VIII
All they wanted to do was to pull him by his hair. They didn’t want to do him any harm. They yanked off his head in one fell swoop. It must have been poorly attached. Heads just don’t come off like that. Something must have been wrong with it.
When a head is no longer sitting on its shoulders, you have a problem on your hands. You have to give it away. But first you’ll need to wash it, because it will stain the hand of the person you’re giving it to. The head definitely needs to be washed. Otherwise the person who has received the head, his hands bathed in blood, will grow suspicious and start looking at you like someone awaiting further explanations.
So what’s the big deal! We found it while gardening . . . We found it lying among many other heads . . . We chose this one because it seemed fresher. Should he prefer another one . . . we could go have another look. Just hold on to this one in the meantime . . .
And they take their leave, followed by a stare that says neither yes or no, a steady stare.
What if we checked out the pond? There are many things to be found in a pond. Perhaps we could strike it rich with a drowned man.
In a pond, one imagines that one will find whatever one wants. Time and again, one comes back home empty-handed.
Where to find heads just ready to go? Where can they be found without too much of a fuss?
— Me, I have this first cousin. But our heads are more or less identical. Nobody will ever believe I just stumbled upon it by chance.
— Me, I have this friend Pierre. But he’s a pretty tough guy and I doubt he’d relinquish his head just like that.
— Well, we’ll see. The other one came off so easily.
With this idea in mind, they make their way to Pierre’s. They let a handkerchief drop. Pierre bends down. As if to help him back up, they laughingly pull him by the hair. The head comes off just like that.
Pierre’s wife bursts onto the scene, furious . . . “O that nasty drunk, look, he’s spilled his wine all over the place again. He can’t even hold his liquor anymore. He just spills it on the ground. And he doesn’t even know how to get back up on his feet . . .”
And she goes to get something to clean the mess up. They grab her by the hair. Her body falls forward. Her head remains in their hands. A furious head, swinging from its long hair.
A large dog appears out of nowhere, barking loudly. They give him a good kick and his head falls off.
Now they have three. Three’s a good number. Plus there’s a choice now. These heads are not all alike. No, a man’s, a woman’s, and a dog’s.
And they make their way back to the fellow who had already acquired a head and who’s just sitting there waiting.
They place their bouquet of heads on his lap. He places the man’s head to the left, next to the initial head, and he places the woman’s head with its long hair to the other side. Then he waits.
And he just stares at them with a stare that says neither yes or no.
— Well, you see, we found these at a friend’s place. They were just sitting there in the house, waiting for anybody to take them. There were no other ones. We just took the ones that were there. Next time we’ll do better. After all, this was quite a stroke of luck. There’s no shortage of heads, thank God. Still, it’s getting late. Hard to find them in the dark. The time it takes to clean them up, especially the ones lying there in the mud. But we’ll give it a try. . . But a team of two is not enough to drag them back from the dust-carts. This you have to understand . . . We’re off . . . Perhaps a head or two will have fallen out of them. We’ll see . . .
And they take their leave, followed by a stare that says neither yes or no, a steady stare.
— You know, as far as I am concerned . . . Well, why not just yank my head off and bring it back to him. He won’t recognize it. He doesn’t even bother to look at them. You’ll just tell him: “Here, I happened to stumble on this while I was leaving. It’s a head, if I’m not mistaken. I’m bringing it to you. That will be enough for the day, won’t it?”
— But, my friend, you are all I have in the world.
— Come on, let’s not get all emotional. Take it. Go ahead, pull on it, no, pull on it harder.
— I can’t. Look, it won’t yank off. These are our just deserts. Go ahead, try mine instead, pull on it, pull on it.
But the heads won’t yank off. A fine pair of murderers’ heads.
They are at wit’s end, they come, they go, they come, they go, followed by a stare that waits, a steady stare.
In the end, they lose themselves in the night and this is a great relief to them and to their conscience. Tomorrow they’ll set off somewhere, wherever their path should take them. They’ll try to make a life for themselves. Not easy. We’ll try. We’ll try to forget all about this, to live like nothing ever happened, like everybody else . . .