Germinal - Emile Zola [126]
Mme Hennebeau said softly to her husband:
‘I trust you have time for your coffee.’
‘No doubt. They can wait.’
He was tense, apparently preoccupied by his coffee-cup but with his ear cocked for any sound he could make out.
Paul and Cécile had just got up from the table, and he dared her to peep through the keyhole. They were trying not to laugh and busily whispering to each other:
‘Can you see them?’
‘Yes…There’s a big one, and two other little ones behind.’
‘And pretty horrible they look, too, I expect?’
‘No, not at all, they look perfectly sweet.’
Abruptly M. Hennebeau left the table, saying his coffee was too hot and that he would drink it afterwards. As he left the room, he placed a finger to his lips urging them to caution. Everyone had sat down again at the table, and there they remained without a word, not daring to move but straining to hear, unnerved by the loud voices of these men.
II
The day before, during a meeting held at Rasseneur’s, Étienne and some of his comrades had together chosen the members of the deputation who were to meet management the following day. When La Maheude discovered that evening that Maheu was one of them, her heart sank, and she asked him if he really wanted them all turned out on to the street. Maheu himself had not accepted without a certain reluctance. Now that the moment to act had come, and despite the injustice of their poverty, they both lapsed back into their habitual state of inbred acquiescence, fearful of the morrow and still preferring to toe the line. Usually Maheu let his wife make all the key decisions in the running of their lives, for she had good judgement. This time, however, he ended up losing his temper, largely because he secretly shared her fears.
‘Leave me bloody well be,’ he said as he got into bed and rolled over on to his side. ‘A fine thing it would be to let my comrades down!…I’m doing what I have to do.’
She in turn got into bed. Neither of them spoke. Then, after a long silence, she said:
‘Very well, you win. The only trouble is, my poor love, we’re done for already.’
It was midday when they sat down to eat, because they were due to meet at the Advantage at one o’clock prior to going on from there to M. Hennebeau’s. The meal was one of potatoes. As there was only a tiny portion of butter left, nobody touched it. They would save it and have it on bread come the evening.
‘We’re counting on you to do the talking, you know,’ Étienne said suddenly to Maheu.
Maheu was taken aback, unable to speak in the emotion of the moment.
‘No, that does it!’ cried La Maheude. ‘He can go if he wants to, but I’m not having him be the leader…And why him, anyway? Why not somebody else?’
Then Étienne explained, with his usual vehemence. Maheu was the best worker in the pit, the most popular and the most respected, the person everyone cited as a model of good sense. Which meant that the miners’ demands would carry more weight coming from him. Originally Étienne was going to do it; but he had been at Montsou for only such a short time. They would listen more to a local. In short, the men were entrusting their interests to the worthiest man among them: he simply couldn’t refuse, he’d be a coward if he did.
La Maheude gestured despairingly.
‘Off you go, my love, go and get yourself killed for everybody else’s sake. Go on, be my guest.’
‘But I c-couldn’t,’ Maheu stuttered. ‘I’d say something daft.’
Étienne patted him on the shoulder, delighted to have convinced him.
‘You’ll say what you feel, and that’ll be just fine.’
Old Bonnemort, whose swollen legs were getting better, listened with his mouth full, shaking his head. There was silence. Whenever they had potatoes, the children tucked in and were very well behaved. When the old man had swallowed his mouthful, he said slowly:
‘You can say whatever comes into your head, but it’ll make no difference…Oh, I’ve been here before, I can tell you! Forty years ago