Free The Bark Tree by Raymond Queneau Page B

from the waves as they part ... ”
    It’s become impossible to carry on a serious conversation.
    “ ... ‘Tis the voice of the heart.”
    Etienne stands up.
    “What about the sparkling.” exclaims Belhôtel, “surely you’re going to have some sparkling?”
    “No time,” says Etienne. “And keep all this to yourselves. Do you promise me?”
    “We promise,” swears the trio.
    “I’ll deal with it myself.”
    “You’ll let us know what happens?”
    Etienne promises to come back. Ah! he was forgetting something.
    “Here, Meussieu Belhôtel, I’ve got a little present for you.”
    And he hands him the potato peeler; he wonders for a moment whether he won’t give Mme. Cloche the cutter-of - boiled-eggs-in-thin-slices; no, the first contraption has exhausted his generosity.
    “Adieu!” he calls.
    As he goes out, a cloud of dust half chokes him. He hears the frail voice of the old man singing: “On the Shores of the Riviera ... ” A freight train goes by, infinitely long.
    The thought of seeing Pierre again makes Etienne feel lighthearted.
    In the hut, the trio contemplates with dismay the potato peeler that Meussieu Marcel has just given it. Unembarrassed, Ernestine pulls her stocking up over her thigh; she is wearing pink garters which have a little black lock and a glass key to add spice to them. They make old Taupe’s eyes all red.
    The dust accumulates; the flies multiply; two Arabs have come in silently and are sitting near the door. They are dreaming. The number of beans decreases. The spud peeler is lying on a table, riveted, by uncomprehending looks, to the zinc.
    —oooooo—oooooo—
    When they left the eatery, Pierre took Narcense in his car for a little drive in the Chevreuse valley. Paris was pouring thousands of cars into the country. The roads were impassable. At Jouy, they let the week-end wave pass them by, Narcense had said he was free until about 10 o’clock; ever since lunch, he hadn’t let go of a small suitcase, whose contents singularly intrigued his companion.
    “Well, Le Grand, that man you were observing—what became of him?”
    “He became someone.”
    “And before that?”
    “Before that, he was a flat entity.”
    “Really?” said Narcense gently.
    Pierre was silent for a moment, then went on:
    “He was with me in the restaurant just now,” said Pierre. “He thought there was something of note to notice—if I may say so—in that unspeakable place. I didn’t notice anything, but I saw you. I told him that the two of you were soon going to make each other’s acquaintance.”
    “Prophet?”
    “Agitator—that is, mixer; all I’d have to do would be to introduce you.”
    “If I’m willing,” said Narcense gently.
    Pierre was silent for a moment, and then went on:
    “He wasn’t satisfied with my remark. He left abruptly, disappointed. Yes, I’d disappointed him. He wanted a simple marvel, and I’d given him a complicated one.”
    “Thanks,” said Narcense gently.
    “When he’s met you, he’ll realize that I’d noticed the only thing of note: your meeting. I forgot to tell you, he has a historical name, like me; he’s called Etienne Marcel. He lives in Obonne, he’s married, a father, and works in the Audit Bank.”
    Narcense: “How far can I trust you?”
    Pierre laughs: “As far as my cynicism goes.”
    Narcense: “Very obscure. Are you capable of abstinence?”
    Pierre: “Very obscure.”
    Narcense: “Of not interfering—if I ask you not to?”
    Then Pierre: ‘Yes.”
    Then Narcense: “Your ex-flat man, I’m going to kill his son tonight; or rather, I’m going to cause him to commit suicide.”
    “I beg your pardon?”
    “It’s quite clear, I think: I’m going to cause young Théo Marcel to commit suicide.”
    “You’re going to make his son commit suicide?”
    “Do you want to stop me?”
    “Not at all, not at all. But why this suicide?”
    “Why? He insulted my grandmother.”
    If Pierre has wasted his time with Etienne today,