"Take it easy! Take it easy!. Come back a little later!”
I show him my belt. that I’ve had to tighten it!
"Sh! Sh! ” he starts again… He shows me the lane of trees away off, I've got to go away!..
Hell no! it’s not possible! Enough walking!..
The clients, the people around coming and going, waiting on the steps, don’t give a damn about our gesturing.. Just then the door opens!. There’s Titus!. Titus Van Claben! known as The Horror!. That’s his nickname!. I recognize him right away from the stories… He simply appears in the doorway in a big pasha’s costume, that’s the way he runs his business… all got up in yellow and purple silk with an enormous turban and also a cane full of precious stones and a big jeweler’s magnifying glass. That’s exactly the way he is in the shop. He carries on his business in oriental fancy dress… He wants to chase me away immediately… his first instinct… He doesn’t know me. What’s the difference. I don’t bat an eyelash! He looks me up and down..
"Ah! so it’s you making all that racket!’’
He talks French, but with a thick accent, he comes down on it hard, like the one upstairs. They’re both greasers..
"You can go to hell!” I answer..
Right off, Boro starts giggling! He’s above us, he busts out laughing! He contemplates us.. from the front boxes..
The caliph blinks… He chorts… He wants to bluff me!.. He’s attacking me, he’s in a rage, he’s flapping around… he jumps up and down in his pants, his enormous baggy silks.. Ah! the big nasty stinker!. "You going to get out of here, you little bandit? Go beat it! Go on!”
He starts waving his stick at me.
I stay put.
"Go beat it! Go on! ” He’s starting again.. He’s in such a stew his turban’s wobbling on his head..
"Get out of here! Don’t let me see you again!. You want to debauch him again?. That what you’ve come for?. You don’t think he’s depraved enough?”
He points to Boro up above laughing out loud, splitting so that he’s hanging limp on the window sill. What a couple!
I thought he was funny at first, the potbellied stinker, now he starts running at me.
"I’ll give it to you, you wretch!”
I don’t like threats. It’s happening in public. it’s grotesque..
"Go ’way, you scoundrel!” he repeats. Me! A war cripple!
Hell no!
"I’ll have both of you arrested! ”
He points to both of us.
My, my, another jealous guy!
Now the other one starts talking, he’s delivering an address from the window, right to the public, he’s speechifying..
"Greetings! everybody!. Greetings, gents!. Greetings, mopey!. Greetings, pal!”..
He’s brandishing a big bottle, a whiskey gallon, he takes a swig, right down his throat from the bottle.. He’s making a spectacle of himself. The people are laughing themselves sick!. They’re roaring! They’re waiting for what comes next!
The pasha’s stamping, sputtering, he’s wild with rage..
"Get inside! you damned dog!. Get inside!” he yells.. "Aren’t you drunk enough? And you, you little wretch, do you know what’s in store for you?”
Ah! it’s a threat, a direct one!..
Ah! no! I don’t know a thing about it. Ah! It’s a fact!.. He still sickens me, that’s sure! It’s true I’ve got only one arm!
.. but he’s going too far!.. I’m going to let him have it!.. I go through the spectators. that’ll do!. "Wait, Caliph of my heart! ”. I rush up to him.. Seeing him right in front of my face flabbergasts me, he’s unbelievable!. Right in broad daylight! All made up!. A mug like a plaster mask!. Some job!..even worse than Joconde! and jowls, Madame! and rolls of fat with cream! and powder!.. even lipstick!.. The effect upon me is fantastic, a terrific illusion, a mirage… he fascinates me. He’s looking straight at me too.. Looks me up and down. he’s blinking… He starts scrutinizing me with his big magnifying glass..
"Oh! Oh!” he suddenly screams… "Oh my! young man! But young man! You’re not at all well!”
Ah! I brush him off!..
"But you look very ill to me!.. Come in!.. Come in!.. Rest yourself!”
He’s inviting me.. He’s suddenly changed his tone.. obsequious now, sympathetic.. oily..
"You must be very tired! Come in!. Lie down!”
He’s just too polite!
I come out of my daze, I dash through the door, I find the stairway… I bound up the steps, two at a time..
A room. what a shambles!. I stumble over everything!. Boro’s sprawled out. oof! shapeless on the sofa. He sees me.. he gets up..
"Ah! there you are! Oh! my boy!. Oh! my boy!. Oh! what a mess! Have you run into Matthew?”
His first words: Matthew!.. That’s all that’s worrying him..
"Where’s Matthew?”
He just keeps mumbling "Matthew! ”… He doesn’t even ask what’s been happening to me!.
"No!” I answer. "I don’t know where Matthew is!. You big drunk!. But I think he’ll be along soon!. from the way you raise hell!. the way you collect a crowd!”
I was giving him my opinion.
"Me raise hell?”. Ah! he’s bristling. Right away violence!. He’s brandishing his bottle at me! He wants to throw it in my face..
He stumbles. He moves forward!. He falls all o\er himself!.. Ba-da-da-boom!. The old guy downstairs starts howling!. by repercussion!. he’s yelping at me. a shrill whining voice. acrazy bitch!
"Will you stop it, you riffraff! You’ll break everything! Boro play me the Merry Widow Waltz!”
There’s also a piano in the corner.. The pasha wants music!
quite exacting! a wish of his!. he’s screaming with desire!
"The Merry Widow Waltz. You hear me? The Merry Widow! ”
Immediately he throws a tantrum… He flutters around! jumps about. a real madwoman!
He sets the whole shop bouncing, shakes the floor! What a racket! He keeps time by knocking on the ceiling!.. with the cane!. he’s raging for the Merry Widow Waltz!
"Shit!” the other one answers. "Shit! you dumb hussy!”
That was Boro from his sofa… He shot that one down the stairs..
"You’re already drunk, Borokrom!” the old guy answers.. "You’ve been drinking like a hole!”
They’re at one another now…
"Like a hole?”. Ah! that’s the limit!. "Tell me, what kind of hole? What kind of hole? Ass-hole, is that it?”
It’s too outrageous!.. Boro gets up! He wants to hear that to his face. what the old guy’s insinuating! he’s going downstairs. shit! He stumbles… he staggers.. He gets to the stairs.. His shirt hanging out like a smock, his belly sagging. He’s reeling again. Boom!. he tumbles, upsets. rolls down.. crashes into the shop… A mess.. Right into the whole works. Right into the crockery.. The pyramid of fruit dishes. plates! Thunder!.. A cataract!. The old boy’s choking with fury. The client in front of the counter yelps.. she’s bleating with horror.. She wants to run away.. she can’t!. Everything falls all over her!. The old guy tries to help her, to pull her out! he yanks at her, by her shoes… he takes a firm stand. ho! hip! hup!. the whole works tumbles down again!..
"You, you tramp? You just standing there?”. He’s talking to me. I go downstairs. He wants me!. I dash forward. I grab her by the feet… I get her out of the chaos.. back into the light.. The two fatsoes immediately start brawling again. Insults, threats, right over the lady’s belly.. With her underneath screaming to death!.
Boro grabs the old guy by the hair.. Ah! now he’s going to bash him!. The turban wobbles!. He’s squeezing his Adam’s apple. He’s strangling him, by God!. He calls the customer to witness. how he’s going to strangle the old guy…
“And he wanted to murder me!.. I’m telling you, Madame, a pirate! ”