The Debacle - Emile Zola [234]
And only then did she really see this tall, fair man with his curly hair and beard, wide pink face and big blue eyes shining like porcelain. It was quite true, the child had the same yellow mop of hair, same cheeks, same light-coloured eyes, all that race was in him. She felt she was the different one, with her straight dark hair, strands of which had come out of her chignon and were hanging down her back.
‘I made him, he’s mine!’ she went on furiously. ‘He’s a Frenchman who’ll never know a word of your filthy language. Yes, a Frenchman who one day will go and kill the lot of you to avenge those you have killed!’
Charlot began crying and screaming, clinging to her neck.
‘Mummy, Mummy, I’m frightened, take me away!’
Then Goliath, no doubt anxious to avoid a scene, drew back and contented himself with saying contemptuously and in a hard voice:
‘Just bear in mind what I’m going to say, Silvine… I know everything that’s going on here. You harbour the guerrillas from the Dieulet woods, that chap Sambuc, the brother of your farm-hand, a bandit you’re supplying with bread. And I know that this labourer Prosper is a Chasseur d’Afrique and a deserter who belongs to us. And I know too that you are hiding a wounded man, another soldier who would be taken off to prison in Germany at a word from me… So you see, I’m well informed.’
She was listening now, mute and terrified, while Chariot, with his face buried in her bosom, kept moaning:
‘Oh Mummy, Mummy, take me away, I’m frightened!’
‘Very well,’ went on Goliath, ‘I’m not all that ill disposed and I don’t like quarrels, as you well know, but I swear that I’ll have the whole lot arrested, old Fouchard and all the rest of them, unless you let me come to your room next Monday. And I’ll take the child and send him back home to my mother, who will be very glad to have him, for if you insist on breaking off everything he’s mine… Do you get that? Understand that I shall only have to come and take him, because there won’t be anybody else left here. I’m the master and I do what I like… What do you decide? Come on!’
But she said nothing, and held the child closer as though afraid he might be snatched away there and then, and her great eyes filled with fear and loathing.
‘All right then, I give you three days to think it over… You will leave the window of your room open, the one facing the orchard… If I don’t find that window open on Monday evening at seven I’ll have everyone here arrested the next day and come for the child… I’ll be seeing you, Silvine!’
He went off calmly and she stood there rooted to the spot, with so many ideas, far-fetched and horrible, buzzing through her head that they almost drove her silly. All through that day there was a tempest going on inside her. At first she had the instinctive thought of carrying her child away in her arms, straight ahead of her, anywhere. But what would become of them by nightfall, and how could she earn a living for him and herself? Apart from the fact that the Prussians patrolled the roads and would stop her and probably bring her back here. Then she thought of speaking to Jean, warning Prosper and even old Fouchard, but again she hesitated and recoiled from it, for was she sure enough of people’s friendship to know for certain that they would not sacrifice her for everybody else’s comfort and peace of mind? No, no, she wouldn’t tell anyone, she would get out of the danger by her own efforts since she alone had got into it by her obstinate refusal. But, oh God, what could she think of and how could she prevent this horrible thing? For her own decency protested, she would never forgive herself all through her life if because of what she had done some disaster overtook so many people, especially Jean, who was so kind to Chariot.
The hours went by and all the next day passed, and she had thought of nothing. She went about her business as usual, swept the kitchen, saw to the cows, did the supper. In the complete and terrible silence that she clung to,