Philippe Djian - Betty Blue

I was wiping a drop of sweat off my cheek when I felt a finger tap me on the shoulder.

“Come on, let’s leave her alone now. She won’t wake up before noon tomorrow-we’ve given her some tranquilizers.”

I turned toward the whispering nurse. I couldn’t remember what I’d done that day, but I felt totally exhausted. I motioned to her that I’d follow. My general sensation was one of sliding along a river of lava. She closed the door behind us. I found myself standing out in the hallway with no idea of what my next move should be. She took my arm and led me toward the exit.

“Come back tomorrow,” she said. “Hey, watch your step…!”

I suppose that being back out on the street was what woke me up. The air was soft and hot-a typical equatorial night. I was about a mile from the house. I walked across the street and bought a pizza from the local Italian. I stood in line at the grocery for two cans of beer. I stocked up on cigarettes. It was nice to do simple things. I tried not to think of anything. I got on a bus and went home. The pizza shaped itself to the contours of my knees.

When I got home, I turned the TV on. I threw the pizza on the table and tossed down a beer, standing up. I wanted to take a shower, but I abandoned the idea-I just couldn’t bring myself to go in there, not right away. I listened to what was on television. A bunch of half-dead guys were talking about their latest books. I grabbed my pizza and sat down. I looked them right in the eye. They were gabbing over orange juice, their eyes bright with self-satisfaction. They had their finger on the pulse of today’s taste. It’s true that an era deserves the writers it gets, and it was edifying to watch them. My pizza was barely warm and very greasy. I wondered if they hadn’t invited the worst of the lot, just in case anyone had any doubts. Perhaps the theme of the show was “How to Sell a Million Copies with Nothing to Say, No Talent, No Soul, No Love, No Suffering, Nor the Ability to Put Two Words Back to Back Without Making People Yawn.” The other channels weren’t much better. I turned the sound off and just watched the screen.

After a while I realized that I was just spinning my wheels. Still, I had no desire to go to bed, especially not there, in the heart of such a hideous trap. I took a bottle and went to Bob’s. When I walked in, Annie was busy breaking dishes. She looked at me, a salad bowl poised over her head. There was debris all over the floor. Bob was hiding in a corner.

“I’ll come back later,” I said.

“No, no,” they said. “How’s Betty?”

I forayed into the fray and set the bottle down on the table.

“She’s okay,” I said. “It isn’t serious. I don’t feel like talking about it. I just didn’t want to be alone…”

Annie took my arm and sat me down in a chair. She was in her bathrobe; her face was still pink with anger.

“Of course,” she said. “We understand.”

Bob got out the glasses.

“Am I interrupting something…?” I said.

“Don’t be ridiculous…” he said.

Annie sat down next to me. She pushed away a lock of hair that had fallen over her face.

“Where are the kids?” I asked.

“At the bastard’s mother’s,” she answered.

“Listen,” I said. “Don’t mind me-just act like I’m not here.”

Bob filled the glasses.

“No, we were having a little tiff-it’s nothing…”

“ ‘Nothing,’ he says. The son of a bitch is cheating on me, and it’s nothing!”

“Jesus Christ, you’re so full of shit…!” said Bob.

He moved aside, thus avoiding the salad bowl, which exploded against the wall. We raised our glasses.

“Cheers!” I said.

There was a brief moment of silence while we drank, then they started back at it again, harder. As far as I was concerned, the ambience was perfect. I stretched my legs out under the table and folded my hands over my belly. To tell the truth, I wasn’t very interested in what was going on. I felt the turbulence spinning around me-their screams, the sound of things smashing on the floor-but I felt my sadness calm down, and crumble away like a cookie. For once I gave my blessing to the thing I hated most in the world: a cocktail made of light, humanity, heat, and noise. I slid down in my chair, having first taken care to refill my glass. Everywhere in the world there were men and women fighting, loving, tearing each other apart; people pissing novels without love, without madness, without energy, and most of all without style-taking us to Hell in a handbasket. I was at this point in my literary reflections when I spotted the moon through the window. It was full, majestic, and auburn. Somehow, it made me think of my little bird, her eye wounded on a mimosa branch-I barely noticed the colored bowls flying across the room.

At that moment I felt a kind of inner peace. I grabbed on to it. It was quite something after all those dark hours. It put a mindless smile on my face. Things were heating up. Bob had been dodging things pretty well. He saw Annie with a projectile in each hand. She feigned with the mustard jar, then let loose with the sugar bowl. I’d guessed it. Bob took it in the skull and collapsed. I helped him back up.

“You’ll excuse me,” he said. “I’m going to bed.”

“Never mind me,” I said. “I feel better already.”

I guided him into the bedroom, then came back and sat down in the kitchen. I looked at Annie, who had started sweeping up. “I know what you’re thinking,” she told me. “But if I don’t do it, who will?”

I helped her pick up some of the bigger pieces. We made a few silent round-trips to the garbage can, then lit cigarettes. I held the match for her.

“Listen, Annie, I know this isn’t exactly the best time, but I was wondering if I could sleep here tonight. I feel a little strange, all alone in the apartment…”

She exhaled a little mushroom-cloud of smoke.

“Shit, you don’t even have to ask,” she said. “As for Bob and me, we don’t love each other enough to really fight. What you saw wasn’t even serious.”

“Only for tonight,” I added.

We finished straightening up, talking about the rain and the weather-the abominable heat that had melted over the town like a gallon of maple syrup. Just sweeping up had us sweating. I sat on a chair. She set her behind down on a corner of the table.

“Just take Archie’s bed,” she said. “You need anything? Something to read…?”

“No thanks,” I said.

She had slid the sides of her robe off her thighs. It was easy to see that she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. She was probably waiting for me to say something, but I didn’t. Thinking that she wasn’t making herself clear, she opened the thing up wide. She spread her legs and put her foot up on a chair. Her pussy was a nice size, and her breasts larger than average. I passed an appreciative moment looking, but didn’t awkwardly spill my drink. I just drank it, then went into the next room. I grabbed a few magazines, then sank into an armchair.

I was reading a thing on the North-South conflict when she came in. The robe was now closed.

“I think your attitude is truly stupid,” she started in. “What do you think is going to happen? You’re making a mountain out of-”

“No, not a mountain exactly. A small hill, yes…”

“Shit,” she said. “Shit, shit, shit.”

I got up and went to look out the window. There was nothing but the night and the branch of a tree, its leaves limp in the heat. I slapped my leg with the magazine.

“Look, what would we gain by sleeping together? You have something special to offer me? Something out of the ordinary?”

I turned my back to her. I felt a slight burning on the back of my neck.