Unusual suicide

 The grey mouse with the black whiskers made one final effort and at last got through. Behind it the ceiling sharply crashed down to the floor and long worms of grey spaghetti oozed out, slowly twisting through the cracks and broken joints. The mouse scooted as fast as it could across the darkened corridor whose trembling walls were crumbling closer and closer together, and managed to squeeze under the door. It reached the staircase and tumbled down, head over heels. Only when it was on the pavement did it stop. It stood still for a second, thought about which way to go, and started off again for the boneyard.

 68‘To tell the truth,’ said the cat, ‘I don’t really find the proposition very exciting.’

‘But you’re so wrong,’ said the mouse. ‘I’m still quite young and, until quite recently, I was very well fed.’

‘But I’m well fed now,’ said the cat, ‘and I haven’t got the slightest desire to commit suicide. That’s why I find it all so extraordinary.’

‘But then you didn’t know him,’ said the little mouse.

‘Tell me about him,’ said the cat.

It didn’t really want to know. It was a warm day and the tips of its fur were tingling.

‘He’s standing at the water’s edge,’ said the mouse, ‘waiting. When it’s visiting time, he steps on to the plank and waits in the middle. He can see something.’

‘I shouldn’t think he could see much,’ said the cat. ‘Perhaps it’s a water-lily.’

‘Probably,’ said the mouse. ‘He’s waiting for it to come up so that he can kill it.’

‘That’s stupid,’ said the cat. ‘It’s not in the least bit inspiring.’

‘When visiting time is over,’ the mouse went on, ‘he goes back on the bank and stares at her photo.’

‘Doesn’t he ever eat anything?’ asked the cat.

‘No,’ said the mouse, ‘and he’s growing so weak. I can’t bear it. One of these days he’s going to slip.’

‘Why should you care?’ asked the cat. ‘Is he unhappy?’

‘He’s not unhappy,’ said the mouse, ‘He’s grieving. And that’s what I can’t bear. One day he’ll fall into the water through leaning over too far.’

‘Well,’ said the cat, ‘if that’s the way it is, I’ll see what I can do for you – although I don’t know why I said “If that’s  the way it is”, because I really don’t understand what all the fuss is about.’

‘It’s very kind of you,’ said the mouse.

‘Just put your head in my mouth,’ said the cat, ‘and wait.’

‘Will it take long?’ asked the mouse.

‘Only until somebody treads on my tail,’ said the cat. ‘I just need something to make me jump. I’ll leave it stretched out, so don’t worry.’

The mouse opened the cat’s jaws and placed its head between the sharp teeth. It pulled it out again almost as quickly.

‘Ugh!’ it said. ‘Did you have shark for breakfast?’

‘Now look here,’ said the cat, ‘if you don’t like it, you can clear off. The whole story’s a bore. You’ll have to manage by yourself.’

It seemed angry.

‘Don’t lose your temper,’ said the mouse.

It closed its little black eyes and put its head back. The cat let its pointed canine teeth close delicately on the soft grey throat. The mouse’s black whiskers brushed against the cat’s. The cat’s bushy tail unrolled across the pavement.

The voices of eleven little girls, coming in a crocodile from the Orphanage of Pope John the Twenty-third, could be heard getting nearer. They were singing. And they were blind.

Boris Vian

Mood Indigo