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The Beast Within - Emile Zola [126]

By Root 1436 0
snow. The wind was blowing from the east and it caught the locomotive head on, sending the snow in great swirls directly towards it. At first, standing behind the weather shield dressed in thick woollen clothes and with their eyes protected by goggles, Jacques and Pecqueux didn’t find things too difficult. But the light from the headlamp blazing out into the night seemed to be swallowed up in dense clouds of whiteness. Instead of being lit up for two or three hundred metres ahead, the track seemed to come towards them out of a milky fog, with objects suddenly appearing only when they were very close to, as if from the depths of a dream. What most worried Jacques was the realization, as they passed the signal at the first section box, that, as he had feared, it would be impossible to see a signal at red from the regulation distance. So progress was extremely cautious. Yet he couldn’t afford to go too slowly; there was already tremendous wind resistance, and it would be equally dangerous if the train fell too far behind schedule.

La Lison maintained a steady speed all the way to Harfleur. As yet, Jacques wasn’t too worried about the depth of the snow; it was sixty centimetres deep at the most and the snowplough could easily clear a depth of one metre.1 His principal concern was to keep the train running at speed. He knew that, as well as remaining sober and making sure his locomotive was kept in good condition, the mark of a good driver was to be able to keep his engine running smoothly and steadily while maintaining full pressure. In fact Jacques’s one weakness was an obstinate unwillingness to bring his train to a stop. He sometimes even ignored signals, fully confident that he had La Lison under control. Occasionally he would get carried away and deliberately run over detonators.2 He said it was like treading on someone’s corns! It had twice earned him a week’s suspension. On this occasion, however, he sensed that the situation was fraught with danger. The thought that his beloved Séverine was with him and that her life was in his hands increased his resolve to press on regardless down the iron highway that led to Paris, braving every obstacle that might confront him.

Jacques stood on the metal plate that linked the engine and tender, constantly jolted by the movement of the train and, despite the snow, leaning out to the right, trying to see ahead. Nothing was visible through the footplate window; it was streaked with water from the driving snow. Jacques stood looking into the icy blast, his face stung by a million sharp needles, lacerated by the cold, which cut into his skin like a razor. From time to time he drew back to recover his breath, removed his goggles and wiped them and then returned to his lookout post in the teeth of the gale, peering intently into the darkness for signals at red. He was so absorbed in his task that he twice had the illusion of seeing a sudden shower of sparks scattered like spots of blood across the curtain of snow that floated in front of him.

Suddenly, in the darkness, Jacques sensed that his fireman was no longer there. In order to avoid dazzling the driver, there was only one light on the footplate - a small lamp which was used to check the water level in the boiler, but on the enamelled dial of the pressure gauge, which seemed to emit a light of its own, he could see the little blue needle quivering and falling rapidly. The fire was low, and his fireman lay sprawled out on the toolbox fast asleep.

‘You bloody drunkard!’ Jacques yelled, shaking him furiously.

Pecqueux got to his feet, muttering some unintelligible excuse. He could hardly stand. Through sheer force of habit he returned to his fire, breaking up lumps of coal with his hammer, spreading it evenly over the grate with his shovel and sweeping the footplate with his broom. With the firebox door open, a shaft of light from the fire stretched back over the train like the blazing tail of a comet, turning the snowflakes that fell through it into great drops of gold.

After Harfleur they began the stiff three-league climb to

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