The Night just before..

RD
“you were turning the street corner when I saw you,

D
it’s raining,
one doesn’t look once best when it rains on the hair and the clothes,

R
but anyway I dared, and now that we’re here, I don’t want to

RD
look at myself,

D
I should dry off, go back down there and fix myself up —at least the hair,
so I don’t catch anything,

R
but then I went down there a minute ago,
to see if it was possible to fix myself up,
but down there are the pricks, hanging out:
all the time it takes for the hair to dry off, they don’t move, they pack like
a mob, they look behind their back,

D
and I went up again—just the time to take a piss— in my wet clothes, I’ll
stay like this, until I find a room: the moment we settle down somewhere,
I’ll take everything off, this is why I’m looking for a room,

because at home,
impossible,
I can’t get in— not for the whole night though—,

R
this is why you,
when you were turning,
right there,
at the street corner,
when I saw you,
I ran,
I thought to myself:
D
nothing easier to find a room for the night, for part of the night, if you
want it so bad, if you dare ask, even with the wet clothes and the
soaking hair,

RD
even with the rain that makes me go to pieces when I look at myself in
the mirror—

R
but, it’s difficult not to look at yourself,
even when you don’t want to,
so many mirrors are hanging all around here,
in the cafés, in the hotels,
they must be left behind one’s back,
like now that we’re here, they’re looking at you,

RD
me,

R
I keep them behind my back, all the time, even at home, and even there
it’s full of them, like all around here, all the way to the hotels— one
hundred thousand mirrors looking at you, you’ve got to look out for them,
because

D
I’ve lived at the hotel for almost all my life,

R
I say: home by force of habit, but it’s at a hotel, [1]
tonight though it’s not possible, other than that,

D
that’s really where my home is,

R
and if I get a hotel room,
it’s old habit,
in three minutes top,
I make it look like my home,
with just the little things,
almost nothing,
make it look like I’ve lived there my whole life,
look like my regular room,
where I live, with all my little habits,

D
with the hidden mirrors and close to nothing, to a point when, if all of a
sudden it comes over someone to give me a room inside a house, to
make me live there,
or in an apartment just set up the way they like it, like those with families
inside them,

R
when I walk in there, I turn it into a hotel room,
just by living there,
me,

D
because of old habit—
they would give me some kind of cottage,
like those in the stories,
deep in the forests,
with the big beams, a big fireplace, big furniture like you’ve never seen
before,

R
one hundred thousand years of old age,
when I get in there, me, with nothing whatsoever and in no time,
I make you a room that looks like those in the hotels,

RD
where I feel at home,

D
I hide the fireplace behind the pile of furniture,

R
I make the beams disappear,

D
I change the taste of everything,

R
I ditch all those objects no one ever notices anywhere, except in the
stories, and that special smell, the smell of families, and old stone, and
old black wood, and the hundred thousand years of old age laughing at
you, that make you feel like you’re a foreigner, that never let you think
you’re really at home, I ditch them all and old age with it, because I’m
like this,

RD
I don’t like things reminding you that you’re a foreigner,

D
but still I am a little bit of a foreigner,
you must have noticed,
I’m not really from here—

R
they did notice,
for sure,
those pricks,
packed behind my back, after I took a piss,
when I was washing my ding-a-ling,—
makes you think they’re all pricks, those French,
can’t even imagine,

D
because they’ve never seen anybody wash his ding-a-ling,

R
except for us,
it’s old habit,
my father taught me that, [2—3]

D
where I’m from you do this all the time,

R
and me, I do it all the time after taking a piss,
and when I was washing it, a minute ago,
like I always do,
by the sink downstairs,
feeling all those pricks packed behind my back, I acted like I didn’t
understand,

D
like a complete foreigner,

R
who could understand nothing those pricks said in French, and I could
hear them while I washed myself:

—what’s he doing, that weird foreigner?

—he’s making his ding-a-ling have a drink
—how do you do that, make your ding-a-ling drink?

— like I could understand nothing they said, and me, I keep doing it, cool
and all, making it drink so those French pricks would keep wondering,
packed behind my back, in front of the sink:

D
how do you make your ding-a-ling drink, and anyway, how can your
ding-a-ling be thirsty?

