The Belly of Paris - Emile Zola [98]
“He's entitled to a share of the inheritance,” Quenu hazarded. It was painful for him to hear his brother attacked.
Lisa suddenly turned straight as a pole as though jolted, and her anger left. “You're right, the inheritance. There's the account in that drawer. He didn't want it. You were there, don't you remember? That alone proves that he is both aimless and brainless. If he had anything going on in his head, he would have done something with that money by now. If it were up to me, I would not still have it, I would gladly be rid of it. I've told him so twice, but he refuses to listen to me. You ought to talk to him about it.”
Quenu responded with a grunt. Lisa, believing she had done what she had to, did not press him further.
“No, he's not like other men,” she started up again. “He's not a comfortable person to have around. I wouldn't have said this if you hadn't brought it up. I don't concern myself about his conduct even though it causes the entire neighborhood to gossip about us. The fact that he eats and sleeps here doesn't bother me. I can accept it. What I cannot tolerate is him dragging us into his politics. If he tries to lead you astray again or in any way put us in danger, I'm warning you, I'll get rid of him. I'm warning you, you understand!”
Florent had been denounced. It was with great effort that she restrained herself, holding back her rancor. Florent and his ways irritated her every instinct. He wounded her, scared her, and made her unhappy.
“This is the disreputable record of a man who has never managed to make a home. I understand why he wants to hear gunshots. He can go stand in their path for all I care, but let him leave decent folk and their families alone. Then too, I just don't like him. At night at the table he smells of fish. I can't eat my food. He, on the other hand, never skips a bite, for all the good it does him. His bad instincts feed on him so that he can't even gain a few pounds.”
While she was speaking, she went to the window. And now she saw Florent crossing rue Rambuteau on his way to the fish market. A huge shipment of fish had arrived that morning. Baskets were filled with rippling silver, and the auction room roared with the commotion of selling it all. Lisa kept her eyes fixed on her brother-in-law's bony shoulders as he made his way through the overwhelming smells of the market, stooped by the nauseating odors. Her stare as she followed his steps was that of a fighter ready for combat and determined to win.
When she turned around, Quenu was getting up. Still warm from the pleasant shelter of the quilt, he sat at the edge of his bed in his nightshirt, his feet resting on the fluffy rug. He looked pale and upset by the misunderstanding between his wife and brother. But Lisa gave him one of her loveliest smiles. And he was moved when she handed him his sock.
CHAPTER FOUR
Marjolin had been found at the Marché des Innocents asleep on a pile of cabbages under an enormous white cabbage whose broad leaves had flopped over, hiding his rosy face. No one knew whose wretched hands had placed him there. He was already a sweet little boy of two or three when he was found, chubby and full of life, but so backward, so slow, that he barely managed a few words. All he could do was smile. When a vegetable seller found him underneath the big white cabbage, she let out a shriek that was so loud, her neighbors rushed over to see what was wrong and watched with wonder as the child, still in baby clothes and wrapped in a scrap of old blanket, reached out his arms to embrace her.
He wasn't able to say who his mother was. His eyes were wide with astonishment as he clung to the shoulder of the tripe merchant who had picked him up. He was the focus of the market until nightfall.