Authors: Louis-ferdinand & Manheim Celine
Rigadoon (10 page)
"That'll do! all aboard!"
He must know who they are . . . that they've been thrown out of their car . . .
So now they're attacking too! . . . the first tender! the Marshal still up in the air! they dash through the jets of steam . . . fsss! they've made it! they grab hold! they're on! . . . all in the coke! . . . they won't be so bad off . . . but what about us sightseers? about-face, quick, to our car! . . . God knows what's going on . . . they were fighting, wonder if they've stopped . . . it was mostly for the children . . . maybe we'd better say Bébert is our baby . . . you can't see him in his bag, it's closed . . . right! . . . here we are . . . Lili rocks him . . . the women at the door won't let us in! . . . they're all settled! . . . oh, but Lili's an acrobat . . . one two three . . . saved! in through the window! no more glass, only splinters . . . she's in! I pass her Bébert in his sack . . . with me it won't be so easy . . . our two soldiers, always so discreet, have located us, here they are . . . they grab me, one by each foot, and heave! . . . I'm in! . . . Le Vig's next! . . . now all we have to do is push, amalgamate ourselves with the women, against them or under them, the Lithuanians . . . or Bosnians? whatever they are . . . and the husbands and grandmothers . . . and disappear . . . babies all over, the baggage racks full of them! . . . and the bawling! . . . feeding time! . . .
brrr!
the engine trembles! . . . and the whole train! . . . we're moving . . . there's another engine in back, spitting the same as ours, all over the platforms . . . I saw it . . .
"Important, Le Vig, important! we're pulling out! . . ."
We really were . . . oh, very slowly . . .
"Do you hear, do you feel it, Le Vig?"
I want to convince him . . .
"The Marshal's coming with us . . ."
"A phony, I tell you! if he's a marshal, I'm a kangaroo!"
His impression . . .
"Say, Rostock-Ulm is quite a way!"
"Ulm? Ulm? do you believe in Ulm?"
You couldn't say we had much faith.
Faith or no faith, the train's started . . . without too much trouble . . .
choo! choo!
. . . this locomotive up ahead has got more zip than the one that's pushing us . . . the cars in the back are skidding . . . the three of us in there with Bébert, tangled up with these Baltic women, brats, and families, I don't think we were very popular . . . but we'd squeezed in all the same . . . into their magma of asses, tits, arms, and hair . . . so wedged and tangled they couldn't very well throw us out . . . I had at least three thighs and a foot around my neck . . . on my head . . . that car seemed to have more than it could take . . . you'd have expected it to split open and fall to pieces any minute . . . absolutely ripe . . . jolts and shivers . . . in a better situation I'd have taken a look to see if it was the tracks, the roadbed, or the wheels . . . even so she's moving along, shaking less than our Baltic caravan . . . up there, I've got to admit, we had a good laugh! . . . that leper fish train . . . wonder where it is now . . .
That's enough memories! . . . what's going on here and now? . . . the women are talking . . . really weird languages . . . I mean impossible to understand . . . even the simple words the mothers say to their kids . . . zero! . . . oh, I'd learn it all right if this trip went on awhile . . . gift for languages? the gift of pythons and hotel clerks . . . a language is like a chunk of meat . . . you wag your tail and circle around it, you're intimidated . . . then
zoom!
you dive in! you've got the heart of it! . . . by the rhythm! . . . well, anyway, the train's rolling along and we're in it . . . rolling? . . . well, in a way . . . it pretty near jumps the track . . .
bam!
