The Beast Within - Emile Zola [140]
Outside, however, the snow-clearing was almost finished. The team of soldiers who had freed the locomotive were sweeping the track clean ahead, while Jacques and Pecqueux once more took up their positions on the footplate.
Jacques observed that it had finally stopped snowing and began to feel more confident. Ozil the signalman had told him that on the Malaunay side of the tunnel the snow had not fallen so heavily. Jacques asked him about it again.
‘When you walked through the tunnel,’ he said, ‘did you have any difficulty getting in or out of it?’
‘No,’ said Ozil, ‘I told you. You’ll get through, don’t worry.’
Cabuche, who, with his enormous strength, had set to and done the work of ten men, was about to walk away. He had always been a shy, timid sort of man, and his latest brush with the law had made him even more so. Jacques called to him.
‘Cabuche!’ he said. ‘Do us a favour. Could you pass us our shovels? They’re there, on the bank. We might need them again if we have any more trouble.’
The quarryman handed him the shovels. Jacques shook his hand warmly to thank him for his help and to assure him that he still had the greatest respect for him.
‘You’re a good man!’ he said. ‘One of the best!’
Cabuche was so touched by this mark of friendship that he had to fight back his tears.
‘Thank you,’ he said simply.
Misard nodded his agreement, pursing his lips in a thin smile. He had accused Cabuche before the examining magistrate but had since made up his differences with him. For some time he had been walking around doing nothing, with his hands in his pockets, looking shiftily all around the train as if he were waiting to see if he might pick up a bit of lost property from underneath it.
At last, the principal guard and Jacques decided that they should try to get the train restarted. But Pecqueux, who had jumped down on to the track, called out to his driver.
‘Look,’ he said, ‘one of the cylinders has taken a knock.’
Jacques came down to look, crouching beside the cylinder. He had already examined the engine carefully and had noticed that the cylinder was damaged. While clearing the track, they had discovered that some wooden sleepers, which had been left on the side of the cutting by a gang of platelayers, had slipped down the bank in all the snow and bad weather, and had fallen on to the rails. This must have been partly why the train had come to a stop, for the engine was lodged against them. They could see a long scratch on the cylinder casing, and the piston rod seemed slightly out of line. But there didn’t seem to be anything else wrong, and initially the driver had not been too concerned. However, there was perhaps more serious internal damage; nothing is more delicate than the complex arrangement of a locomotive’s valve gear, the very heart and soul of the engine. Jacques climbed back on to the footplate, blew the whistle and opened the regulator to see if everything was working properly. La Lison took a long time to respond, like someone injured in a fall who is unsteady on their feet. Eventually, with much coughing and hissing, she moved forwards. Slowly and sluggishly her wheels began to turn. She was going to be all right. She would make it. She would get there. But Jacques was shaking his head. He knew her inside out, and now, as he placed his hands on the controls,