Monsieur Monde Vanishes by Georges Simenon Page B

If you have any sort of tisane …”
    â€œCome this way.”
    It was night. The whole hotel was asleep. Somewhere in the darkened city could be heard the heavy rumble of a passing cart, and from time to time the carter cracked his whip to waken the drowsy horse.
    â€œDid you know them?” asked the clerk, who had promptly realized that the people in Room 28 were involved.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWait a sec.… I’m looking for matches.…”
    There was a percolator in a dingy, crowded closet that served as pantry, but the clerk lit a tiny gas ring, with that calm, rather mournful air common to those who live by night, always alone, while others are asleep.
    â€œI was surprised to see him go.… He’s been ill for the last few days.… She used to spend all day up in the bedroom with him.… She took his meals up herself.…”
    Monsieur Monde found himself asking, to his own surprise: “Is he young?”
    â€œTwenty-two, maybe … I’d have to look at his form.… This evening they went out one after the other, and she went first.… When they came in again an hour later, I could see there was going to be some nasty …” He ended with a coarse word.
    â€œHe’s ditched her, hasn’t he?”
    The water was simmering already. The man looked through his tins, and eventually found some lime flowers for a tisane.
    â€œIf you’d like I’ll take it up to her.”
    â€œI’ll do it myself.…”
    â€œSome sugar?”
    â€œPerhaps … yes … Thank you.”
    â€œNothing very high-class there, you know …”
    He meant the girl, obviously. Why did he say that? Did he suspect Monsieur Monde of some ulterior motive?
    â€œIf you need anything else, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m here until six in the morning.”
    And he went back to lean on his elbows on the mahogany counter, pulled out an open book from under it, and started reading again.
    When Monsieur Monde returned to the bedroom with a teapot in his hand, the woman had fallen asleep, or was pretending to sleep. He felt embarrassed, because her dress was hitched up very high, showing part of her thigh above her stocking. He felt no desire, he had no secret thoughts.
    â€œMademoiselle …”
    She barely raised her listless lids.
    â€œYou’ve got to drink this.… I’d even advise you, if you feel up to it, to bring some of it up again, for safety’s sake, so as to clear out your stomach.…”
    It worried him to see the misty, faraway look in her eyes. She did not stir. He raised her body and held the cup to her lips.
    â€œDrink …”
    â€œIt’s hot.…”
    The syllables were blurred and indistinct, as if her tongue were too thick.
    â€œDrink it anyway.…”
    He forced her to, made her vomit once more, but this time she shook with painful hiccups for a long time and seemed to bear him a grudge for this additional suffering.
    â€œWe’ll feel safer now.…”
    Probably because she was choking, she passed one hand over her shoulder, slipped it under her dress, unfastened her brassière, and, in a gesture that was unfamiliar to him and that shocked him, managed to pull it off and throw it onto the floor.
    â€œLie down.… If you want to undress I’ll go out for a moment.”
    She did not give him the chance, but with an air of complete indifference pulled her dress over her head, peeling it off her body like some superfluous skin. He had turned his face to the wall, but he caught sight of her nonetheless in the wardrobe mirror. Under her dress she wore nothing but narrow pink briefs and an even narrower garter belt. When she bent forward to remove her stockings, her little pointed breasts seemed to hang in space.
    Next she removed the briefs; the elastic band had left a reddish mark on her skin. When she stood there naked (only a faint shadow darkened her belly