{"id":21900,"date":"2021-06-30T11:00:29","date_gmt":"2021-06-30T10:00:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.city-academy.com\/news\/?p=21900"},"modified":"2025-05-21T15:50:39","modified_gmt":"2025-05-21T14:50:39","slug":"the-grip-of-the-octopus-by-joe-bedford","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.city-academy.com\/news\/the-grip-of-the-octopus-by-joe-bedford\/","title":{"rendered":"‘The Grip of the Octopus’ by Joe Bedford"},"content":{"rendered":"
\n
\n\t

'The Grip of the Octopus' was written by Joe Bedford for our City Academy Short Story Competition 2021.<\/em><\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div>

\n
\n\t

The Grip of the Octopus<\/h2>\n

 <\/p>\n

Fine, I\u2019ll start again. I murdered the Chinaman because of a film called L\u2019\u00e9treinte de la pieuvre, a film I have seen exactly 352 times, which is playing, right this moment, at the La Chinoise Theatre & Picture-House in the Third Arrondissement. If we leave here now we can make it there before the end of the film and I can show you everything. Then we can go through the questions for as long as you like.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

One month ago. They picked me up the morning after my last viewing of L\u2019\u00e9treinte de la pieuvre. It was a matter of hours. I\u2019ve been in this room \u2013 more or less \u2013 since then.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

It\u2019s American, 1919. A silent film, twenty minutes long. It\u2019s part of a serial \u2013 that\u2019s L'\u00e9treinte de la pieuvre \u2013 although there\u2019s nothing in it about an octopus. That said, I\u2019ve only seen the one instalment. It\u2019s the only one they ever show at La Chinoise. It\u2019s episode eight.<\/p>\n

