Betty Blue

25

It wasn’t long after this episode that I started writing again. I didn’t push it-it came by itself. I went about it very discreetly. I didn’t want Betty to know. Usually I’d work at night. I’d shove my pad back under the mattress the moment Betty started moving next to me. I didn’t want to get her hopes up. I didn’t write like they did fifty years ago. Contrary to what you’d think, this was rather a handicap. It wasn’t my fault that the world had changed. I didn’t write like I did to upset people. Quite the opposite; I was a sensitive guy. It was they who upset me.

As the summer progressed, the piano sales dropped off. I didn’t pull my hair out over it. I would close the store early, and when the mood was right, I would spend my time thinking about what l was going to write, or taking walks with Betty. We still had a wad of money left. Since she had no desire to go anywhere-she eared nothing for that, or for anything else-the money wasn’t much good to us, except to pay bills or relieve the pressure of having to sell pianos to live. Haha!… To live! Money is one of those things that never keeps a promise.

Since I didn’t kill myself working, it was no skin off my nose to get out my notebook at midnight or one in the morning and go at it till the wee hours of dawn. I slept a little in the morning and sometimes a few hours in the afternoon. I made progress, slowly. I felt like an overcharged battery. In the early morning, I’d erase all traces of the previous night’s activities, throwing my beer cans in the trash, a cigarette stinging my eyes. I always looked at Betty before going to sleep, wondering if the few pages I’d scribbled were worthy of her. It was a question I liked to ask myself. It made me aim high. It made me humble.

During this whole period my brain seemed to be going at full tilt twenty-four hours a day. I knew that I had to work fast-VERY FAST. But it takes a lot of time to write a book. The very thought of it suffocated me with anxiety. I cursed myself for not having started sooner, for having waited so long to dive into that little navy-blue spiral notebook. Spiral. Shit, I answered myself, I’d like to have seen you try. You think it’s easy? Think all you have to do is sit down at a table, and it pours out by itself? And those months of tossing and turning in bed, eyes wide open-crossing that desert, silent and gray, without seeing one little sparrow… wandering through the Great Desert of Dried-up Man. You think it was for laughs…?

It’s true, I couldn’t have done otherwise. Still, I was crazy enough to imagine I could. I cursed Heaven for not having come down to touch me earlier. I had the horrible feeling that it was too late. It was yet another burden to bear. But I held it together. Maybe my chances were one in a million. Still, each night my pages piled up, like bricks to build something to protect her. It was like nailing the shutters closed while watching the hurricane well up on the horizon. After such a bad start, could a writer overcome such shit? Did the Kid have what it took to turn things around?

For a week it had been unbearably hot-I couldn’t remember ever feeling anything like it. There wasn’t a green blade of grass for miles around. A torpor had seized the town. The more nervous types took to looking at the sky, worried. It was around seven o’clock at night. The sun had gone down, but the streets, the sidewalks, the roofs, and the walls of the houses were still burning. Everyone was sweating. I went out to do some shopping. I spared Betty this particular chore. I came home, the trunk full to bursting, wet circles under my arms. Just before I got to the house, I passed an ambulance going in the opposite direction-sirens blaring, shiny as a new penny.

I sat up a little in my seat. I passed two cars that were dawdling. I started breathing hard. By the time I had parked in front of the house I was trembling, as if someone had slipped a noose around my neck. I couldn’t say exactly when it was that I understood, it isn’t important anyway. I ran up the steps, a knife in my stomach. At the top of the stairs I collided with Bob, kneeling on the floor. I sailed over him, falling into the room, toppling over chairs. I felt a warm liquid flowing under my head.

“BOB!” I screamed.

He jumped on me.

“Don’t go in there!” he said.

I sent him rolling under the table. I could hardly talk. I lifted myself up on one elbow, then realized that it was water-it was sudsy water I felt in my hair. Someone must have tipped over a basin. I had trouble breathing. We stood up together. I looked around for her. There was only Bob and me in the room. I didn’t know what the hell he was doing there. He rolled his eyes in my direction. I felt my face twist.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“Sit down,” he said.

