The Endless Week, page 13
The old man squinted his eyes until they became as small as sesame seeds, then he fell silent. Jonathan said: You were a singer?
Not at all, my good fellow, I invented rap.
Oh, you were a musician?
The old man smiled strangely, he said: No, not at all, my good fellow. When I say I invented rap, I mean that I invented rap. I don’t like innuendo or subtlety. When I say something, that’s the thing I’m saying, I invented rap. The old man was quiet for a moment. He seemed to be collecting his memories in his mind. Finally, he said: I was a building manager. One night, in the basement, I came upon some rats, a whole group of rats, a community, very beautiful, very elegant, and very organized. Of course, being an aesthete, I was seized by a passion for their athleticism, their souls, their bodies, what bodies, those bodies, did you know that a rat stores its memories in its feet?
Salim put down his phone.
Everything they touch turns into a memory in their feet. It’s like they’re reading a map. When rats rub their paws together, they’re reading their memories. Does that interest you, my disabled friend? I knew it, you love life, I could tell. Their body is their brain, each part of their body is a part of their brain, you weren’t aware of this I suppose, nobody is aware of this. Their teeth never stop growing. They can weigh as much as twenty-two kilograms. They keep their heads very clean, they wash them eight times an hour, because they’re cleaners, cleaners by nature. In a city like Paris, rats devour 800 tons of garbage every day. Unfortunately, those who clean are perceived to be dirty, it’s dreadful. That’s what humanity is, ignorance. Accusing rats of uncleanliness is like accusing florists of growing in the ground, it’s idiotic, people confuse everything, anyway . . . three out of four insects in the world have disappeared, did you know? Anyway, back to the rats, they’re a beautiful species, very pure, very friendly, we became close, the rats and I, very close. And I was overjoyed, I was honored, they stuck their tongues out at me, that’s a sign of tenderness, friendship, affection, sympathy, feeling. And the old man stuck his tongue out. It was delicate, shiny, and pink. A rat tongue. Jonathan wanted to take a photo. Too late.
The old man said: Oh, yes, my friends, what a joy it was. What a joy in my life. I spent my time with my rats and when they saw me, they wiggled their wieners. That’s the lower part of their bodies, it’s called a wiener, or a ween, depending on the size. They wiggled them with joy. I gave them everything, a bit of everything, crumbs, plants, wine, jewelry, peels. In the evening, I put my armchair in the basement, and it was . . . It was . . . It was . . . He closed his eyes and a thin string of drool trickled onto his jacket, he muttered the sound: Mmmmm. And he remained for several seconds in this strange state, then he said: Magnificent . . . But one night, the rats kneeled before me, they prayed to me, do you understand? A long prayer, an exceptional rat prayer, in the language of rats. They were asking me for something, but what? I didn’t understand. I pondered, I thought, then I figured it out. The old man looked at Sara, he said: Don’t you want to know what they wanted?
Who?
The rats.
Sara didn’t say anything.
Salim asked: What did they want?
Rap.
Jonathan took a photo.
The old man said: So I rapped. Rap came out of my mouth. At first, I rapped simple words, because spoken language was new to these gray creatures. I said: Wind, I said: Sky, mountain, branch, gums, I said: Coat, salad, flame, I said: Fireplace, breast, sleep, baby, mouth, hug, grain, house, roof, call, bother, shut, caress, bury, scratch, bite, death, birth, worry, gnaw, treat, live, pregnant, thin, abandoned, born, dead. I listed out all the colors, I listed objects in a kitchen, I listed countries, plants, furniture, basic words, I rapped them, they loved it: Kitchen, road, globe, cup, page, nice, cloth, pencil, etc. I pulled out all the stops. First names, seas, planets, winds, cars, one word called up another, illnesses, continents, drugs, lakes, religions, they loved it, they wiggled their weens until the doors rattled. They loved my lyrics, they loved language, they loved rhythm, have you ever seen rats applaud?
No.
