Free Jealousy and In The Labyrinth by Alain Robbe-Grillet Page A

the house.
    In order not to risk spilling the contents in the darkness, A . . . has come as close as possible to Franck's armchair, carefully holding his glass in her right hand. She rests her other hand on the arm of his chair and leans toward him, so close that their heads touch. He murmurs a few words, probably thanking her. But the words are drowned out by the deafening racket of the crickets that rises on all sides.
    At table, once the arrangement of the lamps has been shifted so that the guests are in less direct a light, the conversation continues on familiar subjects, with the same phrases.
    Franck's truck has had engine trouble on the middle of the hill, between the 40-mile marker—where the road leaves the plain—and the first village. It was a police car which passed the truck and then stopped at the plantation to inform Franck. When the latter reached the spot two hours later, he did not find his truck at the place indicated, but much lower down, the driver having tried to start the motor in reverse, at the risk of crashing into a tree if he missed one of the turns.
    Expecting any results at all from such a method was ridiculous anyway. The carburetor would have to be completely dismantled all over again. Luckily Franck had brought along a snack lunch, for he didn't get home until three-thirty. He has decided to replace the truck as soon as possible, and it's the last time—he says—that he will buy old military matériel.
    "You think you're getting a bargain, but in the long run it costs much more."
    He now expects to buy a new truck. He is going down to the port himself at the first opportunity and meet with the sales agents of the chief makes, so that he can find out the exact prices, the various advantages, delivery time, etc. . . .
    If he had a little more experience, he would know that new machines should not be entrusted to Negro drivers, who wreck them just as fast, if not faster.
    "When do you think you'll be going down?" A . . . asks.
    "I don't know. . . ." They look at each other, their glances meeting above the platter Franck is holding in one hand six inches above the table top. "Maybe next week."
    "I have to go to town too," A . . . says; "I have a lot of shopping to do."
    "Well, I'll be glad to take you. If we leave early, we can be back the same night."
    He sets the platter down on his left and begins helping himself. A . . . turns back so that she is looking straight ahead.
    "A centipede!" she says in a more restrained voice, in the silence that has just fallen.
    Franck looks up again. Following the direction of A . . .'s motionless gaze, he turns his head to the other side, toward his right.
    On the light-colored paint of the partition opposite A.. a common Scutigera of average size (about as long as a finger) has appeared, easily seen despite the dim light. It is not moving, for the moment, but the orientation of its body indicates a path which cuts across the panel diagonally: coming from the baseboard on the hallway side and heading toward the corner of the ceiling. The creature is easy to identify thanks to the development of its legs, especially on the posterior portion. On closer examination the swaying movement of the antennae at the other end can be discerned.
    A . . . has not moved since her discovery: sitting very straight in her chair, her hands resting flat on the cloth on either side of her plate. Her eyes are wide, staring at the wall. Her mouth is not quite closed, and may be quivering imperceptibly.
    It is not unusual to encounter different kinds of centipedes after dark in this already old wooden house. And this kind is not one of the largest; it is far from being one of the most venomous. A . . . does her best, but does not manage to look away, nor to smile at the joke about her aversion to centipedes.
    Franck, who has said nothing, is looking at A . .. again. Then he stands up, noiselessly, holding his napkin in his hand. He wads it into a ball and approaches the wall.
    A .