The Beast Within - Emile Zola [108]
It was getting dark, and Jacques needed to be even more vigilant. Rarely had he known La Lison respond so well. She was his to command, and he rode her as he willed, in total mastery. Not once did he relax his hold on her, treating her like a tamed animal that needs to be handled with caution. Behind him in the train, hurtling along at full speed, he pictured the delicate figure of Séverine, smiling happily and confidently entrusting herself to his care. The thought sent a slight shudder through him, and he gripped the reversing wheel more tightly. He peered intently into the gathering darkness, on the look-out for signals at red. Once past the junctions at Asnières and Colombes, he breathed more easily. Everything went well as far as Mantes; the line was dead level, and it was an easy run for the train. Beyond Mantes the engine had to be driven harder in order to climb a fairly steep incline for nearly half a league. Then, without any easing up, he ran her down through the Rolleboise tunnel, a gentle descent of two kilometres, which she covered in scarcely three minutes. There remained only one further tunnel - Roule, near Gaillon - before they reached Sotteville, a notorious station that needed to be approached with the utmost care, due to the great number of sidings, the continual shunting operations and the constant movement of trains. Every ounce of his energy was concentrated in his eyes, which were fixed on the track ahead, and his hand, which controlled the locomotive. La Lison rushed through Sotteville with her whistle shrieking, leaving behind her a long trail of smoke. She didn’t stop until she reached Rouen. After a brief rest, she set off again, more slowly, climbing the incline up to Malaunay.
The moon had risen, very clear, casting a pale light on the surrounding countryside; despite the speed at which the train was travelling, Jacques could make out small bushes growing beside the railway line and the individual stones used to surface the roads. As they came out of the tunnel at Malaunay, Jacques looked quickly to his right, having noticed a shadow cast across the line by a tall tree, and recognized in a tangle of undergrowth the lonely spot from which he had seen the murder. The countryside rushed past, wild and bare - a continual succession of hills and dark, tree-filled valleys, a desolate wasteland. At La Croix-de-Maufras, Jacques saw the house, standing at an angle to the railway line, with the moon motionless in the sky above it, its shutters, as always, closed, the whole place abandoned and forlorn, cheerless and forbidding. He didn’t know why, but once again, and this time more than ever before, he felt his heart grow chill, as if the place boded him some misfortune.
Seconds later, another image assailed his eyes - Flore, leaning against the level-crossing gate next to the Misards’ house. Nowadays, she was there every time he made this journey, waiting, looking out for him. She stood perfectly still, simply turning her head so that she could follow him for a moment or two longer as the train whisked him past her. All Jacques saw was a tall, dark shadow outlined against the night sky and a glimpse of golden hair shining in the pale light of the moon.
Jacques worked La Lison hard up the Motteville incline and then allowed her to coast along the level section through Bolbec before a final burst of speed over the three leagues between Saint-Romain and Harfleur, down the steepest gradient on the line, a stretch which locomotives charge over, like horses galloping madly for the stable when they sense they are near home. By the time the train reached Le Havre, Jacques was exhausted. Séverine got down