Aminadab 0803213131 (3 page)

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1. The first version of Thomas l'obscur was written throughout the 1930S and appeared in 1941. Later Blanchot excised almost two-thirds of this text and published it as a "second version" in 1950. Thomas the Obscure was one of the first texts of Blanchot's to be translated (trans. Robert Lamberton [Barrytown
NY:

Station Hill Press, 197 3]) and was followed by the admi

rable translations by Lydia Davis of the largest part of Blanchot's fiction. These in turn were followed by others, including most recently Le Tres

haut, published in 1948 (trans. Allan Stoekl as The Most High [Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1996]), and L'attente l'oubli, Blanchot's last fictional work, published in 1962 (trans. John Gregg as Awaiting Oblivion
[Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1997]). 2. Roughly one-third of the 17 1 articles were later published as Blanchot's first collection of literary essays, Faux pas (Paris: Gallimard, 1943). 3. Several of these articles - those with the most general programmatic state ments-can be found in English in The Blanchot Reader, ed. Michael Hol 4. "In Se;rch of Tradition," Blanchot Reader, 31. 5. "The Pure Novel," Blanchot Reader, 42. 6. "The Pure Novel," Blanchot Reader, 39. 7. "Mallarme and the Art of the Novel," Blanchot Reader, 44. 8. "The Recent Novel," Blanchot Reader, 37. 9. "Mallarme and the Art of the Novel," Blanchot Reader, 47. 10. Jean-Paul Sartre, "Aminadab ou du fantastique considere comme un lan gage," in Situations (Paris: Gallimard, 1947), 1: 122-42. 11. It is striking to note that there are no articles by Blanchot on Kafka before land (London: Blackwell, 1995). I will be citing these translations.

Aminadab, though several of his most important literary essays would later
be devoted to Kafka's writing. 12. La Part du feu (Paris: Gallimard, 1949), 22. 13. Readers can find these for themselves. One unmistakable instance will suf fice here: At one point Thomas's interlocutor says to him, "The house does not need the interest of those who inhabit it. It receives them when they come; it forgets them when they go." Such sentences appear like recogniz able markers standing in territory that is being rediscovered from another direction.
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14. "The Wooden Bridge (Repetition, the Neutral), " in The Infinite Conversa

tion, trans. Susan Hanson (Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press,
1993), 463 n·3· 15. Especially, of course, in The Space ofLiterature, trans. Ann Smock (Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1982). 16. "Maurice Blanchot: The Thought from the Outside, " in FoucaultlBlanchot, trans. Brian Massumi and Jeffrey Mehlman (New York: Zone Books, 1987). 17. See "Literature and the Right to Death, " in The Gaze of Orpheus, ed. P. Adams Sitney (Barrytown NY: Station Hill Press, 1981), 21-62. 18. The One Who Was Standing Apart from Me, trans. Lydia Davis (Barrytown
NY:

Station Hill Press, 1993), 50. I have slightly altered the translation to

make it more clumsily literal. The published translation is also revealing: "Where we are, everything conceals itself, doesn't it?" 19. Recall K., who after all his tireless striving to reach the castle, ends up ac cepting an invitation secretly to inhabit the lowliest maid's quarters in the basement of the Herrenhof. 20. Samuel Beckett, Disjecta (New York: Grove Press, 1984), 17 2. 21. We may recall the passage in The Writing of the Disaster (trans. Ann Smock [Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1986]) in which Blanchot writes (apparently autobiographically) of a child's shattering experience of real izing "that nothing is what there is, and first of all nothing beyond. " 22. Christophe Bident, Maurice Blanchot: Partenaire invisible (Seyssel: Champ Vallon, 1998), 206. 23. Bident also points to other associations: Aminadab occurs in the Bible as the name of the father-in-law of Aaron (Exod. 6:23) and in the Davidian genealogy (1 Chron. 2:10, Luke 3:33), and it is the name of a demonic figure portrayed and commented on by St. John of the Cross (in Spiritual Can ticle). It also appears in a story by Nathaniel Hawthorne entitled "The Birth-Mark. " In Arabic, Adab is the term for a literary genre meant to enter tain and instruct, emerging with the expansion of the Islamic empire and evoking the diversity of peoples and cultures. 24. "Being Jewish, " Infinite Conversation, 128. 25. "Being Jewish, " Infinite Conversation, 127. 26. "Being Jewish, " Infinite Conversation, 125. 27. It is interesting to note that an anonymous reviewer of the first Thomas