*<\/p>\n

As it says in my passport, it\u2019s 22 rue Volta, Paris. I moved there thirty years ago to be closer to the museum. There you\u2019ll find my lease, my notes on the Chinaman and about two hundred years\u2019 worth of accumulated grime. Filthy place. And yes, if you lean out of my window you can just about make out the light coming from the porch of La Chinoise, if you know what you\u2019re looking at.
\n*
\nThey\u2019ve put on that exact episode every first Monday of the month at precisely one a.m. for the past thirty years at least. My first viewing was on 21 May 1929 and I\u2019ve been back every month since. Hence I have seen the film 352 times.
\n*
\nYou can find a description of it in Andr\u00e9 Breton\u2019s novel Nadja. That\u2019s where I first heard about it. Perhaps we can move this along.
\n*
\nOh, congratulations \u2013 you have my copy with you. A little dog-eared. Give it to me... Page 32: \u2018I cannot see, as I hurry along...\u2019 One moment... \u2018Not even the memory of the eighth [...] episode of a film I saw in the neighbourhood, in which a Chinese who had found some way to multiply himself invaded New York by means of several million self-reproductions. He entered President Wilson\u2019s office followed by himself, and by himself, and by himself, and by himself; the President removed his pince-nez. This film, which has affected me far more than any other, was called L\u2019\u00e9treinte de la pieuvre.\u2019 There\u2019s not much more to it than that.
\n*
\nIt wasn\u2019t long after I took my job at the museum. I\u2019m the cleaner. The boredom and loneliness of that work starves the soul, it really does. You take all the distractions you can afford. I was drunk as hell when I first visited La Chinoise. Afterwards I couldn\u2019t remember what the film had been about. The Chinaman was sitting in the front row.
\n*
\nOnce again, I was born in 1891 in Nantes. In 1916 I fought at the Battle of Verdun under General P\u00e9tain, and was injured in the siege on Douaumont. During the Occupation I remained in Paris but was prohibited from public service work because of my racial heritage. Afterwards they let me retake my position at the museum. The need to repeat all this is quite demeaning.
\n*
\nTo remind myself of the conclusion. It was not until the third or fourth visit, conducted sober, that I realised the film plays every single month, and that the same Chinaman is in attendance at every show. It became a ritual. The Chinaman was an added curiosity. He takes a different seat at each screening, though he tends to favour the front. The only seat he has never taken is 11D. Last month he sat second row, third from the left. I assume that\u2019s where you found him.
\n*
\nOne till one-twenty. I couldn\u2019t be clearer \u2013 if we don\u2019t leave soon we won\u2019t make it to the theatre in time. I\u2019ve said this so many times tonight it\u2019s no longer frustrating. It shows only the inefficacy of the gendarme. I\u2019ll admit that may be a goad.
\n*
\nYes, after perhaps the tenth screening, the image of him was completely fixed in my mind. My curiosity turned into intrigue, then into concern. I admit I used to find him absolutely infuriating. I would like to add he is the only Chinaman who has had that effect on me.
\n*
\nThat\u2019s a surprisingly difficult question. I would say he is of indeterminate age and ambiguous weight. At times he can look slightly emaciated and at others quite portly. He often wears a hat, sometimes he wears a raincoat or a Chinese mantle. He\u2019s bald I think, though he has appeared in wigs of various styles. Very occasionally he disguises himself as a woman. During the film, he gasps, shouts out in Mandarin, throws up his hands. He reacts to the film in the same manner at every screening, exactly as if seeing it for the first time. He makes a lot of noise. More than once other theatre-goers have shushed him. He takes no notice.
\n*
\nNo. The only question is this: why would a Chinaman go to see the same picture once a month for thirty years, and enjoy that film as if he\u2019d never seen it before? Why would a cinema in the Third Arrondissement even decide to show the same film every month for thirty years? That is the only relevant line of inquiry, and you can consult my notes for the results.
\n*
\nFine, if you insist on it. The answer is \u2018strangulation\u2019.
\n*
\nMy investigations, if that\u2019s what you\u2019re referring to, began light. I started by committing myself to every screening of L\u2019\u00e9treinte de la pieuvre, which at first meant cutting down on meat and electric during the week. One screening took place on my birthday, I took a slice of cake with me. I began noting the Chinaman\u2019s manner, his dress, his responses to the film, and so on. I found no pattern. After a year or so, I attempted to learn Mandarin, which is a labyrinth in itself. The Chinese in my area were suspicious of my questions and reluctant to speak to me. In 1937, I consulted a medium on the rue des Usines. She told me I was carrying plague and wouldn\u2019t take my money. I grew to respect the Chinaman. Even to like him.