Oh no, my disabled friend? I hope you can see it one day. They jump, they whirl around. The more I rapped, the more they jumped. Joy surfed on their fur. Imagine a sea of rats, 10,000 rats that rise and fall to the rhythm of the lyrics, my lyrics, your lyrics, our human lyrics. A horde of rats. They reveled. I saw the ground cry with love, a crowd of rats rising and falling like a bellows, like a bellows, like a . . . He closed his eyes, and he started to drool. He muttered the sound: Mmmmm. He remained for a few seconds in this strange state. Then he said: Amazing . . . Of course, I did my best, I widened the span of my arpeggios. I became meticulous, like a manicurist painting the nails of a baby. No, the nails of an embryo, that’s it, like a manicurist painting the nails of an embryo. During the day, I trained, and, at night, I rapped. To be totally honest, it became my life, the center of my rhythm. I had a splendid and enjoyable goal. Listen to that word carefully: enjoyable. An enjoyable life. The rats waited for me every night the way people wait for Christ, the way people wait for Michael Jackson at a Michael Jackson concert. When I arrived, they cheered for me. Tears circled around their eye sockets. I gave all I had, I invented tales, I told life stories, the lives of people, I rapped them, the lives of people from my childhood, the life of the priest, the life of my stepbrother who was crushed by a tractor, the life of my virgin aunt, the life of my stammering uncle. Sometimes, I told the story of future lives with my gift, I told them what will happen next, when everything is destroyed. I told them about the end.
Jonathan wrote: The father of rap, and he posted the photo of the old man on the network. But the old man said: You’re so obnoxious with your machines, with your chins bent toward your hearts, you’re ugly. Honestly, I don’t understand what you’re doing on these steps. Instead of begging, you’d be better off progressing from one point to the next. Select a point and reach it. Then choose another point and so on, like everyone does. Actually, no, that’s false. I retract my sentence. I retract it. You can’t really move, nobody moves. You can’t move because in order to move you have to go from one point to another. Yet, when we’re walking in the street, the street is located on the Earth and the Earth moves. It turns around the sun. The sun moves, it turns inside the galaxy. The galaxy moves, it moves in the universe. That means that if I’m walking, if I’m moving in the street, I’m moving in the universe, but am I really moving? Nothing could be more uncertain.
Salim said: You really think so?
Yes, of course, my good fellow, you’ll note that everything moves in relation to something else, but what do I move in relation to? We walk in a street on Earth, the Earth turns around the sun, the sun moves in the galaxy, the galaxy moves in the universe, but the universe has no end. Imagine if the universe were completely empty. Just imagine. Imagine a person in the emptiness of the universe. They’re floating. Now, give this person a rock. The person throws the rock. Because there’s no air, because there are no obstacles, the rock goes straight, it moves farther away. Now, remove the person from the scene. That just leaves the rock. Is the rock moving? Who is the rock moving away from? If the person is gone, who is the rock moving away from in the universe? It’s moving away from nothing. Because the universe has no end, since it has no bounds, it’s approaching nothing. When you’re moving away from nothing and moving toward nothing, you aren’t moving. We might be alone in the universe. We think we’re moving, but we’re not moving. What is the universe moving in relation to? Maybe the universe isn’t moving. Maybe we aren’t in the process of moving. We are like this rock, but we’re a pretentious rock. All right. The old man grabbed the straps of his own overalls and he pulled, he was relying on his own strength, all the strength he had. He said: I’m trying to get up, can’t you tell? Maybe you can’t tell. You’re not seeing this right now? Good grief, help me, I’m old. Maybe you can’t tell. Good grief, the sun is roasting your brains, the sun will end up roasting all of our brains!
Jonathan got up and he gave his hands to the old man who put his head against his neck. He sniffed him with his eyes still closed, he said: You smell like a dog, poor boy, you make me sad. You’re breaking my heart, all three of you. Wait, I’ve changed my mind, I’m changing my mind, I’m staying. Put me down. Your smell calmed me.
Jonathan put the man down and said: I think I’m going to vomit.
The old man replied: I knew it, you’re thirsty, don’t forget, I sense things.
