Titi had the winter inside him. It seemed to him at that moment that the cold was even more intense in his body than on the street. Maybe that was why he’d stopped shivering, he thought. Because he was just one big block of ice, like the water in the gutters.
A lighted sign over the entrance to a drugstore showed the temperature, -16° Fahrenheit, and the time—a minute after eight in the evening. Sheltering as best he could in the doorway of an apartment building, Titi had watched the minutes pass, one by one, since 7:30. Then everything had become blurred because of the icy air. He’d realized that the mobile soup kitchen wouldn’t be passing, that it was pointless to keep waiting for it. Every down-and-out knew the white van, knew its itinerary like the back of his hand: Place de la Nation, Place de la République, Place des Invalides, Porte d’Orléans. The fucking van never ever came through Place de l’Hôtel de Ville! But that was where he was, Place de l’Hôtel de Ville.
“Fuck!” he screamed at himself in his head. “You’re losing it, Titi!” He looked at the lighted sign again, but everything was still blurred. “Hey, no point in screaming like that, you jerk!” he answered himself. “I know, I know . . .”
Yes, he was losing his marbles a little more every day. Rico had told him that, as soon as the cold weather started. Told him to go to hospital and get himself looked after. But Titi didn’t want to go to any hospital.
“You’re going to die,” Rico had said.
“Yeah? So what? You go to the hospital, you’re already dead. You go in, you come out feet first. Would you go? Would you?”
“You piss me off, Titi!”
“Fuck you!”
Since then, he’d stopped talking. Not just to Rico. To anybody. Or almost stopped. He couldn’t handle talking anymore, anyway. He didn’t have the strength.
In front of him, the lights turned red for the second time. “Fucking winter,” he muttered to himself, just to summon up the courage to cross. He was scared his bones would break like stalactites. But he had to cross, to get to the metro entrance.
His last chance, this evening, was to join Rico and the others at Ménilmontant station. They must all be wondering where he’d been since the morning. They might have something for him to eat. Or some wine to drink. Wine kept you warm the longest. Better than coffee, milk, chocolate, any of that crap.
A nice big glass of wine, a smoke, and then he’d figure out where to spend the night. He just had to get there before they broke up and went off to their shelters or their crash pads. In particular, he hoped Rico would still be there. After all, Rico had been his buddy for the last two years.
Titi took a first cautious step, then another one. He shuffled his feet over the icy asphalt. The driver of the car waiting at the lights, probably amused at the awkward way Titi was walking, flashed his headlights and revved up his engine.
“Asshole!” Titi stammered, but without turning to look at the car for fear of slipping, falling and breaking his bones.
Pleased to have gotten across, he dove into the metro, only to be surprised that the warmth of it didn’t hit him in the face the way it usually did. The corridors seemed as cold as everywhere else. He started shivering again. He pulled his coat tight over his chest and sat down.
“Got a smoke?” he asked a young couple.
But he must have spoken too softly. Or maybe he hadn’t spoken at all, only in his head. The couple kept on walking along the platform without even looking at him. He watched them kissing and laughing.
A train finally arrived.
“Where the fuck were you?” Dédé asked.
Of the five Ménilmontant regulars, he was the only one still there.
“Rico waited for you all this time. He’s gone to look for you at the shelter. I was just leaving.”
Titi nodded. No sound came from his lips.
“Titi, you O.K.?”
With his fingers, Titi mimed the action of eating. “Hungry,” he said. At least, he thought the word came out.
“Shit, Titi, I don’t have anything. Anything at all! Not even a drink.”
The light went out in Titi’s eyes. His eyelids closed, and he dozed off. Changing trains at Belleville had exhausted him. He’d almost fallen on the stairs a few times.
“Fuck, Titi, you sure you’re O.K.?”
Titi nodded.
“I have to go, Titi. Here . . .”
Dédé took a crumpled cigarette from his pocket, smoothed it between his fingers, then lit it and put it between Titi’s lips. His eyes half closed, Titi slowly breathed in the smoke, and moved his head up and down. His way of saying thank you.
“I’ll tell him you’re still here, O.K., Titi? Do you hear me? Don’t worry, they’ll come for you.”
Dédé gave Titi a friendly pat on the shoulder, then disappeared under the sign saying Change for Nation-Porte Dauphine line. The platform was deserted. Titi continued smoking, the cigarette between his lips, his eyes closed. He dozed off again.
The arrival of a train made him jump. Several people got off, mostly from the middle of the train, but no one noticed him. Titi took a last drag on what was left of his cigarette, then threw it away. He was shaking more and more.
He got heavily to his feet and dragged himself to the end of the platform. There, he slid behind the row of plastic seats, lay down on his side, facing the wall, pulled his coat collar over his head, and closed his eyes.
The winter inside him had won.