l' obscur accused it of being "as outmoded as the Jewish art that inspired it. "
Cited in Bident, Maurice Blanchot, 200 n.2.
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Thomas, who had been alone until now, was pleased to see a robust-looking man quietly sweeping his doorway. The shop's metal curtain was raised halfway. Thomas bent down a little and saw a woman inside lying on a bed that took up all the space in the room not occupied by the other furniture. The woman's face was turned toward the wall, but it was not completely hidden: tender and feverish, tormented and yet already suffused with calm - that's how it was. Thomas straightened up. He had only to continue on his way. But the man who was sweeping called to him. "Come in," he said, extending his arm toward the door to show him the way. Thomas had no such thing in mind. Yet he approached to look more closely at this man who spoke to him with such authority. His clothes were especially remarkable. A black morning coat, gray-striped pants, a white shirt with slightly crumpled cuffs and collar: each item of his out fit deserved lose examination. Thomas was struck by these details, and so as to linger a little longer with his neighbor, he reached out to shake his hand. This was not exactly the gesture he had meant to make, since he still intended to leave this place without forming any closer attachments. The man probably sensed this. He looked at the hand held out in front of him, and after addressing to him a vague sign of politeness, he took up his sweeping again, this time paying no attention to what was happening around him. Thomas was cut to the quick. Soon the house opposite began to stir; the shutters banged, and the windows opened. He could see small rooms bedrooms and kitchens apparently -that presented a filthy and disorderly sight. The shop seemed infinitely better maintained; it was pleasant and attractive and seemed to be a place where one could rest. Thomas walked directly toward the entrance. He looked around, then fastened his gaze on an object in the display window that had not caught his attention. It was a portrait with little artistic value, painted over another image that was still partly visible on the canvas. Its clumsily represented figure disappeared behind the monuments of a half-ruined city. A spindly tree on a green
IT WAS BROAD DAYLIGHT.

lawn was the best part of the picture, but unfortunately it ended up inter fering with the other image, which - to the extent that one could imag ine it by prolonging the constantly interrupted lines -was supposed to represent the beardless face of a man with common features and a schem ing smile. Thomas examined the canvas patiently. He was able to make out some very tall houses with a great number of small windows, situated artlessly and with no attempt at symmetry, some of which were illumi nated. There were also, in the distance, a bridge and a river, and perhaps but here it became completely vague - a path leading into a mountainous landscape. In his thoughts he compared the village in which he had just arrived with these small houses, built so densely on top of one another that they formed one vast and solemn construction, rising up into a region through which no one passed. He pulled himself away from the image. On the other side of the street, shadowy figures approached one of the windows. It was difficult to see them, but someone opened a door leading into a more brightly lit vestibule, and the light shone on a couple of young people standing behind the curtains. Thomas watched them discreetly; the young man noticed that he was being scrutinized and leaned his elbow on the windowsill: he studied the newcomer openly and candidly. His face was youthful; the top of his head was wrapped in a bandage that covered his hair, giving him a sickly air that clashed oddly with his adolescent ap pearance. With his smiling look, he dispelled any suggestion of discourag ing thoughts, and it seemed that neither pardon nor condemnation could touch anyone who stood before him. Thomas remained motionless. He enjoyed the restful atmosphere of the scene to the point of forgetting all other plans. But the smile did not satisfy him; he was waiting for something else. The girl, as if suddenly becoming aware of this expectation, made a quick sign with her hand, like an invitation; then she quickly closed the window, and the room was submerged again in darkness. Thomas was quite perplexed. Could he consider this gesture truly as a call to him? It was rather a sign of friendship than an invitation. It was also a sort of dismissal. He hesitated. Looking again in the direction of the shop, he realized that the man who was sweeping had gone back inside as well. This reminded him of his first plan. But then he thought that he would always have time to carry it out later, and he decided to cross the street and enter the house. He stepped into a long and spacious corridor and was surprised not to 2

see any stairs right away. According to his calculations, the room he was looking for would be on the fourth floor, perhaps even higher; he was anx ious to search for it and to climb up as quickly as possible. The corridor seemed to have no way out. He went quickly down the length of it and then came back. When he had returned to his point of departure, he set out again, this time slowing his pace, sticking close to the wall and follow ing its cracks and crevices. This second attempt was no more successful than the first. However, since his first inspection, he had noticed a door, covered with thick curtains, above which was written in crudely traced let ters: The entrance is here. So the entrance was there. Thomas went back to it again, and reproaching himself for having overlooked it, he studied the massive door with an almost painful concentration; it was heavily set on iron hinges and was made of solid oak so thick as to defy any assault. It was a skillful piece of carpentry, ornamented with intricate sculptures, but it appeared no less rough and massive for all that and would have seemed in its proper place in an underground passage whose exit it would have hermetically sealed. Thomas moved closer to inspect the lock; he tried to move the bolt and saw that a simple piece of wood, wedged tightly into the stone, held the door in its slot. It would take nothing to push it in. But he remain-ed wanted also to be able to leave whenever he wished. After waiting patiently for a few moments, he was startled by the noise of a violent quarrel that seemed to have erupted on the other side of the wall. As far as he could judge, this incident was occurring in one of those ground floor rooms that sank below street level and were repulsively filthy. The noise soon began to annoy him -the shouts echoed oppressively, but he could not tell how they reached his ears with such force. He could not remember ever hearing cries at once so raucous, strident, and smothered. One would have thought that the quarrel had erupted in an atmosphere of harmony and friendship so perfect that it could be broken only by the most terrible curses. At first Thomas found it irksome to be the witness of such a scene. He looked around and thought of how he could leave this place. But since the shouting was becoming more familiar, without losing any of its violence, he thought that it was too late. He raised his own voice in turn and asked through the din if he could enter. No one answered, but a silence fell, a strange silence in which accusations and anger were expressed even more sharply than in shouts and noise. Certain that he had been heard, he won3

