I have now read three Simenon books and this one was by far my least favorite…somehow it is darker and more sinister that the others. Incredibly well written still…but more detached and can I just say what an odd ending.
I am not sure that I cared for a single character in this story, not even the naïve proprietor of the Belgian boarding house, Mrs. Baron.
This is the story of a Turk (who is ethnically Portuguese) who is headed to Paris via boat, train and hotel in order to secure some Turkish rugs that have been held up in customs. The rugs are to be distributed to multiple sellers and he has been promised a big payday at the end. On the boat journey that signifies the start of his trip, he meets an opportunistic Belgian girl who worked as a “dancer” in Egypt. She becomes his mistress on the voyage, initially targeting him because of the fineness of his clothing and the way he is lavishly spending…the story starts when they have made it to Belgium and are staying in The Palace Hotel together. The Turk has a terrible cold, is almost broke and knows he has failed in his mission…and the luster has worn off on their relationship. Meanwhile they meat their next door neighbor at the hotel, a rolly-polly Dutchman.
The Turk overhears the Dutchman take a delivery of a valise of cash and follows him onto a train to Paris where he violently bashes his head in with a wrench and takes the money.
“What happened was so grotesque that he felt like breaking into hysterical laughter.
He then ends up hiding out in the boarding house of his mistress’s naïve parents.
The suspense is really built in the tension of the waiting and the unknown.
Well written and suspenseful, probably the first Simenon that I am not going to be recommending to anyone (not like The Cat which is also a non-Maigret novel).
I loved some of his descriptions, like I think this was to tell us he was now in Belgium vs. France: “Jeumont. Erquelinnes. Red brick houses. Windows with snow-white curtains, ferns in copper pots. Taverns. Cafe de la Gare. Bistro. Khaki uniforms instead of blue. And always parallel with the line, The Meuse, with long strings of barges towed by stocky little tugs, whistling impatiently at the lock gates.”
(Apparently they call their sandwiches a “pistolet” in Belgium)
There were some interesting bits shared about Turkey, and I am wondering if they are still true. “We dine much later in Turkey. Nine or ten. …We start off with all sorts of tasty little items that we call mazet. After that comes lamb and vegetables-perhaps half a dozen kinds of vegetables-and fruit to finish up with.” “What language do you speak at home?” “French. …there’s Turkish of course. But all the better-class people speak French among themselves. …At Pera everybody’s out till late at night. One meets one’s friends and roams around the streets, dropping into little cafés, where they have orchestras and singers. You can’t imagine how mild and pleasant the night air is in Turkey. Nobody dreams of going to bed before midnight.” “The Turks are the most hospitable people on earth. Once you’ve stepped into a Turkish house you’re it’s lord and master, and there’s nothing they won’t do for you.”…he gave an example of someone staying for five years!!!!!
“I suppose you think that the tobacco you’re smoking comes from Egypt?”
“Of course it does. I suppose you’re going to tell us that it comes from Turkey.”
“That’s just where it does come from. For one thing, there’s a law forbidding tobacco-growing in Egypt.”
I’d like to look up Prinkipo, an island in the Sea of Marmara, an hour’s ride from Istanbul. Everyone supposedly has a private caïque, or light rowboat with a sail, where in the spring on the weekends they head out to the island…sometimes musicians on board and “the island are a mass of flowers, and in the distance you see white minarets tapering up along the coast.”
Another great Simenon quote, “All this was true, and he visualized the scene so clearly that he could have made an accurate sketch of it. And yet somehow he didn’t feel it. He could hardly convince himself that he had spent a good part of his life there.”
And…”there was an atmosphere of hushed suspense, like that when some great domestic event is impending-when, for instance, everyone is waiting for a woman to have a baby.”
It was interesting to me that difference between French and Belgium law, France had the death penalty…making it important to establish where the crime was committed.
(Note to look up who Beau Brummell is, some kind of a dandy)
“The only sound to fill the silence was the clatter of knives and forks on plates-and for some reason it had a sinister effect, like the sound of a distant tocsin.”
“But there was something sinister about their calmness that recalled…that day of evil memory when a German advance guard entered Charleroi and some twenty neighbors had gathered in the Baron’s cellar. Then, too, there had been the same feeling of helplessness, of being at the mercy of events.”