I ran into the kitchen. Nothing. I turned around. Bob was standing in the doorway, one hand held out toward me. I flattened him against the wall with my shoulder, like a bull charging down an alleyway. There was a strange hissing in my ears. I literally flew toward the bathroom. The house seemed completely foreign to me. I grabbed the door and flung it wide open.

The room was empty. The light was on. The sink was full of blood. There were splatters all over the floor. I felt a spear go through my back, nearly knocking me to my knees. I couldn’t breathe. There was a sound of breaking glass in my head-crystal. It was all I could do to close the door, what with all the demons pulling at it from the other side.

Bob came in, rubbing his shoulder. It must have been Bob. I was so busy trying to breathe that I couldn’t talk.

“My God,” he said. “I wanted to clean it all up. You didn’t leave me enough time.”

I spread my legs a little, for balance. I broke out in a cold sweat. He put his hand on my arm, I only saw him do it-I didn’t feel a thing.

“It’s messy, but it’s not that bad,” he said. “Luckily I came by when I did, to return the blender.”

He looked at his shoes. “I was wiping up the blood by the door…”

My arm shot out and grabbed him furiously.

“WHAT HAPPENED?” I shouted.

“She tore an eye out,” he said. “With… with her hand.”

I slid down the length of the door onto my heels. I was breathing now, but the air was on fire. He crouched down in front of me.

“Okay, look, it isn’t all that serious,” he said. “An eye isn’t that serious. She’ll be okay-hey, you hear me…?”

He went and got a bottle out of the cupboard. He took a long swallow. I didn’t want any. I just stood up and went to the window. I pressed my nose against the pane. I stayed there without moving. He went and got his water basin, and charged into the bathroom. I heard the water running. In the street nothing moved.

By the time he came out, I felt better. I was incapable of stringing two thoughts together, but I could breathe again. I went into the kitchen for a beer-my legs were unstable.

“Bob, take me to the hospital. I can’t drive,” I said.

“It’s not worth it-you won’t be able to see her right away. Wait a while.”

I smashed the end of my beer can into the table. It exploded.

“BOB, DRIVE ME TO THE FUCKING HOSPITAL!”

He sighed. I gave him the keys to the Mercedes, and we went downstairs. Night had fallen.

I gritted my teeth all the way there. Bob talked to me, but I understood nothing. I sat there, leaning slightly forward, my arms folded. She’s alive, I said to myself-she’s alive. Slowly, I felt my jaws relax. I could swallow my saliva again. I woke up as if the car had just rolled over three times.

Going through the hospital doors, I realized why I had felt so strange when we’d come to visit Archie, why I’d felt so oppressed, what it all meant. I nearly blacked out again, nearly fell down flat, the monstrous odor sliding over my face, nearly put my head down, lost my strength. I got hold of myself at the last minute. But it wasn’t me-it was her. I would have walked through walls for her if need be. I could have simply chanted her name like a mantra and, in so doing, passed right through. Once you know that, you can be grateful-you can be proud of having accomplished something. I shivered once, then went into the lobby. Into the planet of the damned.

Bob put his hand on my shoulder.

“Go sit down,” he said. “I’ll go get the scoop. Go ahead, go sit down…”

There was an empty bench close by. I obeyed. If he’d told me to lie down on the floor, I’d have done it. As much as the urge to act set me on fire like a tuft of dried grass, the paralysis ran through my veins like a handful of blue ice cubes. I went from one state to the other, without transition. When I sat down, it was in my cold period-my brain was nothing but a soft, lifeless mass. I leaned my head back against the wall. I waited. I must have been near the kitchen. I smelled leek soup.

“Everything’s all right,” he said. “She’s sleeping.”

“I want to see her.”

“Fine. Everything’s arranged. You just have to fill out a few papers.”

I felt my body start to warm up. I stood up and pushed Bob out of my way. My mind began to function again.

“Yeah, well, all that can wait,” I said. “What room is she in?”

