The Mad and the Bad

32

Once upon a time there were two young men. Hartog. Fuentès. Architects, working together. Penniless, more or less. They got along with each other pretty well. It was Fuentès who had most of the ideas, if I do say so myself. Hartog merely followed suit. Seemingly in agreement. It was thanks to him that the partnership stayed afloat. His family, who were rich, would commission projects that were rarely realized but brought in fat fees.

All of a sudden Hans-Peter and Marguerite Hartog were killed in an airplane crash. Young Hartog became rich. His architectural projects could be realized. And it became apparent that they did not really agree, Fuentès and he. Fuentès did not want to build factories, or workers’ housing. In fact it wasn’t obvious what Fuentès wanted. What is more, he was finding it harder and harder to work at all.

Hartog split up with him. Hartog busied himself with Hartog’s money. On the side, he built. A museum, factories of his design. Fuentès was furious. Should I carry on? The whole story had already been made into a novel, and a film by King Vidor with Gary Cooper, inspired by the life of Frank Lloyd Wright.

Fuentès gave up practicing as an architect. Just like Gary Cooper, he took odd construction jobs as a laborer, a stone breaker, occasionally a foreman. Then he bought some sheepfolds in the Massif Central and started building on them in his leisure time, whenever he wasn’t drunk (for it must be said that by now he was a serious lush). What he built was this idiotic kind of labyrinth.

Now and then, when he tied one on in Paris, he would pay Hartog a little visit. He would insult him. Accuse him of stealing his ideas. Occasionally knock him around a bit.

Julie was listening open-mouthed. Fuentès got up, went out, and came back almost right away with a bottle of beer. He drank straight from the bottle and did not sit down again. He strode up and down the room, punctuating his narrative with grand gestures and scathing laughter.

The funniest thing about it is that Hartog is jealous of Fuentès. I am quite sure of it. He is jealous-it’s as plain as day. He has taken pictures of this stupid labyrinth. Put them in his files. And the day you told him that the place was beautiful he pretended that it was his own private hermitage. The moron! The imbecile!

Fuentès burst out laughing, then began to cough. One got the impression that he would not be able to stop.