. . . comes back down, settles into place, and rolls some more . . . a good time to think things over . . . wherever we'd shown our mugs for pretty near thirty years, in flaming cities, we'd been through dozens, half consumed or all ashes and islands of wreckage, from Constance practically in Switzerland to Flensburg up north, or in France, let's say Courbevoie or passage Choiseul or rue Lepic, I've always had a pretty strong feeling that I never should have existed . . . even here in Meudon, though I'm infinitely discreet, nobody could be more polite, better behaved, obliging, they certainly make no secret of what they're thinking, first with petitions and town criers, louder and louder . . . no little murmurs . . . then with records and loudspeakers, all about me, all the details . . . ten times worse than Petiot, hyper-Landru, super-Bougrat,° traitor with twenty-five masks, pornographer with a hundred organs . . . oh, it doesn't surprise me! . . . the same incredible situation in Copenhagen, the same in Montmartre, even in Zornhof, Prussia, or Honolulu tomorrow . . . especially having the crust to complain! and all the rest . . . his so-called enemies . . . noble souls . . . sublime heroes!
quos vult perdere!
° ( see pink pages ).
°
But back to business! I'm diddling . . . our train! we were so compressed, squeezed, crushed, sandwiched . . . I was about to tell you . . . we were spilling all our liquids, urine, sweat, and blood . . . the car falls back on the tracks, but at every switch its only idea is to jump and somersault . . . even so, believe it or not, we're getting ahead . . . between two hips and three necks I see meadows and woods passing by . . . and a farm . . . another farm . . . ah, and some children playing . . .
Ulm is our terminus . . . via Leipzig, it seems . . . I'm not so sure . . . we'll see . . . maybe it's all a hoax . . . maybe they're going to lose us in the middle of a field . . . same as in Rostock . . . we can take a good deal . . . our temperament . . . I think we've proved it . . . I ask them, Lili and Le Vig . . . they agree . . . now we're on our own feet . . . verticalized by our neighbors' convulsions . . . or maybe the jolts of the car . . . been seeing trees for two hours now . . . the other people are griping, not us . . . the three of us and the cat aren't saying a thing . . . maybe we're more used to being pushed around, hunted in all directions . . . say, isn't this? . . . I couldn't believe it . . . a platform . . . LEIPZIG . . . in big red letters . . . fine! . . . we've slowed down . . . right! this is it! . . . but other signs . . . can't get out . . .
Verboten!
. . . and police all over . . . easy to see they were expecting us . . . ah, young ladies with pitchers . . . full. . . they pass them along, up to the windows . . . some windows! no panes . . . and the doors . . . it's bouillon! . . . could be some poison, some horrible brew, no, it seems to be all right! . . . the others are drinking . . . but the cups? . . . got to have cups . . . they've thought of everything! . . . whole loaves of bread . . . and more pitchers for the mothers and kids . . . milk! milk!
milch!
babies' bottles . . . first the bottles! . . . the whole car's drinking . . . the mothers faster than the babies . . .
glug! glug!
without nipples . . . another pitcher! . . . more girls come running, "Red Cross" . . . bringing everything they can, slobgullion, jam, anything to make these Baltic mothers and children stop squealing . . . the whole car wants some! . . .
milch!
. . .
milch!
. . . the main thing is that nobody's tried to get out . . . nobody's jumped . . . they've respected the signs . . .
Austeigen verboten! Verboten!
Now the engines are puffing, I think! . . . right! . . . soot and more soot! . . . thick . . . we can't even see the platform, or the Red Cross girls, or the cops . . . we hold each other by the hands, the three of us . . . the train's started up, we can't see a thing . . . we'd have been separated by all those heaving bodies . . . the bodies are howling! the babies underneath . . .
wah! wah!
and the fathers and grandfathers! . . . every language . . . the train doesn't care . . . we're going fast . . .
choo! . . . choo!
. . . downhill, I think . . . gone quite a ways already . . . we're getting to be an express . . . between two legs at the window I think I can see the roadbed . . . not so much soot now . . . I think . . . but my eyes sting . . . ah, yes! trees . . . and cliffs . . . I remember now, Harras told me: you'll pass the Eifel Mountains . . . this must be it . . . Eifel or Taunus . . . anyway we're going downhill . . . or maybe some other mountains . . . Herz? we've certainly speeded up! . . . Eifel or Taunus . . . I understand a bit of what they're saying around me . . . Lithuanian women speaking German . . . these other women . . . what can they be? . . . Latvian? . . . Finnish? who cares, as long as we get there . . . and we don't suffocate in this tunnel . . . maybe that was the idea . . . nobody asked for our opinion . . . any more than on the Rostock-Berlin . . . what do they care if we're mummified and smoked? . . . like herrings . . . anyway, we're making time! . . . feels like coasting . . . the whole contraption shoots into a tunnel . . . like thunder! . . . another tunnel! talk about suffocation . . . all of a sudden the brakes! squeak! skid!
sssk!
