The Beast Within - Emile Zola [106]
As the fire got hotter and La Lison began to build up pressure, Jacques walked around it examining every moving part and trying to find out why it had consumed more oil than usual that morning. He could find nothing wrong. The locomotive was clean and shiny, sparkling in fact, a clear indication that it was well looked after by its driver. He was always to be seen wiping it down and polishing it. When it had just arrived after a journey he made a point of rubbing it vigorously all over, as one rubs down a horse that is sweating after a long gallop; he found that it was easier to clean off stains and splashes when the engine was warm. He never drove it too hard, trying to maintain steady progress and not get behind time, which would have required sudden, extravagant bursts of speed. He had such a good relationship with his locomotive that never once in four years had he had to enter a fault on the shed register, where drivers listed items that needed repair. Poor drivers, because they were either lazy or drunk, were always complaining about their engines. Today, however, Jacques was seriously concerned about it using such huge amounts of oil. There was something else, too; he couldn’t pin it down but he sensed it very strongly, something he had never felt before, a sort of anxiety or wariness, as if the locomotive couldn’t be altogether trusted, and he needed to make sure that it wasn’t going to let him down on the journey.
Pecqueux was nowhere to be seen. When he eventually turned up, his speech slurred after a meal with one of his mates, Jacques lost his temper. Normally the two men got on very well together, having worked side by side for many years, travelling from one end of the line to the other, flung together on the footplate, silently going about their work, united in a common task, braving the same dangers. Although he was more than ten years younger than Pecqueux, Jacques took a fatherly interest in his fireman, making allowances for his failings and letting him take an hour’s nap when he had had too much to drink. Pecqueux returned these favours with a dog-like devotion to his driver; he was a first-rate workman and despite his heavy drinking he was highly skilled at his job. What was more, he too was very attached to La Lison, which made for a good understanding between them. The two of them and the locomotive made a happy threesome, and there were hardly ever any arguments. So Pecqueux was taken aback to receive such a rough welcome and even more surprised to hear Jacques muttering doubts about the engine.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘She goes like a dream.’
‘No,’ said Jacques, ‘there’s something not right.’
Even though everything appeared to be working as it should, he continued to shake his head. He tested the controls and checked that the safety-valve was working properly. He climbed up on to the running-plate and filled the cylinder lubricators. Pecqueux cleaned the dome, where there remained a few slight traces of rust. The sand boxes7 were working normally. There should have been no cause for concern. The real trouble was that La Lison was no longer the only pull on Jacques’s heart strings; another love had implanted itself - a slim, fragile little creature, whom he still saw sitting beside him on the park bench, pleading to be helped, so in need of love and protection. Never before, even when