Aurorarama - Jean-Christophe Valtat [134]
The most difficult part was simply getting there without being noticed, but at this early hour, and with everybody on holiday for the victory parade, this problem solved itself, as long as one stood in the shadows of the surrounding buildings and did not attempt to cross the esplanade in the moonlight.
The terrorist love triangle, by crouching and running and ducking for cover, soon reached the back of the building and, from there, a rear entrance that was used for deliveries. Deftly avoiding any jingling, Mougrabin thoughtfully selected a key from a key ring, and three trials were enough to let him in with Stella. Gabriel, wondering vaguely why he had agreed to come along, but too heartbroken to really care (maybe, inglorious as it was, he just wanted to see more of Stella), remained behind on the lookout. He stood in the dark, shivering with cold and sadness, at the northeastern corner of the building, from which he could see the Jack Frost Palace faintly gleaming under the moon, thinking how it would soon begin to melt, a soft and slow ruin, and he could not help imagining that all the city would dissolve with it, imperceptibly, until it left not a single trace, as if it had never been there at all. That felt better, somehow, than thinking about Mougrabin having taken Stella down to a cold, obscure kingdom from which he, Gabriel, would never ever be able to bring her back.
Meanwhile, Mougrabin had lit a phosphoric cord and, as surely as if he were in their own house, discovered with Stella a staircase that led down to the basement. There, he quickly strapped the Resonator to one of the pillars that held the vault aloft, while, equally nimbly, Stella fitted below it the muffled pavilion of the phonograph, before cranking it to play the roll.
The sounds came out too low to be heard directly, but they were echoed by the amplifier, diffusing them through the walls like the beating of a gigantic heart, so gigantic it had the power the break the ribcage that surrounded it. Mougrabin and Stella could hear the distant thuds as if someone were digging a tunnel below them. The sound waves circuited through the whole building, gaining power as they did. A faint vibration could already be felt along the pillars. It was working. It would take some time but no stone would be left upon another. Mougrabin and Stella stood embraced for a while under that strengthening heartbeat and then, as a little dust fell from the ceiling, decided it was time to go.
The sun was beginning to rise as they emerged. Gabriel still stood against the wall, and he could feel it almost pulsating. He did not recognize his own song. It was not his anymore, but, then, that was what happened to songs.
“Everything went okay?” he asked without conviction.
“Fine,” said Stella, who looked even smaller in her thick, black, fur-lined jacket. She took off her crocheted hat and shook her corkscrew curls out in a moment of pure terrorist eroticism. Gabriel closed his eyes.
Mougrabin looked at the ashen dawn. They had taken too long.
“We should get away,” he said. He looked determined, and calmer than Gabriel had ever seen him.
But as they reached the corner of the building, Wynne suddenly sprang out in front them, his unsheathed cane in his hand.
“Here you are!” he said.
But he had sprung a little too soon. They were still a few yards away from him and had time to turn and run for their lives.
“The palace!” shouted Mougrabin.
They had the whole building to run alongside, and a good two hundred yards of esplanade to cross. But Wynne was an athlete and he would soon catch up.
“Let’s separate!” bellowed Mougrabin, running quite quickly in spite of