Page 124 - The Thief's Journal

The Thief's Journal
“If you think a guy can know how to do everything, it's because you're just a little dope!”
I am inventing the words he used, but I have not forgotten the tone of voice which uttered them. His illustrious voice was growling between his teeth. The thunder roared and struck with a light finger the most precious vocal cords in the world. Armand stood up, still smoking.
“Let's get going,” he said. “O.K. Let's go.”
With these words he decided that we would all go home to sleep. Stilitano paid. Armand walked out with his favorite display of elegance, his hurried gait. He strode down the street with his usual ease. Though he uttered none of the foul−mouthed expressions which made people think he was coarse. I think he was swallowing his vexation. He was walking swiftly with his head high. At his side was Stilitano, with his tender irony. And Robert, with his young insolence. I, close by, was their meditating consciousness, containing them, containing the idea of them. It was cold. My burly friends felt chilly. Their hands, deep in their pockets, meeting at the downiest spot of the body, were tugging at their duck trousers which outlined their buttocks. No one spoke. As we approached the Rue du Sac, Stilitano shook hands with Robert and Armand and said, “I'm going to check on Sylvia before I go home. Want to come along,
I went with him. We stumbled along the cobblestones for a while without talking. Stilitano was smiling. Without looking at me, Stilitano said, “You've become pretty chummy with Armand.”
“That's right. Why?”
“Oh, nothing...”
“Why do you mention it?” “Just so.”
We continued walking, though away from the spot where Sylvia worked. “Tell me...”
“What?”
“If I had dough, would you have guts enough to rob me?”
Out of swagger—knowing that my boldness was just a stock attitude—I answered yes. “I would. Why not? If you had a big pile.”
He laughed.
“What about Armand? Would you dare?”
“Why do you ask me?” “Answer me.”
The Thief's Journal 122