The Beast Within - Emile Zola [201]
There and then, Jacques decided. It was a decision he had taken many times before. If he was to avoid killing Séverine, he must kill Roubaud. This time, as before, he felt absolutely determined to go through with it; he would not be deterred.
‘No, I couldn’t bring myself to do it,’ he murmured. ‘But I will do it. I’ve promised you.’
Séverine made a half-hearted attempt to dissuade him.
‘Please don’t make promises,’ she said. ‘It only makes us feel bad afterwards, if you can’t go through with it ... Besides, it’s horrible. You mustn’t do it. You really mustn’t.’
‘But it must be done,’ he said. ‘You know it must. And it’s because it must be done that I shall find the strength to do it ... I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it, and now we can; we’re alone, we’re not going to be disturbed, and we can be perfectly honest with each other.’
Séverine had begun to resign herself. She let out a sigh. Her chest heaved, and her heart beat so fast that he could feel it against his own.
‘Oh my God!’ she muttered. ‘When I thought it would never happen, I wanted it to happen ... Now you say you mean to do it, I want to die.’
They sat in silence: Jacques’s new-found resolve had left them lost for words. They could feel the desolate emptiness of the wild countryside around them. They were both very hot; they lay with their limbs entwined, their moist bodies melting into each other.
His hand wandered over her, and he kissed her on the neck, beneath her chin.
‘We could get him to come here,’ whispered Séverine. ‘I could invent some excuse and send for him. I don’t know what, but we could think of something ... you could be waiting for him. You could hide somewhere ... it would be easy ... you wouldn’t be disturbed. That’s what we must do. What do you think?’
He let her talk; his lips moved from her neck to her breast.
‘Yes, yes,’ was all he could reply.
Séverine was deep in thought, working out the details of her plan. As it took shape in her head, she considered it and thought of ways it might be improved.
‘But we would still have to be careful, my darling,’ she said.
‘We can’t afford to do anything stupid. If we were to get ourselves arrested the next day, I’d rather stay as we are ... I read somewhere, I can’t remember where, in a novel probably, that the best thing to do is make it look like suicide. He’s been acting very strangely of late; he’s been so miserable and down in the dumps. It wouldn’t surprise anyone if they suddenly found out he’d come here and killed himself ... But we’d have to find a way of arranging things so that people would be convinced it was suicide ... wouldn’t we?’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ he murmured.
She wondered how it could be done. She gasped for breath as he lifted her towards him to cover her breast with kisses.
‘We must make sure we leave no trace,’ she said. ‘Listen! If you slit his throat with this knife, we could simply lift him up and carry him on to the railway line. We could put his neck across one of the rails, do you see, so that the first train to come along would cut his head off. Then they could look for evidence as much as they liked. They wouldn’t find a wound. They wouldn’t find anything. Because his head would be completely crushed! What about that?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘it’s very good.’
They were becoming more and more excited. Séverine was almost laughing, very pleased with herself at having had such a bright idea. Jacques drew her towards him in a strong embrace, but she resisted him.
‘Not now,’ she said. ‘Wait a bit ... When I think about it, it’s still not quite right. If you stay here with me, suicide will look suspicious. You must leave. You must leave tomorrow, do you understand, openly, in front of Misard and Cabuche, so that your departure is witnessed. You must catch a train at Barentin and find some excuse for getting off at Rouen. Then, as soon as it gets dark, you must come back here.