. . . back . . . front . . . bumps, counterbumps . . . and more of the same! . . . but that's not all! . . . bombs! real bombs! . . . a whole load! . . . another! . . . they're attacking the end of our train! . . . lucky we're in the tunnel. . . they're too late! . . . boom! another load . . . maybe on the last cars? . . . wait till you come out, says the concerned reader! . . . exactly what Le Vig was thinking.
"Don't worry, son! we'll be far away!"
Trying to reassure him . . . Le Vig has his answer ready, but a blast of wind cuts him off . . . black air, more soot than air . . . and sends us flying over the families . . . and another blast . . . from the other end of the tunnel . . . now I get it! they're trying to stave in the tunnel! squash the whole mountain! . . . with their bombs! and get through to us, to our train! doesn't look so good, seems to me we're trapped . . . every time a load of rock falls we're lifted up and dashed against the families . . . the cars are all shivering and shaking . . . some racket! . . . chains and parts of windows, and the howling and screaming . . .
zing,
the chains snap, they're dangling, scraping against the roadbed . . . showers of sparks! at last we can see the tunnel . . . rocks from end to end . . . thousands of them! . . . every bomb gives the train a push . . . from up top! . . . and a push back from down below! . . .
bam!
. . . regular Luna Park train! . . . but no laughs! . . . an accordion! ah, a bomb!
boom!
another! . . . they'll break through the rock! through the whole mountain and into the tunnel! . . . it looks like . . . they'll smash the train . . . little by little . . . the battering ram system . . . this train looked shatterproof . . . good solid construction . . . for two hours they'd been doing their damnedest . . . I could hear the mothers imploring . . . gagging, vomiting soot and sulphur on their kids . . . I couldn't exactly see but I heard . . . even above the jangling metal . . .
boom!
and
wham!
. . . a few of the cars up front must have had it . . . all the passengers getting out! . . . orders:
verboten! verboten!
ha ha! . . . go fuck yourself! . . . only getting out faster! . . . coming our way . . . to our car! . . . oh yes! . . . all fours on the roadbed! . . . on their knees . . . every blast they turn somersaults and roll under the cars . . . you never saw that in the Métro . . . between "Rome" and "Saint-Lazare" I've seen . . . harmless alerts . . . even at Berlin Tiergarten, though there the crowds were half crazy . . . nothing compared to this tunnel all full of brats and Baltavians and suffocation . . . and total darkness, had you thought of that? from the entrance, I'm not exaggerating, all the way to the other end, the exit, tremendous hurricane blasts that made the rock up above us throb . . . a typhoon in the tunnel . . . I could see this was going to end in a smash . . . it must have happened in other places . . . the Herz? . . . the Taunus? . . . so I've been told . . . but I'm not satisfied with hearsay . . . if ever I finish this book, I think I'll go take a look, see for myself if they've leveled all those peaks . . . flattened those tourist knobs . . . filled in those entrances . . . and exits . . .
These things I'm telling you about sound funny in a way . . . this tunnel full of people flat on their faces . . . you couldn't move . . . the hurricane was blowing from end to end . . . such volleys of shrapnel, splinters, and stones that if you raised your head . . .
zing!
good-bye beezer!
