The Enormous Room

E >> Edward Estlin Cummings >> The Enormous Room

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21

And after the last head had disappeared, Monsieur le Directeur continued
to rave and shake and tremble for as much as ten seconds, his shoebrush
mane crinkling with black anger--then, turning suddenly upon _les hommes_
(who cowered up against the wall as men cower up against a material thing
in the presence of the supernatural) he roared and shook his pinkish fist
at us till the gold stud in his immaculate cuff walked out upon the wad
of clenching flesh:

"AND YOU--TAKE CARE--IF I CATCH YOU WITH THE WOMEN AGAIN I'LL STICK YOU
IN CABINOT FOR TWO WEEKS, ALL--ALL OF YOU--"

for as much as half a minute; then turning his round-shouldered big back
suddenly he adjusted his cuffs, muttering PROSTITUTES and WHORES and
DIRTY FILTH OF WOMEN, crammed his big fists into his trousers, pulled in
his chin till his fattish jowl rippled along the square jaws, panted,
grunted, very completely satisfied, very contented, rather proud of
himself, took a strutting stride or two in his expensive shiny boots, and
shot all at once through the open door which he SLAMMED after him.

Apropos the particular incident described for purposes of illustration, I
wish to state that I believe in miracles: the miracle being that I did
not knock the spit-covered mouthful of teeth and jabbering brutish
outthrust jowl (which certainly were not farther than eighteen inches
from me) through the bullneck bulging in its spotless collar. For there
are times when one almost decides not to merely observe ... besides
which, never in my life before had I wanted to kill, to thoroughly
extinguish and to entirely murder. Perhaps ... some day.... Unto God I
hope so.

Amen.

Now I will try to give the reader a glimpse of the Women of La Ferte
Mace.

The little Machine-Fixer as I said in the preceding chapter, divided them
into Good and Bad. He said there were as much as three Good ones, of
which three he had talked to one and knew her story. Another of the three
Good Women obviously was Margherite--a big, strong female who did
washing, and who was a permanent resident because she had been careless
enough to be born of German parents. I think I spoke with number three on
the day I waited to be examined by the Commission--a Belgian girl, whom I
shall mention later along with that incident. Whereat, by process of
elimination, we arrive at _les putains_, whereof God may know how many
there were at La Ferte, but I certainly do not. To _les putains_ in
general I have already made my deep and sincere bow. I should like to
speak here of four individuals. They are Celina, Lena, Lily, Renee.

Celina Tek was an extraordinarily beautiful animal. Her firm girl's body
emanated a supreme vitality. It was neither tall nor short, its movements
nor graceful nor awkward. It came and went with a certain sexual
velocity, a velocity whose health and vigour made everyone in La Ferte
seem puny and old. Her deep sensual voice had a coarse richness. Her
face, dark and young, annihilated easily the ancient and greyish walls.
Her wonderful hair was shockingly black. Her perfect teeth, when she
smiled, reminded you of an animal. The cult of Isis never worshipped a
more deep luxurious smile. This face, framed in the night of its hair,
seemed (as it moved at the window overlooking the _cour des femmes_)
inexorably and colossally young. The body was absolutely and fearlessly
alive. In the impeccable and altogether admirable desolation of La Ferte
and the Normandy Autumn Celina, easily and fiercely moving, was a
kinesis.

The French Government must have already recognized this; it called her
incorrigible.

Lena, also a Belgian, always and fortunately just missed being a type
which in the American language (sometimes called "Slang") has a definite
nomenclature. Lena had the makings of an ordinary broad, and yet, thanks
to _La Misere_, a certain indubitable personality became gradually
rescued. A tall hard face about which was loosely pitched some
hay-coloured hair. Strenuous and mutilated hands. A loose, raucous way of
laughing, which contrasted well with Celina's definite gurgling titter.
Energy rather than vitality. A certain power and roughness about her
laughter. She never smiled. She laughed loudly and obscenely and always.
A woman.

Lily was a German girl, who looked unbelievably old, wore white, or once
white dresses, had a sort of drawling scream in her throat besides a
thick deadly cough, and floundered leanly under the eyes of men. Upon the
skinny neck of Lily a face had been set for all the world to look upon
and be afraid. The face itself was made of flesh green and almost
putrescent. In each cheek a bloody spot. Which was not rouge, but the
flower which consumption plants in the cheek of its favourite. A face
vulgar and vast and heavy-featured, about which a smile was always
flopping uselessly. Occasionally Lily grinned, showing several
monstrously decayed and perfectly yellow teeth, which teeth usually were
smoking a cigarette. Her bluish hands were very interestingly dead; the
fingers were nervous, they lived in cringing bags of freckled skin, they
might almost be alive.

