The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [30]
The other man looked up and, caught by surprise, studied this tall black figure whom he did not recognize.
Then, all of a sudden, he shouted, “It's you!” Seemingly confused, he added, “Is it really you?”
He almost dropped his fat geese. He still could not control his amazement. But then, seeing his sister-in-law and Mademoiselle Saget, who were observing the encounter from a distance with interest, he continued walking.
“Don't stand there. Come on. There are too many eyes and tongues around here.”
Once under the covered passage, they began talking. Florent told how he had gone to the rue Pirouette, which seemed to amuse Gavard greatly. Then he told Florent that Florent's brother, Quenu, had moved his charcuterie11 nearby, to rue Rambuteau, across from Les Halles.12 What amused him even more was that Florent had just spent the morning walking around with Claude Lantier, an oddball who by chance was the nephew of Madame Quenu. Gavard was going to take Florent to the charcuterie, but when Florent told him that he had entered France with false papers, he became very serious and secretive. He tried to keep about five steps ahead of him so as not to attract attention. After passing by the poultry pavilion, where he dropped off his two geese on a counter, he crossed rue Rambuteau with Florent following close behind. Stopping in the middle of the street, he glanced knowingly at a large, handsome charcuterie.
Diagonal sunbeams struck rue Rambuteau, lighting up the fronts of the buildings, with the entrance to rue Pirouette in the center of the block appearing like a black hole. At the other end, the great hulk of Saint Eustache glittered in the sunlight like a sparkling casket. In the middle of the crowd, an army of street sweepers emerged from a distant intersection, marching forward in a line and swinging their brooms in unison. At the same time, cleaners were picking up trash on their forks and tossing it into carts that stopped every twenty paces with a sound like smashing pottery. But Florent noticed nothing but the sight of the large charcuterie sparkling in the sunlight.
He was almost at the corner of the rue Pirouette, and the shop was a joy to behold. It was filled with laughter and bright light and brilliant colors that popped out next to the white of the marble countertops. There was a sign; a painting covered with glass with the name QUENU-GRADELLE in large gilded letters framed in leafy branches. The two side panels of the storefront, also glass-covered paintings, depicted chubby cupids frolicking amid animal heads, with pork chops and garlands of sausages, and these still lifes, adorned with rolls and rosettes, were such pretty paintings that the raw meat looked like reddish fruit preserves. Within this lovely frame was the window display on a bed of delicately shredded blue paper, with a few well-placed sprigs of fern making plates of food look like bouquets with greenery. It was a world of good things, mouthwatering things, rich things.
First of all, close to the windowpane, was a row of crocks full of rillettes13 alternating with jars of mustard. The next row was nice round boned jambonneaux14 with golden breadcrumb coatings. Behind these were platters: stuffed Strasbourg tongues all red and looking as if they had been varnished, appearing almost bloody next to the pale sausages and pigs' feet; boudin15 coiled like snakes; andouilles16 piled two by two and plump with health; dried sausages in silvery casings lined up like choirboys; pâtés,17 still warm, with little labels stuck on them like flags; big, fat hams; thick cuts of veal and pork whose juices had jellied clear as crystal candy. In the back were other dishes and earthenware casseroles in which minced and sliced meats slept under blankets of fat. Between the plates and dishes, on a bed of blue paper, were pickling jars of sauces and stocks and preserved truffles, terrines of foie gras, and tins of tuna and sardines. A box of creamy cheeses and one of escargot, wood snails with parsley and butter, were casually