The Unnamable (17 page)

brrr! No spectator then, and better still no spectacle, good riddance. If this noise
would stop there’d be nothing more to say. I wonder what the chat is about at the
moment. Worm presumably, Mahood being abandoned. And I await my turn. Yes indeed,
I do not despair, all things considered, of drawing their attention to my case, some
fine day. Not that it offers the least interest, hey, something wrong there, not that
it is
particularly
interesting, I’ll accept that, but it’s my turn, I too have the right to be shown
impossible. This will never end, there’s no sense in fooling oneself, yes it will,
they’ll come round to it, after me it will be the end, they’ll give up, saying, It’s
all a bubble, we’ve been told a lot of lies, he’s been told a lot of lies, who he,
the master, by whom, no one knows, the everlasting third party, he’s the one to blame,
for this state of affairs, the master’s not to blame, neither are they, neither am
I, least of all I, we were foolish to accuse one another, the master me, them, himself,
they me, the master, themselves, I them, the master, myself, we are all innocent,
enough. Innocent of what, no one knows, of wanting to know, wanting to be able, of
all this noise about nothing, of this long sin against the silence that enfolds us,
we won’t ask any more, what it covers, this innocence we have fallen to, it covers
everything, all faults, all questions, it puts an end to questions. Then it will be
over, thanks to me all will be over, and they’ll depart, one by one, or they’ll drop,
they’ll let themselves drop, where they stand, and never move again, thanks to me,
who could understand nothing, of all they deemed it their duty to tell me, do nothing,
of all they deemed it their duty to tell me to do, and upon us all the silence will
fall again, and settle, like dust of sand, on the arena, after the massacres. Bewitching
prospect if ever there was one, they are beginning to come round to my opinion, after
all it’s possible I have one, they make me say, If only this, if only that, but the
idea is theirs, no, the idea is not theirs either. As far as I personally am concerned
there is every likelihood of my being incapable of ever desiring or deploring anything
whatsoever. For it would seem difficult for someone, if I may so describe myself,
to aspire towards a
situation of which, notwithstanding the enthusiastic
descriptions
lavished on him, he has not the remotest idea, or to desire with a straight face
the cessation of that other, equally
unintelligible
, assigned to him in the beginning and never modified. This silence they are always
talking about, from which
supposedly
he came, to which he will return when his act is over, he doesn’t know what it is,
nor what he is meant to do, in order to deserve it. That’s the bright boy of the class
speaking now, he’s the one always called to the rescue when things go badly, he talks
all the time of merit and situations, he has saved more than one, of suffering too,
he knows how to stimulate the flagging spirit, stop the rot, with the simple use of
this mighty word alone, even if he has to add, a moment later, But what suffering,
since he has always suffered, which rather damps the rejoicings. But he soon makes
up for it, he puts all to rights again,
invoking
the celebrated notions of quantity, habit-formation, wear and tear, and others too
numerous for him to mention, and which he is thus in a position, in the next belch,
to declare in applicable to the case before him, for there is no end to his wits.
But, see above, have they not already bent over me till black and blue in the face,
nay, have they ever done anything else, during the past – no, no dates for pity’s
sake, and another question, what am I doing in Mahood’s story, and in Worm’s, or rather
what are they doing in mine, there are some irons in the fire to be going on with,
let them melt. Oh I know, I know,
attention
please, this may mean something, I know, there’s nothing new there, it’s all part
of the same old irresistible baloney, namely, But my dear man, come, be reasonable,
look, this is you, look at this photograph, and here’s your file, no
convictions
, I assure you, come now, make an effort, at your age, to have no identity, it’s a
scandal, I assure you, look at this
photograph
, what, you see nothing, true for you, no matter, here, look at this death’s-head,
you’ll see, you’ll be all right, it won’t last long, here, look, here’s the record,
insults to policemen,
indecent
exposure, sins against holy ghost, contempt of court, impertinence to superiors,
impudence to inferiors, deviations
from reason, without battery, look, no battery, it’s nothing, you’ll be all right,
you’ll see, I beg your pardon, does he work, good God no, out of the question, look,
here’s the medical report, spasmodic tabes, painless ulcers, I repeat, painless, all
