Philippe Djian - Betty Blue

She wedged one of her legs between mine, her thing jammed into my thigh. I moved aside. She was panting like she’d just run the thousand-yard dash. Her chest seemed even bigger in the darkness. She was obscenely white. Her nipples were aimed right at me. I raised my hand.

“Annie…”

But she grabbed my wrist in mid-flight and plastered my hand over her tits. She started rubbing herself on me again. I sent her flying into the shelves.

“I’m sorry…” I said.

I felt a wave of fury come out of her belly, like a torpedo, setting the store on fire. Her eyes glazed over.

“What’s come over you? What seems to be the problem, mister?” she hissed.

I wondered why she got formal all of a sudden. It was so strange, I couldn’t answer.

“What’s wrong with me?” she went on. “I’m not pretty enough? You don’t desire…?”

“I don’t give in to all my desires,” I said. “It makes me feel a little freer, that way.”

She bit her lip, stroking her belly gently with her hand. She let out a little childlike whine.

“I can’t stand it anymore,” she said.

While I was picking up the cans of almonds, she lifted up her dress, her back against the canned goods. Her little white under pants flashed through my skull like a bolt of lightning. My hand started traveling toward her-I told myself it was simply too strong to deny. But then I told myself: Do this and you’re a scumbag, selling your soul out for a cheap fantasy. I took a good look at the scoreboard before deciding. Man is nothing. But it’s his conscience that makes something out of nothing. These thoughts bore me up-they were part of my emergency kit. I gently took her by the arm.

“Forget all this,” I said. “What say we go up and have a nice peaceful drink with the others? Okay…?”

She let her dress down. She lowered her head and buttoned her dress.

“I wasn’t asking very much,” she murmured. “I just wanted to know if I still existed is all…”

“Stop worrying about it,” I said. “Everybody needs to let it out, one way or another.”

I stroked her cheek. But clumsy gestures can be like hot coals.

She looked at me, desperate.

“Bob hasn’t touched me in over a month,” she sobbed. Ever since I came home from the clinic. It’s making me crazy! Don’t you think it’s normal to want it? Do I have to just wait for him to decide…?”

“I don’t know. It’ll all work out.”

She ran her lingers through her hair, sighing.

“Yeah, it’ll all work out. Sure. Probably one of these nights, while I’m sound asleep, he’ll decide. Naturally, it’ll be a night when I’m totally exhausted-dead as a doornail. He’ll come over and slip me his thing from behind. I can see it all now. He won’t even bother to see if I’m awake or not.”

It always seems like a tiny little dent in the beginning, but bend over a little and get a closer look-you find that you’re standing on the edge of a bottomless abyss. That’s why they invented goose pimples, to keep your teeth from chattering.

I put a bag of chips in her arms, and we went upstairs. No one was in the kitchen. She had two drinks, waiting for the others to come. I drank a toast to the goldfish.

In the end, Bob and Annie made us stay for dinner. They insisted. We looked at each other. I said, Betty, it’s up to you, you’re the one who wanted to eat Chinese. Betty said, Let’s stay.

“Now that the kids are asleep we can eat in peace,” Bob said.

I went down into the store to get some groceries with Bob. It was practical. In time of war, much more reassuring than pianos, I thought. There were even little garlic croutons, to consume preferably before the end of the next five years. Ideal for freeze-dried fish soup.

“I’ll buy the wine,” I said.

He rang up my bill and gave me my change. We went back upstairs.

We let the girls make dinner. It made them happy. We gave them a few olives while waiting. In the meantime, Bob dragged me into the bedroom to show me his collection of detective novels. It took up a whole wall. He stood in front of it, his fists on his hips.

“If you read one a day, it would still take you at least five years!” he said.

“You don’t read anything else?” I asked.

“There’s some science fiction on the bottom shelf…”

“You know,” I said, “we’re really pushovers. They toss us a few bones so we won’t try and grab the real meat. I’m not just talking about books-they’ve worked it out so they can say anything they want…”

“Huh…? Anyway, if you want I can loan you a few, but be careful, no kidding. Especially with the hardcovers.”

I glanced at the unmade bed. No one gets out alive. In the end, chances are you’re wasting your time. The problem, though, is that it’s never really completely wasted.

“Starting to smell good in the kitchen,” I said. “Better go have a look…”

“Yeah. But you got to admit, I really floored you there.”

After dinner we sat down to a nice easy game of poker. We each had a glass of wine, and there were enough ashtrays to go around. From where I sat I could see the moon. It didn’t seem like much in itself, but if you’re going to rhapsodize, you might as well go all out. All the greats have. The game did not keep me on pins and needles. When I wasn’t looking at the moon, I looked at the others. The mystery was just as profound. Roots entangling endlessly-the chances of lifting a corner of the veil growing fainter each time a cloud comes to cover the moon. One thing led to another. I slid into a bath of gentle stupidity. Not uncommon these days.

The baby’s crying woke me. Bob slammed his hand down on the table, swearing. Annie stood up. I hardly had any chips left. I couldn’t understand it. Archie woke up and started crying too. Screaming like a banshee.

Annie and Bob came back into the kitchen with the two of them shrieking in their arms. I gave myself three seconds to beat it out of there.

“We’ll leave you alone now,” I said. “Sleep well, you two.”

I shoved Betty adroitly in front of me, and we split. When we got to the bottom of the stairs, I heard Bob call:

“Hey, nice having you guys over!”

“Thanks for everything, Bob.”

The fresh air did me good. I suggested we take a little walk before heading home. She took my arm and nodded her head. There were already a few tiny leaves on the trees. The air shook them. You could smell the young buds in the street, an aroma that got stronger and stronger.

We went up the street in silence. There comes a moment when the silence between two people can have the purity of a diamond. Such was the case then. That’s all you can say about it. The street is no longer a street. The light becomes fragile as a dream. The sidewalks shine. The air crashes in your face. A joy rises in you that has no name-that amazes you. It’s being able to stay calm, to light someone’s cigarette with your back to the wind, without the slightest tremble in your hand to betray you. It was the kind of walk that can fill a lifetime.

On the corner was a garbage can with a rubber tree in it. Though it’d been thrown out, it was still in good shape, with lots of leaves. It was just thirsty. My heart went out to it. It looked like a sad coconut tree, agonizing on an archipelago of trash.

“Can you tell me why people do things like this?” I asked.

“Hey, look, it’s sprouting a new leaf!”

“…and why this crummy old rubber tree tugs so hard at my heartstrings…”

“We could put it downstairs, with the pianos.”

I unwedged the poor thing and took it in my arms. We went home. The leaves clicked like amulets, shiny as mica. Dancing like Christmas Eve. It was a grateful rubber tree-I’d given it another chance.