She was perhaps eighteen years old.

Renee, the fourth member of the circle, was always well-dressed and
somehow _chic_. Her silhouette had character, from the waved coiffure to
the enormously high heels. Had Renee been able to restrain a perfectly
toothless smile she might possibly have passed for a _jeune gonzesse_.
She was not. The smile was ample and black. You saw through it into the
back of her neck. You felt as if her life was in danger when she smiled,
as it probably was. Her skin was not particularly tired. But Renee was
old, older than Lena by several years; perhaps twenty-five. Also about
Renee there was a certain dangerous fragility, the fragility of unhealth.
And yet Renee was hard, immeasurably hard. And accurate. Her exact
movements were the movements of a mechanism. Including her voice, which
had a purely mechanical timbre. She could do two things with this voice
and two only--screech and boom. At times she tried to chuckle and almost
fell apart. Renee was in fact dead. In looking at her for the first time,
I realised that there may be something stylish about death.

This first time was interesting in the extreme. It was Lily's birthday.
We looked out of the windows which composed one side of the otherwise
windowless Enormous Room; looked down, and saw--just outside the wall of
the building--Celina, Lena, Lily and a new girl who was Renee. They were
all individually intoxicated, Celina was joyously tight. Renee was
stiffly bunnied. Lena was raucously pickled. Lily, floundering and
staggering and tumbling and whirling was utterly soused. She was all
tricked out in an erstwhile dainty dress, white, and with ribbons. Celina
(as always) wore black. Lena had on a rather heavy striped sweater and
skirt. Renee was immaculate in tight-fitting satin or something of the
sort; she seemed to have somehow escaped from a doll's house overnight.
About the group were a number of _plantons_, roaring with laughter,
teasing, insulting, encouraging, from time to time attempting to embrace
the ladies. Celina gave one of them a terrific box on the ear. The mirth
of the others was redoubled. Lily spun about and fell down, moaning and
coughing, and screaming about her fiancee in Belgium: what a handsome
young fellow he was, how he had promised to marry her... shouts of
enjoyment from the _plantons_. Lena had to sit down or else fall down, so
she sat down with a good deal of dignity, her back against the wall, and
in that position attempted to execute a kind of dance. _Les Plantons_
rocked and applauded. Celina smiled beautifully at the men who were
staring from every window of The Enormous Room and, with a supreme
effort, went over and dragged Renee (who had neatly and accurately folded
up with machine-like rapidity in the mud) through the doorway and into
the house. Eventually Lena followed her example, capturing Lily en route.
The scene must have consumed all of twenty minutes. The _plantons_ were
so mirth-stricken that they had to sit down and rest under the
washing-shed. Of all the inhabitants of The Enormous Room, Fritz and
Harree and Pom Pom and Bathhouse John enjoyed it most. I should include
Jan, whose chin nearly rested on the window-sill with the little body
belonging to it fluttering in an ugly interested way all the time. That
Bathhouse John's interest was largely cynical is evidenced by the remarks
which he threw out between spittings--"_Une section mesdames!_" "_A la
gare!_" "_Aux armes tout le monde!_" etc. With the exception of these
enthusiastic watchers, the other captives evidenced vague
amusement--excepting Count Bragard who said with lofty disgust that it
was "no better than a bloody knocking 'ouse, Mr. Cummings" and Monsieur
Pet-airs whose annoyance amounted to agony. Of course these twain were,
comparatively speaking, old men....

