original short stories-13-第12节

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remaining　alone　in　the　house。

He　asked：

〃Any　one　might　think　that　you　had　made　a　bet　to　get　me　drunk　every　night。
Say；　what　good　is　it　doing　you；　since　it's　always　you　that's　treating？〃

Nevertheless　he　was　smiling　at　the　idea　of　all　this　brandy　drunk　at　the
expense　of　another。　　He　was　smiling　the　contented　smirk　of　an　avaricious
Norman。

Mathurin；　his　friend；　kept　pulling　him　by　the　sleeve。

〃Come　on；　Jeremie。　　This　isn't　the　kind　of　a　night　to　go　home　without
anything　to　warm　you　up。　　What　are　you　afraid　of？　　Isn't　your　wife　going
to　warm　your　bed　for　you？〃

Jeremie　answered：

〃The　other　night　I　couldn't　find　the　doorI　had　to　be　fished　out　of　the
ditch　in　front　of　the　house！〃

He　was　still　laughing　at　this　drunkard's　recollection；　and　he　was
unconsciously　going　toward　Paumelle's　Cafe；　where　a　light　was　shining　in
the　window；　he　was　going；　pulled　by　Mathurin　and　pushed　by　the　wind；
unable　to　resist　these　combined　forces。

The　low　room　was　full　of　sailors；　smoke　and　noise。　　All　these　men；　clad
in　woolens；　their　elbows　on　the　tables；　were　shouting　to　make　themselves
heard。　　The　more　people　came　in；　the　more　one　had　to　shout　in　order　to
overcome　the　noise　of　voices　and　the　rattling　of　dominoes　on　the　marble
tables。

Jeremie　and　Mathurin　sat　down　in　a　corner　and　began　a　game；　and　the
glasses　were　emptied　in　rapid　succession　into　their　thirsty　throats。

Then　they　played　more　games　and　drank　more　glasses。　　Mathurin　kept
pouring　and　winking　to　the　saloon　keeper；　a　big；　red…faced　man；　who
chuckled　as　though　at　the　thought　of　some　fine　joke；　and　Jeremie　kept
absorbing　alcohol　and　wagging　his　head；　giving　vent　to　a　roar　of　laughter
and　looking　at　his　comrade　with　a　stupid　and　contented　expression。

All　the　customers　were　going　away。　　Every　time　that　one　of　them　would
open　the　door　to　leave　a　gust　of　wind　would　blow　into　the　cafe；　making
the　tobacco　smoke　swirl　around；　swinging　the　lamps　at　the　end　of　their
chains　and　making　their　flames　flicker；　and　suddenly　one　could　hear　the
deep　booming　of　a　breaking　wave　and　the　moaning　of　the　wind。

Jeremie；　his　collar　unbuttoned；　was　taking　drunkard's　poses；　one　leg
outstretched；　one　arm　hanging　down　and　in　the　other　hand　holding　a
domino。

They　were　alone　now　with　the　owner；　who　had　come　up　to　them；　interested。

He　asked：

〃Well；　Jeremie；　how　goes　it　inside？　　Feel　less　thirsty　after　wetting　your
throat？〃

Jeremie　muttered：

〃The　more　I　wet　it；　the　drier　it　gets　inside。〃

The　innkeeper　cast　a　sly　glance　at　Mathurin。　　He　said：

〃And　your　brother；　Mathurin；　where's　he　now？〃

The　sailor　laughed　silently：

〃Don't　worry；　he's　warm；　all　right。〃

And　both　of　them　looked　toward　Jeremie；　who　was　triumphantly　putting　down
the　double　six　and　announcing：

〃Game！〃

Then　the　owner　declared：

〃Well；　boys；　I'm　goin'　to　bed。　　I　will　leave　you　the　lamp　and　the　bottle；
there's　twenty　cents'　worth　in　it。　　Lock　the　door　when　you　go；　Mathurin；
and　slip　the　key　under　the　mat　the　way　you　did　the　other　night。〃