I saw a woman sitting in a glass office, looking in my direction, a stack of forms in her hand. She seemed capable of chasing someone up ten flights of stairs.

“Listen,” Bob sighed. “You have to do this. Why make it difficult? She’s got to sleep now, anyway. You can take five minutes to deal with the papers. Everything’s fine. I tell you. There’s no reason to worry anymore.”

He was right, but there was this fire inside me that wouldn’t stop burning. The woman waved her forms, motioning to me to come over. I suddenly felt surrounded by muscular male nurses, tough and mean. One, in fact, passed in front of me-a shark, forearms hairy and jaw square. I saw that it would do no good to play the human torch; I had to deal with the situation. I went to see what the woman wanted. I’d already capitulated to the Infernal Machine-I didn’t want to get ground up by it, too.

She needed information. I sat down facing her. The whole time we talked, I wondered if she wasn’t really a guy in drag.

“Are you the husband?”

“No,” I said.

“A member of the family?”

“No, I’m everything else.”

She raised her eyebrows. She seemed to think she was the key to the universe-the type who wouldn’t dream of filling out forms haphazardly. She looked at me as if I was vulgar flotsam. I was forced to bow my head, in the hope of saving a few precious seconds.

“I live with her,” I said. “I can probably tell you whatever you want to know.”

She ran her tongue over her lipstick, seemingly satisfied.

“Fine, let’s go on, then. Last name?”

I gave her the name.

“First name?”

“Betty.”

“Elizabeth?”

“No, Betty.”

“ ‘Betty’ is not a real name.”

I cracked my knuckles as discreetly as possible, leaning forward.

“Then what is it, in your opinion? A new brand of toothpaste?”

I saw her eyes spark. She tortured me for the next ten minutes after that: me helpless in my chair, treading water in her office the longest route to Betty. After a while, I answered her questions with my eyes closed. In the end, I had to promise to come back later with the necessary papers. I’d completely gone south on certain things-numbers of this, and addresses of that, not to mention the things I never knew existed. She sat there twirling her pen between her lips, then came out with: “This woman you live with… you don’t seem to know her very well…”

But Betty, should I have known your blood type? The name of the one-horse town you came from? All your childhood diseases? Your mother’s name? How you react to antibiotics? Was she right? Did I know so little about you? I asked myself this, not caring about the answer; then I stood up and backed out of the room, doubled over from low blows, apologizing for having caused her so much trouble. I even gave her a smile as I closed the door:

“What’s the room number, again?”

“Second floor, room seven.”

Bob was waiting in the lobby. I thanked him for having driven me there, then sent him home with the Mercedes. I told him not to worry, I’d make my own way home. I waited until he was completely out the door, then went to the bathroom to rinse my face. I felt better. I started to get used to the idea that she had torn her eye out. I remembered she had two of them. I became a little meadow under a blue sky-licking my own blades of grass after the rainstorm.

There was a nurse coming out of number seven when I arrived-a blonde with a flat behind and a pleasant smile. She knew who I was right away.

“Everything’s fine. She needs to rest,” she said.

“But I want to see her.”

She stepped aside to let me in. I put my hands in my pockets and looked at the floor. I stopped at the foot of the bed. There was only a small light on. Betty had a wide bandage across her eye. She was sleeping. I looked at her for three seconds, then lowered my eyes. The nurse was standing behind me. Not knowing what else to do, I sniffled. I looked at the ceiling.

“I’d like a minute alone with her,” I said.

“Okay, but no more than that…”

I nodded, without turning around. I heard the door close. There were some flowers on the nightstand. I went over and fiddled with them. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Betty was breathing-yes, she was, no doubt about it. Though I wasn’t sure it would do any good, I got out my knife and trimmed the stems of the flowers, so they’d live longer. I sat down on the edge of her bed and put my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands. It relaxed my neck. I felt together enough to caress the back of her hand. What a wonder, that hand, what a wonder-I hoped with all my heart that it was the other hand she’d used to do the dirty work. I hadn’t fully digested all that yet.

