Querelle by Jean Genet

Author:Jean Genet [Genet, Jean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780802194237
Publisher: Grove/Atlantic, Inc.
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

When they had arrived at the end of the street, Robert automatically turned left, toward the brothel, and Querelle right. He was gnashing his teeth. In the presence of Dédé, his brother, drunk with fury and none too quietly either, had addressed him with:

“You dirty bastard. You let Nono bugger you. Why the hell did that shitty boat of yours ever bring you here, you bloody fucking shit!”

Querelle, pale, stared Robert in the eye:

“I've done worse, buddy. And I do damn well as I please. And you better start making tracks, or I'll show you what shit is and what it tastes like.”

The young boy turned rigid. He was waiting for Robert to defend his sullied honor until the blood flowed again. The big men would fight again. Nevertheless Querelle, as he went off to the right, was already thinking of ways to rub his brother's pale face into some of his own medicine, so that, once they were quits in terms of their apparent (and real) hatred, he might rejoin him within himself. His head held high, straight, rigid, staring straight ahead, his lips but a narrow line, his elbows held close to the body–his entire bearing stiffer and more martinet-like than usual, he directed his steps toward the city ramparts, more exactly, toward the old wall in which he had hidden his treasure. The closer he got to his destination, the less bitter he felt. He did not, now, exactly remember the deeds of derring-do that had put him in possession of that treasure, but the jewels themselves–their mere proximity–were the effective proof of his courage and of his existence. Arrived on the slope facing the holy wall, invisible in the fog, Querelle stopped and stood still, legs wide apart, hands in the pockets of his peacoat: he knew himself to be very close to one of the hearths he had lit on the surface of the globe, he was enveloped by their sweet radiance. As his wealth, to him, was a refuge where he could feel comforted by his sense of power, Querelle was already making his hated brother the heir to it. Only one thing still bothered and depressed him a little, the fact that Dédé had been present at the brawl. It wasn’t shame, rather a vague notion that the kid wasn’t to be trusted. Querelle knew that he had achieved a certain notoriety in this city of Brest.

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