‘You’re the monster!’
‘Pardon?’
‘Yes, you. Unfortunately I can’t exactly explain why. But I assure you I’m right. I wanted to get rid of Saha. That wasn’t at all admirable. But to kill something that gets in her way, that makes her suffer – it’s the first idea that comes into a woman’s head, especially a jealous woman’s. It’s perfectly normal. What’s abnormal, what’s monstrous, is you. It’s . . .’
She was struggling to make herself understood and, at the same time, pointing to certain accidental things about Alain which did indeed suggest a kind of delirium: the torn-off sleeve; the trembling, insulting mouth; the cheek from which all the blood had retreated; the wild crest of dishevelled fair hair. He made no protest and did not deign to defend himself. He seemed lost in some exploration from which there was no return.
‘If I’d killed . . . or wanted to kill . . . a woman out of jealousy, you’d probably forgive me. But since I raised my hand against the cat, you’re through with me. And yet you don’t want me to treat you as a monster.’
‘Have I said I didn’t want you to?’ he broke in haughtily.
She looked at him with terrified eyes and made a gesture of impotence. Sombre and detached, he watched the young, execrable gloved hand every time it moved.
‘Now for the future, what are we going to do? What’s going to happen to us, Alain?’
He was so brimming over with intolerance that he nearly groaned. He wanted to cry out: ‘We separate, we keep silent, we sleep, we breathe without the other always there! I’ll withdraw far, far away – under this cherry-tree for example, under the wing of that magpie. Or into the peacock’s tail of the hose-jet. Or into my cold room under the protection of a little golden dollar, a handful of relics, and a Russian Blue cat.’
He mastered himself and deliberately lied:
‘But nothing, at the moment. It’s too soon to make a . . . a decision. Later on, we’ll see.’
This final effort to be reasonable and sociable exhausted him. He tottered as soon as he took the first steps when he got up to accompany Camille. She accepted this vague conciliation with hungry hope.
‘Yes, of course. It’s much too soon. A little later on. Stay where you are, don’t bother to come with me to the gate. With your sleeve, people will think we’ve been fighting. Listen, perhaps I’ll go and get a little swimming at Ploumanach with Patrick’s brother and sister-in-law. Because the mere idea of living with my family at this moment . . .’
‘Yes, do that. Take the roadster,’ proposed Alain.
She flushed and thanked him too effusively.
‘I’ll give it you back, you know, the minute I get back to Paris. You may need it. Don’t hesitate to ask me for it back. Anyway, I’ll let you know when I’m going and when I get back.’
‘Already she’s organizing it all. Already she’s throwing out the strands of her web, throwing out bridges. Already she’s picking up the fabric, darning it, weaving the threads together again. It’s horrifying. Is that what my mother admires in her? Perhaps, after all, it’s very fine. I don’t feel any more capable of understanding her than of making things up with her. How completely at ease she is in everything I find insupportable. If she’d only go now, if she’d only go away!’
She was going away, carefully avoiding holding out her hand to him. But, under the arcade of clipped trees, she dared vainly to brush against him with her ripening breasts. Left alone, he collapsed into a chair and near him, on the wicker table, suddenly, like a miracle, appeared the cat.
A bend in the path and a gap in the leaves allowed Camille to see Alain and the cat once more from the distance. She stopped short and made a movement as if to retrace her steps. But she swayed only for an instant and then walked away faster than ever. For a while Saha, on guard, was following Camille’s departure as intently as a human being. Alain was half-lying on his side, ignoring it. With one hand hollowed into a paw, he was playing deftly with the first green, prickly August chestnuts.
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Epub ISBN: 9781446467480
Version 1.0
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Published by Vintage 2001
10
Gigi © the Estate of Colette, 1944
La Chatte © the Estate of Colette, 1933
Gigi first published by La Guilde du Livre, Lausanne, 1944
La Chatte first published by Bernard Grasset, Paris 1933
English translation from the Fleuron Edition, Oeuvres completes de Colette de l’Académie Goncourt, 1949,
First published in England by Martin Secker & Warburg 1953
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A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Colette, Gigi and the Cat
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