The Salamander Page #4

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Spiritual Defense Section.

Spiritual Defense Section!

What do you wish to inspect?

I'm checking,

to see if everyone has their Red Book

on Civil Defense.

- I threw mine away.

- Are you sure?

I'm positive.

I must enter that in the

"Got Rid of Deliberately" column.

I regret that I'm obliged to do so.

It doesn't add up to much.

Nothing?

You're better at reporting

shady investments in Brazil.

Nevertheless, I'll take it.

I'll go home and rewrite the thing in

peace.

We'll never finish!

Now I feel I know nothing about

Rosemonde.

A reporter repeats his information.

I look for the meaning in mine.

Can you give me a ride home?

Now?

What about your bike?

Do you know

how cold it is out?

Why don't you buy a car?

It's pretentious to bike, these days.

I can't afford a car. You know that.

Get a loan!

Debts are the foundation of

sound household economics.

Anyway, they practically

give old Mini's away.

- Really? Where?

- Nearby.

Why don't you want to stay?

My daughter wants to see me.

Children!

Why have them at all?

It's the first law of nature.

So that we feel the burden of

existence.

It's to clip our wings.

- For all that.

- In this case...

So, I'll take you home.

Let's have coffee first.

I'm sad.

I think I'm going to sing.

Don't forget to give me the uncle's

address.

Her attitude at school

was only the start of her delinquency.

The police soon got to know her.

It ended with an attempted murder.

A rifle bullet at point blank

range spares no one.

See for yourself. I'll show you the

scar.

No, I don't need to see it.

You're like your colleague,

frightened to see a wound.

We both live sheltered lives.

Three days earlier, on November 25th,

the migrant worker-trashmen

suddenly went on strike.

It was called "A brutal strike!"

because it was unexpected

and therefore intolerable.

In actuality, the strike

was a threat to order and

cleanliness, nothing more.

Have you seen the famous scar?

Me? How awful! It would turn my

stomach.

Has he ever insisted that you see it?

I haven't been there since it

happened.

What was it like when you

went to live there at sixteen?

When I was sixteen?

Help me answer an ad,

and I'll tell you all about it.

I'll tell you everything

I did when I was sixteen.

You'll be so shocked,

you'll leave me alone.

I already told big Pierre, and I'm

not going over it again with li'l

Paul.

C'mon, help.

Programmer. What's that?

Not a job for me, I bet.

Secretary, cook, concierge...

salesgirl...

I always talk back to the customers.

Housekeeper, bookstore helper...

Assistant, male, female...

I'll end up stuffing sausage

in a bloody factory.

God! My neck aches from the thought

of it.

I always catch it in my neck and

forehead.

I'm never going back to their

bloody, shitty sausage factory!

Not me! Never again!

That's it. My neck aches.

I'm gonna go make myself an aspirin

sandwich.

I have a cure for that.

Here, let me.

I met a girl at Pierre's,

her name's Zoe.

We made love.

I think it was mainly because of her

name.

She had very round breasts.

It's the first time

since we've been together.

That shows how time passes.

You're getting old, Paul.

I worked, too. Badly.

Because of Rosemonde, not Zoe.

Your life's a bit complicated

at the moment, darling.

A bit.

I'd like to read you a piece

by Heine, which I just found.

He wrote it in 1828.

I'll read it to you.

"We'll have a lovely day!"

called my travelling companion."

"We'll have a lovely day!"

My heart repeated the words...

"in adoration, and trembled

with joy and melancholy."

"Yes, it will be a beautiful day,

"the sun of freedom will warm

the earth with more happiness...

"than the noble night stars."

"A new generation will arise,

"conceived in freely chosen embraces,

"not in the bed of duty, or

under control of the clergy."

"With free birth,

"free thoughts and feelings will be

born, too,

"of which we, the enslaved,

have not the slightest inkling."

"Oh! Just as little as they will

know...

"the frightful night of shadows

in which we had to live,

"and the horrible battles we

fought against hideous specters,

"obtuse owls, and criminal

hypocrites."

Don't forget to type that page.

Here's the loveliest of all roses.

Are you working?

Aren't you always working?

I earn a poor living, by the sweat of

my brow.

Your fridge is almost empty.

Really?

That doesn't surprise me.

Paul's economizing.

He feeds me nothing but potatoes.

He prepares them twenty-seven ways.

That's impossible.

Ask him. He's got a sack full in the

kitchen.

I'll put some on to boil.

I saw butter in the fridge.

Potatoes at four o"clock?

I'm hungry.

Suzanne's been gone for days.

There's nothing left at home.

You don't have any money?

I'll give you some.

Thanks.

This goes in the same line?

No, this line goes first,

then this one, then the other.

I'm going to visit my mother and my

son.

Take Paul with you.

He's dying to meet your family,

and know your background.

Why don't we all go?

To the country?

I've got to work.

Our village has a quiet little

inn, you could work there.

A quiet little inn?

With big country beds,

and down comforters?

On the road to adventure!

What quiet!

I think that Paul is going to sing.

No, I was wrong.

Did you bring warm clothes?

My gloves are in the glove

compartment.

Winters are chilly in our valley.

Paul, according to you, what are we

doing?

Riding down the road in a car.

What I mean is,

Do you think this trip will help our

work?

Or are we merely wasting time?

This isn't very serious.

But it's very nice.

I think it's indispensable.

I'm astonished by your doubts.

You don't have any?

Sure I do,

but they're different.

After two hours,

all distances being short in our

little country,

they arrived in a beautiful valley.

So, here we are in this awful valley.

Stop here. I'll walk the rest of the

way.

But it's raining.

If my father sees me arrive

with you two nitwits,

he'll smash everything.

I'll see you at the hotel.

I'd say that you're the nitwit.

No, you are!

Hey! Where is the hotel?

Down there, on the left.

God, it's cold in this dump!

What a godforsaken place.

Sublime and lugubrious country!

I'd like to see where she lives.

I'll wait till her old man takes off.

What a delightful spot.

What shall we do?

Find the hotel. I'm cold, hungry,

and I need a drink.

My back aches and I'm fed up.

It's not bad, really.

I'll be able to write in peace,

while you roam around.

You can report back to me every

evening.

As you say, it's not bad!

Still, watch out for Rosemonde's

father.

Approach him slowly, little by little,

encircle him.

Like the Indians in westerns.

Should I stick feathers in my hair?

Good god, it's cold here!

When you get off

the plane in Rio,

the first thing that hits

you is the humidity.

You smell a mixture of sea salt,

pepper, slight putrefaction,

pimento, dust, mangroves,

A fantastic sensation...

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