letters, and you, it would appear, have stuck them together again? If I am not mistaken, you must be the schoolboy of perverse appearance and with decayed teeth whom I saw, some ten days ago in the little café by the river, near Obonne castle. I realized, from your narrow forehead, that you were of limited intelligence, and, from the rings around your eyes, that you were addicted to self-abuse. I now see that you combine with these deficiencies the efficiency of the informer and the pretension of the spy.
I herewith send you, young Théo, the kick in the ass that your filthy initiative deserves, and I remain, of your mother, the respectful admirer.
N ARCENSE .
2. Monsieur,
You polluted the gate of my stepfather’s house. I therefore demand satisfaction.
T HÉO .
P.S. I hope your filthy grandmother’s funeral was amusing.
T H .
3. I see it’s not possible to conceal anything from you, not even the hygienic practices of my deceased grandmother. I might add that your hope was fulfilled; a grotesque incident marred the orderly procedure of this ceremony; a dog belonging to one of my uncles went up to the grave, slipped, and fell on to the coffin, yelping pathetically. Several people laughed; my uncle was of their number. I might add that the latter, considering that on the one hand his dog had fulfilled all his obligations on this earth, and on the other that it was human to spare him a rheumaticky old age, hanged him from the cord on which the clothes are put to dry. For a quarter of an hour, Jupiter, the faithful white poodle, swung between a pair of pants and a napkin.
I’m wondering whether it wouldn’t also be human to apply a similar treatment to you; you would thus be spared a furunculous and degraded youth. Think it over. I would put the rope around your neck with loving care—a rope of tested strength; I wouldn’t need to have two shots at it. You would find it an easy death, and I would have the satisfaction of having rid Obonne of a perfect little swine.
I suppose you are on vacation at the moment and don’t really know what to do with your time. I won’t give you any advice on this subject, as I prefer not to waste mine in writing at any greater length to the most sour-faced, cross-eyed chicken it has ever been my hard luck to encounter.
Be so good as to give your esteemed mother my most humble respects.
N ARCENSE .
4. Monsieur,
On this day of national rejoicing my mother has been crying for hours because I told her you wanted to murder me. It’s shameful to make my poor mother suffer so, Monsieur.
Her son,
T HÉO .
P.S. Bet you anything you get cold feet.
P.P.S. Not especially funny, your dog.
P.P.P.S. See how tactful I am, this time my envelope is sealed (like my mother’s panties).
T H .
5. I am convinced that your removal from the number of the living becomes daily more essential. The dog Jupiter’s fate seems to me to be the one best suited to you. You can be quite sure that I won’t “get cold feet.”
I take your jokes about your mother as they should be taken. Tell her that because of my great love for her I forgive her for having begotten such a splenetic bit of vermin as you.
N ARCENSE .
6. Got cold feet yet?
T HÉO .
P.S. In one of your idiotic letters, you said I was addicted to self-abuse. What about you.
7. Monsieur,
On any day and at any time you choose, I’ll be in Obonne forest, in the place they call Les Mygales. I’ll bring the rope.
N ARCENSE .
—oooooo—oooooo—
The stalls put up for the Fourteenth of July modified Etienne’s oscillations to some extent. He couldn’t avoid the one where the man was peeling potatoes; every day, he stopped and listened for three seconds, without being able to see, on account of the crowd, and then made his escape. Farther on, he had to escape the snares of stylography and the pitfalls of perfumery; finally, avoiding these various temptations, he was able to throw himself into the gloomy stairway that led him to a
I herewith send you, young Théo, the kick in the ass that your filthy initiative deserves, and I remain, of your mother, the respectful admirer.
N ARCENSE .
2. Monsieur,
You polluted the gate of my stepfather’s house. I therefore demand satisfaction.
T HÉO .
P.S. I hope your filthy grandmother’s funeral was amusing.
T H .
3. I see it’s not possible to conceal anything from you, not even the hygienic practices of my deceased grandmother. I might add that your hope was fulfilled; a grotesque incident marred the orderly procedure of this ceremony; a dog belonging to one of my uncles went up to the grave, slipped, and fell on to the coffin, yelping pathetically. Several people laughed; my uncle was of their number. I might add that the latter, considering that on the one hand his dog had fulfilled all his obligations on this earth, and on the other that it was human to spare him a rheumaticky old age, hanged him from the cord on which the clothes are put to dry. For a quarter of an hour, Jupiter, the faithful white poodle, swung between a pair of pants and a napkin.
I’m wondering whether it wouldn’t also be human to apply a similar treatment to you; you would thus be spared a furunculous and degraded youth. Think it over. I would put the rope around your neck with loving care—a rope of tested strength; I wouldn’t need to have two shots at it. You would find it an easy death, and I would have the satisfaction of having rid Obonne of a perfect little swine.
I suppose you are on vacation at the moment and don’t really know what to do with your time. I won’t give you any advice on this subject, as I prefer not to waste mine in writing at any greater length to the most sour-faced, cross-eyed chicken it has ever been my hard luck to encounter.
Be so good as to give your esteemed mother my most humble respects.
N ARCENSE .
4. Monsieur,
On this day of national rejoicing my mother has been crying for hours because I told her you wanted to murder me. It’s shameful to make my poor mother suffer so, Monsieur.
Her son,
T HÉO .
P.S. Bet you anything you get cold feet.
P.P.S. Not especially funny, your dog.
P.P.P.S. See how tactful I am, this time my envelope is sealed (like my mother’s panties).
T H .
5. I am convinced that your removal from the number of the living becomes daily more essential. The dog Jupiter’s fate seems to me to be the one best suited to you. You can be quite sure that I won’t “get cold feet.”
I take your jokes about your mother as they should be taken. Tell her that because of my great love for her I forgive her for having begotten such a splenetic bit of vermin as you.
N ARCENSE .
6. Got cold feet yet?
T HÉO .
P.S. In one of your idiotic letters, you said I was addicted to self-abuse. What about you.
7. Monsieur,
On any day and at any time you choose, I’ll be in Obonne forest, in the place they call Les Mygales. I’ll bring the rope.
N ARCENSE .
—oooooo—oooooo—
The stalls put up for the Fourteenth of July modified Etienne’s oscillations to some extent. He couldn’t avoid the one where the man was peeling potatoes; every day, he stopped and listened for three seconds, without being able to see, on account of the crowd, and then made his escape. Farther on, he had to escape the snares of stylography and the pitfalls of perfumery; finally, avoiding these various temptations, he was able to throw himself into the gloomy stairway that led him to a
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