Bliss, and other stories

ng to distinguish it from a hundred others-it hasn’t; or as if the same strange types came here every day, whom o

ul. I never have. I believe that people are like portmanteaux-packed with certain things, started going, thrown about, tossed away, dumped down, lost and fo

ating. Oh, but very! I see myself standing in fron

lare? Any wines, spirits,

alk that squiggle, and then the other moment of hesitation just after, as to whethe

here because the clientele of this café, ladies and gentlemen, does not sit down. No, it stands at the counter, and it consists of a handful of workmen who come up from the river

ving she sits on a stool with her face turned, always, to the window. Her dark-ringed eyes search among and follow after the people passing, but not as if she was looking for somebody. Perhaps

so much as a drop of anything else). He is grey, flat-footed, and withered, with long, brittle nails that set your nerves on edge while he scrapes up your two sous. When he is not smearing over the table or flicking at a dead fly or two, he stands with one h

ome on to the stage at exactly the moment you were expected. Everything is arranged for you-waiting for you. Ah, master of the situation ! You fill with important breath. And at the same time you smile, secretly, slyly, because Life s

coming back, I suppose. Revisiting the scene of my triumph, or the scene of the cri

as a rag-picker on the American cinema, shuffling along wrapp

t of the American cinema

say, and I was drifting along, either going home or not going home,

behind me, and after I had allowed the waiter time for at least t

n wandering light playing over it, and shuffled off, and I sat press

the mirror opposite. Yes, there I sat, leaning on the table, smiling my deep, sly smile, the glass of cof

been for all eternity, as it were, and

ng through the feathery air. The waiter disappeared and reappeared with an armful of straw. He strewed it over the floor from the door to the counter and round about the stove with humb

he time and decided to make a note of it. One never knows when a little tag like that may come in useful to round off a paragraph. So, taking

tting-paper, incredibly soft and limp and almost moist, lik

d my finger and rolling the soft phrase round my mind while my eyes took in the girls’ names and dirty

have the same names, the cups never sit in the saucer

ge, written in green ink, I fell on to that stupi

was as if all of me, except my head and arms, all of me that was under the table, had simply dissolved, melted, turned into water. Just my head remained and two sticks of arms pressing on

as strongly as that? But I was absolutely unconscious! I hadn’t a phrase to meet it with! I w

er all I must be first-rate. No second-rate mind could hav

g out of the window, Madame; it is quite dark now. Your white hands hover over your dark shawl. They are like two birds

ole and dashed the curtains toget

me thing that you lose. It’s always a new thing. The moment it leaves you it’s changed. Why, that’s even true of a hat you chase after; and I don’t mean superficially –I mean profoundly speaking . . . I have made it a rule of my life never to regret and never to look back. Regret is an a

as been chasing up and down out in the dark there. It left me just when I began to analyse my grand mome

e moving towards me through the feathery snow? Are you this little girl pressing through the swing-doors of the restaurant? Is that your dark shadow bending forward in

k into the café, his tail bet

. . alarm. She’s nowhere

en! Lie down

o family; I don’t want any. I never think about my childhood. I’ve forgotten it. In fact, there’s only one memory that stands out at all

e she always took particular notice of me, and after the clothes had been taken out of the basket she would lift me up into it and give me a rock while

trange secret way. I never thought of not following. She took me into a little outhouse at the end of the passage, caught

a little round fried cake covered with sugar,

afternoon, my childhood was, to put it prettily, “kissed away.” I became very languid, very caressing, and greedy beyond

to them. For all Parisians are more than half-oh, well, enough of that. And enough of my ch

my two horns with a study and a bedroom and a kitchen on my back. And real furniture planted in the rooms. In the bedroom a wardrobe with a long glass, a big bed covered with a yellow puffed-up quilt, a bed table with a marbled top, and a toilet set sprinkle

