The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [57]
He kept his hand in the air for another instant, looking pleased. Against the white cuff of his shirt his hand, which frequented buckets of blood, was deep rose, the nails at the ends of the fingers bright red. Quenu nodded his approval.
Now there was silence. Léon was still chopping. Pauline, looking dreamy, climbed back on her cousin's feet and shouted, “Tell me, cousin, tell me that story of the man who was eaten by wild animals.” In the child's mind, the idea of pig's blood stirred up the story of “the man eaten by wild animals.” Not understanding, Florent asked which man that was. Lisa laughed.
“She wants that story of that poor man, you know, the one you were telling Gavard the other night. She must have been listening.”
Florent became morose. The little girl took the fat yellow cat in her arms and carried it to her cousin, placing it in his lap and explaining that Mouton would also like to hear the story. But Mouton jumped onto the table and remained seated there with his back arched, contemplating the tall, scrawny man who over the past fifteen days had been a continual object of fascination. But Pauline tapped her feet angrily. She wanted the story.
Since the little girl was becoming unbearable, Lisa said, “Oh, Florent, tell her the story she wants so we can have some peace and quiet.”
Florent remained silent another few seconds, staring at the floor. Then, slowly raising his head, he fixed his gaze first on the two women with their mending needles, then on Quenu and Auguste, preparing a pot for boudin. The gaslight was burning, the heat from the stove was comforting, and all the kitchen's fat produced the kind of peaceful feeling that accompanies good digestion. Then he placed Pauline on his lap and, smiling a sad smile, addressed the child:
“Once upon a time there was a poor man. He was sent far, far away to the other side of the ocean. The boat that carried him held four hundred convicts, and he was thrown among them. He was forced to live for five weeks among those thieves, dressed like them in rough sailcloth and eating from their trough. Big fat lice preyed on him, and fever took all his strength from him. The kitchen and bakery and ship engines so heated the bottom deck that ten convicts died from it. During the day they were sent topside, fifty at a time, to catch a breath of sea air. The crew of the ship feared them and trained the cannons on them. The poor man was very happy when his turn to go up came. But although his terrible sweating let up, he still felt too sick to eat. At night, when he was again shackled in irons and the rolling of the ship on the rough sea made him bump into the two men next to him, he broke down and began to cry, relieved to be crying where he could not be seen …”
Pauline listened with big eyes and her two little hands crossed dutifully in front of her. “But,” she interrupted, “but this isn't the story of the man who was eaten by the animals. This is a different story, isn't it, cousin?”
“Wait and see,” Florent answered gently. “We'll get to the story of that gentleman. I'm telling you the whole story.”
“All right,” said the child happily. But she looked pensive, apparently struggling to resolve some problem. Finally she asked, “But what had the poor man done that he was sent away and put on the boat?”
Lisa and Augustine were smiling, enthralled by the child's vision. And Lisa, without answering the question, used the opportunity to teach the child a lesson, smacking her soundly and asserting, “Bad children are sent on boats