is painless, multiple softenings, manifold hardenings, insensitive to blows, sight
failing, chronic gripes, light diet, shit well
tolerated
, hearing failing, heart irregular, sweet-tempered, smell failing, heavy sleeper,
no erections, would you like some more, commission in the territorials, inoperable,
untransportable, look, here’s the face, no no, the other end, I assure you, it’s a
bargain, I beg your pardon, does he drink, good God yes, passionately, I beg your
pardon, father and mother, both dead, at seven months interval, he at the conception,
she at the
nativity
, I assure you, you won’t do better, at your age, no human shape, the pity of it,
look, here’s the photograph, you’ll see, you’ll be all right, what does it amount
to, after all, a painful moment, on the surface, then peace, underneath, it’s the
only way, believe me, the only way out, I beg your pardon, have I nothing else, why
certainly, certainly, just a second, curious you should mention it, I was wondering
myself, just a second, if you were not rather, just a second, here we are, this one
here, but I wanted to be sure, what, you don’t understand, neither do I, no matter,
it’s no time for levity, yes, I was right, no doubt about it this time, it’s you all
over, look, here’s the photograph, take a look at that, dying on his feet, you’d better
hurry, it’s a bargain, I assure you, and so on, till I’m tempted, no, all lies, they
know it well, I never understood, I haven’t stirred, all I’ve said, said I’ve done,
said I’ve been, it’s they who said it, I’ve said nothing, I haven’t stirred, they
don’t understand, I can’t stir, they think I don’t want to, that their conditions
don’t suit me, that they’ll hit on others, in the end, to my liking, then I’ll stir,
I’ll be in the bag, that’s how I see it, I see nothing, they don’t understand, I can’t
go to them, they’ll have to come and get me, if they want me, Mahood won’t get me
out, nor Worm either, they set great store on Worm, to coax me out, he was something
new,
different
from all the others, meant to be, perhaps he was, to me
they’re all the same, they don’t understand, I can’t stir, I’m all right here, I’d
be all right here, if they’d leave me, let them come and get me, if they want me,
they’ll find nothing, then they can depart, with an easy mind. And if there is only
one, like me, he can depart without fear of remorse, having done all he could, and
even more, to achieve the impossible and so lost his life, or stay with me here, he
might do that, and be a like for me, that would be lovely, my first like, that would
be epoch-making, to know I had a like, a congener, he wouldn’t have to be like me,
he couldn’t but be like me, he need only relax, he might believe what he pleased,
at the outset, that he was in hell, or that the place was charming, he might even
exclaim, I’ll never stir again, being used to announcing his decisions, at the top
of his voice, so as to get to know them better, he might even add, to cover all risks,
For the moment, it would be his last howler, he need only relax, he’d disappear, he’d
know nothing either, there we’d be the two of us, unbeknown to ourselves, unbeknown
to each other, that’s a darling dream I’ve been having, a broth of a dream. And it’s
not over. For here comes another, to see what has happened to his pal, and get him
out, and back to his right mind, and back to his kin, with a flow of threats and promises,
and tales like this of wombs and cribs, diapers bepissed and the first long trousers,
love’s young dream and life’s old lech, blood and tears and skin and bones and the
tossing in the grave, and so coax him out, as he me, that’s right, pidgin bullskrit,
and in the end, having lived his life, no, before, but you’ve got my meaning, and
there we are the three of us, it’s cosier, perpetual dream, you have merely to sleep,
not even that, it’s like the old jingle. A dog crawled into the kitchen and stole
a crust of bread, then cook up with I’ve forgotten what and walloped him till he was
dead, second verse, Then all the dogs came crawling and dug the dog a tomb and wrote
upon the tombstone for dogs and bitches to come, third verse, as the first, fourth,
as the second, fifth, as the third, give us time, give us time and we’ll be a
multitude
, a thousand, ten thousand, there’s no lack of room, adeste,
adeste, all ye living bastards, you’ll be all right, you’ll see, you’ll never be born
again, what am I saying, you’ll never have been born, and bring your brats, our hell
will be heaven to them, after what you’ve done to them. But come to think of it are
we not already a goodly company, what right have I to flatter myself I’m the first,
first in time I mean of course, there we have a few more questions, please God they
don’t take the fancy to answer them. What can they be hatching anyhow, at this eleventh
hour? Can it be they are resolved at last to seize me by the horns? Looks like it.