The four female incorrigibles encountered less difficulty in attaining
_cabinot_ than any four specimens of incorrigibility among _les hommes_.
Not only were they placed in dungeon vile with a frequency which amounted
to continuity; their sentences were far more severe than those handed out
to the men. Up to the time of my little visit to La Ferte I had
innocently supposed that in referring to women as "the weaker sex" a man
was strictly within his rights. La Ferte, if it did nothing else for my
intelligence, rid it of this overpowering error. I recall, for example, a
period of sixteen days and nights spent (during my stay) by the woman
Lena in the _cabinot_. It was either toward the latter part of October or
the early part of November that this occurred, I will not be sure which.
The dampness of the Autumn was as terrible, under normal conditions--that
is to say in The Enormous Room--as any climatic eccentricity which I have
ever experienced. We had a wood-burning stove in the middle of the room,
which antiquated apparatus was kept going all day to the vast discomfort
of eyes and noses not to mention throats and lungs--the pungent smoke
filling the room with an atmosphere next to unbreathable, but tolerated
for the simple reason that it stood between ourselves and death. For even
with the stove going full blast the wall never ceased to sweat and even
trickle, so overpowering was the dampness. By night the chill was to
myself--fortunately bedded at least eighteen inches from the floor and
sleeping in my clothes; bed-roll, blankets, and all, under and over me
and around me--not merely perceptible but desolating. Once my bed broke,
and I spent the night perforce on the floor with only my mattress under
me; to awake finally in the whitish dawn perfectly helpless with
rheumatism. Yet with the exception of my bed and B.'s bed and a wooden
bunk which belonged to Bathhouse John, every _paillasse_ lay directly on
the floor; moreover the men who slept thus were three-quarters of them
miserably clad, nor had they anything beyond their light-weight
blankets--whereas I had a complete outfit including a big fur coat, which
I had taken with me (as previously described) from the _Section
Sanitaire_. The morning after my night spent on the floor I pondered,
having nothing to do and being unable to move, upon the subject of my
physical endurance--wondering just how the men about me, many of them
beyond middle age, some extremely delicate, in all not more than five or
six as rugged constitutionally as myself, lived through the nights in The
Enormous Room. Also I recollected glancing through an open door into the
women's quarters, at the risk of being noticed by the _planton_ in whose
charge I was at the time (who, fortunately, was stupid even for a
_planton_, else I should have been well punished for my curiosity) and
beholding _paillasses_ identical in all respects with ours reposing on
the floor; and I thought, if it is marvellous that old men and sick men
can stand this and not die, it is certainly miraculous that girls of
eleven and fifteen, and the baby which I saw once being caressed out in
the women's _cour_ with unspeakable gentleness by a little _putain_ whose
name I do not know, and the dozen or so oldish females whom I have often
seen on promenade--can stand this and not die. These things I mention not
to excite the reader's pity nor yet his indignation; I mention them
because I do not know of any other way to indicate--it is no more than
indicating--the significance of the torture perpetrated under the
Directeur's direction in the case of the girl Lena. If incidentally it
throws light on the personality of the torturer I shall be gratified.

Lena's confinement in the _cabinot_--which dungeon I have already
attempted to describe but to whose filth and slime no words can begin to
do justice--was in this case solitary. Once a day, of an afternoon and
always at the time when all the men were upstairs after the second
promenade (which gave the writer of this history an exquisite chance to
see an atrocity at first-hand), Lena was taken out of the _cabinot_ by
three _plantons_ and permitted a half-hour promenade just outside the
door of the building, or in the same locality--delimited by barbed wire
on one side and the washing-shed on another--made famous by the scene of
inebriety above described. Punctually at the expiration of thirty minutes
she was shoved back into the _cabinot_ by the _plantons_. Every day for
sixteen days I saw her; noted the indestructible bravado of her gait and
carriage, the unchanging timbre of her terrible laughter in response to
the salutation of an inhabitant of The Enormous Room (for there were at
least six men who spoke to her daily, and took their _pain sec_ and their
_cabinot_ in punishment therefor with the pride of a soldier who takes
the _medaille militaire_ in recompense for his valour); noted the
increasing pallor of her flesh, watched the skin gradually assume a
distinct greenish tint (a greenishness which I cannot describe save that
it suggested putrefaction); heard the coughing to which she had always
been subject grow thicker and deeper till it doubled her up every few
minutes, creasing her body as you crease a piece of paper with your
thumb-nail, preparatory to tearing it in two--and I realised fully and
irrevocably and for perhaps the first time the meaning of civilization.
And I realised that it was true--as I had previously only suspected it to
be true--that in finding us unworthy of helping to carry forward the
banner of progress, alias the tricolour, the inimitable and excellent
French government was conferring upon B. and myself--albeit with other
intent--the ultimate compliment.

And the Machine-Fixer, whose opinion of this blond _putain_ grew and
increased and soared with every day of her martyrdom till the
Machine-Fixer's former classification of _les femmes_ exploded and
disappeared entirely--the Machine-Fixer who would have fallen on his
little knees to Lena had she given him a chance, and kissed the hem of
her striped skirt in an ecstasy of adoration--told me that Lena on being
finally released, walked upstairs herself, holding hard to the banister
without a look for anyone, "having eyes as big as tea-cups." He added,
with tears in his own eyes:

"M'sieu' Jean, a woman."

