The Beast Within - Emile Zola [131]
He jumped down into the snow, which came up to his knees, and walked up to the engine. The three men discussed the situation.
‘The only thing we can do,’ Jacques said finally, ‘is to try and dig her out. Fortunately we’ve got some shovels. Get the other guard. Between the four of us we should be able to free the wheels.’
They called to the other guard at the back of the train, who had already got down from his van. He struggled through the snow towards them, sometimes sinking right into it. The passengers were beginning to get worried. The train had stopped in the middle of nowhere, with empty wastes of snow all around them. They could hear loud voices, discussing what was to be done, and they saw the guard staggering along beside the train. They started to lower their windows. People were shouting and asking questions in an ever-increasing chorus of confusion.
‘Where are we? Why have we stopped? What’s wrong? Has there been an accident?’
The guard felt he needed to offer some reassurance. As he walked along the train, the podgy, red face of the Englishwoman appeared at one of the carriage windows, flanked by those of her two charming daughters.
‘I trust we’re in no danger, monsieur,’ she said, with a pronounced accent.
‘Not at all, madame,’ he replied. ‘A bit of snow, that’s all. We shall be on our way again shortly.’
The window was pulled up again amidst the girls’ happy chatter, that melodious symphony of English syllables that trip so lightly from the lips of children. The two girls were laughing; they found the whole thing highly amusing.
Further along the train the elderly gentleman was beckoning him, with his pretty, dark-haired young wife peering timidly through the window behind him.
‘This is outrageous!’ he was saying. ‘Why wasn’t something done about it? I’ve travelled all the way from London and I have important business to attend to in Paris this morning. I warn you that I shall hold the Company responsible for any delay!’
‘Monsieur, we shall be off again in a few minutes,’ was all the guard could find to say.
The cold was terrible, and the snow was blowing into the carriages. The heads disappeared and the windows were drawn up. But inside the closed carriages, the disturbance continued; it was clear from the buzz of voices that people were uneasy. Only two windows remained open; leaning out of them, three compartments apart, two passengers were talking to each other, an American of about forty and a young man from Le Havre, both of them very interested in the snow-clearing operation.
‘In America, monsieur,’ said the American, ‘everyone gets out and helps with the shovelling.’
‘Oh, this is nothing,’ replied the other. ‘I was caught in the snow twice last year. My job takes me to Paris every week.’
‘Mine takes me there about every three weeks.’
‘What, from New York?’
‘Yes, monsieur, from New York.’5
Jacques was supervising the snow clearing. He caught sight of Séverine looking out of a window in the first carriage. She always travelled in the first carriage in order to be nearer to him. He pleaded to her with his eyes; she understood what he was trying to say and withdrew into the compartment to escape the icy blast that stung her face. The thought of Séverine made Jacques redouble his efforts. Then he noticed that the barrier of snow that had caused them to stop had nothing to do with the wheels, which cut through even the deepest drifts. It was the ash-pan situated between the wheels that had caused the snow to build up, pushing it forward so that it became compacted in great blocks beneath the locomotive. Jacques had an idea.
‘We must remove the ash-pan,’ he said.
At first the guard objected. Jacques was under his orders, and he was reluctant to allow him to tamper with the locomotive. Eventually he allowed himself to be persuaded.
‘All right,’ he said, ‘but on your head be it!’
It was a dreadful job. Jacques and Pecqueux were forced to lie on their backs in melting snow underneath the engine. It took them nearly half an hour. Fortunately there were some spare spanners