Malcolm Bradbury - Doctor Criminale

‘Is Belli really with him?’ she now asked, looking up at me. ‘I don’t know,’ I said, ‘He’d left instructions with the desk not to be disturbed. He said he was in the middle of some very important congress.’ ‘Yes, you see, with Belli,’ said Ildiko. ‘Not that sort of congress,’ I said, ‘They said he was attending some big conference here. And you know the more I think about that, the less it makes sense.’ ‘Well, you don’t understand anything, I think,’ said Ildiko, ‘Why doesn’t it make sense?’ ‘Look, here’s Criminale,’ I said, ‘He breaks with his previous life, he runs away from his wife, he comes to Lausanne with this wonderful designer bimbo . . .’’You think she is wonderful?’asked Ildiko, ‘She is the one you really like?’ ‘It’s not a question of whether I like her,’ I said, ‘Criminale likes her. He’s changed his life because of her.’ ‘If you think so,’ said Ildiko. ‘Why else would he run away from Barolo?’ I asked, ‘He comes to Lausanne where no one can find him. And then what does he do? He collects his royalties, books in at one of the world’s best hotels, sticks a badge on his lapel and goes straight off to another congress.’

‘Do you know what I think?’ asked Ildiko, ‘I think I would like a very big ice-cream.’ ‘Isn’t it a bit cold for that?’ I asked. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll survive,’ said Ildiko, waving at the miserable waiter who stood halfheartedly in the doorway, ‘You know, really you do not understand a single thing about Bazlo Criminale.’ That’s very likely,’ I said, ‘In fact he baffles me completely. One minute he’s the world most famous philosopher, the next he’s off screwing around.’ ‘He is a philosopher, he has to do something with himself when he’s not thinking,’ said Ildiko, ‘Also he has to do something with his mind when he is not screwing. And this is his life today, congress after congress. You do not have to give up one for the other. Or maybe you do, but not Criminale Bazlo.’ ‘But if you were on the run, would you show up on the platform at a congress?’ I asked. ‘Why do you say he is on the run?’ said Ildiko, ‘Only because you listen too much to your nice little Miss Black Trousers.’ ‘No, I don’t,’ I said. ‘She is crazy, didn’t I tell you?’ asked Ildiko, ‘What is Criminale supposed to have done wrong? Why is he always a crook? Why do you like to accuse him?’

‘I’m not saying he’s done something wrong,’ I said, ‘I think the stuff about fraud is nonsense.’ ‘Good,’ said Ildiko, accepting her ice-cream from the waiter. ‘I’m saying it’s no way to spend a dirty weekend. When he’s out at his congress what happens to poor Miss Belli?’ ‘Oh, listen to him now,’ said Ildiko, ‘So thoughtful about other women. At least he shares his room with her. What about your dirty weekend with me?’ ‘We can enjoy ourselves when we’ve caught up with him,’ I said, ‘Anyway, after we’ve had some dinner, why don’t we go and have a drink over at the Beau Rivage Palace.’ Ildiko looked at me. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Because I thought you’d like it,’ I said, ‘And because we might get a glimpse of Criminale and Belli.’ ‘I don’t think so,’ said Ildiko, as contradictory as ever, ‘Maybe it is a bad idea. He will not expect to see us.’ ‘We have to get nearer to him somehow,’ I said. ‘Why?’ asked Ildiko. ‘Because I’m making a programme about him,’ I said, ‘It’s either that or going round the banks and asking some questions.’ ‘I don’t think so,’ said Ildiko, ‘In Switzerland the banks do not like to be asked questions. Maybe they will throw you out of the country.’

