The Erasers Read Free Page B

books, books everywhere, those lining the walls almost all bound in green leather, others, paper-backed, piled carefully on the mantel, on a stand, and even on the floor; still others lying casually on the end of the desk and on two leather armchairs. The desk, of dark oak, long and monumental, virtually fills the rest of the room. It is completely covered with files and papers; the big desk lamp, set in the middle, is out. A single bulb is turned on in the ceiling fixture.
    Instead of walking straight across the small free area of green carpet, between the door and the desk (the floor creaks there), Garinati passes behind the armchair, squeezes between the stand and a pile of books and reaches the desk from the other side.
    “ Standing behind the desk and holding the back of the desk chair in front of you with both hands, you will take note of the position of all the objects and of the door. You have time: Du pont doesn ’ t come back up before seven-thirty. When you are perfectly sure of everything, you ’ ll go and turn out the ceiling light. The switch is against the door jamb; you have to push it toward the wall, if you push it in the other direction two more bulbs go on. Then you ’ ll come back, still by the same way, and stand behind your chair in exactly the same position as before; you ’ ll wait, the loaded revolver in your right hand, your eyes fixed on the doorway. When Dupont opens it, he will be silhouetted clearly in the opening against the lighted hallway; invisible in the darkness, you ’ ll take aim easily, resting your left hand on the back of the chair. You ’ ll fire three times at his heart, and you ’ ll leave, without excessive haste; the old woman will have heard nothing. If you meet her in the hall, don ’ t let her get a good look at your face; push her aside, but not roughly. There will be no one else in the house. ”
    The only distance between two points.
    A kind of cube, but slightly misshapen, a shiny block of gray lava, with its faces polished as though by wear, the edges softened, compact, apparently hard, heavy as gold, looking about as big around as a fist; a paperweight? It is the only trinket in the room.
    The titles of the books: Labor and Organization, The Phenomenology of the Crisis {1929), Contribution to the Study of Economic Cycles, and the rest in keeping. Not interesting.
    Light switch against the door jamb, porcelain and chromium-plated metal, three positions.
    He had been writing, four words at the top of a sheet of blank paper: “ which can not prevent … ” It was just then that he went downstairs to eat; he must not have found the word that came next.
    Footsteps on the landing. The light! Too late to reach it now. The door opening and Dupont ’ s stupid stare …
    Garinati has fired, only one shot, trusting to instinct, at a fragment of an escaping body.
    The tiniest flaw … Maybe. The sailor has just finished cranking the winch; the drawbridge is back in place.
    Leaning over the handrail, Garinati has not moved. He watches the oily water ripple at his feet in a recess of the quay; a few pieces of flotsam have accumulated here: a piece of tar-stained wood, two old corks, a piece of orange peel, and smaller fragments, half decomposed, difficult to identify.

     

 

     
     

    3
     
    You don ’ t die so fast from a flesh wound in the arm. Come off it! The manager shrugs his massive shoulders in a gesture of denial tempered with indifference: they can write whatever they want, but they won ’ t make him believe that, with their stories made up on purpose to fool people.
    “ Tuesday, October 27.—A daring burglar made his way at nightfall yesterday into the residence of M. Daniel Dupont, number 2 Rue des Arpenteurs. Caught red-handed by the owner, the criminal, as he escaped, fired his revolver several times at M. Dupont…”
    The old woman arrived all out of breath. It was just before eight o ’ clock; the café was empty. No, the drunk was still here, half