R
then, when I was done with it, i cut through the crowd,

D
still like a foreigner, who could understand not a word they said,

R
this is easy for me,

D
I’m not completely from here, I’m sure you’ve noticed this,

R
those French pricks with no imagination got it right, and, despite all this,

D
I ran after you the moment I saw you turn the street corner,

R
despite all the pricks left in the street, in the cafés, in the basement of
the cafés, here, everywhere,

D
despite the rain and the wet clothes, I ran, not only for the room, not only
for that part of the night for which

R
I need a room, but

D
I ran, ran, ran, so that this time,

R
turning the corner, I don’t find myself in a street empty of you,

D
so that this time, I don’t find only

R
the rain, the rain, the rain,

D
so that this time I find you, on the other side of the corner, and I dare
shout:

R
brother!,

D
I dare grab you by the arm:

R
brother!,

D
I dare approach you:

R
brother, give me a light, that’ll cost you nothing,

D
brother,

R
this nasty rain, the nasty wind, this fucking intersection, there’s nothing
good in walking around here tonight, for you or for me,

D
but I don’t have any cigarettes,

R
It wasn’t completely for a smoke that I said:
give me a light,

D
brother,

R
it was,

D
brother,

R
to tell you:
this fucking neighborhood, this fucking habit of walking around here

D
(way to approach people!),

R
and you too, you walk around, your clothes soaking wet, taking the risk
to catch any possible disease, I’m not asking you for a cigarette either,
brother, I don’t even smoke, It will cost you nothing to have stopped, no
light, no cigarette,

D
brother,

R
no money (then you’d walk away! twenty bucks don’t make a difference,
not tonight), and besides,

D
I’ve got enough here to buy us coffee, let me treat, brother, instead of
walking around in this strange light, so [3—4D]
it costs you nothing that I’ve approached you—

R
maybe I have my way of approaching people, but in the end, it costs
them nothing (I’m not talking about a room, brother, a room to spend the
night, because then the nicest guys have their mouths shut, you’d walk
away! let’s not talk about a room then, brother) but I have an idea to tell
you

D
—come, let’s not stay here, we’ll catch something, for sure—

R
no money, no job, this doesn’t make things easy

D
(I’m not really looking for one, it’s not really that), it’s that

R
I’ve this idea, first, that I must tell you, you and me, walking around in
this strange city with no money in our pockets

D
(but I’ll buy you coffee, brother, I’ve got enough, I’m not taking that back,
not now),

R
because on first impression, it’s not the money, it’s not you, or me, that
keeps us nailed to the ground! so, me, i’ve got this idea, brother, for
those like you and me with no money, and no job, and

D
I’m not really looking for one anymore—

R
it’s just that having a job, for people like us, in the outdoors, with empty
pockets, we don’t carry a lot of weight, the slightest blow of wind would
carry us away,

D
no one could force us to stay on the scaffolds, except by tying us to it:

R
a good blast of wind, and we take off, light—, and me, working at the
factory, never!, to you, It’ll be hard to explain, even for me, it’s hard to
understand everything, without mixing things up, but my idea, it’s like— it
ain’t a religion, it ain’t some foolishness you’d peddle to people one way
or another and that’d change nothing,

D
it ain’t politics,

R
definitely not a party or nothing like that, or like the unions that know it
all, that’ve seen it all, and that let nothing escape them, and then to add
my idea to this,
D
there would be no room left, and

R
It has nothing to do with that, no, my idea, it’s not that at all, don’t worry,
brother: it’s for our defense, only for our defense, because that is really
what we need, to defend ourselves, right? maybe you think: not me, but
then, let me tell you: maybe I’m the one who approached you, I’m the
one who’d need a room tonight (no, brother, I didn’t say I did), I’m the
one who asked: brother, give me a light, but the one who approaches is
not always the weak one, and

D
I saw right away, from there, that you didn’t look very strong, walking
around all wet, not very tough at all, while me,

R
despite all this, I’m resourceful, and me, I recognize those who aren’t
very strong, with one quick glance, because of their gait, especially, just
the way they walk with those tiny steps, nervous, like you, with their back
nervous, and the way they move their shoulders, nervous, something in
their gait that doesn’t fool me, with their face, too, made of little lines, not
beat up or anything, but nervous!,

D
like you: something on the face that doesn’t fool me, almost nothing,

R
even when they walk all swaggering, like pimps do, but pimps made of
nerves, little punks who spread out, but who come straight from their
mothers, and the whole top, like this, all swaggering like nothing’s going
on, under the rain,

D
but me, I see right away this kind of nervousness, the kind that nobody
can hide—because all that’s nervousness,

R
it comes from the mother, straight out, and their mother, those little
punks, they can’t hide her away,

D
no matter what they do—me, instead, I’m like blood, hulk made of
bones, and muscles, and all that comes from the father, nerves have
never bothered me, because my father, it’s the opposite, he was the
tough type, the type that never got his nerves tangled up because of
thinking too much, nothing disturbed him, a man made of bones,
muscles, a man made of blood, people could have called him: the
terminator, and me too, they could call me: the terminator,

and that really is why politics, and the parties, and the unions that exist
today, and the cops, and the army, which are all political, they’re not
what I want, all that, it’s way too tangled up because of the head, and
with their head, they throw you back to the factory, and me, the factory,
never! but, anyway, they always end up throwing you back to the
factory,

R
but then the idea I’m telling you about, it’s: a union on an international
scale —It’s very important, the international scale (I’ll explain it to you,
even for me, It’s hard to understand in my head),

D
—but no politics, only for the defense, me, I’m built for the defense, and
for that, I’ll give it [5 R ] everything I’ve got, I’ll be the one who
terminates,

R
in my international union for the defense of those little punks who aren’t
very strong, sons who come straight from their mothers, who act like
pimps full of nerves, who’re swaggering and walking around, all alone, in
the middle of the night, at the risk of catching any possible disease—

D
that’s exactly why, me,

R
I see the uselessness of your mothers, see how useless your mother is:
she gives you a nervous system, and then drops you, at any
intersection, under the fucking rain, not tough enough, too trusting,
because

D
I see right away that you’re too trusting, all small and nervous that you
are, you trust everybody, but don’t imagine that there are no bastards
here, but they won’t let you get it,
me, I know we brush against them, and a minute ago,
R
I fell on my face, they almost got me, too trusting like you, so now, I see
them everywhere, they’re here, they brush past us, the worst kind of
bastards that you can imagine, and they make us live like this:

D
me, i thought they were invincible, hiding up there, above the bosses,
above the government, above everything,

R
with faces of killers, rapists, embezzlers of ideas, with faces that aren’t
real faces like yours or mine, and they have no names: the clans of
cheats, of gang-bangers in hiding, the unpunished and the vicious, cold,
scheming, technical, the little clan of technical bastards who decide:

D
to the factory and be quiet!,

R
(and the factory, me, never!),

D
to the factory and shut your mouth!

R
(and what if my mouth, I open it?),

D
to the factory, shut your mouth, and we get the last word—

R
and they get the last word, the small group of fuckers who decide for us,
from up there, plotting all together, scheming all together, technical on
the international scale— the international scale! me, my idea, it’s a union
on the international scale: it’s important, the international scale, I’ll
explain to you—

D
right now, we’re screwed! it’s the factory, or becoming light, like you, like
me, being carried away by the slightest blow of wind,

R
because: what can we do, you and me, when they hold the government,
the cops, the army, the bosses, the streets, the crossroads, the subway,
the light, the wind, and when they can sweep us away from up there
anytime they want? what can I do, me, against that, except my idea for a
union?

D
—you, you’re too trusting, like I was before, but now, they’re here,
they’re after us, they came down and they almost got me, because the
worst sort of bastards imaginable come in strange shapes and in strange
ways,

R
ah, if only they came straight out, so we see everything on their faces, if
we saw every time who we’re dealing with, so we could throw punches,
but the ways they come in, rubbing against us with faces that make it
impossible to stay put, and you get the crap beaten out of you by the
worst kind of bitches because you’re too trusting— but how can we tell?