man who knew whereof he spoke?
. . . I know what they can do when we ask them to
do it Yet how much more could they do if they asked
it of themselves? wondered Joel. Without the
impediments of vacillating civilian authorities?
‘Luboque has just arrived,” said Mattilon quietly,
coming up behind Converse. “I heard his voice in the
lobby. Remember, you don’t have to overdo it I’ll
translate what I think is appropriate, anyway but
nod profoundly when he makes one of his angry
remarks. Also laugh when he tells jokes; they’re
dreadful, but he likes it.”
“I’ll do my best.”
‘I’II give you an incentive. Bertholdier has a
reservation for lunch. At his usual place, table
eleven, by the window.”
“Where are we?” asked Joel, seeing the
Frenchman’s pressed lips expressing minor triumph.
“Table twelve. Now.”
“If I ever need a lawyer, I’ll call you.”
“We’re terribly expensive. Come now, as they say
in all those wonderful films of yours, ‘You’re on,
Monsieur Simon.’ Play the role of Attila but don’t
overplay it.”
“You know, Rene, for someone who speaks
English as well as you do, you gravitate to the tritest
phrases.”
“The English language and American phrases
have very little in common, Joel, trite or otherwise.”
“Smart ass.”
“Need I say more? . . . Ahh, Monsieur Luboque,
Serge, mon amil”
84 ROBERT LUDIUM – –
Mattilon’s third eye had spotted the entrance of
Serge Luboque; he turned around as the thumping
became louder on the floor. Luboque was a short,
slender man; his physique made one think of those
jet pilots of the early period when compactness was
a requirement. He was also very close to being a
caricature of himself. His short, waxed moustache
was affixed to a miniaturised face that was pinched
in an expression of vaguely hostile dismissal directed
at both no one and everyone. Whatever he had
been before, Laboque was now a poseur who knew
only how to posture. With all that was brilliant and
exciting buried in the past, he had only the memo-
ries, the rest was anger.
“Et relief l ‘expert f udiefaire den Tom pannier
aerJennes, -he said, looking at Converse and
extending his hand.
‘ Serge is delighted to meet you and is sure you
can help us,” explained Mattilon.
‘4I’II do what I can,” said Converse. “And
apologize for my not speaking French.”
The lawyer obviously did so, and Luboque
shrugged, speaking rapidly, incomprehensibly; the
word anglais repeated several times.
“He, too, apologizes for not speaking English,”
said Mattilon, glancing at Joel, mischievousness in
his look, as he added, “If he’s Iying, Monsieur
Simon, we may both be placed against these
decorated walls and shot.”
“No way,” said Converse, smiling. “Our
executioners might dent the medals and blow up the
pictures. Everybody knows you’re lousy shots.”
“Qutest-ce que vous cites?”
“Monsieur Simon tient a was mmercier pour le
dejeuner, ” said Mattilon, turning to his client. n en
est. tresf error il estime que l’o,~icier fran,cais eat l’un
ties meilleurs du monde. ”
“What did you say?”
“I explained,” said the lawyer, turning again,
“that you were honored to be here, as you believe
the French military especially the officer corps to
be the finest on earth.”
“Not only lousy shots but rotten pilots,” said
Joel, smiling and nodding.
“Est-il oral que was aver participe ~ nombKuses
missions en Asie d u Sud?” asked Lubeque, his eyes
fixed on Joel.
“I beg your pardon?”
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 85
‘He wants it confirmed that you are really an
Attila of the skies, that you flew many missions.”
“Quite a few,” answered Joel.
“Beaucoup,” said Mattilon.
Luboque again spoke rapidly, even more
incomprehensibly, as he snapped his fingers for a
steward.
“What now?”
“He’d rather tell you about his exploits in the
interests of the case, of course.”
“Of course,” said Converse, his smile now fixed.
“Lousy shots, rotten pilots and insufferable egos.”
“Ah, but our food, our women, our incomparable
understanding of life.”
“There’s a very explicit word in French one of
the few I learned from my ex-wife but I don’t think
I should use it.” Joel’s smile was now cemented to
his lips.
“That’s right, I forgot,” said Mattilon. “She and I
would converse in notre belle lanque; it used to
irritate you so Don’t use it. Remember your
incentive.”
“Qu’est-ce que was cites encore? Notre belle
lanqueP” Luboque spoke as a steward stood by his
side.