Mathurin　answered：

〃Don't　worry；　it'll　be　all　right。〃

Paumelle　shook　hands　with　his　two　customers　and　slowly　went　up　the　wooden
stairs。　　For　several　minutes　his　heavy　step　echoed　through　the　little
house。　　Then　a　loud　creaking　announced　that　he　had　got　into　bed。

The　two　men　continued　to　play。　　From　time　to　time　a　more　violent　gust　of
wind　would　shake　the　whole　house；　and　the　two　drinkers　would　look　up；　as
though　some　one　were　about　to　enter。　　Then　Mathurin　would　take　the　bottle
and　fill　Jeremie's　glass。　　But　suddenly　the　clock　over　the　bar　struck
twelve。　　Its　hoarse　clang　sounded　like　the　rattling　of　saucepans。　　Then
Mathurin　got　up　like　a　sailor　whose　watch　is　over。

〃Come　on；　Jeremie；　we've　got　to　get　out。〃

The　other　man　rose　to　his　feet　with　difficulty；　got　his　balance　by
leaning　on　the　table；　reached　the　door　and　opened　it　while　his　companion
was　putting　out　the　light。

As　soon　as　they　were　in　the　street　Mathurin　locked　the　door　and　then
said：

〃Well；　so　long。　　See　you　to…morrow　night！〃

And　he　disappeared　in　the　darkness。

Jeremie　took　a　few　steps；　staggered；　stretched　out　his　hands；　met　a　wall
which　supported　him　and　began　to　stumble　along。　　From　time　to　time　a　gust
of　wind　would　sweep　through　the　street；　pushing　him　forward；　making　him
run　for　a　few　steps；　then；　when　the　wind　would　die　down；　he　would　stop
short；　having　lost　his　impetus；　and　once　more　he　would　begin　to　stagger
on　his　unsteady　drunkard's　legs。

He　went　instinctively　toward　his　home；　just　as　birds　go　to　their　nests。
Finally　he　recognized　his　door；　and　began　to　feel　about　for　the　keyhole
and　tried　to　put　the　key　in　it。　　Not　finding　the　hole；　he　began　to　swear。
Then　he　began　to　beat　on　the　door　with　his　fists；　calling　for　his　wife　to
come　and　help　him：

〃Melina！　　Oh；　Melina！〃

As　he　leaned　against　the　door　for　support；　it　gave　way　and　opened；　and
Jeremie；　losing　his　prop；　fell　inside；　rolling　on　his　face　into　the
middle　of　his　room；　and　he　felt　something　heavy　pass　over　him　and　escape
in　the　night。

He　was　no　longer　moving；　dazed　by　fright；　bewildered；　fearing　the　devil；
ghosts；　all　the　mysterious　beings　of　darkness；　and　he　waited　a　long　time
without　daring　to　move。　　But　when　he　found　out　that　nothing　else　was
moving；　a　little　reason　returned　to　him；　the　reason　of　a　drunkard。

Gently　he　sat　up。　　Again　he　waited　a　long　time；　and　at　last；　growing
bolder；　he　called：

〃Melina！〃

His　wife　did　not　answer。

Then；　suddenly；　a　suspicion　crossed　his　darkened　mind；　an　indistinct；
vague　suspicion。　　He　was　not　moving；　he　was　sitting　there　in　the　dark；
trying　to　gather　together　his　scattered　wits；　his　mind　stumbling　over
incomplete　ideas；　just　as　his　feet　stumbled　along。

Once　more　he　asked：

〃Who　was　it；　Melina？　　Tell　me　who　it　was。　　I　won't　hurt　you！〃

He　waited；　no　voice　was　raised　in　the　darkness。　　He　was　now　reasoning
with　himself　out　loud。

〃I'm　drunk；　all　right！　　I'm　drunk！　　And　he　filled　me　up；　the　dog；　he　did
it；　to　stop　my　goin'　home。　　I'm　drunk！〃

