The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [167]
The old fishmonger, collapsed in a chair, was so savoring these words, the perfection of this revenge, that her enormous bulk was quivering. Florent, dubious, looked at the Beautiful Norman. She, now completely in league with her mother, turned on the faucet, slapped some fish beneath it, and seemed not to hear.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
“Oh, absolutely. Isn't that right, Louise?” the woman continued in an ever shriller voice.
He thought it must have something to do with the big event, so he decided to climb up to his room. He was about to leave the fish market when, turning around mechanically, he caught the Beautiful Norman following him with her eyes, a grave look on her face. He passed the three gossips.
Mademoiselle Saget murmured, “Notice how the charcuterie is empty. Beautiful Lisa is not a woman to put herself at risk.”
It was true, the charcuterie was empty. The front of the building remained bathed in sunlight, and it seemed to have the happy air of a good house warming its belly in the first rays of the morning sun. Above, on the balcony, the pomegranate was in bloom. As he crossed the street, Florent gave a friendly nod to Logre and Monsieur Lebigre, who seemed to be getting some fresh air on the doorstep of the latter's establishment. The two smiled at him.
He was about to start down the alleyway when he thought he saw at its end the pale face of Auguste suddenly vanishing from sight. He then returned to look in the charcuterie to make sure there was not a middle-aged monsieur waiting for him there. But the only one he saw was Mouton, sitting on the chopping block and studying him with two large yellow eyes, double chin, and the large bristly mustache of a defiant cat. Just as Florent decided to enter by the alley, he saw Beautiful Lisa appear at the end of the shop, behind the curtained windows of a door.
A silence had fallen over the entire fish market. The bellies and enormous breasts held their breath waiting until Florent disappeared. Then it was all released—breasts expanded and bellies were bursting with malice. The scam had succeeded. What could be more funny? The old Méhudin woman jiggled with silent laughter like a full wineskin emptying. Her story about the middle-aged monsieur had circulated in the market, and all the women thought it was highly amusing. Finally the string bean was to be shipped off! They would have no more of his gruesome face and convict eyes. They all wished him good riddance and hoped that the new inspector would be good-looking. They ran from one stall to the next and would gladly have danced around the slabs like girls escaped from a convent.
The Beautiful Norman stood stiffly, watching all this merriment, not daring to move for fear she would start crying, with her hands on a large skate to calm her fever.
“See how the Méhudins dropped him as soon as his money was gone,” said Madame Lecœur.
“And they're right,” replied Mademoiselle Saget. “In any event, my dear, it's over, isn't it? There's nothing more to fight about. You're happy. Let the others deal with it as they want.”
“Only the old one is laughing,” said La Sarriette. “The Norman is not looking very merry.”
Meanwhile, up in his room, Florent let himself be taken like a lamb. The policemen, assuming he would put up a desperate struggle, jumped him roughly. But he gently asked them to let go. Then he just sat there while the men wrapped up the papers, the scarves, the armbands, and the banners. He did not seem surprised by how things had turned out. In fact, it came as a relief, but he did not understand this clearly enough to admit it. But it was painful for him to think of the hatred down below that had urged him into this room. He saw again the pale face of Auguste, the lowered faces of the fish women, he remembered Mère Méhudin's words, the silence of the Norman, the empty charcuterie, and he told himself that Les Halles had been an accomplice, the entire neighborhood had turned him in. All around him the stench of the greasy streets rose up.
His heart was gripped by a stabbing anguish when, amid the