The cars were "all metal" . . . really tall and wide, big hefty cars . . . but the wallops and counterwallops, the two-way squeezes they took . . . they were groaning . . . not just ours, the whole train from end to end, from the engine up front to the last baggage car . . . such crushers, you'd have expected her to give up the ghost, break in two, perish with all aboard . . . well, not at all! a tornado from the other end, the whole train shivers
brrr
, and wham gets back on its feet! . . . and starts trembling again . . . in soot and sulphur . . . convulsions! . . . unbelievable . . . the whole train was like a piston . . . driving back and forth in the tunnel as the bombs went off . . . up top, down below . . . and this, I wasn't talking, but I was sure, was only a beginning! . . . ah, something new! . . . down at the end I see a river of flame . . . I know what that is . . . yellow! . . . phosphorus . . . I couldn't much see us getting out of there . . . which way? . . . the mothers there, flat on their faces in the crushed rock . . . realized after a while that crawling wasn't doing any good, that they'd have to get up and run . . . but where to? . . . through the river of flame? . . . no! . . . under the train to the other side! . . . the phosphorus wasn't flowing there . . . the other wall . . . but what they really wanted . . . was to beat it back to Leipzig! . . . they said so, they bellowed . . . an old man translated, told me what they were saying . . . in Leipzig they'd have everything they needed! . . . they'd seen! . . . everything! . . . everything in Leipzig! milk! . . . bouillon! . . . slobgullion!
Rote Kreuz!
. . . Red Cross! . . . go back there! anything but stay in this tunnel . . . or get back in the train . . . this train would be wiped out! nothing left when the R.A.F. got through! nobody'd escape! at the tunnel exit:
boom!
can't you hear? they'd burn it to the ground! mad scramble! still some bodies lying on the roadbed . . . too old, or maybe they've passed out . . . you won't catch me trying to check! ah, an officer! . . . crawling over the roadbed . . . between the tunnel wall and the train . . . there's a glow from the phosphorus . . . you can see pretty near to the other end . . . must be one of the officers that beat it in their pajamas, chased out of the car . . . with their Marshal von Lubb . . . he's got his epaulettes on again, pinned to his pajamas . . . he's spotted me, he speaks French . . . he knows who we are, even in the darkness and soot . . . I ask you! nobody could be more discreet than we are . . . even our cat Bébert is in his bag . . . he knows where we've come from . . . the Rostock-Berlin . . . the fish train . . . information . . . who which what . . . passes through floods, believe me, so detailed, so precise, you're flabbergasted . . . whatever the world's indiscretion can pin on you, no rhyme no reason, whatever label, you're defenseless . . . here in this tunnel, this phosphorus oven, plus the shrapnel at both ends, a flaming slaughterhouse from end to end, all ready for the three of us and Bébert . . . and now this busybody, this officer . . . in the middle of all this molten metal, rails and cars, and their Marshal von Lubb! . . . and the Baltic women and babies . . . gossip is right at home! nothing fazes it! peremptory! on the nakedest summits, Everest or Nevada . . . it'll be there before you are! whispering, snug as a bug . . . or in the heart of Vesuvius . . . never fear! under myriatons of lava and rock and molten iron! Enough of my exaggerations! let's get back . . . to the tunnel!
A slaughterhouse, I said, for mothers and brats and grandfathers from all those ex-Baltic countries, sub-Pomeranian, Laponid, and still higher up . . . it's hard to believe, but the whole lot of them were blatting for all they were worth, and mostly about the three of us . . . who we were? . . . where we came from? . . . freaks . . . their own countries didn't exist any more, ours . . . France . . . didn't mean a thing to them . . . never heard of it . . . crawling along the tracks . . . they're asking each other . . . which goes to show that people take an interest in you, that they'll never leave you alone . . . even in the goddamnedest tunnels . . . I've shown you . . . gossip is at home all over, wherever you go, it creeps in somehow . . . and you'll find out all sorts of things about yourself and Bébert, make you start wondering if you're really . . . and now this officer who's spotted us, our names and all, in this underground bacchanalia . . . how does he know?
"Dr. Destouches! . . . am I right? . . . and your friend Le Vigan? and your cat Bébert? my humble respects, Madame!"