Germinal - Emile Zola [252]
‘Why didn’t you answer? What are you up to?’
Eventually she said:
‘I’m getting up.’
‘At this hour of the night?’
‘Yes, I’m going back to work at the pit.’
Étienne was shocked, and he had to sit down on the edge of the bed while Catherine explained her reasons to him. She could not bear to live like this, not working and always feeling that she was being reproached for it; she would rather run the risk of some rough treatment from Chaval down the mine; and if her mother wouldn’t take the money she brought in, well, she was old enough to fend for herself and make her own soup.
‘Off you go. I’ve got to dress. And please, not a word about this to anyone.’
But he remained beside her, having now put his arm round her waist in a gesture of sorrowful compassion. As they sat close together in their nightshirts, here on the edge of a bed that was not yet cold after being slept in, they could each feel the warmth of the other’s bare skin. At first she had tried to pull away; then she had begun to cry softly and put her arms round his neck to hold him against her, in a desperate embrace. And there they sat, with no other desires, mindful of their past unhappy love, which they had never been able to satisfy. Was it over between them for ever? Though now the way was open, would the day never come when they would dare to love each other? It would have taken only a brief taste of happiness to dispel the shame and embarrassment that was keeping them apart, the sundry notions they had got into their heads and which even they did not fully understand.
‘Go back to bed,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t want to light the candle, it would wake Mum…Off you go. It’s time I was leaving.’
He wasn’t listening but continued to hold her tight as an immense sadness filled his heart. He was overwhelmed by a desire for peace, by an irresistible need to be happy; and he saw himself married and living in a nice little house, with no other ambition than to live and die there, just the two of them together. A piece of bread would be all they’d need; and even if there were only enough for one, then she could have it. Why ask for anything more? Was there anything else worth having in life?
Meanwhile she unwrapped her bare arms from round his neck.
‘Please, let me go.’
Then, on a sudden, heartfelt impulse, he whispered in her ear:
‘Wait. I’ll come with you.’
And he was astonished at himself for saying such a thing. He had sworn never to go back down the mine again, so where had this sudden decision come from, springing from his lips like that without his ever having dreamed of such a thing, without his ever having thought the possibility over in his mind? He now felt such calm, such a complete release from all his doubts, that he held stubbornly to his decision, like a man saved by accident, who has found the only possible way out of his torment. Thus he refused to listen to her when she, believing that he was doing this just for her and fearful of the nasty comments with which he would be greeted at the pit, expressed some alarm. He could not have cared less: the notices promised a pardon, and that was all that mattered.
‘I want to work. It’s my decision…Come on, let’s get dressed. We must be quiet.’
They got dressed in the dark, taking every possible precaution not to wake anyone. Catherine had secretly got her miner’s clothes ready the night before, and Étienne fetched a jacket and trousers out of the cupboard; they did not wash, for fear of making a noise with the basin. Everyone was asleep, but they still had to pass along the narrow corridor where La Maheude’s bed was. On their way out, as ill luck would have it, they knocked into a chair. She woke up and called out sleepily:
‘What is it? Who’s there?’
Catherine, trembling, had stopped at once and