‘So what do you suggest we do, then?’ I asked. ‘I know, tomorrow you go to his congress,’ said Ildiko, ‘What is the name of it?’ ‘That’s the problem,’ I said, ‘When I asked the clerk at the Beau Rivage, he couldn’t or wouldn’t tell me.’ ‘It is not hard,’ said Ildiko, ‘I don’t suppose there are so many congresses in Lausanne.’ ‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ I said, ‘Lausanne is chock-full of congresses. It must be the conference centre of the world. Every second person in this city must be going around in a lapel badge.’ ‘Maybe this is what they do instead of sex,’ said Ildiko. ‘If you think people go to congresses instead of having sex, you can’t have been to many congresses,’ I said. ‘Now he is an expert on sex,’ said Ildiko, ‘Why don’t you get a list of these congresses?’ ‘There’s one in the weekly guidebook,’ I said, showing her, ‘And just look at it, congresses everywhere. There’s a winemakers’ congress, a crime-writers’ congress. There’s a gastronomy congress, there’s a gastro-enteritis con­gress. There’s a volleyball congress, an investment bankers’ congress, I bet that one’s hard to find, there’s a pipesmokers’ congress. And a ballet congress, a watchmakers’ congress. An Olympics congress, an Esperanto congress. It’s the perfect place for a man like Criminale to disappear, if you ask me. We’ll never find him.’

Ildiko licked her fingers and took the guidebook from me. ‘You are hopeless again, let me see it,’ she said, ‘If you were just a little bit clever, you would know at once which one it is.’ ‘All right, which one is it?’ I asked. ‘That one,’ said Ildiko, putting her finger against one of the entries. I looked, and saw at once that, as the French say, Ildiko had reason. She was pointing to the entry for an International Congress on Erotics in Postmodern Photography, held under the auspices of the Musée Cantonal de l’Elysée, from the day previous to our arrival to a couple of days forward. ‘You’re brilliant, do you know that?’ I said. ‘And you are not, do you know that?’ asked Ildiko, pouting, and then sucking furiously at her ice-cream again, ‘So all you must do tomorrow is get yourself included in the congress on erotic photography.’ ‘What about you?’ I asked. ‘Tomorrow I like to do some other things,’ she said. ‘Oh no,’ I said, ‘Not shopping.’ ‘No, I must call my office and tell them I am not there.’ ‘Surely they’d notice,’ I said. ‘Well, you don’t notice when I am not there,’ said Ildiko.

Clearly my punishment was not yet complete. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘How do I get myself included in a congress on eroticism and photography?’ ‘Well, I can tell you, you will not get in on the eroticism side,’ said Ildiko, ‘Maybe if you bought a camera? You know, with the wallet?’ ‘I don’t think the people who come to international conferences on photography are snapshot types,’ I said, ‘Some of them are way out beyond the camera altogether. They’re into the chaos of the sign and the randomness of signification. And parodic intertextuality and contrived depthlessness and photographing their own urine.’ ‘Well, if you only have to talk cowshit, you can do that very easy,’ said Ildiko. ‘And when I find him, what do I say to him?’ I asked. ‘You say, oh my dear Doctor Criminale, how nice to see you again. I just happened to pass by and saw you in a congress, and look, here you are with your nice new mistress, Miss Blasted Belli. What a coincidence! And by the way, do you still smuggle all those cows?’

And it was then a strange thing happened. ‘Speaking of coincidence, just look at that,’ I said, pointing across the Place General Guisan. Ildiko lifted her head from her ice-cream and looked round idly. ‘The girl in the Porsche?’ she asked, ‘No, you wouldn’t like her, tits too big for you, I think.’ ‘No, not the girl in the Porsche,’ I said, ‘Look over at the promenade. You see that crowd of people walking towards the pier? All dressed up and somewhere to go?’ Ildiko checked on what I had seen: a largish group of people all dressed up to the top of their best, and carrying what looked like conference wallets, walking towards the park in front of the pier. ‘Okay, what about them?’ asked Ildiko. ‘You see the man walking along in the middle of them, with a girl in an orange dress?’ I asked, ‘Wouldn’t you say that was Bazlo Criminale?’