one.”
“I hope we won’t have to wait as long as that,” says Théo.
Mme. Pigeonnier laughs. Then Catherine starts talking to her about dresses and all that. Théo, while this is going on, devours everything within reach of his fork. When they finish their supper, Catherine clears the table; it’s getting late.
“Ah, I’ll leave you,” says she.
“Good night, Catherine,” sighs Mme. Pigeonnier.
Théo says nothing. They hear Catherine going downstairs, and then coming up again to her room.
“I’m going to bed,” says Theo, yawning.
—oooooo—oooooo—
His mother had put on a false beard to serve the boiled eggs; this unpleasant vision was followed by an access of very profound, but very short-lived, anxiety; the next moment Etienne opened his eyes. The night was barely over. He felt that Alberte, at his side, was awake; he himself hadn’t slept more than two hours.
How could he find Le Grand? There was no reason why he should meet him again, no chance. Was it entirely his fault? He had been asking for some actual revelation, some light to be thrown on the environment in which he had lived an hour a day for the last three years, and Le Grand had given him a prophecy. Yes a prophecy. Wasn’t there something phony about his pointing out Narcense like that? You’ll know him, soon. That brown scar. And after all, Narcense, what a curious name! Is it a last name or a first name? He’s a musician. He loves his wife. He’s written to her. He loves his wife. He loves Alberte. He loves her. So Alberte exists for other men. The folly of wanting to hang Théo; a joke, that threat, a joke in bad taste; a joke, that absurd story about the dog Théo had told them; yes, Narcense’s uncle hanged Théo, no, the dog. He hanged his dog because he fell onto the coffin, onto Narcense’s coffin, his grandmother’s, and Théo has disappeared, has run away. Alberte is in despair. Narcense loves her, other men see her, follow her, yes, in the metro, touch her, often. That happens to me, I don’t do it on purpose, my hand just happens to be touching a woman’s body; when I was carrying the gadgets, for instance, uh-oh, I must have left the hard-boiled-egg-cutter on the table; why did I buy it? I didn’t tell Le Grand about it perhaps he could tell me why I’ve changed a lot in the last few weeks I’m aware of it now yes the world isn’t what it appears to be, at least when you live the same thing every day when you don’t see anything any more and yet there are people who live in the same way every day but I—I really didn’t exist, it all began with the little ducks before I didn’t think I didn’t exist you might say at least I don’t remember any more other people were living near me things were there there or somewhere else and I didn’t see anything and yet I must still look the same and other people if they’re like I was before perhaps other people don’t think they don’t exist they go from one place to another like I used to go from one place to another but it doesn’t mean a thing you might say even so it would be odd perhaps it’s the other way around and I was the one who was the exception I was the only one who didn’t exist and when I looked at the world I started to exist perhaps all this is in the philosophy books perhaps they explain it what sort of book would tell me Le Grand’s the one who’d know he is alive he’s always existed he sees everything he knows what you have to do to think I didn’t read when I was little I must have existed for instance when I was five I cried when the cat died so I did exist then and my cat that they killed it was the day of the little ducks everything happened on the same day it’s all confused yes what activity all of a sudden all these things happening there’s something else today as well Narcense hangs himself and gets cut down fundamentally that’s all part of everyday life whereas the hard-boiled-egg-cutter no that’s the difference one
“I hope we won’t have to wait as long as that,” says Théo.
Mme. Pigeonnier laughs. Then Catherine starts talking to her about dresses and all that. Théo, while this is going on, devours everything within reach of his fork. When they finish their supper, Catherine clears the table; it’s getting late.
“Ah, I’ll leave you,” says she.
“Good night, Catherine,” sighs Mme. Pigeonnier.
Théo says nothing. They hear Catherine going downstairs, and then coming up again to her room.
“I’m going to bed,” says Theo, yawning.
—oooooo—oooooo—
His mother had put on a false beard to serve the boiled eggs; this unpleasant vision was followed by an access of very profound, but very short-lived, anxiety; the next moment Etienne opened his eyes. The night was barely over. He felt that Alberte, at his side, was awake; he himself hadn’t slept more than two hours.
How could he find Le Grand? There was no reason why he should meet him again, no chance. Was it entirely his fault? He had been asking for some actual revelation, some light to be thrown on the environment in which he had lived an hour a day for the last three years, and Le Grand had given him a prophecy. Yes a prophecy. Wasn’t there something phony about his pointing out Narcense like that? You’ll know him, soon. That brown scar. And after all, Narcense, what a curious name! Is it a last name or a first name? He’s a musician. He loves his wife. He’s written to her. He loves his wife. He loves Alberte. He loves her. So Alberte exists for other men. The folly of wanting to hang Théo; a joke, that threat, a joke in bad taste; a joke, that absurd story about the dog Théo had told them; yes, Narcense’s uncle hanged Théo, no, the dog. He hanged his dog because he fell onto the coffin, onto Narcense’s coffin, his grandmother’s, and Théo has disappeared, has run away. Alberte is in despair. Narcense loves her, other men see her, follow her, yes, in the metro, touch her, often. That happens to me, I don’t do it on purpose, my hand just happens to be touching a woman’s body; when I was carrying the gadgets, for instance, uh-oh, I must have left the hard-boiled-egg-cutter on the table; why did I buy it? I didn’t tell Le Grand about it perhaps he could tell me why I’ve changed a lot in the last few weeks I’m aware of it now yes the world isn’t what it appears to be, at least when you live the same thing every day when you don’t see anything any more and yet there are people who live in the same way every day but I—I really didn’t exist, it all began with the little ducks before I didn’t think I didn’t exist you might say at least I don’t remember any more other people were living near me things were there there or somewhere else and I didn’t see anything and yet I must still look the same and other people if they’re like I was before perhaps other people don’t think they don’t exist they go from one place to another like I used to go from one place to another but it doesn’t mean a thing you might say even so it would be odd perhaps it’s the other way around and I was the one who was the exception I was the only one who didn’t exist and when I looked at the world I started to exist perhaps all this is in the philosophy books perhaps they explain it what sort of book would tell me Le Grand’s the one who’d know he is alive he’s always existed he sees everything he knows what you have to do to think I didn’t read when I was little I must have existed for instance when I was five I cried when the cat died so I did exist then and my cat that they killed it was the day of the little ducks everything happened on the same day it’s all confused yes what activity all of a sudden all these things happening there’s something else today as well Narcense hangs himself and gets cut down fundamentally that’s all part of everyday life whereas the hard-boiled-egg-cutter no that’s the difference one
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