Mercier and Camier (12 page)

Fuck life!

Mercier and Camier, as though activated by a single wire, drained their glasses in haste and made a dash for the exit. Once safely there they turned. A stifled roar rose briefly above the hubbub:

Up Quin!

It's raining, said Camier.

I told you so, said Mercier.

Then farewell, said Camier.

You wouldn't walk with me a bit of the way? said Mercier.

What way? said Camier.

I live now beyond the canal, said Mercier.

It's not my way, said Camier.

There's a prospect there would break your heart, said Mercier.

Too late, said Camier.

We'll have a last one, said Mercier.

I haven't a make, said Camier.

Mercier put his hand in his pocket.

No, said Camier.

I've enough, said Mercier.

No I tell you, said Camier.

Like arctic flowers, said Mercier. In half an hour they'll be gone.

Canals mean nothing to me now, said Camier.

They advanced in silence to the end of the street.

Here I go right, said Mercier. He halted.

What ails you now? said Camier.

I halt, said Mercier.

They turned right, Camier on the sidewalk, Mercier in the gutter.

Up who? said Camier.

I heard Quin, said Mercier.

That must be someone who does not exist, said Camier.

The whiskey had helped after all. They made good headway, for their age. Camier missed his stick sorely.

I miss my stick, said Camier, it was my father's.

I never heard you speak of it, said Mercier.

Looking back on it, said Camier, we heard ourselves speaking of everything but ourselves.

We didn't bring it off, said Mercier, I grant you that. He took thought a moment, then uttered this fragment, Perhaps we might—.

What a deathtrap, said Camier, wasn't it here we lost the sack?

Not far from here, said Mercier.

Between the high ancient houses the pale strip of sky seemed even narrower than the street. It should on the contrary have seemed wider. Night plays these little tricks.

All … more or less nowadays? said Mercier.

Pardon? said Camier.

I ask if all is, you know, more or less, with you, nowadays.

No, said Camier.

A few minutes later tears welled up into his eyes. Old men weep quite readily, contrary to what one might have expected.

And you? said Camier.

Nor, said Mercier.

The houses grew fewer, the street broader, the sky more ample, they could see each other again, they had only to turn their heads, one to the left, the other to the right, only to raise their heads and turn them. Then suddenly all fell open before them, as if space had gaped and earth vanished in the shadow it casts skywards. But these are diversions do not last and they were not slow to be struck by their situation, that of two old men, one tall, one short, on a bridge. It itself was charming, connoisseurs were heard to say, a charming, charming bridge. Why not? Its name in any case was Lock Bridge, and rightly so, one had only to lean over the parapet to be satisfied on that score.

Here we are, said Mercier.

Here? said Camier.

The end went like magic, said Mercier.

And your prospect? said Camier.

Are you eyeless? said Mercier.

Camier scanned the various horizons, destrorsum, as always.

Don't rush me, he said, I'll try again.

You see it better from the bank, said Mercier.

Then why arse around up here? said Camier. Have you some sighs on your chest?

They went down on the bank. A bench with backrest was there to receive them. They sat.

So that's it, said Camier.

The rain fell silently on the canal, to Mercier's no little chagrin. But high above the horizon the clouds were fraying out in long black strands, fine as weepers' tresses. Nature at her most thoughtful.

I see our sister-convict Venus, said Camier, foundering in the skywrack. I hope it's not for that you dragged me here.

Further, further, said Mercier.

Camier screened his eyes with his hand.

Further north, said Mercier. North, I said, not south.

Wait, said Camier.

A little more, a little less.

Is that your flowers? said Camier.

Did you see? said Mercier.

I saw a few pale gleams, said Camier.

You need to have the knack, said Mercier.

I'd do better with my knuckle in my eye, said Camier.

The ancients' Blessed Isles, said Mercier.

They weren't hard to please, said Camier.

You wait, said Mercier, you only barely saw, but you'll never forget, you'll be back.

What is that grim pile? said Camier.

A hospital, said Mercier. Diseases of the skin.

The very thing for me, said Camier.

And mucous membrane, said Mercier. He cocked an ear. Not all that howling this evening.

It must be too early, said Camier.

Camier rose and went to the water.

Careful! said Mercier.

Camier returned to the bench.

Do you remember the parrot? said Mercier.

I remember the goat, said Camier.

I have the feeling he's dead, said Mercier.

We did not meet many animals, said Camier.

I have the feeling he was already dead the day she told us she had put him out in the country.

Waste no grief on him, said Camier.

He went a second time to the water, pored over it a little, then returned to the bench.

Well, he said, I must go. Farewell, Mercier.

Sleep sound, said Mercier.

Alone he watched the sky go out, dark deepen to its full. He kept his eyes on the engulfed horizon, for he knew from experience what last throes it was capable of. And in the dark he could hear better too, he could hear the sounds the long day had kept from him, human murmurs for example, and the rain on the water.

VII

The bog.

The cross.

The ruins.

Mercier and Camier part.

The return.

VIII

The life of afterlife.

Camier alone.

Mercier and Watt.

Mercier, Camier and Watt.

The last policeman.

The last bar.

Mercier and Camier.

Lock Bridge.

The arctic flowers.

Mercier alone.

Dark at its full.