I stood up and went to look out the window. It was night. Everything seemed to be moving on rollers. You have to recognize that no matter how you look at it, we take turns here on earth: you take the day with the night; the joy with the sorrow, shake it up, and pour yourself a big glass of it every morning. Thus you become a man-nice to have you aboard, son… watch and see how incomparable and sad is the beauty of life.

I was wiping a drop of sweat off my cheek when I felt a finger tap me on the shoulder.

“Come on, let’s leave her alone now. She won’t wake up before noon tomorrow-we’ve given her some tranquilizers.”

I turned toward the whispering nurse. I couldn’t remember what I’d done that day, but I felt totally exhausted. I motioned to her that I’d follow. My general sensation was one of sliding along a river of lava. She closed the door behind us. I found myself standing out in the hallway with no idea of what my next move should be. She took my arm and led me toward the exit.

“Come back tomorrow,” she said. “Hey, watch your step…!”

I suppose that being back out on the street was what woke me up. The air was soft and hot-a typical equatorial night. I was about a mile from the house. I walked across the street and bought a pizza from the local Italian. I stood in line at the grocery for two cans of beer. I stocked up on cigarettes. It was nice to do simple things. I tried not to think of anything. I got on a bus and went home. The pizza shaped itself to the contours of my knees.

When I got home, I turned the TV on. I threw the pizza on the table and tossed down a beer, standing up. I wanted to take a shower, but I abandoned the idea-I just couldn’t bring myself to go in there, not right away. I listened to what was on television. A bunch of half-dead guys were talking about their latest books. I grabbed my pizza and sat down. I looked them right in the eye. They were gabbing over orange juice, their eyes bright with self-satisfaction. They had their finger on the pulse of today’s taste. It’s true that an era deserves the writers it gets, and it was edifying to watch them. My pizza was barely warm and very greasy. I wondered if they hadn’t invited the worst of the lot, just in case anyone had any doubts. Perhaps the theme of the show was “How to Sell a Million Copies with Nothing to Say, No Talent, No Soul, No Love, No Suffering, Nor the Ability to Put Two Words Back to Back Without Making People Yawn.” The other channels weren’t much better. I turned the sound off and just watched the screen.

After a while I realized that I was just spinning my wheels. Still, I had no desire to go to bed, especially not there, in the heart of such a hideous trap. I took a bottle and went to Bob’s. When I walked in, Annie was busy breaking dishes. She looked at me, a salad bowl poised over her head. There was debris all over the floor. Bob was hiding in a corner.

“I’ll come back later,” I said.

“No, no,” they said. “How’s Betty?”

I forayed into the fray and set the bottle down on the table.

“She’s okay,” I said. “It isn’t serious. I don’t feel like talking about it. I just didn’t want to be alone…”

Annie took my arm and sat me down in a chair. She was in her bathrobe; her face was still pink with anger.

“Of course,” she said. “We understand.”

Bob got out the glasses.

“Am I interrupting something…?” I said.

“Don’t be ridiculous…” he said.

Annie sat down next to me. She pushed away a lock of hair that had fallen over her face.

“Where are the kids?” I asked.

“At the bastard’s mother’s,” she answered.

“Listen,” I said. “Don’t mind me-just act like I’m not here.”

Bob filled the glasses.

“No, we were having a little tiff-it’s nothing…”

“ ‘Nothing,’ he says. The son of a bitch is cheating on me, and it’s nothing!”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so full of shit…!” said Bob.

He moved aside, thus avoiding the salad bowl, which exploded against the wall. We raised our glasses.

“Cheers!” I said.

There was a brief moment of silence while we drank, then they started back at it again, harder. As far as I was concerned, the ambience was perfect. I stretched my legs out under the table and folded my hands over my belly. To tell the truth, I wasn’t very interested in what was going on. I felt the turbulence spinning around me-their screams, the sound of things smashing on the floor-but I felt my sadness calm down, and crumble away like a cookie. For once I gave my blessing to the thing I hated most in the world: a cocktail made of light, humanity, heat, and noise. I slid down in my chair, having first taken care to refill my glass. Everywhere in the world there were men and women fighting, loving, tearing each other apart; people pissing novels without love, without madness, without energy, and most of all without style-taking us to Hell in a handbasket. I was at this point in my literary reflections when I spotted the moon through the window. It was full, majestic, and auburn. Somehow, it made me think of my little bird, her eye wounded on a mimosa branch-I barely noticed the colored bowls flying across the room.

