The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [89]
Quenu laughed loudly and patted his brother's stomach, claiming that all the food in the shop could pass through Florent's stomach and not leave enough fat to cover a small coin. But in Lisa's inquiry the distrust and dislike of thin people could be heard, the same sentiment that Mère Méhudin expressed more harshly. There also was a subtle allusion to the wayward life she imagined Florent to be leading. But she never referred directly to the Beautiful Norman in front of him. Quenu alluded to her in a joke one evening but Lisa's response was so icy that the good-natured husband dropped the subject. They lingered at the table after dessert. Florent, who had noticed his sister-in-law's displeasure when he left too soon after dinner, tried to start a conversation. He was right next to her. He did not find her warm and alive with a scent of the sea, tasty and spicy. Instead she smelled of fat—the blandness of good meat. There was no thrill to her tight-fitted bodice, which showed not a wrinkle. Contact with the firm presence of Lisa threw him even more than the tender approaches of the Beautiful Norman. Gavard once told him, in strict confidence, that Madame Quenu was most certainly a beautiful woman but he liked them “less armored than that.”
Lisa avoided talking about Florent with Quenu. Usually she made a great show of being patient. But she also believed that it was not a good idea to come between the two brothers without a serious reason to do so. As she liked to say, she could put up with a lot but should not be pushed too far.
She was in her tolerant mode with a blank expression and a severe politeness, an affected indifference, carefully avoiding even hinting at the fact that though he ate and slept there, they had never seen his money, not that they would dream of accepting any payment whatsoever because she was certainly above such a thing, though he could at least go somewhere else for his lunch. One day she mentioned this to Quenu, saying, “We're never alone anymore. If we want to speak in private now, we have to wait until we go to bed.”
And one night she whispered in his ear, “Doesn't he earn a hundred fifty francs? Isn't it strange he can't put a little aside to buy some linen? I just had to give him a few more old shirts.”
“Aw, that's not a big problem,” said Quenu. “My brother's easy. Let him keep his money.”
“Oh, sure,” said Lisa, not wanting to push too hard on the subject. “I didn't mean to say … How he spends his money is his business.”
She became convinced that he must be spending his salary at the Méhudins'. One time she lost her composure, the calm that was partly her natural temperament and partly a calculated tactic. The Beautiful Norman had given Florent a magnificent salmon. Florent, embarrassed by the gift but not daring to refuse it, had brought it to Beautiful Lisa.
“You could make some kind of terrine with it,” he said ingenuously.
Lisa stared at him, her lips turning pale, and in a voice that she struggled to control said, “Do you think we don't have enough food here? My God, there's plenty to eat around here. Take it back!”
“But couldn't you cook it for me?” asked Florent, surprised by her sudden anger. “I'll eat it.”
Then she exploded. “This house is not an inn. Tell whoever gave it to you that she can cook it. I'm not about to smell up my frying pan with it. Take it back. Do you hear me?”
She was about to throw it into the street.
Florent took it to Monsieur Lebigre's, where Rose was ordered to prepare a salmon terrine. And so one evening in the glass-paneled room, they ate it. Gavard bought everyone oysters.
Florent went there more and more, until he hardly ever left the glass-paneled room. He found there an overheated atmosphere where he could vent his political rage freely. Sometimes when he shut himself in his attic to work, he became impatient with the peacefulness of the room. His study of the