells! … There’s Verdunat himself, half-naked … Riding his monster … He’s climbed up on top of it! He’s shouting! … mustering his lousy troops … haranguing them! … getting ready for a new charge! …

I have to admit that he’d warned us. He’d told us categorically that he was going to have it built at his own expense, in spite of our opinions … He was going to put all his savings into it … We refused to take him seriously … He wouldn’t have been the first to hand us a line … The Verdunats were dry cleaners in Montrouge, from father to son … He’s brought the whole family along … There they are, the whole lot of them, dancing around the bell … holding each other’s hands … doing a square dance … mama, grandpa, and the small-fry… They’ve brought us their invention … He’d promised … and we wouldn’t believe him … They’d hauled the monster all the way from Montrouge! The whole screwy tribe! The unholy alliance! … I patch up all my courage … I foresee the worst … They recognize me … They howl at me … The fury is general … They have it in for my guts … They all spit up at me … They vomit at me! …

“I beg your pardon!” I say. “Please listen to me just a minute.” Silence. “You don’t seem to understand.”

“Come on down, you little stinker … so we can knock the shit out of you once and for all … Cock-sucker! Chameleon! Baboon! Where’s the old wise-guy? We just want to twist his guts a little …”

That was the way they listened … There wasn’t any point in my going on … Luckily I was able to give them the slip … I hid behind the kiosk. I shouted “help” with all my might … But it was too late … Nobody could hear me in the gardens with all the thunder and lightning … Outside our door the carnage was at its height … It was like I’d stirred them up with my words, made them madder than ever … This was the climax …They undo the harness … They come out from the shaft … They aim the infernal machine straight across the sidewalk … with the tip against our shop front … The clamor redoubles … The lunatics from all the Galeries and environs rally around the bell … The whole mob brace themselves … “One … two … And yoop! Heave-ho!” The crowd heaves … With one swing they drive the whole catapult through the window … Everything flies into smithereens … The woodwork gives way, cracks, scatters … The whole place is wrecked! … An avalanche of glass! … The monster drives in, forces its way, vacillates, crashes! A torrent of plaster! The whole
Genitron
caves in! … Our winding staircase, the investors’ corner, the Tunisian mezzanine … There’s barely time to see it all collapsing in a cataract of papers, followed by an explosion of dust … Then an enormous cloud flies up, the gardens, all four Galeries are filled with whiteness … The hordes are choking, enveloped in plaster … They spit, they cough, they gag! That doesn’t prevent them from propelling their monster … The ironwork … the mirrors … the ceilings join the cascade! The bell staggers! The floor gives way, cracks, gapes open … The horrible machine teeters, dances at the edge of the precipice … tips … falls to the bottom … Christ! It’s the end of the world! Thunder all the way up to the sky! Suddenly a blast of awful piercing screams stops the mob in their tracks! … The gardens are veiled in dense dust … Finally the police turn up … they grope their way to the scene … They draw a cordon around the wreckage … More bulls come running … They charge … The rioters break up … scatter … Over by the restaurant they start galloping again … They’re all shivering with the excitement …

The cops clear the onlookers away from the disaster site … I knew all the rioters … I could turn in the whole lot of them … It would be a cinch … I know who is the meanest of the whole gang … the rottenest, the most violent … the biggest stinker of them all … I know some who’d be in for ten years! That’s right! But I don’t go for vengeance much! It would only make things a little lousier than they are … that’s all … Better attend to urgent business … I run into the crowd, I pass from group to group … I make myself known to the cops … “Have you seen the boss? Courtial des Pereires?” I ask in all directions.

Nobody’s seen him. I’d left him at noon … Suddenly I catch sight of the
commissaire
… the one from the rue des Bons-Enfants … The exact same little punk that had been running us ragged … I go up to him … I tell him the boss has disappeared … He listens … He’s skeptical … “You think so?” he says … He doesn’t believe me. “I’m positive!” So he climbs down one side of the crevice with me … We both of us search … I yell … I call … “Courtial! Courtial! … Get up!” The cops yell too … Once, twice … ten times … I go around the edge of every hole … I lean down over the abyss… “If you ask me,” the jerk says, “he’s at the whorehouse.” They were going to give up … when suddenly I hear a voice!