. I write for two newspapers. I am going in for serious literature. I am starting a career. The book that I shall bring out will simply stagger the critics. I am going to write about things that have never been touched before. I am going to make a name for myself as a writer about the submerged world. B

of patent leather boots with light uppers, all sorts of little things, like gloves and powder boxes and a manicure set, perfumes, very good soap, and nothing is paid for. If I find mysel

ostitutes and kept women and elderly widows and shop girls and wives of respectable men, and even advanced modern literary ladies at the most select dinners and soirées (I’ve been there), I’ve met invariably with not only the same readiness, but with the same positi

on’t look at all like

My hands are supple and small. A woman in a bread shop once said to me: “You have the hands for making fine little pastries.” I confess, wi

ed life. I am like a little woman in a café who has to introduce herself with a handful of photographs. “Me in my chemise, com

were, how could I have experienced what I did when I read that stale little phrase written in green ink, in the writing-pad? That proves there’s mo

r, a w

. I only ordered it because I am going to write about an Englishman. We French are incredibly old- fashioned and out of date still in some

haven’t got perhaps a

wers sadly. “We don’t

ble he goes back to have another coup

the sickly sensation whe

s slow, dreaming smile. So he gets drunk on it slowly and dreamily and at a certain moment begins to sing

w I loved the way he sang it, slo

was

up an

nner in the

l those tall grey buildings, those fogs, those endless st

How extraordinarily English that is. . . . I remember that it ended where he did at last “find a place” and ordered a little cake

ongs are ! There is the whole psychology of

asping my hands and making a pretty mouth at hi

Dick. It was he who m

older men were there and the ladies were extremely comme il faut. They sat on cubist sofas in full evening dress and allowed us to

round the room as we all did, he stayed in one place leaning against the wall, his hands in his pockets, that dr

is

iter. And he is making a special

d just been published. I was a young serious writer who

coming right out of the water after the bait, as it were: “Won’t you come and see me a

hant

o preen and preen myself before the cubist sofas. What a catch! An English

cordial inscription was posted off, and a day or two la

y our young men appeared to be just missing it. Now and again, as if by accident, I threw in a card that seemed to have nothing to do with the game, just to see how he’d ta

. It led me on and on till I threw every card that I possessed

s and intere

gan to sing his song very soft, very low, about t

and truthfully as I could. Taken immense pains to explain things about my submerged life that really were disgusting and never could poss

d smiling. . . . It moved me so that real tears came into my e

he impression he had been to sea. And all his leisurely slow ways seemed to be allowing for the movement of the ship. This impression was so strong that often when we were together and he got up and left a l

g about himself. But late one night he took out his pocket-book and a photograph dropped out of it. I picked it up and glanced at it before I gave it to him. It was of a woman. N

tle perfumed fox-terrier

nts my nose reminds me

” said Dick, puttin

I should have been tempted t

concierge to release the catch of the outer door, he said, looking up at the

not se

back. I’ve some work to do

ou made all you

almost grinned. “

land is not the other

aid he. “Only a few hours, you

own at the beginni

watch and remembers an appointment that cannot possibly concern he

aying upon the step as though the whole h

ite, won’t you? Good night, old chap.

e alone, more like a little

le the boat sails off in its slow, dreamy way. . . . Curse these English! No, this is too insolent altogether. Who do you imagine I am? A little paid guide to the nig

n in French that was a shade too French, but saying how he m

was early morning. I wore a blue kimono embroidered with white birds

” said I, “on hearing of the a

. Going over to the window he drew apart the curtains and looked out at the Pari

ing been up for my first ride in an aeropl

t he was coming back to Paris to stay indefinitely. Would I

too; for I owed much money at the hotel where I took my meals, and two English

the woman friend would be like, but only vaguely. Either she would be very severe, flat back and front, or sh

had almost forgotten Dick. I even got the tune of his song about

in fact, dressed with particular care for the occasion. For I intended to take a new

paration, and then I have written a serial story, Wrong Doors , which is just on the point of publication and will bring me in a lot of money. And then my little book of poems,” I cried, seizi

urveyed himself finally, from top to toe, drawing on his

or two. . . . How can one look the part and not be the part? Or be the part and not look

tebook: “You literary? you look as though you’ve taken down a bet on a racehorse!” But I didn’t listen. I went out, shutting the door of the

