window of a store called Fairy Fingers: LINGERIEâGENTLEMENâS SHIRTSâHOSIERYâNOTIONSâSPECIALISTS IN DELUXE UNDERGARMENTSâBABY WEARâLACEâKNICK-KNACKSâBIBSâFINE HANDKERCHIEFSâBUTTONSâFORM-FAST AND REDUCING CORSETS (NEVER RIDE UPâNO NEED FOR GARTERS). ALSO ALL TYPES OF GIRDLES AND BRASâPLEATINGâOPENWORK EMBROIDERY FOR BED LINENâBUTTONHOLESâSTOCKING REPAIRâBUCKLES.
9
âDo you know what I remember?â cried Gerfaut, alarmingly jubilant. âThe only thing I remember is the sign in a shopwindow! I know the whole thing by heart!â And he recited it word for word.
âDrink your coffee,â counseled Liétard.
Gerfaut complied. He was sitting in the back room of Action-Photo, a small shop not far from the town hall of Issy-les-Moulineaux, where his old friend Liétard sold cameras, film, movie equipment, binoculars, telescopes, and a mass of smaller items. Liétard wore a red shirt and worn-out black pants. He had a long, thin intellectualâs face and a gentle manner, but these traits were misleading. He is one of those who were in the entrance to the Charonne metro station at a bad moment: 17 October 1961, when police cornered Algerian protestors there. He is also one of those who came out alive. The next year, six months after his release from the hospital, Liétard set upon a lone policeman late one night in Rue Brancion, beat the man savagely with his own baton and left him naked, two ribs and jaw broken, handcuffed to the iron railings around the Vaugirard slaughterhouses.
âYou must be wiped out,â said Liétard. âDid you sleep on the train?â
âNo, I didnât! Of course I didnât!â
âYou can lie down upstairs if you like. You ought to, you know.â
âI couldnât possibly sleep now.â
âWould you like me to give you a sleeping pill?â
âIt wouldnât work.â
âGive it a try, anyway.â
Gerfaut protested weakly. Liétard brought him two white tablets with a glass of water, and he took them.
âYou must think Iâm losing it.â
âI donât think anything. Iâm listening, thatâs all. I have to open up shop, okay? Itâs nine oâclock.â
Gerfaut nodded distantly. Liétard got up from the table and went through into the front. He opened up and almost immediately had to serve a customer wanting a 36-exposure roll of Kodachrome X. By the time he returned to the back room, Gerfaut was already half asleep and half slumped over the corner of the table. Liétard helped him upstairs via an interior spiral staircase covered with riveted jute matting. Gerfaut undressed almost unaided and lay down on the bed. He promptly began to snoreâor perhaps âbuzzâ would be a more accurate word. He half awoke once, vaguely noticed that it was daylight, wondered where he was, and fell back to sleep. When he came to, night was falling outside the shutters. Gerfaut got up and got dressed. Liétard appeared at the top of the spiral staircase with a cup of coffee in his hand. Gerfaut rushed at him and grabbed him, and coffee sloshed from the cup and filled the saucer.
âYou bastard!â shouted Gerfaut. âHave you telephoned my wife?â
âNo. Should I have?â
âDid you telephone the cops? Or anyone?â
Liétard shook his head in perplexity. Gerfaut let go of him and stepped back with a grimace of apology.
âShould I make us steak tartare?â asked Liétard. âFor old timesâ sake? Iâve bought all the makings.â
Gerfaut nodded.
âDo you think,â asked Liétard, once they were seated before plates of ground steak black from overspicing, âdo you think they were trying to do away with you on account of that guy you picked up on the road the other night?â
âMe? But why?â
âWell, I mean, what you were