The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [123]
The painter continued in this vein from the pont de Neuilly to the Arc de Triomphe. He went back to some people to complete their portraits with a few characteristic brushstrokes. Logre was a Thin who carried his belly between his shoulders. Beautiful Lisa was all stomach and the Beautiful Norman, all bosom. Mademoiselle Saget had surely missed an opportunity sometime in her life to become fat, for she loathed the Fats, while still disdaining the Thins. As for Gavard, he was compromising his role as a Fat and would end up skinny as a bug.
“And Madame François?” asked Florent.
Claude was embarrassed by the question. He struggled for an answer and finally stuttered, “Madame François. Madame François. I don't know. I never had the urge to classify her. She's a fine woman, that's all. She's not a Fat, and she's not a Thin.”
They both laughed. They were now in front of the Arc de Triomphe. The sun, on the crest of the hills of Suresnes, was so low on the horizon that their shadows darkened the whiteness high up on the monument, even higher than the group of statues, like two black marks sketched in charcoal. This made Claude even more amused, and he waved his arms and bent his body. Then, as he started to walk again, he asked, “Did you notice? Just as the sun set, our two heads flew up to the sky.”
But Florent stopped laughing. Paris started to overtake him again, Paris that had cost him so many tears in Guiana and still frightened him. He lowered his head as he returned to that nightmare of mountains of food, but he carried within him the sweet and sad memories of the day in thyme-scented fresh air.
CHAPTER FIVE
The following day around four o'clock Lisa went to Saint Eustache. She had adorned herself in black silk with a woven shawl for crossing the square. The Beautiful Norman, from her place in the fish market, followed her with her eyes, right up to the church doors. She was choking with indignation.
“Oh, fine!” she said malevolently. “Now the fatso is working on the priests … It'll calm her down some to dip her rear end in holy water.”
But she was mistaken. Lisa was not in the least religious. She did not practice religion and often said that she tried to be honest in everything she did and that was enough. But she didn't like it if someone spoke badly of religion in front of her. She often cut off Gavard, who loved telling stories of priests and nuns, the scandals of the clergy. She found it inappropriate. Everyone had a right to their own beliefs and should be respected for them. Besides, most of the priests were good people.
She knew Abbé Roustan at Saint Eustache, a distinguished man and good confidant on whose friendship she could rely. She would end up stating that religion was absolutely necessary for most people. She thought of them as a police force that helped to maintain order, without which there could be no government. When Gavard went too far and said that the clergy should all be thrown out and their shops closed, she shrugged and said, “How would that help you? In a month's time they'd be massacring people on the streets, and then they'd have to invent another god. That is what happened in '93.1 I'm not much of a churchgoer, as you know, but I do believe that you have to have clergy because you have to.”
So when Lisa entered the church she showed deference. She had bought an attractive prayer book, which she never opened, to take with her to weddings and funerals. She stood up and knelt at the right places and was careful to have the correct bearing. For her it was a kind of official posture that respectable people, shopkeepers and businesspeople, ought to show toward religion.
On this day the handsome charcuterie woman walked into Saint Eustache, letting the double door, which was covered in faded green cloth worn thin by the hands of the faithful, close gently behind her. She dipped her fingers in holy water and crossed herself properly. Then,