“One moment. One little moment, Monsieur,” she whispered, odiously confidential. “Come in. Come in.” And she beckoned with a

y, bluster, refuse to discuss anything; the other is-to keep in with her, butter her up to the two knots of the black ra

testable and successful. At any rate whichever

y the concierge taming the wild bull. Imitation of the landlord rampant again, breathing in the concierge’s face. I was the concierge. No, it

my forehead as though the idea had nothing to do with it. “Madame, I have a very important appointment

carriage. The more the better. Everybody was one bolst

ig full bosom and a great bunch of violets dropping from it. As the train

at her, smilin

ve more, Madame, than

against whom my charmer was leaning. He poked his head over her shoulder a

at you said

thor of False Coins , Wrong Doors , Left Umbrellas , and two i

train came. The little knot of us waiting at the barrier moved up close, craned forward, and broke into cries as though we we

were snatched and taken off to

f the photograph, Dick’s mother, walking towards me in Dick’s coat and hat. In the effort-and you saw what an

uld have changed him like

ier wag or two to see if he could possibly respond, in the way

.” He almost gasped.

on the dark waters and my sailor hadn’t been dro

ent. It was the famous English seriousness. What

ms,” I nearly shouted.

r the luggage,” he pante

he were her nurse and had just lifted her out of her

dame,” said Dick,

ff. She broke away from her nurse and ran up and said something, very qu

that strange boyish way Englishwomen do, and standing very straight in front of me with her chin raised and making-she too-the effort of h

r, so reassuring, I might have been a denti

, can’t we get a cab or taxi or something? We don’t

, saying: “Ah, forgive me, old chap. But we’ve had such a loathsome, hideous journey. We’ve taken years to come. Haven’t we?” To her.

‘in need of a bed,’ as we say? Have they been suffering agonies on the journey? Sitting, perhaps, very close

s the address of your hotel. Everything is a

e was going to faint. He

settled. Of course you’re coming back. You’re not going to leave

. Delighted. I only t

ittle fox-terrier. And again he mad

in, M

hole and sat stroking Mou

three little dice that life ha

ould not have missed for anything those occasional flashing gl

rk hat shading him as if it were a part of him-a sort of wing he hid under. They showed her, sitting up very straight, her lovel

time. She came upon you with the same kind of shock that you feel when you have been drinking tea out of a thin innocent cup

blue or black eyes. Her long lashes and the two

s of Englishwomen abroad. Where her arms came out of it there was gr

the mouse id

d to do was to behave in the most extraordinary fashion-like a clown. To start singing, with large extravagant gestures, to point out of the window and cry: “We are now passing, ladies and gentlemen, one of the sights for which notre Paris is justl

applaud in a private way by putting my gloved hands gently togethe

not been he

have a great

y upon the objects of interest and t

door for them and followed up the stairs to the bureau

s welcomed them. And when she turned to me and handed me the keys (the garcon was hauling up the boxes) and said: “Monsieur Duquette will show you your rooms”–I had a lon

nal pair of boots (why is it one never sees an attract

up,” I murmured idiotically. “

ey accepted everything. They did not expect anything to be different. This

side of the passage to the other,

The other is larger and it has a

red in red cotton. I thought them rather charming rooms, sloping, full of angles,

his hat down

hat chap with the box

plied Mouse, “they’r

range look at her before he rushed out. And he not only helped, he must have torn the box off the

urs, Dick,

d, breathless, breathing hard (the box must have been tremendously heavy

nding by, seemed

quire anything f

said Dick i

rately, not looking at Dick, with her quaint clipped En

she was telling the pale, sweaty garcon by that action that she was at the end

e would expect (though I couldn’t have imagined it) to be wrung out of an Englishwoma

ea. For really, really, you’ve filled your greediest subscribe

owly to Mouse and slowly looked at her with his tired, haggard eyes, and murmured with the echo

and I established myself on a straight-backed chair, crossed my legs, and brush

Then he said: “Won’t you

ks. Not j

I hold up my hand and call out in a b

n’t. They di

me a silence.

