The Beast Within - Emile Zola [168]
‘What do you mean, “We could leave tomorrow”?’ he asked.
‘We could leave tomorrow,’ she said, ‘if he were dead.’
She didn’t mention Roubaud by name, but it was clear from the look she gave whom she had in mind. Jacques knew what she was thinking and raised his hands in the air, as much as to say that, unfortunately, he wasn’t dead.
‘We could leave,’ she continued, speaking slowly and seriously. ‘We’d be so happy in America! I could get the thirty thousand francs by selling La Croix-de-Maufras, and there’d be enough left over to buy a house for ourselves. You’d do really well for yourself. I’d make us a nice cosy home where we could love each other to our hearts’ content. It would be good. It would be so good!’ Then she added in a whisper: ‘Far away from these horrible memories! Each day would be a new beginning!’
Jacques felt a wave of delight run through him; their hands met and remained instinctively clasped together. Neither of them spoke; they were both lost in their dream. Séverine was the first to break the silence.
‘I think you should go and see your friend again before he leaves,’ she said. ‘You could ask him not to take a partner until he’s spoken to you.’
Again Jacques was amazed.
‘What would be the point of that?’ he asked.
‘You never know,’ she said. ‘The other day, when the train hit him... one second later and I’d have been a free woman! You’re alive one minute and dead the next!’
She looked steadily into his eyes.
‘If only he were dead!’ she said again.
‘You’re not asking me to kill him, are you?’ he said, trying to make a joke of it.
She assured him three times that she wasn’t, but each time her eyes betrayed her. They were the eyes of a woman in love, a woman at the unforgiving mercy of her own passion. Roubaud had killed someone else, so why shouldn’t he be killed himself? The thought came to her suddenly, as if it were the logical solution, the natural conclusion. Kill him and go and live somewhere else! What could be simpler? Once he was dead, it would all be over. She could start her life again. No sooner had the thought occurred to her than she could see no other possible alternative. In an instant she had made up her mind; there could be no turning back. Yet she still sat gently shaking her head, denying it, lacking the courage to admit to her murderous thoughts.
Jacques stood, leaning against the sideboard, still trying to make light of what she had said. But he had seen the knife, which had been left lying there.
‘If you want me to kill him,’ he said, ‘you’d better give me the knife. I’ve already got the watch! I’ll have quite a little collection!’
He pretended to laugh.
‘Take the knife,’ she said in all seriousness.
Jacques put the knife into his pocket, trying to keep up the pretence, and kissed her.
‘I’ll wish you goodnight, then,’ he said. ‘I’ll go and see my friend straight away and tell him to wait. Meet me round the back of the Sauvagnats on Saturday if it’s not raining, all right? Don’t worry, we’re not going to kill anyone. I’m only joking.’
Late as it was, Jacques walked down to the harbour and found the hotel where his friend who was leaving the next day had said he would be staying. He told him that he might be coming into some money and that he should be able to give him a definite answer in a fortnight. As he made his way back along the dark streets towards the station, he paused to think about what he had just done. It surprised him. If he imagined himself married to Séverine and using her money, did it mean he had already resolved to kill Roubaud? Surely not! He had decided nothing; it was simply a wise precaution, in case he did decide. But the thought of Séverine came back to him, squeezing his hand in hers, her eyes looking into his and saying yes, when with her mouth she denied it. She obviously wanted him to kill Roubaud. His mind was in turmoil. What was he to do?
He went back to his room in the Rue François-Mazeline and lay on his bed, with Pecqueux snoring in the other bed beside him. He could not sleep; the thought of murdering Roubaud kept turning over