\n*
\nI have lived in a Chinese neighbourhood since 1929 and despite your sarcasm I can assure you they do not all look alike. I saw my first Chinese in 1915. It was a labour battalion \u2013 the men worked ten hours a day, seven days a week, in the middle of battle. They had been sent to build a dugout in our line of trench. I watched a mortar land directly in the centre of a group of twelve men. There were pieces of Chinese stuck to my tunic. Since then I\u2019ve had no time for regret, pity or melodrama. I\u2019ve had no emotions in that direction whatsoever since 1915, and that is the truth.
\n*
\nAnd how would you go about that? Would you walk up to him in his seat and ask him to take off his hat? Would you ask him his name, or ask to see his face? I\u2019ve done all that. The first time I tried it I knew it wouldn\u2019t work. It was after the Liberation. I walked over to him in the middle of the film and sat directly beside him, with no one else in the picture-house. He kept reacting to the action in the film without acknowledging me. I sat and stared at him for the entirety. He didn\u2019t break a step.
\n*
\nAgain, I\u2019ve tried. The manager is a man named Lao. He doesn\u2019t speak a word of French. A cul-de-sac of a man. Even so, I\u2019m absolutely convinced that Lao puts on L\u2019\u00e9treinte de la pieuvre monthly for the benefit of the Chinaman alone, since he and I are usually the only ones in the theatre. While the Chinaman watches the film, I watch the Chinaman, and God-know-who watches me.
\n*
\nJesus Christ... Assuming that is the correct time the picture\u2019s already started. The more time we waste here, the faster you\u2019ll have to drive.
\n*
\nNo one in our district is ordinary. The Chinese in Paris are completely disregarded by the French. Hardly anyone at the museum knows how many of them served France in the Labour Corps. Their community is almost completely isolated from the rest of Parisian life. That of course is not unusual, and before, I had no interest in it. Like every other Frenchman. It was only the Chinaman that turned my head.
\n*
\nOkay, I\u2019ll humour you. How about a psychological aspect? I\u2019ve read about a certain phenomenon following trauma to the brain, in which the subject is no longer able to create new memories, and so lives on only in the manner of a goldfish. Imagine then that the enjoyment of the Chinaman at each viewing of L\u2019\u00e9treinte de la pieuvre might remain undiminished, as his friend \u2013 or perhaps relative \u2013 the manager Lao, contents himself with the charity of entertaining, without exhaust, a mental defective. Convincing?
\n*
\nI agree, but then what else? La Chinoise is also famous for its magical theatre, perhaps the Chinaman is some form of circus trick? Or a performance in itself, something Monsieur Breton might have appreciated? Or even a fluctuation in our plane of existence \u2013 a kink let\u2019s say, or a crease in time. Personally, I find that very hard to believe. Especially as I seem to be the only one with any curiosity towards the matter at all. I include you in that.
\n*
\nI\u2019m not superstitious, nor a Catholic. Nor am I nationalist, as you seem keen to have me admit. I flirted with anarchism between the wars, though not to the same extent as Breton. Up here, there\u2019s only logic. Either the Chinaman is the same man every time, or he is not the same man. He either is or is not the Chinaman. Around 1950 or so, I started to broaden my net.
\n*
\nI looked to Breton for inspiration but found little. His novel Nadja concludes with a reference to \u2018the disappearance of almost everything relating to L\u2019\u00e9treinte de la pieuvre\u2019. I assume he lost interest. I followed the Chinaman dozens of times, though could only do so directly after the end of a screening. He goes to various buildings, many of which are linked internally. I lost several days\u2019 pay establishing that he couldn\u2019t be tailed. If anyone has followed him other than me, I haven\u2019t seen them. I\u2019d be interested to know who told you I was even at the picture-house that night...
\n*
\nI don\u2019t usually, but why not. Unless we leave in the next fifteen minutes I\u2019ll be getting the rope anyway. Quite amazing really \u2013 the speed with which the French judicial system can move when it has to. And how about one of those matches?
\n*
\nNow we\u2019re communicating. On 1 May 1953 I followed the Chinaman to a warehouse near the Seine. A number of Chinese were entering the building, as well as one or two Frenchmen in academic\u2019s attire. I managed to sneak in through a side door. Inside, I saw what appeared to be a hundred or so Chinese, all identical, seated and standing in a large room, talking in Mandarin, swapping literature and delivering speeches. I don\u2019t mean to say they were identical in dress or stature, only that every single one was my Chinaman, my Chinaman in successive duplicate, and meeting with himself on en masse. I managed to escape with a pamphlet which I have since had translated.