! Amuse these sad English! It’s no wo

y “job,” as they would say. Nevertheless,

a charming view from these two windows. You know, the hotel is on a

” sai

so many absurd little boys on bicycles and people hanging out of windows and-oh,

es,” s

arrying the tea-tray high on one hand as if the cups were ca

lower it on to

he only person she cared to speak to. She took her hands out of he

ake milk

hank you, a

e a little gentleman. Sh

s for

arried it across to him and la

nks,” sa

k to my chair and s

l gallop: “Oh, by the way, do you mind posting a letter for me? I want to get it off by tonight’s post. I must. It’s very urgent. . . .” Feeling her eyes on him,

’ll post it.

ur tea first?” sugg

on the bed-table . . . . In his racing dream he flashed

ks. Not j

e to me he went out of the room and closed

s I stood there: “You must forgive me if I am impertinent . . . if I am too frank. Bu

er chair and pours him out, oh, such a brimming, such a burning cup that the tears com

. First she looked in the teapot, filled it

u can’t help, thank you.” Again I got that glimmer of

tell her that it was months and mon

tured softly, as though that w

and bit her under-lip and I t

y nothing I can do?

pushing back the t

ver to the dressing-table and standing with her back tow

g whether it would look heartless if I lit a

ut my cigarette case, and put it back again, for the next thing s

m her voice tha

und them.” I lighted my cigarette

he boards creak and pop as one does in a house in the country. I smoked the whole cigarett

being rather

to go to bed,” I said kindly. (And pray

ng a very long ti

d. “He is

ed at me strangely.

t with little light steps to the door, opene

. She had left the door open. I stole across the room and looked af

ss. One of those kisses that not only puts one’s grief to bed, but nurses it and warms it a

. I heard someone m

g a letter for me. But it wasn’t in an envelope; it was just a shee

st fell herself on to the floor by the side of the bed, leaned her cheek against it, flung out her hands as though

ile I rushed in, saw the body, head unharmed, small blue hole over temple, rous

u believe it-so ingrained is my Parisian sense of c

MY LITTL

rting her all her life. I simply dare not give her this final blow. You see, though she’s stronger than both of us, she’s so frail and pr

somewhere, somewhere in you don’t you agree? It’s all so unspeakably awful that I don’t know if I want to go or not. Do I? Or is Mother just dragging me? I don’t know. My head is too tired. Mouse, Mouse-what will you do? But I can’t think of that, either. I dare not. I’d break down. And I must not break down. All I’

e me any more. Yes. L

ving shot himself was mixed with a wonderful sense of elation. I was even-m

face quite calm except for the quivering eyelids. Th

her she opened her eyes and

ve re

t was like the voice you might imagine coming out of a tiny, c

me, you understand, an

le! incredible

he jug, and sponged her eyes, saying: “Oh, no. It’s not incredible at all.” And still pressing

that we started. I felt it all through me, but I still went on hoping”-and here she to

one

le

do? You’ll go bac

t right up and s

er. “Of course I shall not dream of seeing him. As for goin

t .

one thing all my frien

nd–“Ah, my poor

ank away. (

that had been at the back of my

ou any

put her hand on her breast. I bowed. It

t are yo

so tame, so confiding, letting me, at any rate spiritually speaking, hold her tiny quivering body

plans. But-it’s very late

I wanted her back. I swe

come tomorrow, early? You will let me look after you a little-t

t of her hole . . . timi

e glad. It makes things rather difficult because”-and ag

n the boulevard did it come

really suffering. I have seen two people suff

u anticipate, fully, what I am going

t near the

ners, but that’s beside the mark. It’s vulgar to mention it i

door-wrote and tore up letters-did all those thin

pt it up. That had a great deal to do with it. But you would have thought, putt

ancais. That was h

Oh, you’ve seen for yourself, but

tic piano starts playing a “mouse” tune (there are dozens of

ay. A girl outside in a frock rather like Red Indian women w

have y

smile and gi

ent costumes-sitting at an open window, e

ries are for you, Mous

gether under an umbrella. They stop on th

lf saying: “But I’ve got the little girl for you, mon vieux. So little . . . so tiny.” I kiss the tips of my fingers and lay them upon m

my coat and hat. Madame knows me. “

t yet,