In the heart of the city, half-way up the old town hall, below
amongst others, I met a man who collects droppings: an Excrement
the novelty clock, there’s an electronic counter. I don’t know
Cataloguer to give his full title (which I know he’d prefer) ‘An
what it is there for, but still it stays. The number it displays
animal’s droppings are unique to that animal’ he told me. ‘There
rises unsteadily – always going up, but never at a constant
are therefore as many different kinds of excrement as there are
speed. There is space for eight digits. When I first came here
animals.’ He then proceeded to show me some of the highlights
the counter read 00031142. Now it reads 00261718. I wonder
of his extensive collection. There was penguin poo, crocodile crap,
what will happen when it gets to 99999999, though I know
dung beetle dung and – his favourite – snow leopard shit. ‘I tracked
I shall be dead anyway. When I ask people what it means they
that leopard for four days’ he explained. ‘The silly idiot must’ve
only shrug their shoulders. One man says it’s just a number,
been constipated, so I stuffed a dead bird with laxatives, hid it
where another tells me it is nothing at all. And yet it continues
for him in the snow and, as you can see, managed to pick up a fair
to rise, even as I write this. It has been rising faster recently, but
load in the end.’ ‘Indeed’ I said. He went on into another room.
who knows, maybe it will slow down again. Most people are very
‘In here you’ll find human excrement’ he said. ‘Every country is
surprised when I remind them of its existence. ‘Oh. Is that still
represented and a lot of famous names as well. I’m especially
there?’ they say, proudly indifferent. I even wrote a letter to the
strong on heads of state. Care to take a look?’ By all means’
king, in case he knew something. ‘Don’t worry yourself’ he replied.
I said, following him in. ‘But spare the explanation this time’.
(Pierre Monceau and Jean-Pierre Sertin)
