The Beast Within - Emile Zola [119]
Pecqueux was quick to reassure him.
‘I was only pulling your leg,’ he said. ‘You’re free to do as you please ... But don’t forget, if ever you’ve got a problem, don’t hesitate to say. That’s what I’m there for; any time you want.’
Without a word more he took hold of Jacques’s hand and squeezed it firmly, as a gesture of his unswerving loyalty. He screwed up the greasy piece of paper that the meat had been wrapped in, threw it away and put the empty bottle back in the food box, performing all these little chores like a dutiful manservant, trained to keep things looking neat and tidy. The rain continued to fall, although the thunder had stopped.
‘Right,’ said Pecqueux, ‘I’m off. I’ll leave you to your own devices.’
‘It’s still raining,’ said Jacques, ‘I’ll go and stretch out on the camp bed.’
Next door to the engine shed there was a room with some mattresses and loose covers over them, where the men could take a rest without undressing if they were only in Le Havre for a few hours. He watched Pecqueux disappear into the rain in the direction of the Sauvagnats’ house. As soon as he had gone, Jacques ventured out himself and ran across to the rest room. But he didn’t go in. He stood at the entrance with the door wide open, overcome by the stifling heat inside. At the back of the room an engine driver lay on his back, snoring, his mouth wide open.
He waited for a few more minutes. He could not put the meeting with Séverine out of his mind. His frustration at this infuriating storm was gradually giving way to a crazy desire to go to their rendezvous come what may. Even if he no longer expected to find Séverine waiting for him, he would still have the pleasure of being there himself. He felt as if his whole person were being drawn there. He went out into the storm, came to their usual meeting place and followed the dark alleyway between the coal stacks. He could not see in front of him because of the driving rain that cut into his face. He walked down the alleyway as far as the tool-shed, where once before he and Séverine had taken shelter. He thought he would feel less on his own in there.
Inside the shed it was pitch black. As he walked through the door, two arms lightly enfolded him, and he felt two lips being pressed warmly against his. It was Séverine.
‘Good heavens!’ said Jacques. ‘You’re here!’
‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘I saw the storm coming. I ran here before it started to rain. Jacques, you’ve been so long.’
Her voice faded to a sigh. Never before had she abandoned herself to him like this. She lowered herself on to the empty sacks that lay heaped in the corner like a bed. Jacques fell to the ground beside her, held in her embrace. He felt his legs resting across hers. They could not see each other, but their breaths mingled. As if in a trance, they became lost to all sense of time and place. They kissed each other passionately, and their hearts seemed to beat as one.
‘Darling,’ he said, ‘you waited for me ...’
‘Yes,’ she answered, ‘I waited for you. I waited and waited ...’
Immediately, impulsively, Séverine held him tight. She drew him towards her and without a word compelled him to take her. How it happened she did not know. By the time he arrived she had resigned herself to not seeing him. Without stopping to consider or to think what she was doing, she had been carried away by the sheer, unexpected joy of holding him in her arms, by the sudden, irresistible need to be his. It had happened because it had to. The rain fell even more insistently on the shed roof. The ground shook, as the last train from Paris went whistling and clattering into the station.
When Jacques raised himself from her, he was puzzled to hear the sound of falling rain. Where was he? His hand brushed against the handle of a hammer, which he had felt on the floor near him as he lay down beside her. A surge of joy ran through him. Could it be true? He had possessed Séverine and had not taken the hammer to smash her skull. She was his, and there had been no bitter struggle,