2
As I was waking up, it came to me why my boss had
seemed annoyed when I asked him for two days off :
today is Saturday. I’d sort of forgotten, but as I was
getting up, it came to me. And, naturally, my boss
thought about the fact that I’d be getting four days’
vacation that way, including Sunday, and he couldn’t
have been happy about that. But, in the first place, it
isn’t my fault if they buried Maman yesterday instead
of today, and second, I would have had Saturday and
Sunday off anyway. Obviously, that still doesn’t keep me
from understanding my boss’s point of view.
I had a hard time getting up, because I was tired
from the day before. While I was shaving, I wondered
what I was going to do and I decided to go for a swim. I
caught the streetcar to go to the public beach down at
the harbor. Once there, I dove into the channel. There
were lots of young people. In the water I ran into Marie
Cardona, a former typist in our office whom I’d had a
thing for at the time. She did too, I think. But she’d left
soon afterwards and we didn’t have the time. I helped
her onto a Hoat and as I did, I brushed against her breasts. I was still in the water when she was already lying flat
on her stomach on the float. She turned toward me. Her
hair was in her eyes and she was laughing. I hoisted
myself up next to her. It was nice, and, sort of joking
around, I let my head fall back and rest on her stomach .
She didn’t say anything so I left it there. I had the whole
sky in my eyes and it was blue and gold. On the back
of my neck I could feel Marie’s heart beating softly. We
lay on the Boat for a long time, half asleep. When the
sun got too hot, she dove off and I followed. I caught
up with her, put my arm around her waist, and we
swam together. She laughed the whole time. On the
dock, while we were drying ourselves off, she said, ”I’m
darker than you.” I asked her if she wanted to go to
the movies that evening. She laughed again and told me
there was a Fernandel movie she’d like to see. Once we
were dressed, she seemed very surprised to see I was
wearing a black tie and she asked me if I was in mourning. I told her Maman had died. She wanted to know
how long ago, so I said, “Yesterday.” She gave a little
start but didn’t say anything. I felt like telling her it
wasn’t my fault, but I stopped myself because I remembered that I’d already said that to my boss. It didn’t
mean anything. Besides, you always feel a little guilty.
By that evening Marie had forgotten all about it. The
movie was funny in parts, but otherwise it was just too
stupid. She had her leg pressed against mine. I was
fondling her breasts. Toward the end of the show, I gave
her a kiss, but not a good one. She came back to my place. When I woke up, Marie had gone. She’d explained
to me that she had to go to her aunt’s. I remembered that
it was Sunday, and that bothered me: I don’t like Sundays. So I rolled over, tried to find the salty smell Marie’s
hair had left on the pillow, and slept until ten. Then I
smoked a few cigarettes, still in bed, till noon. I didn’t
feel like having lunch at Celeste’s like I usually did because they’d be sure to ask questions and I don’t like
that. I fixed myself some eggs and ate them out of the
pan, without bread because I didn’t have any left and
I didn’t feel like going downstairs to buy some.
After lunch I was a little bored and I wandered
around the apartment. It was just the right size when
Maman was here. Now it’s too big for me, and I’ve had
to move the dining room table into my bedroom. I live in
just one room now, with some saggy straw chairs, a wardrobe whose mirror has gone yellow, a dressing table, and
a brass bed. I’ve let the rest go. A little later, just for
something to do, I picked up an old newspaper and read
it. I cut out an advertisement for Kruschen Salts and
stuck it in an old notebook where I put things from the
papers that interest me. I also washed my hands, and
then I went out onto the balcony.
My room looks out over the main street in the neighborhood. It was a beautiful afternoon. Yet the pavement
was wet and slippery, and what few people there were
were in a hurry. First, it was families out for a walk : two
little boys in sailor suits, with trousers below the knees,
looking a little cramped in their stiff clothes, and a little girl with a big pink bow and black patent-leather shoes.
Behind them, an enormous mother, in a brown silk
dress, and the father, a rather frail little man I know by
sight. He had on a straw hat and a bow tie and was
carrying a walking stick. Seeing him with his wife, I
understood why people in the neighborhood said he was
distinguished. A little later the local boys went by, hair
greased back, red ties, tight-fitting jackets, wi�h embroidered pocket handkerchiefs and square-toed shoes. I
thought they must be heading to the movies in town.
That was why they were leaving so early and hurrying
toward the streetcar, laughing loudly.
After them, the street slowly emptied out. The
matinees had all started, I guess. The only ones left were
the shopkeepers and the cats. The sky was clear but dull
above the fig trees lining the street. On the sidewalk
across the way the tobacconist brought out a chair, set
it in front of his door, and straddled it, resting his arms
on the back. The streetcars, packed a few minutes before,
were almost empty. In the little cafe Chez Pierrot, next
door to the tobacconist’s, the waiter was sweeping up the
sawdust in the deserted restaurant inside. It was Sunday
all right.
I turned my chair around and set it down like the
tobacconist’s because I found that it was more comfortable
that way. I smoked a couple of cigarettes, went inside to
get a piece of chocolate, and went back to the window to
eat it. Soon after that, the sky grew dark and I thought
we were in for a summer storm. Gradually, though, it cleared up again. But the passing clouds had left a hint
of rain hanging over the street, which made it look
darker.