At one point he said, “You know, your mother’s
friends will be coming to keep vigil too. It’s customary.
I have to go get some chairs and some black coffee.” I
asked him if he could tum off one of the lights. The
glare on the white walls was making me drowsy. He said
he couldn’t. That was how they’d been wired : it was all
or nothing. I didn’t pay too much attention to him after
that. He left, came back, set up some chairs. On one of
them he stacked some cups around a coffee pot. Then
he sat down across from me, on the other side of Maman.
The nurse was on that side of the room too, but with’
her back to me. I couldn’t see what she was doing. But
the way her arms were moving made me think she was
knitting. It was pleasant; the coffee had warmed me
up, and the smell of Rowers on the night air was coming
through the open door. I think I dozed off for a while.
It was a rustling sound that woke me up. Because
I’d had my eyes closed, the whiteness of the room seemed
even brighter than before. There wasn’t a shadow anywhere in front of me, and every object, every angle and
curve stood out so sharply it made my eyes hurt. That’s
when Maman’s friends came in. There were about ten
in all, and they Boated into the blinding light without a
sound. They sat down without a single chair creaking. I
saw them more clearly than I had ever seen anyone, and
not one detail of their faces or their clothes escaped me.
But I couldn’t hear them, and it was hard for me to believe they really existed. Almost all the women were
wearing aprons, and the strings, which were tied tight around their waists, made their bulging stomachs stick
out even more. I’d never noticed what huge stomachs
old women can have. Almost all the men were skinny
and carried canes. What struck me most about their
faces was that I couldn’t see their eyes, just a faint
glimmer in a nest of wrinkles. When they’d sat down,
most of them looked at me and nodded awkwardly, their
lips sucked in by their toothless mouths, so that I couldn’t
tell if they were greeting me or if it was just a nervous
tic. I think they were greeting me. It was then that I
realized they were all sitting across from me, nodding
their heads, grouped around the caretaker. For a second
I had the ridiculous feeling that they were there to judge
me.
Soon one of the women started crying. She was in
the second row, hidden behind one of her companions,
and I couldn’t see her very well. She was crying softly,
steadily, in little sobs. I thought she’d never stop. The
others seemed not to hear her. They sat there hunched
up, gloomy and silent. They would look at the casket,
or their canes, or whatever else, but that was all they
would look at. The woman kept on crying. It surprised
me, because I didn’t know who she was. I wished I
didn’t have to listen to her anymore. But I didn’t dare
say anything. The caretaker leaned over and said something to her, but she shook her head, mumbled something, and went on crying as much as before. Then the
caretaker came around to my side. He sat down next to
me. After a long pause he explained, without looking at me, “She was very close to your mother. She says your
mother was her only friend and now she hasn’t got any-
”
one.
We just sat there like that for quite a while. The
woman’s sighs and sobs were quieting down. She sniffled
a lot. Then finally she shut up. I didn’t feel drowsy
anymore, but I was tired and my back was hurting me.
Now it was all these people not making a sound that
was getting on my nerves. Except that every now and
then I’d hear a strange noise and I couldn’t figure out
what it was. Finally I realized that some of the old
people were sucking at the insides of their cheeks and
making these weird smacking noises. They were so lost
in their thoughts that they weren’t even aware of it. I
even had the impression that the dead woman lying in
front of them didn’t mean anything to them. But I think
now that that was a false impression.
We all had some coffee, served by the caretaker.
After that I don’t know any more. The night passed. I
remember opening my eyes at one point and seeing that
all the old people were slumped over asleep, except for one
old man, with his chin resting on the back of his hands
wrapped around his cane, who was staring at me as if he
were just waiting for me to wake up. Then I dozed off
again. I woke up because my back was hurting more
and more. Dawn was creeping up over the skylight. Soon
afterwards, one of the old men woke up and coughed a
lot. He kept hacking into a large checkered handkerchief, and every cough was like a convulsion. He woke the others up, and the caretaker told them that they
ought to be going. They got up. The uncomfortable
vigil had left their faces ashen looking. On their way
out, and much to my surprise, they all shook my handas if that night during which we hadn’t exchanged as
much as a single word had somehow brought us closer
together.
I was tired. The caretaker took me to his room and
I was able to clean up a little. I had some more coffee
and milk, which was very good. When I went outside,
the sun was up. Above the hills that separate Marengo
from the sea, the sky was streaked with red. And the
wind coming over the hills brought the smell of salt
with it. It was going to be a beautiful day. It had been
a long time since I’d been out in the country, and I
could feel how much I’d enjoy going for a walk if it
hadn’t been for Maman.
But I waited in the courtyard, under a plane tree. I
breathed in the smell of fresh earth and I wasn’t sleepy
anymore. I thought of the other guys at the office. They’d
be getting up to go to work about this time : for me that
was always the most difficult time of day. I thought about
those things a little more, but I was distracted by the
sound of a bell ringing inside the buildings. There was
some commotion behind the windows, then everything
quieted down again. The sun was now a little higher in
the sky : it was starting to warm my feet. The caretaker
came across the courtyard and told me that the director
was asking for me. I went to his office. He had me sign a number of documents. I noticed that he was dressed
in black with pin-striped trousers. He picked up the
telephone and turned to me. “The undertaker’s men
arrived a few minutes ago. I’m going to ask them to seal
the casket. Before I do, would you like to see your
mother one last time?” I said no. He gave the order into
the telephone, lowering his voice: “Figeac, tell the men
they can go ahead.