Therese Raquin - Emile Zola [50]
When she saw that Mme Raquin was calmer, she started to fuss around her, advising her to get up and come down into the shop. The old haberdasher had almost reverted to childhood. The sudden appearance of her niece had brought about a positive crisis in her which had restored her memory and awareness of the people and things around her. She thanked Suzanne for caring for her, speaking in a weak voice, but no longer delirious, full of a sadness that sometimes stifled her. She watched Thérèse walking about, giving in to sudden fits of weeping. On such occasions she would call her over, kiss her, still sobbing, and tell her in a choking voice that she had nothing but her left in the world.
That evening, she agreed to get up and try to eat. When she did so, Thérèse saw what a dreadful blow her aunt had suffered. The poor old woman’s legs had grown heavy, she needed a stick to drag herself into the dining room and it seemed to her that the walls were shaking around her.
However, the next day she already wanted them to reopen the shop. She was afraid of going mad if she stayed alone in her room. She walked heavily down the wooden stairs, stopping with both feet at each one, and went to sit down behind the counter. From that day on, she remained fixed there in a passive state of grief.
Beside her, Thérèse waited and thought. The shop was once more quiet and dark.
XV
Laurent would sometimes come back in the evening, every two or three days. He stayed in the shop, talking to Mme Raquin for half an hour. Then he would leave, without having looked Thérèse directly in the face. The old haberdasher considered him as the man who had saved her niece, a noble soul who had done everything he could to bring her son back to her. She welcomed him with affectionate goodwill.
One Thursday evening, Laurent was there when Old Michaud and Grivet came in. Eight o’clock was striking. The office worker and the former police chief had each decided separately that they could resume their old routine without appearing to intrude, and they arrived at the same minute, as though driven by a single mechanism. Behind them, Olivier and Suzanne also made their appearance.
They went up to the dining room. Mme Raquin, who was not expecting anyone, hurried to light the lamp and make some tea. When everyone was seated around the table, each in front of his or her cup, and when the box of dominoes had been emptied out, the poor mother was suddenly transported back into the past and burst into tears. One place was empty: her son’s.
This grief threw a pall over the proceedings and made them feel awkward. Every face had a look of egotistical self-satisfaction. These people were embarrassed, none of them having in their minds the slightest living memory of Camille.
‘Come, come, dear lady,’ Michaud exclaimed, with a hint of impatience. ‘You mustn’t give way to it like that. You’ll make yourself ill.’
‘We’re all mortal,’ Grivet remarked.
‘Your tears will not bring back your son,’ said Olivier, sententiously.
‘Please,’ said Suzanne, ‘don’t upset all of us.’
And since Mme Raquin was sobbing all the more, unable to hold back her tears, Michaud continued:
‘Now, then, come on, be brave. You must realize that we’ve come here to take your mind off it. So, darn it all, let’s not be miserable; let’s try to forget ... We’ll play for two sous a game. There! What do you say?’
With a supreme effort, the haberdasher swallowed her tears. Perhaps she was aware of the fatuous egotism of her guests. She wiped her eyes, still very upset. The dominoes shook in her poor hands and she could not see through the tears that remained just behind her eyelids.
They played.
Laurent and Thérèse had watched this brief scene with a serious and impassive air. The young man was delighted to see their Thursday evenings revived. He eagerly wanted them to take place, knowing that he would need these meetings