Germinal - Emile Zola [70]
‘If I were you, I’d sooner they got it over with,’ La Pierronne observed in her wisdom. ‘Your Zacharie’s put her in the family way twice already, and they’ll simply go somewhere else to do it…Whichever way you look at it, the money’s gone.’
La Maheude was furious and spread her hands wide:
‘What an idea! I’d sooner put a curse on them if they went and did it again…Zacharie should show us a bit of consideration, shouldn’t he? He’s cost us money after all, and it’s time he paid some of it back before he saddles himself with a wife…What would become of us, I ask you, if our children all started working for other people straight away? We might as well curl up and die!’
Gradually she calmed down.
‘As a general rule, I mean. We’ll just have to wait and see…It’s good and strong, this coffee of yours. You obviously put the right amount in.’
After a quarter of an hour of further gossiping she made her escape, lamenting that she hadn’t yet made the men their soup. Outside the children were returning to school, and one or two women had appeared on their doorsteps and were watching Mme Hennebeau walking along a row of houses pointing things out to her guests. This visit was beginning to create something of a stir throughout the village. The stoneman stopped digging for a moment, and across the gardens a pair of hens started clucking anxiously.
On her way home La Maheude ran into La Levaque, who was standing outside ready to pounce on Dr Vanderhaghen, the Company doctor, as he went past. He was a harrassed little man who had too much to do and tended to conduct his consultations on the run.
‘Doctor, I can’t sleep,’ she said, ‘I ache all over…I really need to see you about it.’
It was his habit to address all the women with brusque familiarity, and he replied without stopping:
‘Don’t bother me now. Too much coffee, that’s your problem.’
‘And my husband, Doctor’ – it was La Maheude’s turn now – ‘you really must come and see him…He’s still got those pains in his legs.’
‘You’re the one who’s wearing him out! Now let me get on.’
The two women were left stranded, gazing after the doctor as he made his escape.
‘Won’t you come in,’ La Levaque continued, after they had shrugged at each other in despair. ‘I’ve got something to tell you…And I’m sure you’d like a spot of coffee. It’s freshly made.’
La Maheude wanted to say no but was powerless to do so. Oh well! Perhaps just a mouthful all the same, to be polite. And in she went.
The parlour was black with dirt: there were greasy stains on the floor and walls, and the table and dresser were thick with grime. The stench of a slatternly household caught at La Maheude’s throat. Sitting beside the fire, with his elbows on the table and his nose in a plate, was Bouteloup, still young-looking at thirty-five, a big, placid fellow with broad, square shoulders. He was finishing off the remains of some stew. Standing close beside him was little Achille, the elder of Philoméne’s pair, who was already two, and he was staring at Bouteloup with the mute entreaty of a greedy animal. From time to time the lodger, a thoroughly soft-hearted sort in spite of his imposing brown beard, would put a piece of meat in the boy’s mouth.
‘Wait till I sweeten it a bit,’ said La Levaque, as she put some brown sugar straight into the coffee-pot.
Six years older than Bouteloup, she looked terrible, like used goods. Her breasts sagged round her belly and her belly round her thighs. Her face was squashed-looking, with grey whiskers, and she never combed her hair. He had accepted her the way she was and inspected her no more closely than he did his soup to see if it had hairs in it or his bed to see if the sheets had been changed in the last three months. She was included in the rent and, as her husband was fond of repeating,