Alain Mabanckou - Broken Glass

I must go now, there’s nothing left for me to do round here, I must get rid of this book, but then where can I throw it, I don’t know, I turn back toward Credit Gone West, though I don’t know why, they think I’m crazy because I’m writing even as I push my way through the crowd, and I go past the guy who calls himself Holden, he’s still giving me his rebellious adolescent nonsense, asking me “hey, Broken Glass, can you tell me what happens to the poor ducks in cold countries when it’s wintertime, do they get put in the zoo or migrate to other countries or do the poor things just get stuck in the snow, I really want to know,” he knows it off by heart, he doesn’t even change the order of his words each time he asks the question, and I say to him “Holden, don’t you think you’d have been better off asking the ducks in the cold countries, while you were still down there, that must be one of the things in that book you’re holding, surely,” and he looks at me, very disappointed, and murmurs “that’s not nice, you don’t like ducks, I can tell, I actually really want to know, you just can’t imagine how terrible it is for those poor creatures,” and he starts sobbing, and I ask him once more what time it is, even if he has got an alarm clock strung round his neck, it’s a question of respect, and he refuses to tell me, “I’m not telling you the time if you won’t tell me what happens to the poor little ducks in cold countries in wintertime” and then he comes up really close, looks at me for a moment, tells me it’s very nearly midnight, so I hand him the book and say to him quietly “my friend, give that to the Stubborn Snail, but you mustn’t open it, even if you’re in it too, but I decided not to write about your life, I haven’t got time, and anyway, I expect you were going to tell me you were a student somewhere abroad, that your friends beat you up in the dorm, that you’ve been wandering all over Manhattan, you’ve been in New York, you saw the ducks in winter in Central Park and all that jazz, now don’t give me that wide-eyed look, I’ve never set foot there myself, no one’s ever told me your story, Holden, but in a way you almost insulted me, it doesn’t matter, you just enjoy your wine, live your life, we’ll meet again in the other world, Holden, we’ll have a drink together, and you can tell me your entire life story, I’ll answer your question, I’ll tell you what they do with the poor little ducks in cold countries during wintertime, ciao, old chap, I must be off now, my place is in paradise, and if some cheating angels go telling lies up there to stop me entering by the great wide gate, well, believe me, I’ll get in anyway, through the window”