13, Rue Therese - Elena Mauli Shapiro [39]
Because he was made so immediately drunk, he could not even get enough booze in his system to make himself sick before he needed to go to sleep. This was fortunate: a man should avoid vomiting twice in one day.
He would get so drowsy so fast that he could not even hold his head up, and his collapsed bearing made the other men laugh: their dear stiff Angle, melted like so much hot candle wax. The pilot who was fond of math would take pity on him and help him to his bunk, leave him there passed out on his small, hard bed, still fully dressed. His sleep on those nights was not to be believed: total obliteration, as if his body had flung out his very soul. There were no dreams, and when he woke up he had no idea where on earth he was, or even who he was.
But it could not be denied: on such mornings, he felt absolutely fantastic. He felt the whole world was his. His walk had a marvelous swagger of pure ownership; he struck the ground with his heels as if it should crack beneath him. To fissure the earth with every step: his aim.
Women loved this gait of his. It utterly turned their heads. They would look over his wilted uniform and ask to see his revolver. He was only too glad to oblige; he was proud of the thing. It was a smooth six-chambered affair that he kept well oiled. It spun so sweetly from being so perfectly lubricated.
—click—
“You see? This is where the bullets go in. A simple device, really. Would you like to hold it?”
—click—
OH, DO YOU SEE—HIS whole body heated with elation and want—this blaze made him forget his wife and his little boy. Some of the women eagerly accepted his offer to handle the weapon. Others were too nervous and tentative to do so.
Still, he vomited helplessly every time he had to pull up into the sky in his roaring gamble of a machine. He went up because he was made to; they ordered him and he had no choice. He was merely one of the lower links in the pitiless Chain of Command. He went up because he had to, and his body buckled in terror and fury against this inevitability, trembling and pouring forth cold sweat every single time. But after a while he couldn’t stop going up, even if they’d let him. After a while, this horrid vertigo fueled his entire life. He was weak like a boy and strong like a man.
Still, the poor fellow, he was much happier when all this foolishness ended, and he was allowed to become a schoolteacher. He was good and settled then, and never again forgot about his wife and his little boy and the little boys that followed and the little girl he hopes she is carrying today.
Xavier suspects he knows whom the letter is from. Oh, with every passing moment the picture becomes clearer. He will find out soon enough if his guess is correct. His wife has told him they are having dinner with the Brunets this Saturday, and he cannot wait. He cannot wait to watch Louise’s face as she sits across the table from him. Certainly she will squirm with embarrassment, with fear, with need for his body. What could be more satisfying?
To take possession of what is offered to him might be more satisfying. It would also be a bad idea. He knows that hurt of some sort must lie this way, but still, it is an interesting proposition. He has to think it over.
Paris
April 24th
Dear Sir,
Do you remember the fused bullets? This object:
This morning, I could not go to work without it tucked in my pants pocket. I wear no jacket these days. There is an unseasonable muggy heat settling over Paris and making the air dirty and thick. I gripped it the whole way there on the metro, not sure whether I was afraid it would leap out of my pocket and do something, or whether I truly wanted it to. It did, in any case. When I passed Josianne’s desk on the way to my office, I took the thing out and displayed it to her on the open palm of my sweaty hand. I could not tell for certain whether I premeditated this. I just knew I wanted her to react, somehow.