Hedi Kaddour - Waltenberg

‘I’ll say it again: this is not about spying! We are doing an important job, together we take the pulse of what goes on, we regulate the blood pressure, it’s a noble calling, we do it with words in ears, the art of not unleashing catastrophes, that’s odd, I can’t smell our Linzer today.’

*

In Singapore, after the croquet, they went in to dinner, a round table, everyone can see everybody else without having to lean to the right or to the left, though it should be added that there is no right or left or centre any more.

‘A table after de Gaulle’s own heart,’ said Max with a laugh.

‘Over here, de Vèze,’ said Malraux, seating him on his left.

The Consul’s wife did not try to stop him. De Vèze thought his luck was in, especially when he saw that the young woman was sitting opposite him, Max, now well launched, continued:

‘Left, right, port, starboard, tacking is tactics, isn’t that a fact, you young people? Shush! don’t interrupt, art of governing, art of sailing, to move the rudder there’s a tiller that moves a half-turn, true of boats from the smallest craft to the largest caravel, so to tack right or left you reverse the directions of the tiller, you give the helmsman the command hard a-port!’ Max’s hand catches a wineglass which keels over, empty, and the boat veers to starboard. ‘It works perfectly if you’re a sailor.’

‘And equally well if you’re a Gaullist,’ says the grey diplomat.

The Consul gives him a withering look, glances up at Malraux, Malraux smiles, the Ambassador relaxes his expression, the pink diplomat looks daggers at the grey diplomat, I don’t know how often I’ve told Xavier not to overdo the right-wing cynic, it hasn’t gone down at all well, Max continues:

‘Very true, old man, the end of the Algerian War is a case in point, the General goes to Algiers, puts the tiller hard over to port, the crowd cheers, but every self-respecting sailor knew at the time that this meant tacking to the right, shush! not a word, I pick up where I left off, technical advances, pulleys, cables, reversing levers, tiller replaced by a wheel which eventually turns in the same direction as the course that has been set, all the navies of the world adopt it, steer to port now comes to mean that the wheel is turned to port to steer to port, or left if you prefer, shush! haven’t finished, the English navy, so traditional, clings to the old system, obstinately: to steer a course to starboard, the captain of Her Majesty’s ship gives the order hard a-port! and on hearing ‘port’ the helmsman turns the wheel to starboard, God save Tradition, and the ship tacks to starboard; if you’re English, it’s plain sailing, all right, there has been the odd accident involving pilots in foreign ports, it didn’t happen often, but the press got hold of it, hence the root-and-branch reform of the Royal Navy in 1933.’

As he sat down de Vèze’s foot encountered another, he couldn’t tell if it belonged to Malraux on his right, or to Max or even to the young woman sitting opposite him, he said sorry, very quickly, without looking at anyone in particular, no one reacted, they were served lobster mayonnaise, the pink diplomat looked startled, de Vèze has forgotten his name again, he remembers that the grey diplomat with the monkey-arse beard around his mouth is called Poirgade, Xavier Poirgade, Xavier suits him, suits his inflexible outlook, already one of our major strategy experts so the Consul told him, he is very well-connected in Paris, sometimes too close to certain American positions, an Atlanticist, but he has the ear of many people, the Consul raises his right hand to the right side of his face, palm slightly upturned, the pink diplomat’s Christian name, it would be amusing, a less rigid sort of name, to complement ‘Xavier’ — Jean-Philippe, Jean-Jacques — de Vèze doesn’t remember.

The pink diplomat stares at his mayonnaise, he should have known, here we are in the middle of Asia and the Consul decides to serve dinner à la française, and you give us lobster mayonnaise, why not give us pan bagnia while you’re about it? afraid of Asian cuisine, there must be a halfway house between lobster mayonnaise and roast puppy with honey, but who around this table except me knows anything about good eating? Not the Consul, he’s not eating anything, mostly he just puffs on his pipe and dyes his eyebrows and plays out time while waiting to be promoted to ambassador, nor his wife who is anorexic; Malraux? he’d be happy running on Pernod right through to the dessert; the young couple? not yet; the Ambassador at Rangoon, this de Vèze, probably scoffs tinned monkey when he’s by himself to help him remember Bir Hakeim; and as for the esteemed Xavier he can’t stand mayonnaise, yellow dribbles on grey silk, horrid thought, I wish he’d drop some down himself, this mayonnaise is tasteless, they must have made the olive oil go further by adding ground-nut oil, and no one here to notice, and the lobster has no flavour, overcooked, you don’t get that aroma of iodine, it was a medical orderly who cooked it for sure, these people are only interested in words, instead of appreciating a meal they listen to a story and ask the limelight-hogging Max to explain that reform of the Royal Navy.

‘Very simple, children!’ says Max, ‘in 1933 the Admiralty ruled as follows: henceforth, the command “starboard” will mean that the helmsman shall turn his wheel to starboard so that the ship steers directly to starboard, like everybody else.’

‘Which put an end to the accidents,’ says the pink diplomat, to shorten Max’s peroration.

‘Except those caused by old habits,’ Max went on, ‘1942, the Argus , English aircraft carrier, the Med, convoy heading for Malta, three Italian torpedoes, off the port bow, if the ship holds its present course it will be hit, the answer’s simple, change course immediately in the direction of the torpedoes — to port — close the angle, the torpedoes will pass under the bows, the Captain has grasped the situation, not for nothing is he Captain of the Argus, pure instinct, he orders “hard to starboard”, that’s right, a slip-up, obtuse angle, the entire ship’s side, 230 metres long, it will be exposed to the torpedoes, shush! don’t speak, an English captain screaming orders, never been seen before, the helmsman panics, a pre-1933 reflex, puts the wheel over to port, and there you have it, the Argus veers to port, acute angle, torpedoes avoided, I love stories involving changes of direction.’

The conversation has reverted to the Americans, massive bombing of North Vietnam will never work, it works sometimes, says Max, it depends on the bombings but sometimes it does work, but only if you target civilians, they’ll never agree to that intervenes Malraux, Johnson ruled it out precisely because he knows it won’t work, he needs a failure, in his head de Vèze mulls over what he would like to say to Malraux, the day is ending, the sea-breeze, the yellow flowers, the young woman, behind her the trees slowly turn dark blue, no one dares ask Malraux why Johnson needs a failure, de Vèze hasn’t been as close as this to Malraux since the Liberation.

What he finds surprising is that Malraux seems to be taking an interest in him, out of the blue he has asked de Vèze, in front of the assembled company, in front of the young woman:

‘Tell me, de Vèze, Bir Hakeim…’

And the young woman has looked at de Vèze and smiled, how does she do it? only a modest neckline but so inviting, you feel you could slip your hand inside, any time, with every confidence, it would be the right move, neither aggressive nor shy, she’s expecting it, she’d be a teeny bit miffed that you should behave like this, but she’s expecting it, all you need is a manoeuvre to get you halfway there, hand suddenly very close, a few words away, but no pressure applied, just a stage, not like in the days of the first films you saw with a girl in the dark, when your hand settled on her shoulders in that relaxed, good pals sort of way, your hand was instantly shrugged off and that was it for that day, or else the girl let you do whatever and was ready for the rest without going through the good pals rigmarole, de Vèze had known one girl who had taken the hand he’d put on her shoulder and pressed it unambiguously to her breast saying now can we watch the film? Snatches of adolescence in the cinema, Morgan, Gabin, a few kisses, another time he and the girl canoodled and smooched their way through the entire picture.