I recall perfectly being in the kitchen one day, hiding from the
eagle-eye of the Black Holster and enjoying a talk on the economic
consequences of war, said talk being delivered by Afrique. As a matter of
fact, I was not in the _cuisine_ proper but in the little room which I
have mentioned previously. The door into the kitchen was shut. The
sweetly soft odour of newly cut wood was around me. And all the time that
Afrique was talking I heard clearly, through the shut door and through
the kitchen wall and through the locked door of the _cabinot_ situated
directly across the hall from _la cuisine_, the insane gasping voice of a
girl singing and yelling and screeching and laughing. Finally I
interrupted my speaker to ask what on earth was the matter in the
_cabinot?_--"_C'est la femme allemande qui s'appelle Lily_," Afrique
briefly answered. A little later BANG went the _cabinot_ door, and ROAR
went the familiar coarse voice of the Directeur. "It disturbs him, the
noise," Afrique said. The _cabinot_ door slammed. There was silence.
Heavily steps ascended. Then the song began again, a little more insane
than before; the laughter a little wilder.... "You can't stop her,"
Afrique said admiringly. "A great voice Mademoiselle has, eh? So, as I
was saying, the national debt being conditioned--"

But the experience _a propos les femmes_, which meant and will always
mean more to me than any other, the scene which is a little more
unbelievable than perhaps any scene that it has ever been my privilege to
witness, the incident which (possibly more than any other) revealed to me
those unspeakable foundations upon which are builded with infinite care
such at once ornate and comfortable structures as _La Gloire and Le
Patriotisme_--occurred in this wise.

The men, myself among them, were leaving _le cour_ for The Enormous Room
under the watchful eye (as always) of a _planton_. As we defiled through
the little gate in the barbed-wire fence we heard, apparently just
outside the building whither we were proceeding on our way to The Great
Upstairs, a tremendous sound of mingled screams, curses and crashings.
The _planton_ of the day was not only stupid--he was a little deaf; to
his ears this hideous racket had not, as nearly as one could see,
penetrated. At all events he marched us along toward the door with utmost
plantonic satisfaction and composure. I managed to insert myself in the
fore of the procession, being eager to witness the scene within; and
reached the door almost simultaneously with Fritz, Harree and two or
three others. I forget which of us opened it. I will never forget what I
saw as I crossed the threshold.

The hall was filled with stifling smoke; the smoke which straw makes when
it is set on fire, a peculiarly nauseous choking, whitish-blue smoke.
This smoke was so dense that only after some moments could I make out,
with bleeding eyes and wounded lungs, anything whatever. What I saw was
this: five or six _plantons_ were engaged in carrying out of the nearest
_cabinot_ two girls, who looked perfectly dead. Their bodies were
absolutely limp. Their hands dragged foolishly along the floor as they
were carried. Their upward white faces dangled loosely upon their necks.
Their crumpled fingers sagged in the _planton's_ arms. I recognised Lily
and Renee. Lena I made out at a little distance tottering against the
door of the kitchen opposite the _cabinot_, her hay-coloured head
drooping and swaying slowly upon the open breast of her shirt-waist, her
legs far apart and propping with difficulty her hinging body, her hands
spasmodically searching for the knob of the door. The smoke proceeded
from the open _cabinot_ in great ponderous murdering clouds. In one of
these clouds, erect and tense and beautiful as an angel--her wildly
shouting face framed in its huge night of dishevelled hair, her deep
sexual voice, hoarsely strident above the din and smoke, shouting
fiercely through the darkness--stood, triumphantly and colossally young,
Celina. Facing her, its clenched, pinkish fists raised high above its
savagely bristling head in a big, brutal gesture of impotence and rage
and anguish--the Fiend Himself paused quivering. Through the smoke, the
great bright voice of Celina rose at him, hoarse and rich and sudden and
intensely luxurious, quick, throaty, accurate, slaying deepness:

_SHIEZ, SI VOUS VOULEZ, SHIEZ,_

and over and beneath and around the voice I saw frightened faces of women
hanging in the smoke, some screaming with their lips apart and their eyes
closed, some staring with wide eyes; and among the women's faces I
discovered the large, placid, interested expression of the Gestionnaire
and the nervous clicking eyes of the Surveillant. And there was a
shout--it was the Black Holster shouting at us as we stood transfixed--

"Who the devil brought the men in here? Get up with you where you belong,
you...."

--And he made a rush at us, and we dodged in the smoke and passed slowly
up the hall, looking behind us, speechless to a man with the admiration
of Terror till we reached the further flight of stairs; and mounted
slowly, with the din falling below us, ringing in our ears, beating upon
our brains--mounted slowly with quickened blood and pale faces--to the
peace of The Enormous Room.