He pulled a bottle out of his jacket, it was blue and cylindrical. He placed it in front of his face, and the bottle distorted him. The old man’s eyes tripled. He spoke through the bottle. He said: The word thirst represents the three stages of thirst. In the word thirst, first there’s the th, it’s sneaky because it sounds soft and pillowy. That’s the first stage. Then the word suddenly lengthens, it takes up space in the body with the ir, it stretches throughout the body, it touches every area, it’s a long, slow stage. In the end, the word thirst kills, that’s the third stage. The st hisses like a snake, it sands your body, you’re done. Drink now, my good fellow.
The old man held the bottle out to Jonathan. His veins were beating under his face, something opened behind his eyes, he drank and drank.
The old man said: That’s enough, you’re going to blow a gasket. Poor thing, oh, poor child, poor soul, did you know you look like a rat? I imagine you know already, I imagine people have often told you, you look like a rat or a frog, can I call you frog? Frog. Batrachian. I’m going to call you The Batrachian. It’s in your facial features, you can tell the frog is one of our ancestors.
And the old man tenderly ran his hand through Jonathan’s hair, and Jonathan pushed him away. The man’s face changed, he jumped up, he started yelling: You broke my hand! You broke my hand!
I just moved your arm off me.
And then, you little shit stirrer? And then? You broke my hand. I’m fragile, haven’t you noticed? Do I not look fragile? Don’t I look fragile? The old man called out to passersby, he yelled: Look at me, do I not look fragile? Ladies and gentlemen, do you find me fragile? The answer is yes, your answer would be yes. You think I’m fragile. Everyone thinks I’m fragile because I’m fragile. I’m fragile and I’m old from my head to my phalanges. And you, The Batrachian, I’m giving you an F, an F out of pure kindness, an F, and I hope a terrible misfortune befalls you, oh yes, a terrible misfortune, you piece of shit, a misfortune longer than the distance separating us from the farthest planet in the biggest universe of misfortunes. I hope you choke on a wooden stake you little spitwad, you decapitated my hand. You know what I wish for a lazy pissant like you? I hope you’re imprisoned, banished, dragged, roasted, burned, dismembered, silenced, oh, you’re a worthless hole, oh yes, from the beginning, I knew it, you piece of gangrene, you wad of cum, I saw you, you ball of pus, you pile of manure, I knew it, you give people the runs. I had you pegged the moment I laid eyes on you. I always knew there was something criminal in your face, you lazy pissant, such a sad, sick boy, you and your disabled friends. You’re a gang of moldy sperm. Moldy sperm. Useless sperm, that’s what you are.
Jonathan looked at the sky, and his hands moved. He was whistling the hit song by his mother’s singer. He trembled while he whistled and his ears buzzed. Something horrible came over him. He said: Stop. Stop it right now. That’s not what happened, that’s not what happened, this can’t be real, this can’t be real, I just moved your arm.
Oh really? Oh really, you little shit stirrer? That’s not what happened? That’s not what happened according to you? Oh, but that is what happened, oh yes. You ball of sperm. Oh no, it’s real. It’s busted, it’s really busted, look, look at my five fingers. Five fingers. Do you see them? One, two, three, four, five, and me, being a good man, the good man that I am, I gave you something to drink, I gave you my water. Water. My water. Nothing better than that. Nothing better under the sun. Without water, life doesn’t exist. Who doesn’t know that? Who doesn’t know that these days? He shouted to passersby: Is there anything more precious than water, ladies and gentlemen? Did you know that water is necessary for life? That’s a yes. You knew that. Because everybody knows that. Everybody. Even idiots, even children, even animals, even plants, everybody. The greatest gift you can give someone is water. Water. Just one drop and life takes shape. And I gave you my water, mine. Yes, I gave it to you like a saint tearing off a piece of his garment for a leper. Does that sound familiar to you? My pocket water, my special water, and you, oh, you, yes, you, you’re giving me cataracts. You gave me a broken arm. You’re the source of scabies, chronic illnesses and harelips, scrofula, trichinosis, you busted my hand, my only hand, you fucked up my only hand. I don’t give a shit about my other hand, I told you. My other arm, the one you broke a little while ago, I don’t give a fuck about it, it’s like it doesn’t exist. I always ignored it, it’s a vulgar heap of mucus.
Sara said the word: Disgusting. She said: You’re disgusting.
