The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [51]
Madame Lecœur seemed to think about this for a long time; then she agreed. Lisa then sliced from the terrine. She took some slices of larded veal and a slab of hare pâté on the end of her knife blade. Each slice was placed in the middle of a sheet of paper on the scale.
“Aren't you going to give me any boar's head with pistachios?” asked Madame Lecœur in an unpleasant voice.
So she had to give her the boar's head. This butter vendor was becoming difficult. She wanted two slices of galantine, she liked that. Lisa, already irritated, fidgeted with the knife handle and pointed out that the galantine had truffles and could be included only in an assortment at three francs a pound. The customer continued to sniff around the plates to look for more things to ask for. When the assortment was weighed out, she insisted on Lisa adding some aspic and cornichons. The block of aspic, in the shape of a gâteau de Savoie in the middle of a porcelain platter, jiggled in the grasp of Lisa's angry hands, and vinegar squirted from the jar as she grabbed two cornichons with her fingers from behind the dish warmer.
“That's twenty-five sous, isn't it?” Madame Lecœur asked in a casual tone. She could clearly see and tremendously enjoyed Lisa's repressed irritation, slowly taking out her money, as though the coins had gotten lost in her pocketbook. Then she glanced disdainfully at Gavard, reveling in the strained silence that her presence prolonged, vowing that she would not leave as long as they were concealing some “chicanery” from her. But Lisa finally placed the package in her hand and she had to leave. She exited without saying a word, casting one last stare around the shop.
Once she was gone Lisa exploded, “La Saget sent her too! Is that old battle-ax going to march everyone in Les Halles in here to find out what we were talking about? And what vicious people they are! Whoever heard of breaded chops and assorted plates being sold at five in the afternoon? They'd rather make themselves sick with indigestion than miss out on what we were saying. If La Saget sends anyone else, wait and see the reception she gets. I'll show her the door, even if it's my own sister.”
The three men were silenced by Lisa's anger. Gavard had leaned over the brass railing, where, lost in his thoughts, he absentmindedly fiddled with a little glass railing that had come loose. Then he raised his head. “Personally,” he said, “I look at the whole thing as a big farce.”
“What's that?” asked Lisa.
“The fish inspector job.”
She raised her hands, shot one last look at Florent, and then sat on the cushioned bench behind the counter with her mouth sealed. But Gavard began to expound on his theory, the idea being that the government would get fleeced because Florent would get their money. He repeated with satisfaction, “My dear friend, weren't those the bastards that nearly starved you to death? Well, now's your chance to make them feed you. It's a beautiful thing. It struck me immediately.”
Florent smiled but still said no. Quenu, to please his wife, tried to come up with a good argument. But Lisa seemed to no longer be listening. She was staring at the market. Suddenly she sprang to her feet, shouting, “Aha, now they're sending the Norman to spy on us. She's going to pay for the others.”
A tall brunette pushed open the shop door. It was Louise Méhudin, the beautiful fish woman whom everyone called the Norman. She had a brazen kind of good looks and delicate white skin. She was almost as assertive as Lisa, the look in her eyes was even bolder, and her breasts were more alluring. She came in with a prancing gait, a gold chain jingling against her apron, her uncovered hair combed up in the latest style, and a bow at her throat, a lace bow that made her the queen coquette of Les Halles. She had about her a slight scent of the sea, and on one of her hands, near the little finger, a herring scale shone like a small patch of mother-of-pearl.