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Updated: May 18, 2025
We drive straight up to something which looks unpleasantly like a feudal dungeon. "Does he mean me?" the driver asked innocently. "Sure," I told him. Nothing is said of B. or me. Now, cautiously, t-d first and I a slow next, we descend.
My mind felt as if it had been thrown suddenly from fourth into reverse. I pondered and said nothing. On again faster, to make up for lost time. On the correct assumption that t-d does not understand English the driver passes the time of day through the minute window: "For Christ's sake, Cummings, what's up?" "You got me," I said, laughing at the delicate naivete of the question.
I love them and look after them. Well, listen: I will be your marraine, too." I bowed and looked around for something to pledge her in. T-d was watching. My eyes fell on a huge glass of red pinard. "Yes, drink," said my captor, with a smile. I raised my huge glass. "A la sante de ma marraine charmante!" The tin derby approved also: "That's right, eat, drink, you'll need it later perhaps."
I whistled and sang and cried to my vis-a-vis: "By the way, who is yonder distinguished gentleman who has been so good as to take my friend and me on this little promenade?" to which, between lurches of the groaning F.I.A.T., t-d replied awesomely, clutching at the window for the benefit of his equilibrium: "Monsieur le Ministre de Surete de Noyon."
"GOODNIGHT. Maybe we'd better ring off, or you'll get in wrong with" he indicated t-d with a wave of his head that communicated itself to the car in a magnificent skid; and t-d's derby rang out as the skid pitched t-d the length of the F.I.A.T. "You rang the bell then," I commented then to t-d: "Nice car for the wounded to ride in," I politely observed. T-d answered nothing.... Noyon.
Whatever may have been the forebodings inspired by t-d Number 1's attitude, they were completely annihilated by the thrilling joy which I experienced on losing sight of the accursed section and its asinine inhabitants by the indisputable and authentic thrill of going somewhere and nowhere, under the miraculous auspices of someone and no one of being yanked from the putrescent banalities of an official non-existence into a high and clear adventure, by a deus ex machina in a grey-blue uniform, and a couple of tin derbies.
With half-shut eyes my Ego lay and pondered: the delicious meal it had just enjoyed; what was to come; the joys of being a great criminal ... then, being not at all inclined to sleep, I read Le Petit Parisien quite through, even to Les Voies Urinaires. Which reminded me and I woke up t-d and asked: "May I visit the vespasienne?" "Downstairs," he replied fuzzily, and readjusted his slumbers.
After weighing the matter in my mind for some moments I decided at all cost to tell the truth, and replied: "I could eat an elephant." Hereupon t-d lead me to the Kitchen Itself, set me to eat upon a stool, and admonished the cook in a fierce voice: "Give this great criminal something to eat in the name of the French Republic!" And for the first time in three months I tasted Food.
"Why is he here?" the woman touched me on the shoulder, and satisfied herself that I was real. "The good God is doubtless acquainted with the explanation," said t-d pleasantly. "Not myself being the " "Ah, mon pauvre" said this very beautiful sort of woman. "You are going to be a prisoner here. Everyone of the prisoners has a marraine, do you understand? I am their marraine.
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