\n*
\nYou have a significant problem with listening, I think. Since I said it was \u2018near the Seine\u2019, and have at no time during my month in this room pointed anyone to that address, it must follow that I don\u2019t have it. I don\u2019t remember the address, I didn\u2019t write it down and I couldn\u2019t walk you to it now. The only place worth visiting is La Chinoise Theatre & Picture-House in the Third Arrondissement, which we absolutely must do within the next twelve minutes. I understand that this is difficult to comprehend. I do. But you must have faith.
\n*
\nIt\u2019s on yellow paper. That\u2019s the one. The translation is clipped to it. Would you like me to read it?
\n*
\nIt doesn\u2019t matter. You can gather the gist from the symbol on the letterhead. After finding it, I returned to my notes on the Chinaman. It took me several weeks to go over his movements over the past few years, and the pattern was near-impossible to decipher. He\u2019d been to a few locations \u2013 more than one owned by manager Lao \u2013 in which Chinamen and Frenchmen of that type are known to frequent, including the building I broke into. There was little more to apply my revelation to, and I have no direct links with those kind of organisations. As I\u2019ve indicated, I\u2019m not politically-minded. But it changed my perception of the Chinese, and in fact my whole environment, irreversibly.
\n*
\nThat\u2019s right. I began to perceive a hostility in the Chinese community in Paris \u2013 not an open, drunken hostility like the British impose upon the world, but a subdued, class-oriented anger. I\u2019d taken little notice of the conditions of my neighbourhood beyond my own apartment, and had never linked the isolation of my neighbours with my own isolation from my colleagues at the museum. Whereas I had taken my life as a cleaner with a kind of dull belligerence, I noticed that the Chinese \u2013 forever ignored, derided, and trampled upon by the French \u2013 had maintained a sense of activity and life, as well as a very private inner fire. I saw the way the Chinese observed me at the marketplace, regarding me with suspicion but never confronting me. I saw endless francs change into their hands and immediately disappear into hidden corners of the community. I equated these people for the first time with the labourers I\u2019d seen in the trench, and knew instantly that they were organised, equipped and purposeful. I found many more pamphlets like the one you have there, and read more and more about the events unfolding in China. For the very first time, I saw my Chinaman for what he was. After that, I was afraid.
\n*
\nThat\u2019s very flattering, but I\u2019m sure you can understand why fear doesn\u2019t come lightly to a person like myself. I\u2019ve been prodded by all manner of constables and quacks in the past month, and am yet to complete any interview without someone pulling out the word \u2018paranoia\u2019. Regardless, I\u2019ve never been in question of my sanity, and neither will you be, when the time comes.
\n*
\nI had few options left. I\u2019d already seen the picture 349 times, and yet I seemed somehow to have hidden the answer from myself. Breton, that old nut, was my final inspiration. It\u2019s quarter past one, and the film will almost have finished. You may as well hand me my book.
\n*
\nPage 158: \u2018All I know is that this substitution of persons stops with you, because nothing can be substituted for you, and because for me it was for all eternity that this succession of terrible or charming enigmas was to come to an end at your feet.\u2019
\n*
\nFrom the moment I re-read this passage of Breton\u2019s, as well as his original observations on the plot of L\u2019\u00e9treinte de la pieuvre, in light of all that\u2019d happened, I had my solution. I knew then that it was my responsibility, actually my duty, to uncover the final truth behind La Chinoise.
\n*
\nI waited three screenings to ensure the Chinaman and I were alone in the theatre. I entered La Chinoise at just before one a.m. and took a seat on the second row, second from the left, directly beside him. I watched him only, and followed the film in my head via the score. I watched him react predictably to every nuance. I saw the screen flicker across his face. I had prepared something to say to him but I couldn\u2019t remember it. I waited for the film to progress, since I knew this would be the final time we\u2019d watch it together in full. Towards the end, when the Chinese on the screen had entered President Wilson's office in New York, \u2018followed by himself, and by himself, and by himself, and by himself\u2019, and when the President had removed his pince-nez, I took the Chinaman\u2019s neck in my hands and began to squeeze. I squeezed him softly and evenly, with gently rising force, in exactly the same manner I pictured an octopus choking its victim, and held his throat in my grip without shuddering. He didn\u2019t struggle, he didn\u2019t even look away from the film. He simply sat in the inevitability of my grip, and then, when I released him, slumped back and expired. After I\u2019d strangled the Chinaman I left the theatre and returned home. I flicked idly through Breton\u2019s Nadja, and then fell asleep.
