Rigadoon Read Free Page B

have suffered . . . hell! that settles it! . . . especially with a bastard like Ben Achille, who publishes twenty novels a day . . . plus his Compact Review°  . . . and his bulletin Your Ferule . . . monthly for flagellants and cunt lappers°  . . . I'll go tell him I'm resigning! that's my decision! . . .
    I lie down and wait . . . not long! I'm shaking my bed! . . . A shiver! . . . another! . . . I'm still lucid . . . I say to myself: here I go! . . . that lousy rotten priest has given me my death! . . . I knew it when I was listening to him! . . . I didn't want to go! . . . I was getting delirious, I knew that too, an attack! . . . delirium passes the time . . . but it's ticklish when anybody's around . . . you can say things you'll regret . . . seeing I'd been dragging this malaria around with me for forty years, since the Cameroons, naturally I wasn't surprised . . . this priest business in the rain, drenched to the skin, in the north wind, listening to his blarney, what would you expect? . . . if that were the end of it! . . . oh no! not at all! something else in the corner . . . at the door . . . I'm positive, somebody sitting there . . . I won't put on the light . . . or move . . . maybe it's just the fever! . . . the other guy talked about Christmas too . . . maybe just an idea, plus the fever . . . an intruder? . . . anything is possible . . . that damn blackskirt was here, wasn't he? . . . maybe he's come back . . . you never can tell . . . anyway there's somebody over in that corner . . . I won't go . . . I'm trembling, I'm sweating . . . somebody? . . . something? . . . trouble enough! . . . but my mind's still working . . . I think it over . . . yes, I'd better . . . that somebody sitting there, he's greenish . . . a light like a firefly . . . I was right to wait. . . these apparitions don't last . . . I can almost see him now . . . an officer . . . something to tell me? let him! . . . I wait . . . he doesn't speak, he doesn't move . . . sitting there . . . greenish . . .
    "What? . . . what?"
    I ask him . . . I'm trembling! . . . Oh! he scares me! . . . dammit, it's him! . . . I know him . . . I know him! over there, greenish . . . glittering . . . sort of . . .
    "Vaudremer!"
    I summon him . . . no answer . . . what's he here for? for Christmas? . . . like the priest . . . did he come through the gate? . . . slip through? . . . the dogs didn't bark . . . weird! . . . this Vaudremer . . . major in the medical corps when I knew him . . . where was it? . . . you can imagine . . . my memory in the fever I was in, sweating, shaking the whole bed with my convulsions . . . I had a right not to remember . . . and he wasn't helping me any . . . I raise my voice . . . I strain myself . . .
    "Vaudremer! . . . semi-luminous Vaudremer! answer me! . . . what do you want? . . . are you there? . . . yes? . . . no? . . . A ghost? from where? . . ."
    He doesn't budge . . . I can't see his face . . . but it's him! . . . we used to consult out there . . . chief medical officer, that's what he was . . . Christ, the hell they gave him in the barracks . . . nasty state of mind . . . all those families complaining . . . they were cold, they were hungry, thirsty, Southwestern Aeronautics, the whole personnel, crammed into Adrian barracks! workers, foremen, engineers, medical orderlies . . . disgraceful! . . . for their money we doctors were criminals, enemies of the people, reactionaries, responsible for everything, the stukas, the fifth column, the food trust . . . our fault if all the poor bastards were dying of starvation and epidemics . . . and our so-called medicines were plain poison . . . look at the latrines, so full ( three children drowned ) you couldn't get near them . . . our so-called medicine had brought on a brown flood of shit and piss . . . pretty soon the whole camp would be submerged in general diarrhea . . . brought on by our so-called medicine . . . the Boches in Saint-Jean d'Angély had their tactics all set,