Lilstein has grasped Philippe Morel by the arm, the beige coat is very soft, cashmere, Lilstein speaks savagely but in an undertone, in the alleyway the man in the vest with the plastic bag with ‘Tati’ on it continues shouting, the two passers-by stare at him, nobody else.
‘Constitution, article two, shut your traps, especially political asylum seekers!’
The girl sacked by Unilivres went a year and a half without finding a job, and the day she found something she grabbed it, taking the money in a motorway tollbooth, in the provinces, works nights, a hundred and fifty francs a month more, some nights she notches up almost two thousand vehicles, drivers telling her she’s a waste of space if she can’t tell them if it’s raining in Paris, she’s lucky because she works in a toll area where gendarmes are stationed, the rest of it, drivers who snarl obscenities then zoom off, she’s got used to, and there are two meanings of ‘History’, first a means of knowing which is used for matters for which there can be no rational, theoretical explanation, this sort of history is when theory does not suffice as a means of explaining, and the other meaning is the one which refers to the way societies change over time, that crazy loon with the ‘Tati’ bag is putting the wind up everybody. The man in the grey raincoat looks worried. He’s looking every which way. They’re going to leave without buying anything.
Philippe Morel smiles at his friend Lilstein, he pays no attention to his savagery:
‘Nothing to worry about, the man’s going it a bit strong, but our universal declaration isn’t quite like that yet.’
‘Wogs should keep their traps shut, especially the political refugees.’
‘Stop worrying, Misha,’ says Philippe Morel, ‘he’s just some crackpot.’
It’s the first time Morel has ever called him Misha, what gives him the right? Hans used to call him Misha, Max was allowed to call him Misha, what right does Morel have to call him that? No right at all, rather the superiority of the one who betrays, I’m finished, he calls me Misha for short, that’s how the bastard’s mind works.
‘Misha, calm down, that man’s no threat, he’ll be off soon, I know, you remember there was a time when five men in grey raincoats would have arrested him, and you with him, today he can shout his head off in public without getting into trouble because we don’t have enough trained men in grey raincoats, it’s progress, you don’t agree? He’ll move on, Misha, and besides there are foreigners and foreigners, you aren’t one of the kind he doesn’t like.’
The man raises a fist, punches the air, cracked voice of one who sleeps rough:
‘And why? I’ll tell you! Why are there all these political refugees in France who’re gonna have to keep their traps shut, eh? Why don’t they bugger off back where they came from and keep their traps shut there?’
‘Don’t be scared, Misha, he’s just another crackpot, you’re in France, the police aren’t looking for you, why are you getting so worked up?’
‘Morel, tell me what I’m doing here! It’s a trap!’
I’ve protected Morel for thirty-five years and now he betrays me, he works for the CIA, he arranges a meet in a trap, been in the business more than fifty years and I end up sitting in a trap, Morel says there’s a book he has to buy and we meet up in this alleyway to which there are two exits, they’re waiting for me, an ambulance, Morel has sold me out, he behaves with all the casualness of people who’ve got themselves a cushy number, a lackey of the CIA.
‘I’ve spent my life protecting you, Morel, I never had you down as linked to the CIA, you really that fond of Coca-Cola? Let’s go, let’s finish this, an ambulance? or a van? I can’t stay in this place any longer, all these reactionary books, your squalid little manoeuvres, hand me over and let’s have done with it.’
I’m shaking, I never shook in my life, nowhere, I’m shaking like Regel, that day he threw a fit, he just crumpled in the middle of the lounge of the Waldhaus, that’s exactly how I must look, let’s get it over and done with.
Morel needed a few moments to calm Lilstein down, nothing was wrong. In the alleyway the madman with the vest and the ‘Tati’ bag had finally moved on. Morel reasoned with Lilstein, no one was out to get him, everything was fine.
The girl at the till hasn’t even moved a finger, she’s used to seeing the madman pass by, here the owner pays me for working part-time, that’s half the minimum wage, not a penny more, whereas I actually do twenty-five hours, he says he’s teaching me the business, that I’ve got time to go to the university, that if I was working in a half-decent hotel with a restaurant for the same pay I’d be doing ten hours a day, and working late every night, so either reason encompasses History, it has the power to dominate History because it is a permanent entity which resists the temporal flow, or else there is a historicity of reason because thought does not recognise the same possibilities in the ages of Plato, Hegel or Heidegger, but that’s still rationalising History, you could also say that what happens is subject to contingency, I’m getting lost now, in the hotel trade the more tired you are the less you smile, the less you smile the fewer the tips you get says the owner, and the sack the first time you ask for a rise, a reference that guarantees you’ll never get another job, written by an ecological hotelier who grows his own rosemary, gives interviews to the Nouvel Obs and collects money for the rights of man, at least here, in the bookshop, you can complain, but I can’t afford to pay you more, and you can read your philosophy books, you can leave whenever you want, I’ll find someone else soon enough, some young girl, who actually likes being young.
Morel did not even take umbrage at having been suspected by Lilstein of betraying him:
‘Par for the course, Misha, you’re so jittery.’
Lilstein calmed down, he felt cross with himself for panicking, it was on account of this place, an alleyway, an enclosed place in an alleyway, I like bookshops to open straight into the street and I can’t stand these reactionary books.
‘“Regressive”, my dear Misha, “regressive” is the word, “reactionary” is incorrect, besides there’s no such thing any more, there aren’t any reactionaries around now, that was in the days when you had thousands of people working for you, “regressive” is the word you want, but, look at this, yes, this is the book I came to buy, a monument to Yankee ideology, as you say, Misha, I want to show you just how far “reactionary” books can go.
‘Look, Flash Gordon, amusing enough, no? Aircraft carriers, aeroplanes, a surprise attack on the United States, by aircraft carrier, planes which sink the American fleet at anchor, yes, you’re right, not original, a carbon-copy of Pearl Harbor, a well-known story, but look here, this page, at the bottom, the date, yes, the date of publication, October 1941, got it? That’s two months before the real Pearl Harbor, two months before!
‘Now isn’t that amusing? The Americans are attacked by an enemy fleet, and they counter-attack, it’s still October 1941, can you guess what they counter-attack with? Look at this, that’s right, with atomic explosives, a great story, two months before Pearl Harbor!
‘Did Roosevelt and his admirals read comic books? Yes, because comic strips were published every day in a great many newspapers, this particular one appeared on 11 October 1941 syndicated in at least a hundred and fifty newspapers, Roosevelt and his admirals must all have read it in one or other of the papers, over breakfast, two months before the Japanese attack, a stab in the back, all because they didn’t pay enough attention to cartoon strips!’