dered how they would respond to his appeal. He had brought some sup plies, and although he was not hungry, he ate a little to gain some strength. When he had finished, he took off his overcoat, folded it, and, stretching out on the floor, laid his head on it like a pillow. It was not long before his eyes were closed. He had no desire to sleep, but he rested in a feeling of calm that for him took the place of sleep and carried him far away from here. The same calm reigned outside. It was a tranquility so assured and disdainful that he felt he had behaved foolishly in thinking of nothing but his rest. Why did he remain where he was without doing anything? Why was he waiting for help that would never come? He began to feel a great nostalgia, but soon there was nothing greater than his fatigue, and he fell fast asleep. When he woke, nothing had changed. Raising himself up, he leaned on his elbow and listened for a few moments. The silence was not unpleasant; neither hostile nor strange, it was simply impenetrable, that was all. Seeing that he was still forgotten inside the house, Thomas tried to sleep a second time. And yet, though he was still weary, he could not find sleep again. He fell into a momentary doze, then woke abruptly wondering whether indeed this really was sleep. No, it was not real sleep. It was a restfulness in which his worries fell out of sight but that nonetheless made him even more sad and anxious. He grew so tired that when he woke again, he was not at all happy to see a man with thick hair and troubled eyes waiting for him in the doorway. It was even a rather unpleasant surprise. "What's this?" he said to himself. "Is that the man they've sent for me?" Never theless, he stood up, shook out his coat, tried in vain to brush away its wrinkles, and, having taken all the time he needed, made as if to enter. The guardian let him take a few steps and seemed unaware of his intentions until Thomas was right up against him, about to knock him out of the way in order to get past. At that point, he placed his hand on Thomas's arm in a timid gesture. They were so close to each other that it was impossible to tell them apart. Thomas was the taller of the two. The guardian, seen up close, appeared even more abject and debilitated. His eyes trembled. His suit had been pieced together from odds and ends, and despite the skillful stitching and the proper appearance of the whole outfit, it left a disturbing impression of poverty and negligence. It was impossible to see these rags as a real uniform. Thomas gently pulled himself away without meeting any resistance. The 4

door was only half open. Through this opening he could see the first steps of a stairway leading down into a more shadowy region. One, two, three steps were dimly visible, but the light went no farther. Thomas took from his pocket a few coins, passed them from one hand to the other, and looked out of the corner of his eye to see if this offer would be well received. It was difficult to read the thoughts of the guardian. "Should I speak to him?" he wondered. But before he could open his mouth or do anything more than outline a friendly gesture, his interlocutor reached out forcefully, grabbed the coins, and threw them into the only pocket still intact on his vest, a very wide and deep pocket trimmed with dirty gold braids. Thomas was surprised but did not take the incident badly. He looked hurriedly for the latch in order to push the door all the way open. The guardian stood be fore him. Something in his attitude had changed, but what? It was hard to tell. He still had a ragged and even humble look; it seemed that his anxiety had become sheer distress, and his eyes flashed with a spark that comes from fear. And yet he barred Thomas's way. He did so without authority, without conviction, but he held himself quite firmly in the doorframe so that, in order to pass, it now became necessary to use force. "What a nui sance," thought Thomas. How had such a transformation taken place? It was as if the guardian had had nothing to guard until now, as if Thomas had suddenly created new duties for him by buying his complicity. This new obstacle was soon reduced to its proper proportions; the man still had the same modest attitude, and perhaps all he wanted was to be the first to walk the path they were about to take together. A word from Thomas cleared the way: "Is that," he said, "the stairway to the fourth floor?" The guardian, after reflecting a moment, responded with an evasive gesture, then turned around and, opening the door all the way, stepped through to the top of the stairway. Thomas was intrigued by the gesture. Its meaning was not very clear. Did the porter, this everlasting porter, mean to acknowledge that he knew nothing about the house, that he could not give the least information about anything? Was he attempting to evade his responsibilities? Or did he know so much about it that he could only wave away his thoughts with a gesture of doubt and indifference? Thomas de cided that his first duty, his only duty for now, was to get his companion to speak before it was too late. He called to him, and the other man took up his position again. He considered him anew. What could he expect from 5