1000 Journals Project
Archive for June, 2007
Torn Limb from Limb for Pickles
None of the brats came back from Easter vacation. There was nobody left at Meanwell but Jongkind and me. The joint was a desert.
To save on housework they closed off a whole floor. The furniture had gone, they sold it piece by piece, first the chairs, then the tables, the two cupboards, and even the beds. There was nothing left but our two beds. They were really liquidating . . . There was more to eat though . . . Quantities of jam . . . all we wanted . . . we could take seconds on pudding . . . The food was plentiful, what a change . . . that was really something new . . . Nora did the heavy work, but she prettied up all the same. At the table she was perfectly charming, almost playful . . .
The old geezer didn't hang around long, he'd fill up in a hurry and start off again on his tricycle. Jongkind kept the conversation going, all by himself. "No trouble!" And he'd learned another word: "No fear!" He was proud of that, it made him jump with joy. He never stopped saying it. "Ferdinand! No Fear!" he kept saying to me between mouthfuls.
Outside I didn't like to be noticed . . . I gave him a few kicks in the ass . . . He got the drift, he left me alone . . . As a reward I gave him pickles. I always took a supply with me, my pockets were full of them . . . They were his favorite delicacy, that way I made him behave . . . He'd let himself be torn limb from limb for pickles . . .
-- Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Death on the Installment Plan, tr. Ralph Manheim (New York: New Directions, 1966), 254-55.
Obtained from Lettuce
At last I tired of bread and water, got on my good behavior, and took to reading. The prison had a splendid library, not a worthless book in it. All the best English authors were there and I went through them hungrily. I became so immersed in reading that I was careful not to break the rules lest I lose three days or more from my books. I got schoolbooks and studied them. Remembering my poor arithmetic, I tried mathematics but couldn't get anywhere. Then the grammar, but the rules seemed to have been made for no other purpose than to confuse the beginner and "repress his noble rage," so I gave that up, got intensely interested in a small dictionary, and almost went into the dark cell for carrying it out with me to work and looking into it when the guard's back was turned. I read the best books in the library, except the Bible, and would have taken that only I already had six months with it in the Scotchman's jail.
I went through Chambers's Encyclopedia from A to Z. Read all about acids and paper, metals and metallurgy, dies and molds. I studied the history of locks and lockmaking, poring over the pictures of locks and their escutcheons -- all kinds of locks and keys, door locks, padlocks, combination locks, nothing was neglected. I read a most interesting paper on picklocks and lock-picking by a famous lock-maker of London. I followed the history of explosives from gunpowder down to nitroglycerin. I found a passage that old clearly and concisely which explosives did the greatest damage and made the least noise. What a mine of information! I was fascinated. I studied guns and pistols, drills and saws and files, braces and bits and drilling machines of high and low pressure and fast or slow motion.
I investigated poisons, herbs, and drugs. I discovered that the finest quality of morphine may be obtained from lettuce and proved it in the prison garden by extracting it and eating it. I read up on sleeping and dreaming and learned just what kind of noise is most apt to wake a sleeping person; just when he sleeps the deepest and at what hour of the night his courage is at the lowest ebb. I can sit in a hotel lobby today and pick out the sound sleeper, the medium sleeper, and light sleeper. I got it out of the encyclopedia, and proved it in practice later.
Jack Black, You Can't Win (Edinburgh, UK: AK Press/Nabat, 2000), 189-190.