had taken her arm. They walked into a hotel, just a little down the street.
The waiter came back to my table.
'You'll have to make up your mind, monsieur … my shift is ending …'
I looked at my watch. Eight fifteen. I wanted to stay where I was rather than wander around outside in the cold, and I ordered the special. Rush hour was over. They'd all taken their trains to the suburbs.
Down below, on the Rue d'Amsterdam, there was a crowd behind the windows of the last café before the Place de Budapest. The light there was yellower and murkier than in the Café Dante. I used to wonder why all these people came and lost themselves in the area around the Gare Saint Lazare, until I learned that this was one of the lowest areas of Paris. They slid here down a gentle slope. The couple who had been here a moment ago didn't fight the slope. They had let the time of their train go by, to end up in a room with black curtains like the Hôtel de Lima, but with dirtier wallpaper and sheets rumpled by the people who had been there before them. Lying on the bed, she wouldn't even take off her fur coat.
I finished eating. I put the suitcase on the seat next to me. I picked up my knife and tried to fit the end of it into the lock, but the hole was too small. The lock was attached to the suitcase by bolts, which I could have pulled out if l'd had some pliers. Why bother? I would wait until I was with Jacqueline in the room on the Quai de la Tournelle.
I could also leave town on my own and lose contact with her and Van Bever forever. My only good memories up to now were memories of escape.
I thought of cutting a sheet of paper into little squares. On each of the squares, I would write a name and a place:
Jacqueline
Van Bever
Cartaud
Dr. Robbes
160 Boulevard Haussmann, third floor
Hôtel de la Tournelle, 65 Quai de la Tournelle
Hôtel de Lima, + 6 Boulevard Saint-Germain
Le Cujas, 22 Rue Cujas
Café Dante
Forges-les-Eaux, Dieppe, Bagnolles-de-l'Orne, Enghien,
Luc-sur-Mer, Langrune
Le Havre
Athis-Mons
I would shuffle the papers like a deck of cards and lay them out on the table. So this was my life? So my whole existence at this moment came down to about twenty unconnected names and addresses that had nothing in common but me: And why these rather than others? What did I have to do with these names and places? I was in one of those dreams where you know you can wake up at any time, whenever things turn threatening. If I liked, I could walk away from this table and it would all come undone; everything would disappear into emptiness. There would be nothing left but a tinplate suitcase and a few scraps of paper on which someone had scrawled names and places that no longer meant anything to anyone.
I crossed the Salle des Pas Perdus again, almost deserted now, and walked toward the platforms. I looked at the big board overhead to find the destination of the 10:15 train the couple that had been sitting next to me would take: LE HAVRE . I began to think that none of these trains went anywhere at all, and that we were condemned to wander from the buffet to the Salle des Pas Perdus and from there to the commercial gallery and the surrounding streets. One more hour to kill. I stopped by a telephone booth near the suburban lines. Should I go back to 160 Boulevard Haussmann and leave the suitcase where I'd found it? That way everything would be restored to normal and I would have nothing on my conscience. I looked at the phone book in the booth, because I had forgotten Dr. Robbes's number. It rang again and again. There was no one in the apartment. Should I call this Dr. Robbes in Behoust and make a full confession? And where might Jacqueline and Cartaud be right now? I hung up. I decided to keep the suitcase and bring it back to Jacqueline, since that was the only way to stay in contact with her.
I leafed through the phone book. The streets of Paris passed by before my eyes, along with the addresses of buildings and the names of
The waiter came back to my table.
'You'll have to make up your mind, monsieur … my shift is ending …'
I looked at my watch. Eight fifteen. I wanted to stay where I was rather than wander around outside in the cold, and I ordered the special. Rush hour was over. They'd all taken their trains to the suburbs.
Down below, on the Rue d'Amsterdam, there was a crowd behind the windows of the last café before the Place de Budapest. The light there was yellower and murkier than in the Café Dante. I used to wonder why all these people came and lost themselves in the area around the Gare Saint Lazare, until I learned that this was one of the lowest areas of Paris. They slid here down a gentle slope. The couple who had been here a moment ago didn't fight the slope. They had let the time of their train go by, to end up in a room with black curtains like the Hôtel de Lima, but with dirtier wallpaper and sheets rumpled by the people who had been there before them. Lying on the bed, she wouldn't even take off her fur coat.
I finished eating. I put the suitcase on the seat next to me. I picked up my knife and tried to fit the end of it into the lock, but the hole was too small. The lock was attached to the suitcase by bolts, which I could have pulled out if l'd had some pliers. Why bother? I would wait until I was with Jacqueline in the room on the Quai de la Tournelle.
I could also leave town on my own and lose contact with her and Van Bever forever. My only good memories up to now were memories of escape.
I thought of cutting a sheet of paper into little squares. On each of the squares, I would write a name and a place:
Jacqueline
Van Bever
Cartaud
Dr. Robbes
160 Boulevard Haussmann, third floor
Hôtel de la Tournelle, 65 Quai de la Tournelle
Hôtel de Lima, + 6 Boulevard Saint-Germain
Le Cujas, 22 Rue Cujas
Café Dante
Forges-les-Eaux, Dieppe, Bagnolles-de-l'Orne, Enghien,
Luc-sur-Mer, Langrune
Le Havre
Athis-Mons
I would shuffle the papers like a deck of cards and lay them out on the table. So this was my life? So my whole existence at this moment came down to about twenty unconnected names and addresses that had nothing in common but me: And why these rather than others? What did I have to do with these names and places? I was in one of those dreams where you know you can wake up at any time, whenever things turn threatening. If I liked, I could walk away from this table and it would all come undone; everything would disappear into emptiness. There would be nothing left but a tinplate suitcase and a few scraps of paper on which someone had scrawled names and places that no longer meant anything to anyone.
I crossed the Salle des Pas Perdus again, almost deserted now, and walked toward the platforms. I looked at the big board overhead to find the destination of the 10:15 train the couple that had been sitting next to me would take: LE HAVRE . I began to think that none of these trains went anywhere at all, and that we were condemned to wander from the buffet to the Salle des Pas Perdus and from there to the commercial gallery and the surrounding streets. One more hour to kill. I stopped by a telephone booth near the suburban lines. Should I go back to 160 Boulevard Haussmann and leave the suitcase where I'd found it? That way everything would be restored to normal and I would have nothing on my conscience. I looked at the phone book in the booth, because I had forgotten Dr. Robbes's number. It rang again and again. There was no one in the apartment. Should I call this Dr. Robbes in Behoust and make a full confession? And where might Jacqueline and Cartaud be right now? I hung up. I decided to keep the suitcase and bring it back to Jacqueline, since that was the only way to stay in contact with her.
I leafed through the phone book. The streets of Paris passed by before my eyes, along with the addresses of buildings and the names of
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