The Debacle - Emile Zola [47]
‘You can’t eat in peace!’ the general shouted. ‘What are they yapping like that for? Go and find out, you.’
But the farmer appeared, exasperated and gesticulating, in tears. He was being robbed – Chasseurs and Zouaves were looting his home. To begin with he had been unwise enough to open his shop, being the only one in the village who had any eggs, potatoes and rabbits. He sold without being too extortionate, pocketed the money, delivered the goods, and that resulted in more and more buyers who swamped the place, muddled him and finally rough-handled him and took the lot without paying. The reason why so many countryfolk during the campaign hid everything, refused even a glass of water, was this terror of the steady, irresistible advance of the tide of men that swept them out of their homes and carried away home and all.
‘Oh, leave us alone, my good man,’ said the general, irritated. ‘I should have to shoot a dozen of these characters everyday. How can I?’
He had the door shut so as not to have to go and deal with it himself, while the colonel explained that there had been no issue of rations and the men were hungry.
Outside, Loubet had spied a field of potatoes, and he and Lapoulle had thrown themselves upon it, digging with both hands, tearing them out and filling their pockets. But then Chouteau, looking over a low wall, gave them a whistle call and they ran over and shouted for joy: it was a flock of geese, ten magnificent geese parading majestically in a narrow yard. At once a council was held and Lapoulle was pushed forward and made to climb over the wall. The combat was fierce, the goose he seized nearly cut his nose off with the snapping scissors of its beak. Then he grasped it by the neck and tried to strangle it, but all the time it beat on his arms and stomach with its powerful legs. He had to smash its head with his fist and yet it was still struggling as he hurried away, pursued by the rest of the gaggle tearing at his legs.
When the three got back, hiding the beast in a sack with the potatoes, they found Jean and Pache just coming back and equally pleased with their expedition, carrying four loaves and a cheese they had bought from some nice old girl.
‘The water’s boiling, we’ll make some coffee,’ said the corporal. ‘We’ve got bread and cheese, it’ll be a real party!’
Suddenly he caught sight of the goose lying outspread at his feet, and couldn’t help laughing. He felt it with an experienced hand and was full of admiration.
‘Good God, what a lovely bird! It must weigh over twenty pounds.’
‘It’s a bird we happened to meet,’ explained Loubet in his professional funny-man’s voice, ‘and she wanted to make our acquaintance.’
Jean made a sign meaning that he didn’t want to know any more. You had to live after all! And besides, why the hell shouldn’t they have this banquet – a lot of poor sods who had forgotten what poultry tasted like?
Loubet was already blowing up the fire. Pache and Lapoulle were plucking the goose for all they were worth. Chouteau, who had run off to get some string from the artillerymen, came back and hung it between two bayonets in front of the roaring fire, and Maurice was detailed to turn it every now and again with a touch of his finger. The fat dripped down into the communal messtin. It was a triumph of string roasting. The whole regiment, attracted by the lovely smell, came and stood round, and what a feast! Roast goose, boiled potatoes, bread and cheese! When Jean had carved the goose the squad tucked into it up to their eyes. There was no question of portions, each man stuffed as much into him as he could take. They even took a piece over to the artillery who had provided the string.
That evening, as it happened, the officers of the regiment were going hungry. Owing to a mistake in instructions the canteen van had gone astray; probably it had followed the main column.