And　he　would　continue：

〃Tell　me　who　it　was；　Melina；　or　somethin'll　happen　to　you。〃

After　having　waited　again；　he　went　on　with　the　slow　and　obstinate　logic
of　a　drunkard：

〃He's　been　keeping　me　at　that　loafer　Paumelle's　place　every　night；　so　as
to　stop　my　going　home。　　It's　some　trick。　　Oh；　you　damned　carrion！〃

Slowly　he　got　on　his　knees。　　A　blind　fury　was　gaining　possession　of　him；
mingling　with　the　fumes　of　alcohol。

He　continued：

〃Tell　me　who　it　was；　Melina；　or　you'll　get　a　lickingI　warn　you！〃

He　was　now　standing；　trembling　with　a　wild　fury；　as　though　the　alcohol
had　set　his　blood　on　fire。　　He　took　a　step；　knocked　against　a　chair；
seized　it；　went　on；　reached　the　bed；　ran　his　hands　over　it　and　felt　the
warm　body　of　his　wife。

Then；　maddened；　he　roared：

〃So！　　You　were　there；　you　piece　of　dirt；　and　you　wouldn't　answer！〃

And；　lifting　the　chair；　which　he　was　holding　in　his　strong　sailor's　grip；
he　swung　it　down　before　him　with　an　exasperated　fury。　　A　cry　burst　from
the　bed；　an　agonizing；　piercing　cry。　　Then　he　began　to　thrash　around　like
a　thresher　in　a　barn。　　And　soon　nothing　more　moved。　　The　chair　was　broken
to　pieces；　but　he　still　held　one　leg　and　beat　away　with　it；　panting。

At　last　he　stopped　to　ask：

〃Well；　are　you　ready　to　tell　me　who　it　was？〃

Melina　did　not　answer。

Then　tired　out；　stupefied　from　his　exertion；　he　stretched　himself　out　on
the　ground　and　slept。

When　day　came　a　neighbor；　seeing　the　door　open；　entered。　　He　saw　Jeremie
snoring　on　the　floor；　amid　the　broken　pieces　of　a　chair；　and　on　the　bed　a
pulp　of　flesh　and　blood。






THE　WARDROBE

As　we　sat　chatting　after　dinner；　a　party　of　men；　the　conversation　turned
on　women；　for　lack　of　something　else。

One　of　us　said：

〃Here's　a　funny　thing　that　happened　to　me　on；　that　very　subject。〃　　And　he
told　us　the　following　story：

One　evening　last　winter　I　suddenly　felt　overcome　by　that　overpowering
sense　of　misery　and　languor　that　takes　possession　of　one　from　time　to
time。　　I　was　in　my　own　apartment；　all　alone；　and　I　was　convinced　that　if
I　gave　in　to　my　feelings　I　should　have　a　terrible　attack　of　melancholia；
one　of　those　attacks　that　lead　to　suicide　when　they　recur　too　often。

I　put　on　my　overcoat　and　went　out　without　the　slightest　idea　of　what　I
was　going　to　do。　　Having　gone　as　far　as　the　boulevards；　I　began　to　wander
along　by　the　almost　empty　cafes。　　It　was　raining；　a　fine　rain　that
affects　your　mind　as　it　does　your　clothing；　not　one　of　those　good
downpours　which　come　down　in　torrents；　driving　breathless　passers…by　into
doorways；　but　a　rain　without　drops　that　deposits　on　your　clothing　an
imperceptible　spray　and　soon　covers　you　with　a　sort　of　iced　foam　that
chills　you　through。

What　should　I　do？　　I　walked　in　one　direction　and　then　came　back；　looking
for　some　place　where　I　could　spend　two　hours；　and　discovering　for　the
first　time　that　there　is　no　place　of　amusement　in　Paris　in　the　evening。
At　last　I　decided　to　go　to　the　Folies…Bergere；　that　entertaining　resort
for　gay　women。

There　were　very　few　people　in　the　main　hall。　　In　the　long　horseshoe　curve
there　were　only　a　few　ordinary　looking　people；　whose　plebeian　origin