Philippe Djian - Betty Blue

“No. What he thinks doesn’t interest me. I’ve got better things to worry about.”

The guy couldn’t see what a break he was getting. He was obviously not with it. I don’t know what possessed him-he must have realized that I wasn’t going to jump on him and so he let himself get carried away by the sudden absence of danger. Instead of staying where he was, shutting up, and letting us just get our things together, he started coming toward us.

I’m certain that at that precise moment Betty had forgotten all about him. All her anger had been turned on me. We were raking the rug, trying to put together the puzzle that had spilled out of her purse. I don’t know how she did it, because she never took her eyes off me. She was breathing quickly, and her look was a furious and sad variation on a theme of pain. The guy came up behind her and in a demented gesture touched her shoulder with his fingertip.

“Listen here, I’m not accustomed to this sort of animal behavior. I know how to use only one weapon-my mind…”

Betty closed her eyes without turning around.

“Don’t touch me,” she said.

But the guy was drunk with his own audacity. These crazy bangs were hanging over his forehead, and his eyes were shining. “Your manners are unacceptable,” he said. “It is obvious that there can’t be any dialogue between us, since Speech, like Writing, requires a minimum of elegance, which seems to be a particular deficit in your case…”

She let slide a brief period of silence after this remark-the kind of trembling, empty space that separates the thunder from the lightning. She picked her comb up off the floor. She had it in her hand. It was a cheap one, made of clear plastic-sort of red, with fat teeth. She jumped up and turned around. Her arm traced a circle in the air. She slashed his cheek with it.

At first the guy just looked at her in surprise, then walking backward, he put his hand to his wound-it was pissing blood. It was all rather theatrical, but he seemed to have forgotten his lines-all he did was move his lips. Then it started to get annoying: Betty was breathing like a forge-she went toward him, but my arm came down in front of her and grabbed her by the wrist. I pulled as if I was trying to uproot a tree. I saw her feet leave the floor.

“Hold it. Stop the meter,” I said.

She tried to pull away but I held her with all my strength. She let out a little cry. I must say I was not pretending-had her arm been a tube of toothpaste, the stuff would have squirted for miles around. I dragged her toward the door with my teeth clenched. On our way out the door, I turned and took a last look at the guy. Ile was sinking into an armchair, looking numb. I imagined him reading my novel.

We went down the stairs four at a time, stumbling. I slowed down on the second-floor landing so she could get her balance back. She started yelling.

“GOD, YOU FUCKING BASTARD. WHY DO YOU ALWAYS LET THEM WALK ALL OVER YOU?”

I stopped abruptly. I trapped her against the banister and looked into her face.

“That dude didn’t do anything to me,” I said. “Nothing-you understand?”

Tears of rage started coming out of her eyes. I felt my strength leaving me, as if someone had blowgunned me with a curare dart.

“WELL GOD DAMN IT ALL! YOU’D THINK THAT NOTHING IN THIS WORLD EVER GETS TO YOU!!”

“You’re wrong,” I said.

“WELL, THEN, WHAT DOES? TELL ME WHAT GETS TO YOU!”

I looked away.

“Are we going to spend the night here?” I asked.

Two days later the cops took her away. I wasn’t there when they came. I was with Eddie. It was a Sunday afternoon and we were crisscrossing the town looking for olives-almost all the stores were closed. We had noticed only the night before that we were out-it seemed that Mario had committed a slight act of omission when he sent in his order for the kitchen. He’s got his gig down, Eddie explained, but you can’t ask him for the moon. It was windy that day-not more than thirty-four or thirty-five degrees. The temperature had gone down all at once.

We were taking our time. Eddie drove slowly. It was a nice little joyride under an icy sun. I felt very relaxed for no reason in particular. Maybe going back and forth all over town in pursuit of a handful of olives made for a great time-if only for the peace that came over my soul, like a light blanket of snow over a field of dead men.

We finally found what we were looking for in Chinatown-no joke-and to make it even better they gave us each a glass of sake, to insure a nonfrozen return to the car. On the way back we talked a bit louder. Eddie was wound up. His ears were red.

“You see, buddy boy, a pizza without olives is like a peanut with nobody inside!”

“Watch the road, will you?” I said.

We parked in front of the house. I had barely stepped onto the sidewalk when I saw Lisa running toward us. We literally froze in our tracks. All she had on was a light sweater. She grabbed me.

“My God, I don’t know what this is all… they took her…” she sobbed.

“What’s going on? What are you talking about?” I asked.

“Two cops… they came and took her away…”

I bit my lip. Eddie was looking at us over the roof of the car. He wasn’t laughing. Lisa was turned inside out; her teeth were chattering. The sun faded.

“All right, let’s talk about this inside. You’ll die of cold if you stay out here like this.”

An hour later, after a brief discussion and a few phone calls, I had all the data. I drank a grog and put my jacket back on.

“I’ll go with you,” Eddie said.

“Thanks, no,” I said.

“Okay, well at least take the car.”

“No, it’ll do me good to walk. Don’t worry, it’s nothing.”

I left. It wasn’t very late, but night had already fallen. I walked fast-hands in pockets, head tucked between my shoulders. The streets had turned into a string of ugly lights. I knew the way. I had fixed a toilet tank in the building next door. I remember I hadn’t liked having to walk past the police station with my tool box slung over my shoulder-I’d had the feeling they were watching me.

I hadn’t even made it halfway when I got hit with a terrible pain in my side. It made my eyes blink and my mouth drop open-I felt like I was going to keel over. I stopped to breathe for a second. Great, I thought, as if the shit isn’t already deep enough. What had me most worried, though, was this business of pressing charges. The cop on the phone had told me that we were in for “some trouble.” I went the rest of the way doubled over, my brain burning. I wondered what “some trouble” meant to a cop. Passersby were puffing out little clouds of steam and so was I-at least one small sign that we all were still alive.

Just before I got there, I was lucky enough to find a store open. I went in. It seemed a little silly to buy oranges, but I didn’t know, what else to get a girl behind bars. I was having trouble concentrating. On the other hand, oranges are full of vitamins. I finally decided on two cartons of juice. There was a girl dancing half naked on the label-a beach and blue water-without a care in the world.

They showed me to an office where a dude was waiting for me. He was playing with a ruler. I was nervous. He pointed to a chair with the ruler and told me to sit down. He was a broad-shouldered guy with a half-smile on his lips, about forty years old. I was very nervous.

“So here we are…” I said.

“Save your breath,” he interrupted. “I know the story from A to Z. I’m the one who took the complaint, and I’ve talked a little bit with your friend…”