Wormwood
“One day I will take you to Holland,” Papa had said, tenderly stroking my hair. “The skull sits alone in a hall of the Teyler Museum.” After a moment’s reflection he added: “The hall is the size of this wood.”
I was roused from this memory, so like a reverie, by Gran’pere’s snores. They sounded like a knife shaving bone. M’man’s snores made the sound of a glue pot simmering. I knew that because once I had helped Papa make glue with the hoof of a horse.
“Fais-moi peur, Nanu!” p’tit Pierre whispered in my ear.
“I can’t. Not with them so near.”
“Yes you can! They are both as good as dead. Start like this: ‘The voyage was doomed from the start.’ ” He nuzzled my neck.
“The voyage was doomed from the start,” I began, and p’tit Pierre sighed with pleasure. “A week off the Java coast the ship was swept by plague and all the sailors died.”
“The stench was terrible,” p’tit Pierre agreed. “All the sailors died but one.”
“And this is his story.”
“L’histoire du marin qui se trouvait seul.”
“All his friends were dead and all his enemies too. And now—”
“Sometimes people die of loneliness, Nanu.” Solemnly, p’tit Pierre licked the inside of my elbow.
“Stop that!” I scolded. “You’re like a little dog!” He licked me again.
“A lion,” he corrected me. “A lion. Lions lick each other. Then what happened?”
“He couldn’t manage the ship, The sails were down and he was at the mercy of the tides, There were roaches in the crackers and the water was black,”
“He could fish—”
“The fish were all too big to catch. Off Java the fish are as big as elephants.”
“He ate shit and he was lonely.”
“So lonely one day he shouted into the wind: ‘God-damn! I’d take the Devil for a bride!’ ”
“He shouldn’t have said that! Your sailor—quel con!”
“He had an inspiration—”
“What’s that?”
“He thought: An entire wood was cut down to fill the hold of this ship with sandal, ebony, and cedar, I’ll find a nice log and cut off a piece and carve a bride for myself.”
“Like Pinocchio! Pinocella! Pinocella!”
“Shut up, idiot, Not like that, You’ll see… He took a lantern and made his way down into the hold,”
“It was dark and full of rats! God knows what else!”
“Pierre—tais-toi. Some logs were loose and rolling, It was dangerous down there, But he climbed a pile as high as a hill and looked until he found something he liked. With his ax he hacked away until he had a piece about one meter long. The wood was so hard that each time he struck it he made sparks! And it was as dense as lead. Even his small piece was too heavy to lift. He struggled with it until he lost patience and gave it a kick.”
“Saying, ‘Goddamn it! Goddamn it! Goddamn it!’ ”
