A Clue to the Exit: A Novel

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Book: Read A Clue to the Exit: A Novel for Free Online
Authors: Edward St. Aubyn
Tags: Literary, Literature & Fiction, Contemporary Fiction
I had no idea what it meant in casinoland, but its ordinary French meaning of ‘lack’ seemed fitted to my purpose, and indeed I was soon lacking a second 100,000 francs. The satisfaction that accompanied this second loss was tainted by a hollow feverishness, an accelerated pulse, a longing to repeat the act. I was displeased by this impurity. I wanted to taste freedom, not burden myself with some new set of suspect pleasures. I retreated to the casino restaurant, Le Train Bleu, in order to dispel this trace of confusion and prepare myself for an absolutely calm abandonment of my last million francs. I would have to go deeper into the bowels of the casino, to the Salle Privée, where my 500,000-franc counters would be in their natural habitat.
    In the meantime, I sat in the fake train compartment of the restaurant, entombed in buttoned-leather padding. Beside me was a glass case filled with old tin toys, and a hand-written card saying: WE BUY OLD TIN TOYS . Here in the kingdom of old tin toys, it was all right to be an old tin toy oneself, or an old tin toyboy for that matter. The grandest toy of all was a great big Italian gunboat. What bliss to be behind those portholes, in the ultimate sealed-off chamber, in the boat, in the case, in the train, in the casino, with great big guns to stop anyone interrupting you – doing what? – playing, of course. Les jeux sont fait , never mind the torpedo in the engine room.
    The two women at the neighbouring table spoke in Russian. Hearing that sibilant and barbaric tongue undulating once more through the Salle d’Europe, I reflected on the opportunities for portraying the sickness of a continent through the gaping metaphor of a great casino: the confluence of nations, the teasing combination of formality and mental illness and, above all, the trick of chasing the whore of Fortune while ignoring the fact that time is running out. Naturally, I thought of Thomas Mann’s cosmopolitan morbidity, Dostoevsky’s compulsive gambling, and the Grand Duke Dmitri, exiled to the South of France for helping to murder Rasputin, and missing the excitement of the Russian roulette back home.
    With only five months to live, I hardly had time to embark on such an ambitious narrative. I must content myself with carving the cherry stone of consciousness. And so I ordered a risotto di aspergi e gamberoni , which I can unhesitatingly recommend to anyone who is halfway through throwing their capital down the green-felt drains of Monte Carlo, and wrote the following fragment.
    Perfect, thought Patrick, she’s come to sit opposite me. He had seen her at the conference and was immediately drawn to this bruised and beautiful woman in a neck brace. Besides the sexual attraction, he felt an obscure but strong affinity with her, as if they were different aspects of the same intention. It was hard to explain, but as she sat down opposite him, closing her eyes while she shifted into a tolerable position, he felt the weight of his desperation become more widely distributed. This was not a vague impression, it had the distinctness of a broken table acquiring another leg.
    Crystal smiled at him painfully. ‘You were at the conference, right?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Did you like it?’
    ‘I liked this morning’s Alzheimer doctor,’ said Patrick. ‘The one who said that if you treated the patient as if he were there, “the whole manifestation changed”.’
    ‘Oh, yes, I liked him too,’ said Crystal enthusiastically. ‘You see, I’ve been treating Peter as if he was there. I ought to explain that I had a car accident with my husband. I had an NDE and he’s still in a coma. We really should have been hanging from the ceiling in a perspex cage during this conference, we’ve become such an ideal consciousness-studies couple.’
    ‘God,’ said Patrick, ‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ He could tell that this strain of humour was not quite natural to her.
    ‘Oh, thank you. We were lucky to survive.’ Crystal

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