Free The Tenant by Roland Topor Page B

former tenant. At first, he had hesitated about opening it, but his curiosity had gradually overcome this initial repugnance; he had told himself that he really should see if it was anything important, and from then on he had opened everything. His own letter was of no importance—a mimeographed advertisement. He crumpled it into a ball and threw it in the trash can as he passed. He went to the café across the street for his morning coffee. The waiter greeted him cheerfully.
    “Coffee? No nerves today? What about chocolate?”
    “Yes,” Trelkovsky said. “Chocolate. And dry toast—two.” He called the waiter back before he had had time to fill the order. “And bring me a pack of Gauloises.”
    The waiter spread his hands in a gesture of utter despair. “I’m out of them right now. I’ll have to go get some for you down the street.”
    Trelkovsky shrugged. “What do you have?”
    “Gitanes—the straight Virginias. Mademoiselle Choule always used to smoke those. Shall I bring you a pack?”
    “All right, Gitanes. But without a filter.”
    “Right. She didn’t like the filtered ones either.”
    Trelkovsky had ripped open the flap of the letter addressed to Simone Choule. He read:
    “Mademoiselle—I hope you will forgive the liberty I am taking in writing to you. A mutual friend, Pierre Aram, gave me your address, and told me that you might be able to give me some information which is extremely important to me. I live in Lyon, and work there as a sales clerk in a bookshop. But personal reasons make it necessary for me to leave here and come to live in Paris. I have been offered a job in a bookshop located at 80 rue de la Victoire. I must give the owners my reply within a week, but I am very uncertain about it at the moment, because I have just received an offer of another job in a shop located at 12 rue de Vaugirard. I don’t know Paris very well, and I know nothing of these two shops. Since I will be getting a commission on sales, I should naturally like to learn a little more about the possibilities in each of them.
    “Pierre said he was sure that you would be kind enough to go and look at these two shops and send me your estimate of the choice I should make.
    “I realize very clearly the inconvenience this may cause you, but I would be extremely grateful if you could do it for me, and let me know what you think, as quickly as possible. I am enclosing a stamped, self-addressed envelope. Thanking you in advance for this great kindness, etc. . . . etc. . . .”
    The letter was signed with a full name and address—a woman, or even more likely, a young girl. There was also the stamped envelope she had mentioned.
    “I’ll have to answer it,” Trelkovsky murmured. “That won’t be any trouble.”

8

Stella
    T relkovsky was leaving a theater where he had seen a film about Louis XI. Ever since he had begun reading the historical novels left in the apartment by Simone Choule he was fascinated by everything having to do with history. On the street outside the theater, he saw Stella.
    She was surrounded by a group of friends—three young men and a girl. They had undoubtedly come out of the same theater. He hesitated to speak to her, but at the same time he felt a genuine need to do so; not so much because he wanted to see her again, but to find himself in the company of people he did not know. Since he had been avoiding Scope and Simon he had lived almost entirely alone, and he was tormented by the desire to see and talk with others of his own kind.
    He moved a trifle closer to the group, waiting for the moment when he might approach Stella. Unfortunately, she was standing with her back to him. From what little he could hear of the conversation, he gathered that she was talking about the film, and expressing her point of view with considerable vehemence. He waited patiently for a lull that would make it possible for him to break in. The group had just been standing in front of the theater at first, but now