I spoke with both _balayeurs_ that night. They told me, independently,
the same story: the four incorrigibles had been locked in the _cabinot
ensemble_. They made so much noise, particularly Lily, that the
_plantons_ were afraid the Directeur would be disturbed. Accordingly the
_plantons_ got together and stuffed the contents of a _paillasse_ in the
cracks around the door, and particularly in the crack under the door
wherein cigarettes were commonly inserted by friends of the entombed.
This process made the _cabinot_ air-tight. But the _plantons_ were not
taking any chances on disturbing Monsieur le Directeur. They carefully
lighted the _paillasse_ at a number of points and stood back to see the
results of their efforts. So soon as the smoke found its way inward the
singing was supplanted by coughing; then the coughing stopped. Then
nothing was heard. Then Celina began crying out within--"Open the door,
Lily and Renee are dead"--and the _plantons_ were frightened. After some
debate they decided to open the door--out poured the smoke, and in it
Celina, whose voice in a fraction of a second roused everyone in the
building. The Black Holster wrestled with her and tried to knock her down
by a blow on the mouth; but she escaped, bleeding a little, to the foot
of the stairs--simultaneously with the advent of the Directeur who for
once had found someone beyond the power of his weapon, Fear, someone in
contact with whose indescribable Youth the puny threats of death withered
between his lips, someone finally completely and unutterably Alive whom
the Lie upon his slavering tongue could not kill.

I do not need to say that, as soon as the girls who had fainted could be
brought to, they joined Lena in _pain sec_ for many days to come; and
that Celina was overpowered by six _plantons_--at the order of Monsieur
le Directeur--and reincarcerated in the _cabinot_ adjoining that from
which she had made her velocitous exit--reincarcerated without food for
twenty-four hours. "_Mais, M'sieu' Jean_," the Machine-Fixer said
trembling, "_Vous savez elle est forte._ She gave the six of them a
fight, I tell you. And three of them went to the doctor as a result of
their efforts, including _le vieux_ (The Black Holster). But of course
they succeeded in beating her up, six men upon one woman. She was beaten
badly, I tell you, before she gave in. _M'sieu' Jean, ils sont tous--les
plantons et le Directeur Lui-Meme et le Surveillant et le Gestionnaire et
tous--ils sont des--_" and he said very nicely what they were, and lit
his little black pipe with a crisp curving upward gesture, and shook like
a blade of grass.

With which specimen of purely mediaeval torture I leave the subject of
Women, and embark upon the quieter if no less enlightening subject of
Sunday.

Sunday, it will be recalled, was Monsieur le Directeur's third weapon.
That is to say: lest the ordinarily tantalising proximity of _les femmes_
should not inspire _les hommes_ to deeds which placed the doers
automatically in the clutches of himself, his subordinates, and _la
punition_, it was arranged that once a week the tantalising proximity
aforesaid should be supplanted by a positively maddening approach to
coincidence. Or in other words, the men and the women for an hour or less
might enjoy the same exceedingly small room; for purposes of course of
devotion--it being obvious to Monsieur le Directeur that the
representatives of both sexes at La Ferte Mace were inherently of a
strongly devotional nature. And lest the temptation to err in such
moments be deprived, through a certain aspect of compulsion, of its
complete force, the attendance of such strictly devotional services was
made optional.

The uplifting services to which I refer took place in that very room
which (the night of my arrival) had yielded me my _paillasse_ under the
Surveillant's direction. It may have been thirty feet long and twenty
wide. At one end was an altar at the top of several wooden stairs, with a
large candle on each side. To the right as you entered a number of
benches were placed to accommodate _les femmes_. _Les hommes_ upon
entering took off their caps and stood over against the left wall so as
to leave between them and the women an alley perhaps five feet wide. In
this alley stood the Black Holster with his _kepi_ firmly resting upon
his head, his arms folded, his eyes spying to left and right in order to
intercept any signals exchanged between the sheep and goats. Those who
elected to enjoy spiritual things left the _cour_ and their morning
promenade after about an hour of promenading, while the materially minded
remained to finish the promenade; or if one declined the promenade
entirely (as frequently occurred owing to the fact that weather
conditions on Sunday were invariably more indescribable than usual) a
_planton_ mounted to The Enormous Room and shouted, "_La Messe!_" several
times; whereat the devotees lined up and were carefully conducted to the
scene of spiritual operations.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21