Apparently one day he invited her to visit his barge. Paulette turfed out the few regulars in the bar at the time‚ locked up and posted the key through the letterbox. They headed off together in the direction of the Seine. None of us has ever set eyes on them again.
So the hotel was left to itself‚ Paulette’s room pillaged‚ the bar ransacked. At night the tramps‚ who’d forced their way in through the back door‚ would come down the corridor and invade the bar‚ where they slept all piled on top of each other.
There was another‚ much more serious cave-in. The city authorities got involved: immediate evacuation of the building was ordered. The police had to be called in to evict a whole gaggle of tramps‚ moaning and shouting‚ dragging their brats and bundles away with them. The doors and windows were bricked up.
Meanwhile‚ an architect came‚ assessed the damage and took samples of the building material. We hear that the walls of the house are infected with a real disease: a kind of ‘mushroom’ gets inside them‚ and eats away at them‚ right to heart. The stones crumble like blown plaster. And what’s more‚ the ‘disease’ is apparently contagious‚ and a threat to other buildings.
The whole lot has to be demolished‚ and very soon.
Every morning the Gypsy passes by‚ and stops in front of the house‚ just for a little while.
It was a team of French workers that started the job. From the upper storey they set up a kind of shoot made of planks‚ and shored up the front walls. They began taking down the roof‚ or what was left of it. But all this is thirsty work‚ and every quarter of an hour these lads would go off for a drink‚ at this bar or that: the Vieux-Palais‚ Chez Dumont‚ Chez Bébert. The owners of these different establishments‚ the regulars too‚ didn’t fail to tell the whole story of the Gypsy‚ the sick hairless dog‚ the now leprous and crazed Valentin‚ Paulette’s elopement. A professional demolition worker doesn’t much like stories that prey on his mind.
Work had scarcely begun on the second storey when these six fellows – including the foreman – also began to feel peculiar pricklings in their hands‚ armpits‚ groins.
They all‚ simultaneously‚ found actionable grounds for breaking the contract they had with the public works’ contractor. And the site remained abandoned: no one wanted to take a pickaxe to those jinxed walls.
The spring rains turned the staircases into cascades‚ the ceilings into waterfalls. The house was in danger of collapsing into the street at any moment.
I don’t know how the Germans got to hear about it‚ but it was a team of Poles‚ conscripted from the mines in the North‚ and brought on site by truck‚ with a couple of armed German soldiers on guard‚ who razed it to ground in two days.
The rubble was removed as it came down.
Today it’s all tidied up‚ the ground properly levelled. The Gypsy comes by every morning at about eleven o’clock‚ loaded with bags. Deliberately‚ he settles himself on a crate in the middle of the plot‚ and sorts out the ‘goods’ he’s collected‚ to be passed on to the master ragmen: scraps of wool‚ rags of other textiles‚ paper‚ metal‚ old bones‚ refuse of all sorts.
At last the smile that Blackbeard has is the one for happy days. He’s on conquered soil.
Chapter IV
The Ancients understood the omnipotence of the underside of things.
Pasteur
Followed step by step‚ relived hour by hour‚ the story of the house that no longer exists would not by itself give a total picture of that period. Since my escape I’d been unable to shake off an immense fatigue that from time to time suddenly and at totally unexpected interludes completely knackered me‚ so overwhelmed me I was afraid of collapsing on the spot.
I consulted Cyril.
‘Sleep‚’ he prescribed. ‘No other solution. Whenever you feel the urge‚ go and lie down‚ somewhere nice and
So the hotel was left to itself‚ Paulette’s room pillaged‚ the bar ransacked. At night the tramps‚ who’d forced their way in through the back door‚ would come down the corridor and invade the bar‚ where they slept all piled on top of each other.
There was another‚ much more serious cave-in. The city authorities got involved: immediate evacuation of the building was ordered. The police had to be called in to evict a whole gaggle of tramps‚ moaning and shouting‚ dragging their brats and bundles away with them. The doors and windows were bricked up.
Meanwhile‚ an architect came‚ assessed the damage and took samples of the building material. We hear that the walls of the house are infected with a real disease: a kind of ‘mushroom’ gets inside them‚ and eats away at them‚ right to heart. The stones crumble like blown plaster. And what’s more‚ the ‘disease’ is apparently contagious‚ and a threat to other buildings.
The whole lot has to be demolished‚ and very soon.
Every morning the Gypsy passes by‚ and stops in front of the house‚ just for a little while.
It was a team of French workers that started the job. From the upper storey they set up a kind of shoot made of planks‚ and shored up the front walls. They began taking down the roof‚ or what was left of it. But all this is thirsty work‚ and every quarter of an hour these lads would go off for a drink‚ at this bar or that: the Vieux-Palais‚ Chez Dumont‚ Chez Bébert. The owners of these different establishments‚ the regulars too‚ didn’t fail to tell the whole story of the Gypsy‚ the sick hairless dog‚ the now leprous and crazed Valentin‚ Paulette’s elopement. A professional demolition worker doesn’t much like stories that prey on his mind.
Work had scarcely begun on the second storey when these six fellows – including the foreman – also began to feel peculiar pricklings in their hands‚ armpits‚ groins.
They all‚ simultaneously‚ found actionable grounds for breaking the contract they had with the public works’ contractor. And the site remained abandoned: no one wanted to take a pickaxe to those jinxed walls.
The spring rains turned the staircases into cascades‚ the ceilings into waterfalls. The house was in danger of collapsing into the street at any moment.
I don’t know how the Germans got to hear about it‚ but it was a team of Poles‚ conscripted from the mines in the North‚ and brought on site by truck‚ with a couple of armed German soldiers on guard‚ who razed it to ground in two days.
The rubble was removed as it came down.
Today it’s all tidied up‚ the ground properly levelled. The Gypsy comes by every morning at about eleven o’clock‚ loaded with bags. Deliberately‚ he settles himself on a crate in the middle of the plot‚ and sorts out the ‘goods’ he’s collected‚ to be passed on to the master ragmen: scraps of wool‚ rags of other textiles‚ paper‚ metal‚ old bones‚ refuse of all sorts.
At last the smile that Blackbeard has is the one for happy days. He’s on conquered soil.
Chapter IV
The Ancients understood the omnipotence of the underside of things.
Pasteur
Followed step by step‚ relived hour by hour‚ the story of the house that no longer exists would not by itself give a total picture of that period. Since my escape I’d been unable to shake off an immense fatigue that from time to time suddenly and at totally unexpected interludes completely knackered me‚ so overwhelmed me I was afraid of collapsing on the spot.
I consulted Cyril.
‘Sleep‚’ he prescribed. ‘No other solution. Whenever you feel the urge‚ go and lie down‚ somewhere nice and
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