The Investigation

V

AT FIRST, HE TOLD HIMSELF that exhaustion was causing him to see mirages. And then the name on the unlit sign — HOPE HOTEL — comforted him with the thought that someone — a kind of game-master — was playing a little trick on him and observing his reaction with a subtle smile. He nearly wept for joy, but instead he burst out laughing, loudly and at some length. True, the sign was off — was this the one he thought he’d seen lit up a few hours earlier? — but the place was indeed a hotel, a real hotel, modest-looking, probably a little creaky, judging from its decrepit façade and the flaking paint on its shutters, some of which were hanging from only one hinge, but nonetheless an active hotel, with a plaque indicating the category of the establishment — four stars! Its façade merited only one, if that — and a notice displaying the prohibitive prices of the rooms. Through the glass doors he could see the apparently tidy lobby, as well as the tiny lamp whose tiny light faintly illuminated a sort of counter, to the left of which he could make out several dozen keys of various sizes hanging from butcher’s hooks.

The Investigator, who had practically run across the street when he saw the Hotel, searched a little breathlessly for the night bell, but after several minutes came to the conclusion that there wasn’t any. Still, he was now certain that his ordeal was almost over, and he didn’t care how much he had to pay. He was prepared to disburse a fortune in exchange for a warm, dry room and a bed to lie on. There would be time tomorrow to look around for a hotel better suited to his means.

He knocked on the door — gently, discreetly — and waited. Nothing happened. He knocked again, a bit harder this time. It crossed his mind that the Night Clerk wasn’t doing very much in the way of clerking. The Investigator imagined him plunged into a deep, comalike slumber. Was it possible that there was no one on duty? He shivered and began to yell, pounding on the door in a sudden burst of energy. The Hope Hotel remained hopelessly closed and mute. The Investigator let himself slide down the door like a heavy sandbag. He collapsed onto his suitcase, which he clutched as though it were a loved one or a life preserver — a strange life preserver indeed, as wet as the waves it was supposed to save him from.

“What do you want?”

He jerked his head up. The door of the Hotel was open, and a woman was standing close beside him, a very tall, very fat woman. To the Investigator, who was lying in a heap on the ground, for all the world like an insect or a reptile, she seemed a veritable giantess, a giantess in the act of tying a belt around her pink, fraying terry-cloth bathrobe. She looked at him in amazement. He mumbled some words of apology, managed to rise to his feet, smoothed his raincoat and trousers, wiped his tears and his nose with the back of his hand, sniffled, and then, at last, instinctively coming to attention, almost like a soldier, he introduced himself: “I’m the Investigator.”

“So?” the Giantess replied, not giving him time to go on. Her large body gave off a slight scent of perspiration as well as a tepid warmth, the warmth of the bed from which she’d been roused by his racket. Since she hadn’t drawn her robe all the way around her, the Investigator could see the lighter fabric of her nightgown and its washed-out pattern of daisies and daffodils. Her features were blurry with sleep, and the thick coils of her bright-red hair were skewered on a long, haphazardly inserted hairpin.

“Would you by chance have an available room?” the Investigator asked, not without some difficulty. He didn’t yet dare to think that his grotesque ordeal might be coming to an end.

“A room!” the Giantess said, speaking distinctly and opening her eyes wide, as if his request were absurd, inappropriate, possibly even obscene. The Investigator once again felt his legs buckling under him. She looked shocked and outraged.

“Yes, a room,” he replied, and it was almost a supplication.

“Do you know what time it is?”

He dared to shrug his shoulders a little. “Yes …” he murmured, though he hadn’t the least idea how late it was or the nerve to look at his watch. He lacked even the strength to apologize, and he shrank from launching into an explication that wouldn’t have been very convincing in any case and might possibly have aroused yet more suspicion.

The Giantess thought for a few seconds, grumbling. In the end she said, “Follow me!”