\n*
\nNo. Truthfully, no. I felt nothing at all, even when I was taken from the museum the following morning. The speed with which I was found, captured and processed by the police and courts is quite spectacular. Still, I\u2019ve felt little discomfort until tonight. I haven\u2019t seen the Chinaman when I close my eyes, or relived scenes from L\u2019\u00e9treinte de la pieuvre in my dreams. Actually, I have been thinking about the twelve men in the Labour Corps, their demise, the pieces of them on my clothes. It\u2019s odd how memory works. Much like our man with the goldfish mind. You\u2019d have to ask a psychiatrist, and indeed you have.
\n*
\nI haven\u2019t finished. As I said, I\u2019ve felt little discomfort until tonight. You see, for the past month I\u2019ve held in my heart the hope that by tonight I would have found a sympathetic ear and convinced somebody, anybody, to escort me to La Chinoise for tonight\u2019s screening. Evidently, I have found none. But if we were to go now, with a dozen witnesses of your choosing, with manager Lao tripping down the stairs to coddle the policemen, before the President had removed his pince-nez and the curtains had been drawn on L\u2019\u00e9treinte de la pieuvre, I know what we would find. I\u2019m as sure of it as I\u2019m sure I was destined to be the one to discover it \u2013 the truth that Andr\u00e9 Breton unwillingly pointed to in 1928, that pulled me into the museum and sustained me throughout the wars and right up until the moment I first entered the theatre... The one exposed tentacle of the vast truth whose size we cannot fathom. We would find, without any worldly doubt, our Chinaman, sitting right there, unstrangled, and shouting at the screen just as he always did. In spite of all facts pertaining to the opposite, even to the corpse you must by now have committed to French soil, my Chinaman would be there, his face flickering in the light of the screen, and anyone could recognise him. But that was not to be. And look. It\u2019s almost twenty past one.
\n*
\nYou idiot. What are you saying? There are 660 million people in China. 209 million in the USSR. This year you can add the 7 million Cubans under Castro. You think these things are happening on the other side of the world. But there is no other side of the world. There\u2019s only distribution of power, and who governs that will not be decided by the film-makers and chefs and Surrealists and democrats. It will be decided elsewhere. And the free French will not be involved.
\n*
\nWell. That\u2019s a shame. If I was half my age I\u2019d bash your brains in and take your keys and run back there myself. But that option is withheld from me. It is now half past one, which means L\u2019\u00e9treinte de la pieuvre has finished and La Chinoise is now empty. Since my execution is scheduled for two weeks from today we will not have the opportunity to visit again. With that in mind, we may as well make this our final interview. I can\u2019t say I\u2019ve enjoyed them any more than you have, but perhaps you have done me a service.
\n*
\nThank you, no. We\u2019ve gone round enough times already. Perhaps you could leave my copy of Nadja, so that I could read it one last time. Perhaps you\u2019d also be kind enough to leave me a cigarette?
\n*
\nWonderful. You can leave them there on the table. And the matches? It\u2019s traditional, after all, to smoke before a hanging.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>

\n\n
\n\t\t\"joe\n\t<\/div>\n\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>

About Joe Bedford<\/h3>\n
\n\t

Joe Bedford is a writer from Doncaster, UK. His short stories have been published widely, including in\u00a0Litro<\/i>,\u00a0Structo<\/i>\u00a0and\u00a0Mechanics\u2019 Institute Review<\/i>, and are available to read at\u00a0joebedford.co.uk<\/a>.<\/p>\n

You can reach him via Twitter @joebedford_uk.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div><\/div>","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

‘The Grip of the Octopus’ was written by Joe Bedford for our City Academy Short Story Competition 2021. The Grip…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":8,"featured_media":21962,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[137,129,120,118],"tags":[353,483,2068,2700,715],"yoast_head":"\nThe Grip of the Octopus Joe Bedford | Runner-up Short Story Competition<\/title>\n<meta name=\"description\" content=\"The Grip of the Octopus by Joe Bedford was runner-up in the City Academy Short Story Competition 2021. 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