some of them to relieve themselves in here and then come over to me to pour out their woes. I listen to people. I let them vent their gall, wring out their little lives, chat to me about their various problems. They confide, they moan, they cry; they’re jealous, they tell their stories. Auntologism number 12: Toilets are confessionals without a priest. Luckily there are others who come and chit-chat for the simple pleasure of exchanging a few pleasantries, and for whom I am more than just two ears there to listen to their sorrows. I’ve put a visitors’ book at the exit, like in some famous restaurants – a visitors’ book where people can leave me, in addition to a small coin, a memento of their visit in the form of a message. And every night, when I close up, I draw in my nets and take a few moments to skim through these words of love or loathing, ranging from the sublime to the ridiculous, which will always teach me a lot more about human nature than any encyclopaedia.
“ Beautifully clean. Isabelle ”
“ Better than a mere public toilet. A clean, very well-maintained haven. Keep it up. René ”
“ You should have stayed on at school, stupid cow! X ”
“ Your paper is a bit rough for my taste, otherwise everything was perfect. Marcelle ”
“ We were just passing through, but we’ll be back for the simple reason that your toilets are immaculately clean. Xavier, Martine and their children, Thomas and Quentin ”
“ Suck my dick, bitch. ”
“ Kings and philosophers defecate, and so do ladies. Montaigne ”
“ It would be good to have magazines available in the cubicles. Furthermore, it is somewhat annoying that there is no choice of soap. It would be nice to be able to choose one’s own fragrance. The place is clean (other than a few stains around the washers – try white vinegar). Madeleine de Borneuil ”
“ I had a wank in your crappy toilet thinking about you, you slag. ”’
There were a few laughs in the compartment mingled with exclamations of indignation. Guylain looked up. Most of the commuters were looking at him encouragingly. He half smiled and then launched into another of Julie’s diary entries:
‘I wouldn’t swear to it, but it looks to me as though it’s got even bigger. Not a lot, only a few centimetres, but at this rate, it could reach the big mirrors on the women’s side before the end of the decade. My aunt told me that the crack appeared nearly thirty years ago, when they demolished the central staircase to put in the new escalators. It was born under the first battering of the pneumatic drill, pointing its nose towards the north corner, under the basins, and then it began to spread. It wasn’t very wide at the time, barely a hair’s breadth and not much longer than a blade of grass, but it has grown wider as it has crept over the white expanse, streaking each of the tiles it met on the way with a thin, dark line. Its advance has never halted; it continues on its way without ever deviating an inch from its path, no matter what obstacles it encounters. It was born under Mitterrand, celebrated its first metre before the Russians left Afghanistan and its second metre as Pope John-Paul was being buried. Now it is over three metres long. It’s like a wrinkle on a face, marking the passage of time. I’m fond of this fissure that somehow continues its path, tracing its own destiny without giving the slightest consideration to the planet’s ups and downs. ’
When the train pulled into the station and the passengers alighted, an outside observer would have had no trouble noticing how Guylain’s listeners stood out from the rest of the commuters. Their faces did not wear that off-putting mask of indifference. They all had the contented look of an infant that has drunk its fill of milk.
22
It was 7 p.m. when Guylain rang Giuseppe’s bell. Exceptionally, the old boy had contacted him at work in the middle of the afternoon. He had phoned Kowalski and asked to speak to Guylain.
“ Beautifully clean. Isabelle ”
“ Better than a mere public toilet. A clean, very well-maintained haven. Keep it up. René ”
“ You should have stayed on at school, stupid cow! X ”
“ Your paper is a bit rough for my taste, otherwise everything was perfect. Marcelle ”
“ We were just passing through, but we’ll be back for the simple reason that your toilets are immaculately clean. Xavier, Martine and their children, Thomas and Quentin ”
“ Suck my dick, bitch. ”
“ Kings and philosophers defecate, and so do ladies. Montaigne ”
“ It would be good to have magazines available in the cubicles. Furthermore, it is somewhat annoying that there is no choice of soap. It would be nice to be able to choose one’s own fragrance. The place is clean (other than a few stains around the washers – try white vinegar). Madeleine de Borneuil ”
“ I had a wank in your crappy toilet thinking about you, you slag. ”’
There were a few laughs in the compartment mingled with exclamations of indignation. Guylain looked up. Most of the commuters were looking at him encouragingly. He half smiled and then launched into another of Julie’s diary entries:
‘I wouldn’t swear to it, but it looks to me as though it’s got even bigger. Not a lot, only a few centimetres, but at this rate, it could reach the big mirrors on the women’s side before the end of the decade. My aunt told me that the crack appeared nearly thirty years ago, when they demolished the central staircase to put in the new escalators. It was born under the first battering of the pneumatic drill, pointing its nose towards the north corner, under the basins, and then it began to spread. It wasn’t very wide at the time, barely a hair’s breadth and not much longer than a blade of grass, but it has grown wider as it has crept over the white expanse, streaking each of the tiles it met on the way with a thin, dark line. Its advance has never halted; it continues on its way without ever deviating an inch from its path, no matter what obstacles it encounters. It was born under Mitterrand, celebrated its first metre before the Russians left Afghanistan and its second metre as Pope John-Paul was being buried. Now it is over three metres long. It’s like a wrinkle on a face, marking the passage of time. I’m fond of this fissure that somehow continues its path, tracing its own destiny without giving the slightest consideration to the planet’s ups and downs. ’
When the train pulled into the station and the passengers alighted, an outside observer would have had no trouble noticing how Guylain’s listeners stood out from the rest of the commuters. Their faces did not wear that off-putting mask of indifference. They all had the contented look of an infant that has drunk its fill of milk.
22
It was 7 p.m. when Guylain rang Giuseppe’s bell. Exceptionally, the old boy had contacted him at work in the middle of the afternoon. He had phoned Kowalski and asked to speak to Guylain.
Similar Books
