The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [115]
“Monsieur Gavard is just at the end,” said Marjolin. They turned to the left and came to a dead end at a dank cave into which no light penetrated. Gavard was not there. “No matter,” said Marjolin. “I can still show you all our animals. I have the keys.”
Beautiful Lisa followed him into the heavy darkness. Then suddenly she found him wrapped in her skirts. She thought she must have walked too fast and run into him, so she backed up and asked, “Do you think I'm going to be able to see your animals in this dark box?”
At first he didn't answer, and then he stammered that there was always a bit of candle in the storage place. But he was taking forever to open it. He couldn't find the keyhole. As she helped him with it, she could feel hot breath on her neck. Finally when he got the door open and lit the candle, she could see that he was shaking so much that she said, “You silly thing, why are you getting so worked up just because the door won't open? You're just a little girl with large fists.”
She walked into the stall. Gavard rented two compartments, which he had made into a little chicken range by removing the partition. The larger birds—geese, turkeys, and ducks—were waddling around in bird droppings. The three shelves above had flat open boxes full of hens and rabbits. The chicken wire was thick with dust and festooned with cobwebs, so that the stall appeared to be furnished with gray blinds. Rabbit urine had corroded the lower panels, and white splashes of bird droppings spotted the board.
But Lisa did not want to hurt Marjolin by showing any more disgust. She stuck her fingers into the little cages and expressed sympathy for the wretched hens cooped up in a space too small for them even to stand up in. She petted a duck that was cowering in a corner with a broken leg. Marjolin told her that they were planning to kill it tonight in case it died during the night.
“But what,” she asked, “do they do for food?”
He explained that poultry won't eat in the dark. The merchants have to light a candle and wait there until they are finished.
“It's fun,” he continued. “I stand there holding a light for hours. You should see the way they peck at each other. Then, when I cover the candle with my hand, they're all left with their necks sticking out, as though the sun had set. But you can't simply leave them a light and go away. One woman, Mère Palette—you know her— nearly burned the whole place down the other day. A hen must have knocked a candle onto some straw.”
“Oh well,” said Lisa, “that's not too bad, if they have to have their chandeliers lit for each meal.”
That made him laugh. She had stepped out of the stall, wiping her feet and lifting her skirt slightly to keep it out of the filth. Marjolin blew out the candle and shut the door. She was afraid to walk in the dark with this large boy at her side and went ahead of him so that she wouldn't end up with him in her skirts again. When he caught up to her, she said, “I'm glad I saw it. You'd never guess some of the things that are under Les Halles. Thank you for showing me. I have to go now—quickly. They'll wonder what happened to me at the shop. If you see Monsieur Gavard, tell him that I'd like to talk to him as soon as possible.”
“But he's probably at the slaughterhouse,” he said. “We could go see, if you want.”
She did not answer, overcome by the warm air that hit her face. It was turning her pink, and her stretched bodice, usually lifeless, was starting to heave. It worried her for some reason, made her feel anxious, to hear Marjolin's quickening footsteps behind her. He was panting. She stood aside to let him pass her. The village with its darkened rows was still asleep. Lisa noticed that her companion was taking the long way around. When they came out, opposite the railway line, he said that he wanted to show her the tracks, and they stood there a moment looking at the wide planks of fencing. He offered to lead her along the track, but she