At that moment I felt a kind of inner peace. I grabbed on to it. It was quite something after all those dark hours. It put a mindless smile on my face. Things were heating up. Bob had been dodging things pretty well. He saw Annie with a projectile in each hand. She feigned with the mustard jar, then let loose with the sugar bowl. I’d guessed it. Bob took it in the skull and collapsed. I helped him back up.

“You’ll excuse me,” he said. “I’m going to bed.”

“Never mind me,” I said. “I feel better already.”

I guided him into the bedroom, then came back and sat down in the kitchen. I looked at Annie, who had started sweeping up. “I know what you’re thinking,” she told me. “But if I don’t do it, who will?”

I helped her pick up some of the bigger pieces. We made a few silent round-trips to the garbage can, then lit cigarettes. I held the match for her.

“Listen, Annie, I know this isn’t exactly the best time, but I was wondering if I could sleep here tonight. I feel a little strange, all alone in the apartment…”

She exhaled a little mushroom-cloud of smoke.

“Shit, you don’t even have to ask,” she said. “As for Bob and me, we don’t love each other enough to really fight. What you saw wasn’t even serious.”

“Only for tonight,” I added.

We finished straightening up, talking about the rain and the weather-the abominable heat that had melted over the town like a gallon of maple syrup. Just sweeping up had us sweating. I sat on a chair. She set her behind down on a corner of the table.

“Just take Archie’s bed,” she said. “You need anything? Something to read…?”

“No thanks,” I said.

She had slid the sides of her robe off her thighs. It was easy to see that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She was probably waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t. Thinking that she wasn’t making herself clear, she opened the thing up wide. She spread her legs and put her foot up on a chair. Her pussy was a nice size, and her breasts larger than average. I passed an appreciative moment looking, but didn’t awkwardly spill my drink. I just drank it, then went into the next room. I grabbed a few magazines, then sank into an armchair.

I was reading a thing on the North-South conflict when she came in. The robe was now closed.

“I think your attitude is truly stupid,” she started in. “What do you think is going to happen? You’re making a mountain out of-”

“No, not a mountain exactly. A small hill, yes…”

“Shit,” she said. “Shit, shit, shit.”

I got up and went to look out the window. There was nothing but the night and the branch of a tree, its leaves limp in the heat. I slapped my leg with the magazine.

“Look, what would we gain by sleeping together? You have something special to offer me? Something out of the ordinary?”

I turned my back to her. I felt a slight burning on the back of my neck.

“Listen to me,” I went on. “I never was much for fucking around, I never got much out of it. I know that everybody else does it; but it’s no fun if you just do like everybody else. To tell you the truth, it bores me, It does you good to live according to your ideas, to not betray yourself, not cop out at the last minute just because some girl has a nice ass, or someone offers you a huge check, or because the path of least resistance runs by your front door. It does you good to hang tough. It’s good for the soul.”

I turned around to tell her the Big Secret; “Over Dispersal, I choose Concentration. I have one life-the only thing I’m interested in is making it shine.”

She pinched the end of her nose wistfully.

“All right,” she sighed. “If you need any aspirin before you go to bed, there’s a bottle in the medicine chest. If you want, I can go get you some pajamas. I don’t know-maybe you don’t sleep in the nude.”

“Don’t bother. I sleep in my underwear, and I always keep my hands above the sheets.”

“Jesus, where’s Henry Miller when you really need him…?” she muttered.

She turned on her heel, and I was left alone. You don’t need much room when you’re alone and not expecting anyone-Archie’s bed did the job nicely. His rubber sheet squealed as I lay down. I turned on his little ladybug lamp. I listened to the silence fill the night like invisible, paralyzing cream.