Nana (Barnes & Noble Classics) - Emile Zola [136]
She did so, in spite of the slap, and then he fell upon her with kicks and blows. He soon put her into such a state that she ended, as usual, by undressing herself and going sobbing to bed. He puffed and blowed, and was also about to get into bed, when he noticed the letter he had written for George lying on the table. Then he folded it up with care, and turning towards the bed, said menacingly,
“The letter will do very well. I will post it myself, because I don’t intend to put up with any caprices. And don’t whine, for it annoys me.”
Nana, who was weeping bitterly, held her breath. When he got into bed, she felt as though choking, and throwing herself on his breast, sobbed aloud. Their battles always ended thus. She trembled at the thought of losing him. She felt a mean want of knowing he was all her own, in spite of everything. He twice pushed her away with a haughty gesture; but the warm embrace of the supplicating woman, with her large tearful eyes, resembling those of some faithful animal, kindled a flame of desire within him. And he acted the good prince, without, however, stooping to make any advances. He let himself be caressed, and, so to say, taken by force, in the style of a man whose forgiveness is worth winning. Then he was seized with anxiety. He feared that Nana had only been acting a little comedy to get possession of the cash again. He had blown out the candle, when he thought it necessary to assert once more his authority.
“You know, my girl, I meant what I said. I intend to keep the money.”
Nana, who was going to sleep with her arms round his neck, said sublimely, “Yes, never fear; I will work.”
But from that evening their life together became worse than ever. From one end of the week to the other the sound of slaps could be heard, just like the tick-tick of a pendulum which seemed to regulate their existence. Nana, through being beaten so frequently, became as supple as fine linen; and it made her skin so delicate, and so soft to the touch—her complexion so pink and white, so clear to the eye—that she was more beautiful than ever. And that was why Prullière was for ever dangling about her skirts, calling when he knew Fontan would not be there, and pushing her into corners and trying to kiss her; but she, at once becoming highly indignant, struggled and blushed with shame. She thought it disgusting of him to wish to deceive his friend. Then Prullière sneered with vexation. Really, she was becoming precious stupid! How could she stick to such a monkey? for Fontan was indeed a monkey, with his big nose for ever on the move—a disgusting pig! and a fellow, too, who was always knocking her about!
“That may be, but I love him as he is,” she replied one day, in the cool way of a woman owning to some most revolting taste.
Bosc contented himself with dining there as often as possible. He shrugged his shoulders behind Prullière; a handsome fellow, but not serious. He had often assisted at rows in the house. During dessert, when Fontan slapped Nana, he would continue chewing in a matter-of-fact way, thinking it the most natural thing in the world. By the way of paying for his dinners, he always pretended to be in raptures at the sight of their happiness. He proclaimed himself a philosopher; he had renounced everything, even glory. Prullière and Fontan, leaning back in their chairs, would sometimes forget themselves after the table had been cleared, and fall to relating their successes up to two o’clock in the morning, with their stage voices and gestures; whilst he, wrapt in thought, and only occasionally giving a little sniff of disdain, would silently finish the bottle of brandy. What was left of Talma? Nothing. Then they had better shut up, and not make such fools of themselves!
One night he found Nana in tears. She removed her bodice and showed him her back and arms covered with bruises. He looked at the skin, without being tempted to take advantage of the situation, as that