The Erasers

6

Once again Wallas is walking toward the bridge. Ahead of him, under a snowy sky, extends the Rue de Brabant-and its grim housefronts. The employees are now all at work, in front of their ledgers and their adding machines: the figures form columns, the tree trunks are piled on the docks; mechanical arms maneuver the controls of the cranes, the windlasses, the keys of the adding machines, without wasting a second, without a slip, without an error; the wood export business is in full swing.

The street is as deserted and silent as it was the first time. Only a few cars parked in front of the doors, under the black plaques with their gold letters, testify to the activity now reigning behind these brick walls. The other modifications-if there are any-are imperceptible: there is no change in the varnished wood doors, recessed above their five steps, nor in the curtainless windows-two to the left, one to the right, and, above, four floors of identical rectangular openings. There is not much daylight for working in these offices where the electric lights-for economy-have not been turned on-and the near sighted faces lean their bespectacled eyes toward the big ledgers. Wallas feels overcome by a great weariness.

But having crossed the canal that divides the Boulevard Circulaire, he stops to let a streetcar pass.

Ahead of him, the plaque indicating the number of the line shows the number 6 in yellow on a vermilion disk. The car, its new paint shiny, looks exactly like the one that had appeared this morning in the same spot. And like this morning, it comes to a stop in front of Wallas.

The latter, who was not looking forward to the long, tiresome walk along the Rue de Brabant and the Rue Janeck, climbs up the iron step and goes to sit down inside: this streetcar can only take him closer to his goal. With a ring of its bell the car starts up, its machinery groaning. Wallas watches the houses along the canals edge slide by.

But once the conductor has passed through, Wallas realizes his mistake: the number 6 line does not continue along the parkway as he had thought; instead it turns off at the first stop and heads south, through the suburbs. And since no line follows this unfrequented portion of the parkway that leads to the other end of lie Rue Janeck-where the post office mentioned by the drunk must be-Wallas remains rather confused. It is the conductor who explains matters to him, showing him a plan of the transportation network throughout the city: instead of heading directly for this post office, Wallas will first stop at Doctor Juard’s clinic-which is preferable from every point of view. Line number 4, which this one crosses at the next stop, will take him there.

He thanks the conductor, pays his fare, and gets off.

Around him, the scene is still the same: the parkway, the canal, the irregular buildings.

“Then she told him that since that was how things were, he might as well leaveI”

“And he left?”

“No, he didn’t. He wanted to know if it was all true, what she had just told him. At first he said it was silly, that he didn’t believe her and that they’d see about it; but when he realized that the others were going to come back, he was afraid it would turn against him and he remembered he had things to do. Things to do! We know what kind of things. So you know what she said? ‘Don’t do too many things,’ she said, ‘or you’ll wear yourself out!’”

“Oh…what did that mean?”

“Oh, you know, that meant that he might still run into him: she meant the car and everything else.”

“No!”

Wallas is sitting facing the front of the car, next to the window; there is an empty seat to his right. The two voices-woman’s voices, with uneducated intonations-come from the seats behind him.

“She wished him ‘Good luck!’ when he left.”

“And did he run into him?”

“No one knows yet. Anyway, if he met him, there must have been a rumpus!”

“I’ll say.”

“Well, we’ll find out tomorrow, I hope.”

Neither woman seems to have any special interest in the outcome of this matter. The people in question are neither relatives nor friends. It is even apparent that the existence of the two women is unrelated to this kind of story…but such people enjoy discussing the glorious events in the lives of great criminals and kings. Unless it is simply a story in the serial published by some paper.

The streetcar, after following a winding route along the somber buildings, reaches the central part of the city whose relative prosperity Wallas has already noticed. He recognizes the Rue de Berlin, in passing, that leads to the prefecture. He turns around toward the ticket taker, who is supposed to tell him when it is time to get off.

The first thing he notices is a bright red sign with a huge red arrow over the words:

For drawing For school For the office