In that case tableau any minute. Oyez, oyez, I was like them, before being like me,
oh the swine, that’s one I won’t get over in a hurry, no matter, no matter, the charge
is sounded, present arms, corpse, to your guns, spermatozoon. I too, weary of pleading
an incomprehensible cause, at six and eight the thousand flowers of rhetoric, let
myself drop among the contumacious, nice image that, telescoping space, it must be
the Pulitzer Prize, they want to bore me to sleep, at long range for fear I might
defend myself, they want to catch me alive, so as to be able to kill me, thus I shall
have lived, they think I’m alive, what a business, were there but a cadaver it would
smack of body-snatching, not in a womb either, the slut has yet to menstruate capable
of whelping me, that should singularly narrow the field of research, a sperm dying,
of cold, in the sheets, feebly wagging its little tail, perhaps I’m a drying sperm,
in the sheets of an innocent boy, even that takes time, no stone must be left unturned,
one mustn’t be afraid of making a howler, how can one know it is one before it’s made,
and one it most certainly is, now that it’s irrevocable, for the good reason, here’s
another, here comes another, unless it escapes them in time, what a hope, the bright
boy is there, for the excellent reason that counts as living too, counts as murder,
it’s
notorious
, ah you can’t deny it, some people are lucky, born of a wet dream and dead before
morning, I must say I’m tempted, no, the testis has yet to descend that would want
any truck with me, it’s mutual, another gleam down the drain. And now one last look
at Mahood, at Worm, we’ll never have another chance, ah
will they never learn sense, there’s nothing to be got, there was never anything to
be got from those stories, I have mine,
somewhere
, let them tell it to me, they’ll see there’s nothing to be got from it either, nothing
to be got from me, it will be the end, of this hell of stories, you’d think I was
cursing them, always the same old trick, you’d be sorry for them, perhaps I’ll curse
them yet, they’ll know what it is to be a subject of conversation, I’ll impute words
to them you wouldn’t throw to a dog, an ear, a mouth and in the middle a few rags
of mind, I’ll get my own back, a few flitters of mind, they’ll see what it’s like,
I’ll clap an eye at random in the thick of the mess, on the off chance
something
might stray in front of it, then I’ll let down my trousers and shit stories on them,
stories, photographs, records, sites, lights, gods and fellow-creatures, the daily
round and common task, observing the while, Be born, dear friends, be born, enter
my arse, you’ll just love my colic pains, it won’t take long, I’ve the bloody flux.
They’ll see what it’s like, that it’s not so easy as it looks, that you must have
a taste for it, that you must be born alive, that it’s not something you can acquire,
that will teach them perhaps, to keep their nose out of my business. Yes, if I could,
but I can’t, whatever it is, I can’t any more, there was perhaps a time I could, in
the days when I was bursting my guts, as per instructions, to bring back to the fold
the dear lost lamb, I’d been told he was dear, that he was dear to me, that I was
dear to him, that we were dear to each other, all my life I’ve pelted him with twaddle,
the dear departed, wondering what he could possibly be like, wondering where we could
possibly have met, all my life, well, almost, damn the almost, all my life, until
I joined him, and now it’s I am dear to them, now it’s they are dear to me, glad to
hear it, they’ll join us, one by one, what a pity they are numberless, so are we,
dear charnel-house of
renegades
, this evening decidedly everything is dear, no matter, the ancients hear nothing,
and my old quarry, there beside me, for him it’s all over, beside me how are you,
underneath me, we’re piled up in heaps, no, that won’t work either, no matter, it’s
a detail, for him it’s all over, him the second-last, and for me too,
me the last, it will soon be all over, I’ll hear nothing more, I’ve nothing to do,
simply wait, it’s a slow business, he’ll come and lie on top of me, lie beside me,
my dear tormentor, his turn to suffer what he made me suffer, mine to be at peace.
How all comes right in the end to be sure, it’s thanks to patience, thanks to time,
it’s thanks to the earth that revolves that the earth revolves no more, that time
ends its meal and pain comes to an end, you have only to wait, without doing anything,
it’s no good doing anything, and without understanding, there’s no help in understanding,
and all comes right, nothing comes right, nothing, nothing, this will never end, this
voice will never stop, I’m alone here, the first and the last, I never made anyone
suffer, I never stopped anyone’s sufferings, no one will ever stop mine, they’ll never
depart, I’ll never stir, I’ll never know peace, neither will they, but with this difference,
that they don’t want it, they say they don’t want it, they say I don’t want it, don’t
want peace, after all perhaps they’re right, how could I want it, what is it, they
say I suffer, perhaps they’re right, and that I’d feel better if I did this, said
that, if my body stirred, if my head understood, if they went silent and departed,
perhaps they’re right, how would I know about these things, how would I