MICHEL TOURNIER
337
and less decent. ... It had become a real passion. I took trips to
Paris, real pleasure trips, all alone with my ideas. But I also knew all
the lingerie shops in the region , in Mortagne, in Mamers, in L'Aigle,
in Chartres, in Dreux, and even as far as Le Mans! Because you see,
clothes in a drawer, or displayed , or on hangers , they're things that
have had life promised to them and that are demanding to be given
life . Little souls that need a body before they can really exist. When I
wander around these displays, I have the impression that these little
souls are calling to me . They're shouting out: I want to live, me too,
me too , take
me.'
So I look at them all tenderly, I caress them lov–
ingly, it disturbs me, well, it used to disturb me, especially when I
could imagine them on Antoinette's body , warmed and brought to
life by Antoinette's body, and I was happy, so happy . . . . I used to
choose the nicest ones, the most appealing ones, the most poignant
ones, and I'd rush back home to submit them to Antoinette, to An–
toinette's body which would give them life. It was marvelous to see
these dainty, delicate little objects, though they were still dry and
flat , swell , blossom like flowers, ripen like fruit. . . .
But obviously, this made problems. On the financial side, if
you see what I mean. I was a banker at the time , third cashier in the
Bank of Alenc;:on . I didn't like my job, because I couldn't see any
connection between my little metal grille and the only thing in the
world that interested me. True, enormous sums of money passed
through my hands every day . But in the first place, it was absolutely
impossible to put a single sou in your pocket. Bank cashiers are all
scrupulously honest. Not surprisingly , they have no choice. It's one
of the rare jobs in which theft is totally out of the question. Impossi–
ble . Everything is too well counted, checked, supervised. So no need
to be virtuous . In such circumstances, the worst rogue becomes a
square shooter. No choice . And then, there was something else . Paper
money doesn't mean a thing to me. It has always left me cold. They
used to bring it to me in sealed packages of a million old francs. You
break open the metal strip , and out come the bills . Stiff, ice-cold ,
varnished, glazed . Not for me , thank you . Human warmth! With–
out human warmth, nothing doing. But I saw things from a different
point of view the day I did the incineration for the first time. The in–
cineration of old bills. Normally it was the chief accountant who did
the incinerating. In the presence of a special official. The chief ac–
countant was on holiday . The second cashier ought to have done the
incineration in his place. In the presence of an official. He was sick.
So I had to do the incinerating. In the presence of an official. I was