What did you just say you little snot? Mucus, secretion, reject, loser, feces, piece of crap, are you defending him? You’re defending your friend, is that it? Is he your friend? So you’re capable of friendship? You little fuckwad. You’re defending your brother’s friend? You’re defending that breaker of old men? The killer of old men, you’re defending him? Little piece of crap. Little sludge, little muck. You should know that nothing is disgusting in this despicable world, because purity is born of putrefaction, remember that. Write it on your arm, as your brother would say, because I know your brother and I know his videos. I’m divine, I know everything.
And the man turned toward Jonathan, he said: You cracked my hand and now what do I have left? Poverty, the sky. Yes, the sky. Just a poor man, a poor old fart, look at me, no water, no hand, just the sky. He wagged his fingers in front of his face.
Sara said: You don’t have anything at all.
Oh, you, do you want to see my peninsula?
No.
Then shut up.
The old man’s eyes went from left to right, they jumped more and more quickly, more and more crazily. He said: Do you want to see my peninsula? Do you want to see my cave?
No!
Do you find me attractive? Do you want to see my peninsula? His voice became smarmy, he said: Do you want to see my alveolus? Do you want to see my cave? You want to see my pyramids, is that it?
Sara said: I don’t want to see anything, leave us alone.
Very well. Very well, if that’s how it is, very well. That’s enough for me, this is too much. He rolled up his sleeve, and he said: Look! Look at this!
A wide, green, bulging boil that was about to explode covered his arm. The scab was soft, transparent. Something bubbled up inside, they saw it. Sara jumped back. The man pulled out a long needle from his jacket. He aimed, he lanced it, he said: I’m emptying it out, I empty it out every day, now’s the time, oh, it’s the best time of day, my liquid.
The thing dripped onto the man’s clothing and he laughed. He didn’t have many teeth. He said: I press it. I massage it. I jiggle it. Oh yes. I attack it. I ruin it. As if I were making love with God, yes. Sometimes, a hornet stings it for me, but it dies from the poison. The hornet. The hornet. And he started to drool. He closed his eyes and he muttered: Mmmmm. He remained in that bizarre state for a few seconds, then he opened his eyes. He said: You see, ugliness doesn’t exclude grace. And he tore off the huge piece of skin the way you whip away a sheet during a magic trick. Then he threw the horrible thing into the middle of the square.
Jonathan felt the weight of his own face. He grabbed four pills from his damp socks and he swallowed them. The old man laughed. He laughed, he was crazy, sick, everything seemed sick, really, the square, the stairs, the city, the whole Earth. The old man said: I’m getting bored. I’m getting bored now. Look at me, I’m getting bored. I’m bored, I’m sweating from it. I’m sweating from boredom. Look at me.
Sara didn’t respond, Salim didn’t respond, and neither did Jonathan. The man pointed his old index finger like a piece of wood at the passersby, he said: Look at these people. It’s like they don’t live in their own clothing. They’re absent, look at them. Sometimes, I feel like people are little walking suns and other times I feel like they’re nothing. Don’t you? He turned to the passersby: You’re nothing! You hear me? You’re nothing. Look at their bodies, they’re woundable. Look closely. They’re easily woundable. A piece of iron in the abdomen and they cease to exist. A simple piece of scrap metal. Oh, it breaks my heart. I can’t. Go now. Leave, this is too much. I can’t stand you anymore. You’re bothering me. Go.
Sara said: We were here first.
Oh yes, that’s true, you’re right. In that case, my old, revolting body will take a walk, you’ll see. My infernal machine will graze the earth. Then he looked at Salim and he said: Your mother is a thin woman. She wears black. She’s hard, and her face has lost its color. She hides behind her hair, which gets greasy overnight. You’ll find her always bent, turned toward a world that doesn’t exist. The batrachian who accompanies you will be of no assistance, but you must help him. Your sister will dive into a dark thing. She will see more clearly there. That’s it for me, farewell, my good fellows. He leaned on his cane and he got up. He found his balance, he took one step, but then he immediately turned around and waved his cane in the air. He yelled: Goodbye, my children! Goodbye, my good fellows! Then he walked, he walked, he disappeared into the city, but his shadow remained. It widened. It continued on. It crossed the square.