“Notre ami, Monsieur Simon, suit an sours ~
I’ecole Berlitz et pourra ainsi s’entretenir directement
aver vous. ”
“Bien!”
“WhatP”
“I told him you would learn the Berlitz French so
you could dine with him whenever you flew into
Paris. You’re to ring him up. Nod, smart ass.”
Converse nodded.
And so it went. Point, noncounterpoint, non
sequitur. Serge Luboque held forth during drinks in
the warriors” playroom, Mattilon translating and
advising Joel as to the expression to wear on his face
as well as suggesting an appropriate reply.
Fmally Luboque stridently described the crash
that had cost him his left foot and the obvious
equipment failures for which he should be
compensated. Converse looked properly pained and
indignant, and offered to write a legal opinion for
the court based on his expertise as a pilot of jet
aircraft. Mattilon translated; Luboque beamed and
rattled off a barrage of gargled vowels that Joel took
for thanks.
“He’s forever in your debt,” said Rene.
86 ROBERT LUDIUM
“Not if I write that opinion,” replied Converse.
“He locked himself in the cockpit and threw away
the key.”
‘Write it,” countered Mattilon, smiling. “You’ve
just paid for my time. We’ll use it as a wedge to
open the door of retreat. Also, he’ll never ask you
to dinner when you’re in Paris.”
“When’s lunch? I’m running out of expressions.”
They marched in hesitant lockstep into the
dining room, matching Luboque’s gait as he
thumped along on the hard, ornate parquet floor.
The ridiculous three-sided conversation continued as
wine was proffered a bottle was sent back by
Luboque and Converse’s eyes kept straying to the
dining room’s entrance.
The moment came: Bertholdier arrived. He
stood in the open archway, his head turned slightly
to his left as another man in a light-brown
gabardine topcoat spoke without expression. The
general nodded his head and the subordinate re-
treated. Then the great man walked into the room
quietly but imperially. Heads turned and the man
acknowledged the homage as a dauphin who will
soon be king accepts the attentions of the ministers
of a failing monarch. The effect was extraordinary,
for there were no kingdoms, no monarchies, no
lands to be divided through conquest to the knights
of Crecy or anybody else, but this man of no royal
lineage was tacitly being recognized goddamn it,
thought Joel as an emperor in his own right.
Jacques-Louis Bertholdier was of medium
height, between five nine and five eleven, certainly
no more, but his bearing the sheer straight shaft of
his posture, the breadth of his shoulders and the
length of his strong slender neck made him appear
much taller, much more imposing than another
might. He was among his own, and here, indeed, he
was above the others, elevated by their own
consensus.
“Say something reverential,” said Mattilon, as
Bertholdier approached, heading for the table next
to theirs. “Glance up at him and look tastefully
awed. I’ll do the rest.”
Converse did as he was told, uttering
Bertholdier’s full name under his breath, but loud
enough to be heard. He followed this quiet
exclamation by leaning toward Mattilon and saying,
“He’s a man I’ve always wanted to meet.”
There followed a brief exchange in French
between Rene and his client, whereupon Luboque
nodded, his expres
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 87
sion that of an arrogant man willing to dispense a
favor to a new friend.
Bertholdier reached his chair, the maitre d’ and
the dining room captain hovering on either side. The
pavane took place less than four feet away.
“Mon general,” said Luboque, rising.
“Serge,” replied Bertholdier, stepping forward,
hand extended a superior officer aware of a worthy
subordinate’s disability. “Comment pa van”
“Bien, Jacques. Et was?”
“Les temps vent bier etranges, mon amt.”
The greetings were brief, and the direction of the
conversabon was changed quickly by Luboque, who
gestured at Converse as he continued speaking.
InsUnchvely Joel got to his feet, posture straight, his
eyes level, unblinking, staring at Bertholdier, his look
as piercing as the general’s professional but without
awe. He had been right in an unexpected way. The
shared Southeast Asian experience had validity for
Jacques-Louis Bertholdier. And why not? He, too,
had his memories. Mathlon was introduced aknost as
an afterthought, and the soldier gave a brief nod as
he crossed behind Rene to shake hands with Joel.
“A pleasure, Monsieur Simon,” said Bertholdier,
his English precise, his grip firm, a comrade
acknowledging another comrade, the man’s
imperious charm instantly apparent.
“I’m sure you’ve heard it thousands of Ames, sir,”