The Erasers Read Free Page A

finished his soup. ” Probably she is taking orders for the next day; since she is rather deaf it probably takes some time.
    Noiselessly, Garinati slips inside. “ The hinges will creak if you push the door too far. ” Violent desire, suddenly, to try all the same; to push it open a little farther, only a little; just to see how far he can go. A few degrees. Just one degree, one single degree; a little margin for error … But the arm stops, sensible. On the way out, instead.
    They are not very careful in this house: anyone could come in.
    Garinati has closed the door without a sound. He walks carefully on the tiles where his crepe soles make an almost imperceptible hissing noise. On the steps and upstairs there are thick carpets everywhere, that will be even easier. The hall is lighted; the landing too, upstairs. No more difficulty. Walk up, wait until Dupont comes back, and kill him.
    On the kitchen table there are three thin slices of ham spread out on a white plate. A light dinner: fine. Provided he doesn ’ t empty the whole tureen. You shouldn ’ t overeat if you want to sleep without dreaming.
     
    Things take their immutable course. With calculated movements.
    The perfectly adjusted machinery cannot hold the slightest surprise in store. It is merely a matter of following the text, reciting phrase after phrase, and the words will be fulfilled and Lazarus will rise from his tomb, wrapped in his shroud
    He who advances like this, in secrecy, to carry out the order, knows neither fear nor doubt. He no longer feels the weight of his own body. His footsteps are as silent as a priest ’ s; they glide over the rugs and tiles, as regular, as impersonal, as definitive.
    A straight line is the shortest distance between two points.
    … footsteps so light they leave no trace on the surface of the sea. The stairs in this house have twenty-one steps, the shortest distance between two points … the surface of the sea …
    Suddenly the limpid water grows cloudy. In this setting determined by law, without an inch of land to the right or left, without a second ’ s hesitation, without resting, without looking back, the actor suddenly stops, in the middle of a phrase … He knows it by heart, this role he plays every evening; but today he refuses to go any farther. Around him the other characters freeze, arm raised or leg half bent. The measure begun by
    the musicians goes on and onHe would have to do something
    now, speak any words at all, words that would not belong to the libretto. … But, as every evening, the phrase begun concludes in the prescribed form, the arm falls back, the leg completes its stride. In the pit, the orchestra is still playing with the same vigor.
    The stairs consist of twenty-one w ooden steps, then, at the very bottom, a white stone step, noticeably wider than the rest and whose rounded outer edge bears a brass column with complicated decorations and, as a finial, a jesters head wearing a cap with three bells. Higher up, the heavy, varnished banister is supported by turned wooden rails flaring slightly toward the base. A strip of gray carpet, with two garnet stripes at the edges, covers the stairs and extends, across the hall, to the front door.
    The color of this carpet has been omitted in Bona ’ s description, as well as the detail of the brass finial.
    Another man, in this same place, weighing each step, would come…
    Above the sixteenth step, a small painting is hanging on the wall, at eye level. It is a romantic landscape representing a stormy night: a flash of lightning illuminates the ruins of a tower; at its foot two men are lying, asleep despite the thunder or else struck by lightning? Perhaps fallen from the top of the tower. The frame is made of carved and gilded wood; both painting and frame seem to be of rather ancient date. Bona has not mentioned this painting.
     
    The landing. Door to the right. The study. It is just as Bona has described it, even more cramped maybe and more crowded: