Read Online La Boutique Obscure: 124 Dreams by Georges Perec - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Georges Perec
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rooms, followed by F., who is telling me about his problems. I scold him for seeming to always wind up in situations like these, almost intentionally.
I come to a room filled with people. All of them look at me in a friendly way. It’s the family of a little boy I barely know, but who I know likes me a great deal. The little boy introduces me to his father and his aunts. The father asks what he can do for me. I take him on an escalator to a long, narrow room where a congress is in session. I explain that I would like to install a projection hall in this room and show him how I’m thinking of doing so. The father tells me it’s a very good idea. We go back across the apartment. The little boy takes my hand. He tells me he has 1,000 dollars and wants to give them to me. I tell him I cannot accept them, that it can’t be a gift but only, if he wants, a donation to the film I’m going to make. I expect the father to offer that much, maybe even more, but there seems to be no question
No. 82
July 1971 (Lans)
The three Ms
1
I am in the lobby of M.’s house. I knock on the glass—black—of the concierge’s window to ask what floor M. lives on. The window comes up very slowly, as though automatically. Apparently there’s nobody behind it. Two of M.’s friends arrive. One of them tells me M. is gone, which makes me very angry. She told me to come by! This isn’t the first time she’s stood me up, but this time I’ve had enough and I decide to leave her a short goodbye note. All I can find to write on is a very large sheet of paper, which forces me to write vertically, since the sheet is pressed up against one of the lobby walls. The short text I compose is particularly violent.
The problem now is to find the mailbox. One of M.’s friends explains that it’s hidden in the lobby walls, and sometimes even in the pipes (which are in fact false pipes); they’re huge and mask the real ones; in one a miniature theater has been installed.
While we continue to look for this troublesome box, a crowd takes over the lobby and the situation evolves.
2
I worked with Michel M. on a screenplay at his house. Then he went on vacation and left me his apartment. Many people (more distant acquaintances than actual friends) have come to stay there.
3
I spend a long while in a large café (la Coupole?).
4
I’m on the street. I need stamps and I don’t have any money with me. My uncle passes by, at the wheel of his car. I stop him and ask him for money. He goes to get me some, then reconsiders and asks what I plan to do with it.
“It’s to buy stamps.”
“You don’t have any at home?”
“I do.”
“Go get them.”
He smiles and starts his car again. (I can’t say I’m surprised at him.)
5
So I go home, or rather to Michel M.’s. I’ve barely made it through the door when a young girl in white, whom Irecognize as Michel’s ex-girlfriend, comes to ask me for an explanation. She has just arrived with her fiancé and found the house full. I reassure her, send her to her room, and go to see the other occupants. I figure we’ll be able to work something out, since the house is huge. The others are going to bed, even though it’s broad daylight. There is in particular one girl who has put on a ridiculous and rather comical lace nightshirt with tiny buttons, which makes her look like a fragile doll or like a portrait of a child.
Everyone agrees to sleep during the day and go out at night. I declare myself satisfied and go to tell the fiancée—no, she is no longer the fiancée, she’s Michel’s ex-girlfriend. I cross several rooms and halls before arriving: indeed, this place is enormous.
I find Michel’s ex-girlfriend, her fiancé, and another girl, fairly pretty and very cheerful, who is undressing; her chest, very pretty, is exposed; she is passing continually between a small paneled room (“dressing room”) and another small room, maybe a bathroom. She tries to avoid my eyes, but
I come to a room filled with people. All of them look at me in a friendly way. It’s the family of a little boy I barely know, but who I know likes me a great deal. The little boy introduces me to his father and his aunts. The father asks what he can do for me. I take him on an escalator to a long, narrow room where a congress is in session. I explain that I would like to install a projection hall in this room and show him how I’m thinking of doing so. The father tells me it’s a very good idea. We go back across the apartment. The little boy takes my hand. He tells me he has 1,000 dollars and wants to give them to me. I tell him I cannot accept them, that it can’t be a gift but only, if he wants, a donation to the film I’m going to make. I expect the father to offer that much, maybe even more, but there seems to be no question
No. 82
July 1971 (Lans)
The three Ms
1
I am in the lobby of M.’s house. I knock on the glass—black—of the concierge’s window to ask what floor M. lives on. The window comes up very slowly, as though automatically. Apparently there’s nobody behind it. Two of M.’s friends arrive. One of them tells me M. is gone, which makes me very angry. She told me to come by! This isn’t the first time she’s stood me up, but this time I’ve had enough and I decide to leave her a short goodbye note. All I can find to write on is a very large sheet of paper, which forces me to write vertically, since the sheet is pressed up against one of the lobby walls. The short text I compose is particularly violent.
The problem now is to find the mailbox. One of M.’s friends explains that it’s hidden in the lobby walls, and sometimes even in the pipes (which are in fact false pipes); they’re huge and mask the real ones; in one a miniature theater has been installed.
While we continue to look for this troublesome box, a crowd takes over the lobby and the situation evolves.
2
I worked with Michel M. on a screenplay at his house. Then he went on vacation and left me his apartment. Many people (more distant acquaintances than actual friends) have come to stay there.
3
I spend a long while in a large café (la Coupole?).
4
I’m on the street. I need stamps and I don’t have any money with me. My uncle passes by, at the wheel of his car. I stop him and ask him for money. He goes to get me some, then reconsiders and asks what I plan to do with it.
“It’s to buy stamps.”
“You don’t have any at home?”
“I do.”
“Go get them.”
He smiles and starts his car again. (I can’t say I’m surprised at him.)
5
So I go home, or rather to Michel M.’s. I’ve barely made it through the door when a young girl in white, whom Irecognize as Michel’s ex-girlfriend, comes to ask me for an explanation. She has just arrived with her fiancé and found the house full. I reassure her, send her to her room, and go to see the other occupants. I figure we’ll be able to work something out, since the house is huge. The others are going to bed, even though it’s broad daylight. There is in particular one girl who has put on a ridiculous and rather comical lace nightshirt with tiny buttons, which makes her look like a fragile doll or like a portrait of a child.
Everyone agrees to sleep during the day and go out at night. I declare myself satisfied and go to tell the fiancée—no, she is no longer the fiancée, she’s Michel’s ex-girlfriend. I cross several rooms and halls before arriving: indeed, this place is enormous.
I find Michel’s ex-girlfriend, her fiancé, and another girl, fairly pretty and very cheerful, who is undressing; her chest, very pretty, is exposed; she is passing continually between a small paneled room (“dressing room”) and another small room, maybe a bathroom. She tries to avoid my eyes, but
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