“And was there a queen, and floats?”
“A very beautiful queen atop a fortress.”
“They reign like lords and masters!” the grandfather grunted as if talking to himself.
She stared at him in silence, then went to knock on Rose and Paul’s doors.
The father was also gone.
She looked at herself in the mirror for a minute, brushed her face with her hand, sighed and sat on the bed, staring blankly at nothing.
So she had failed just as all of them would no doubt fail. Or would she start over tomorrow and then again, every single day until she died? Wasn’t it her role to shower her children with love, to quietly help them conquer their terror, to shut her eyes and let them take action, all with the conviction that they too would meet with failure? Just make their lives a little easier, cover their heads with maternal hands that they could grasp in their distress or hide their weeping faces in. To attempt again what she had done today, wasn’t that, in truth, giving in to the pride of a death justified by them and by her? Should she run straight into suicide, cut short the days she had left? For they would surely murder her, she knew that much. They’d shoot her before she could even open her mouth to speak.
She could hear the distant, muffled echoes of Carnival. She tilted her head and listened to her heartbeat. It was panting, breathless, worn out like an old animal on its last legs.
Part Two
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Doubt has worked its way into me. It’s horrible. I’m having doubts about Anna now. Dr. Valois came by with her last evening. All of a sudden, they’ve become overly generous, overly kind. I don’t like that. They had found out like everyone else did, and like everyone else they had avoided us. Why this sudden shift? If I have doubts about Anna and Dr. Valois, I’m screwed. I saw how they embraced Rose! She stood frozen as they kissed her, like she hated them. She seems to hate the whole world. She stares at everything strangely now, as if inwardly watching an awful performance. Mama was all aflutter looking at Dr. Valois, but he paid attention only to Claude. “So, you’ve made up your mind about the wheelchair? Yes, it’s expensive and times are tough. But a doctor can give a wheelchair to a patient who’s been good and who listens, can’t he? Have you been good, Claude? Have you done as you’ve been told? How often did you lose your temper since my last visit? Calm down, Laura, let’s not make a fuss, really it’s nothing, I won’t hear of it, I don’t require gratitude for this. I’ve looked after this child since he was born, haven’t I? Well then!…” And he shook his handsome head and beamed his irresistible smile. His daughter’s smile. No, it can’t be… And yet, they did let two weeks go by without visiting. They behaved like everyone else. So that means Rose’s story, everyone knows it. The Gorilla must have spread the word, talked about her, laughed about how… Whore! Dirty whore! But he’s the one I’m going to kill. Who cares what happens after that. I’ll find him and I’ll kill him. Here in the drawer I’ve hidden a knife bought specially for this purpose. I will sink it into his back without a second thought. All this flattery around Rose! She’s becoming powerful too, thanks to the Gorilla. Where do these men come from? Who is their leader? They suddenly showed up in the country and have taken over without any of us being able to put up a fight. Have we become that weak and spineless? We live in terror, trampled by thousands of boots. Everyone knows they have a leader but no one has ever seen him. He confines himself in his fortress and paces about there, they say, like a lion in a cage, waiting for reports from his spies. Maybe we deserve this, and as always the many innocent will pay for a guilty few. Had we become that rotten? I know that we’ve been wallowing in error and concupiscence for a long time now, and personally I was hoping for a change. But not in this direction. I aspire to feel like a real man, a free man. Not like a recruit. For now only the beggars are recruited; they know it and outdo each other hoping to earn a weapon. First they come for the easy recruits, but I know our turn will come. All brought together under the banner of death and armed force. How do you fight them? Streaming from the deepest backwaters of the country, or from another planet, only history can judge them. Maybe some of those who are younger than me will stand up to them one day. After all, nothing lasts forever. We have to hope, otherwise life would have no meaning. They’ve been watching us carefully and have already arrested the most stubborn. The apathetic ones better watch out. Will I resist the temptation for long? Everything would be so simple. Twelve years of study, passing two baccalaureates with distinction, all of that to come to this. What do they have to offer me? Should I buy my rank and a few medals by offering up shameful denunciations? Use all my skills to elbow others off the ladder as I move up? For no doubt even among them there are big fish and small fry and that’s what will bring them to ruin. And I am afraid to face the fact that, no matter what you do, man is a wolf to man. More than anyone else I know, I have the desire to stand firm and fight for a good cause. But not with weapons. With my ideas. My hand extended in brotherhood, offering a fresh and sober example. I would follow anyone who passed austerity laws to halt runaway decadence and the vanity of unchecked ambition; I would support whoever could abolish hunger and poverty prison cells and torture, who would treat every man as a man and include everyone in the national dialogue. If I decide not to belong to any party, if I wish to remain free, then let that choice be mine. Alone and unarmed, I want the right to plead for justice and freedom and to shout from the rooftops that which I believe to be the truth…
I spent the day walking around the city. I saw flowers, landscapes, stretches of sky all done up like the faces of pretty girls. All of it brought tears to my eyes, as if the magnificence of this country was suddenly something flung in my face. Then I ended up on a deserted square where they were training some scrawny, sickly men, all of them following orders, eyes fixed, lips stiff as they goose-stepped with rifles on their shoulders. I saw one of them collapse. Two men rushed over. Lifting him up, they took him out of the ranks. After which the drill continued. I recognized beggars we used to give alms to. They were still gaunt and skeletal, but were now sustained by the hope of becoming powerful in their turn. I know very well that death is nothing to be scared of, that once you tame it, its grimace will turn into a smile. I started to look it in the eye yesterday. Anna! Anna! I will take refuge in her to save myself from myself. Her smile came too late for me, she came too late. She reached out to me two weeks late, isn’t that enough to kill all my trust in her?
Rose has been out every night for the last ten days. She’s gotten thin, so thin, and no one is concerned. “Dirty coward!” I feel like shouting at my father. But then when I see my mother, all I can do is keep my mouth shut. She looks like she’s dying. Grandfather has become taciturn and his beard quivers all the time in a terrifying way. I have the feeling he’s plotting something infernal. We are all plotting something infernal, I’m convinced. What we are going through is so revolting that we can only escape from ourselves by rehearsing thoughts of vengeance. In my case, I know what it’s going to be: I will kill him and then I will die. How? I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is to gather my resolve and overcome my repugnance for the idea of killing and dying. I have a perfect plan. Everything looks so easy when it happens in the sealed cupboard of our skull. Who isn’t a hero in his own head?
My father’s face has returned to lifelessness: he knows he won’t get fired now. In any case, he really managed to set up Rose. Was he naive when he cast her to the vultures? Perhaps he’s seething with remorse, rage, hatred! It would drive you to despair to admit to yourself that nothing lives behind that impassive mask. Has he noticed Rose’s new face? Frozen, dead, that’s right, dead. What have they done to her? No, I don’t want to know. Not now, at least. It’s too soon.
Fred Morin and the others came by. I’m exasperated by their growing friendliness. In an unforgivable moment of weakness, I yielded to their overtures and I’m back on the team now. We played for two hours this afternoon. Two of the players told me they were planning to become Blackshirts. Fred Morin is right behind them, that’s for sure. Something in his eyes gives him away. I can already picture him in his uniform, his shyness a thing of the past, trying to pass for a big shot, earning his stripes, and throwing himself between the Gorilla’s legs to replace him by
