Cosmos Page #5

can only be loving.

That happens

when a writer hangs a cat?

And even if she can't guess who did it,

she'll still be ashamed of the cat

which is her cat. Our cat.

That wasn't the real murder.

How could this beauty, so perfect

and out of reach,

unite with me through lying?

Y es, wait.

- May I?

- Y es, come in.

This is to tell you, to tempt you...

My sweet lovely dumpling,

thanks to whom we are all here,

had a happy idea,

like all her ideas...

We should get some fresh air

to get away for a bit, from this house,

its aberrations, if you want to or not

no more guarantees of tranquillity.

The aberration, fiat ubi vult,

can happen again-um.

Swinery-tum, in-swine-tum.

Tiriri!

So, my dumpling had the idea

of going on a day trip

finishing at the seaside.

Oh my God!

Lena reminded us

of their house, which is nearly finished

and quite habitable.

Lena even gave the key

to her best friend

who is in the middle of her honeymoon.

It's true that in time,

she'll be up to her neck in the sea.

Therefore, dumplingette thought

of first making a little pilgrimage

to fight

the curse.

Just now they're preparing the grub,

some sandwiches...

a seaside picnic.

And dumplingette, the telephonette

already called Lena's friend...

And here I am

in my very home

like an old stray dog,

and I cannot trust anybody

because who can guarantee

that it will stop with the cat?

After the cat,

will it not turn into a bigger game?

And above all,

take your car

in case anyone wants to regain freedom.

Like you, from Grenoble.

No, from Paris.

Even worse.

The gloom.

Post cards to poo-poo, pee-pee-tum.

The sinister guano tourism.

I will show you

little first class landscapes, prima,

wonders of wonder-ums,

wonderingity-unicus

but enchantingness-um tiriri

for an entire

lifetime.

Leon!

He is always blah-blahing-um,

joking-um.

And dumplingette-the-cateringette!

This I found

seventeen years ago.

He lugs it around everywhere,

the old fool!

The phenomenality

of grass blades,

of smallest flowers,

a sort of streaming

in purest poetry.

Tiriri...

Licking-um the jowlies

of my dumplingette.

If Lena goes, I go. Full stop.

Sparrows, cats,

pieces of wood, chicken, cops...

and now excursions.

Have you noticed

that Lena's put lipstick on?

I haven't.

Mr Lucien chastised her.

He thinks it's like

smearing her mouth with blood.

Vice and Virtue.

Please explain.

My trousers, clean.

Variations, romances,

sometimes soft, sometimes brutal.

And nothing can be explained,

at least properly.

He to himself for his own.

My little moon beam!

You've regained your randiness!

You did!

It's like going on honeymoon!

This car's a bone shaker.

A whole trip, in this trap.

And Leon!

- He'll never squeeze inside.

- Yes he will.

Your stick, Leon!

- Do you mind?

- Of course, please.

Dumpling and I have one,

but it's a hybrid.

These days, my dear, my dear,

there are too many hybrids for comfort.

- Pity we won't go around.

- Why?

We'd see if Catherette is levitating.

Don't tell me you Pasolinied her.

Oh, the peaks! The perspective.

The beyond!

Careful!

A hawk?

- A non-sparrow anyway.

- A whore hawk.

Hard to hang, this one.

Feeling better, my little doll?

- Faith!

- Y es.

Fifteen minutes of infinity,

blackjack in a life where nothing's free.

God almighty, merciful God...

The devil take me if I forget this one.

Your flights of fancy, Leon.

What a charming excursion.

Father, did you hitchhike?

- Where to?

- A sandwich?

- Same as us. To the sea.

- An excursion.

These are not good walking shoes.

Does it not inconvenience you

to take the priest in your car?

- Not at all.

- Oh come.

Aren't you waiting for me?

Y a de la joie!

- Something begins to form.

- What?

The embryo of the whole.

Just like "Nausea".

The bird, too high,

the red mouth, rustic fingers, too low.

He had to meddle with something.

Something that disquiets him.

- What, do you think?

- Some sin?

This priest, a colleague, sin,

conscience, crime, remorse surfaces...

He bothers, he's too much...

Almost like the teapot.

All these things which stay behind,

are becoming more and more present...

Everything is hybrid,

as Leon says.

- What would you do to her?

- To whom?

Lena, who else?

- Aside from bang her...

- Hang her.

You fuckwit!

I dunno, kiss her, adore her,

caress her.

Torture her.

Humiliate her, just to see.

If she puts on lipstick

after her cat's death,

Then push a finger into her mouth!

And Leon, always the gentleman!

It's Tolo.

Ginette. Witold.

Tolo is the gym teacher in our school.

He was a brave in Afghanistan.

He resigned when they pulled out,

then he met me.

It's been two weeks

since they can legally do it.

So bink, bonk, bang, biology!

Will you join us, Father?

- I have something heavy to tell you.

- Heavy?

I'm in love.

That Ginette, isn't her body boring?

- Mono-toned?

- Sparrow-toned!

Boring?

So, welcome.

There's the kitchen,

the toilet is on the right.

The rooms are upstairs.

Take any you want,

Lena and I will choose last.

Okay?

Don't keep the wine.

- How many are we for lunch?

- Nine.

Mono-toned and boring.

Chasms, knots, strata,

patterns, rhythms,

wounds, sores, scree...

Did you see those delicately

joined limbs, like a ballerina's...

- Careful.

- Sh*t, you're a real coconut.

Limbs, delicately joined...

The irresistible and menacing

tide of things.

The irresistible

and menacing tide of things.

Lena, clean or dirty...

I love her.

I love her.

Oh, there you are Father,

dinner's served!

Tiriri.

Cooks it, it's gone.

Over. No more.

As soon as the sun goes down...

In vino-um veritas!

And the mutton?

Tolo's doing as well?

Tolo's, it's always Tolo's...

These are not

those first class landscape-ums,

but have patience.

Everything is too much!

What a joy,

on top of that, weather to die for!

Yes, Colonel! To die, says I!

To die.

Not to die, to die!

Some wine?

Remind you of someone?

Of course. Catherette's spitting image,

well, except for...

Almost everything where one needs it.

But then...

a bodily solitude...

Oh, I've got my eyes on you, scoundrel.

Such bliss! No TV!

It's like at a station,

waiting for a train to depart...

- Would you like some wine?

- A drop.

Blood down the drain!

Would you believe

that seventeen years ago,

my Leon was quite fit?

Dodging and contrast.

- Care for anything else, Father?

- Camembert.

Oh, Camembert, here it is!

With salad.

Delicious, the salad!

You were so much more delicious!

My callipygian Venus.

Prehistoric...

We shouldn't complain.

- Except about the Spielberg movies...

- Terribly off...

It doesn't have...

The ineffable.

More wine...

We love your trousers, Mr Tolo.

We're such fans of Tintin!

- We hated him in jeans.

- Lack of class, Ginny.

Oh you and class...

I'll talk to Ralph and Lang,

might inspire them.

Castafiore's aria, what is it?

I'm ecstatic to see myself

so lovely in the mirror!

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