Nobody's Boy by Hector Malot Chapter 19
DISASTER
Vitalis had to be buried the next day, and M. Acquin promised to take meto the funeral. But the next day I could not rise from my bed, for inthe night I was taken very ill. My chest seemed to burn like poor littlePretty-Heart's after he had spent the night in the tree. The doctor wascalled in. I had pneumonia. The doctor wanted me sent to the hospital,but the family would not hear of it. It was during this illness that Ilearned to appreciate Etiennette's goodness. She devoted herself tonursing me. How good and kind she was during that terrible sickness.When she was obliged to leave me to attend to her household duties, Lisetook her place, and many times in my delirium I saw little Lise sittingat the foot of my bed with her big eyes fixed on me anxiously. In mydelirium I thought that she was my guardian angel, and I would speak toher and tell her of all my hopes and desires. It was from this time thatI began to consider her as something ideal, as a different being fromthe other people I met. It seemed surprising that she could live in ourlife; in my boyish imagination I could picture her flying away with bigwhite wings to a more beautiful world.
I was ill for a very long time. At night, when I was almostsuffocating, I had to have some one to sit up with me; then Alexix andBenny would take turns. At last I was convalescent, and then it was Lisewho replaced Etiennette and walked with me down by the river. Of courseduring these walks she could not talk, but strange to say we had no needof words. We seemed to understand each other so well without talking.Then came the day when I was strong enough to work with the others inthe garden. I had been impatient to commence, for I wanted to dosomething for my kind friends who had done so much for me.
As I was still weak, the task that was given to me was in proportion tomy strength. Every morning after the frost had passed, I had to lift theglass frames and at night, before it got chilly, I had to close themagain. During the day I had to shade the wall flowers with strawcoverings to protect them from the sun. This was not difficult to do,but it took all my time, for I had several hundred glasses to move twice daily.
Days and months passed. I was very happy. Sometimes I thought that I wastoo happy, it could not last. M. Acquin was considered one of thecleverest florists round about Paris. After the wall flower season wasover other flowers replaced them.
For many weeks we had been working very hard, as the season promised tobe an especially good one. We had not even taken a rest on Sunday, butas all the flowers were now perfect and ready for the approachingseason, it was decided that, for a reward, we were all to go and havedinner on Sunday, August 5th, with one of M. Acquin's friends, who wasalso a florist. Capi was to be one of the party. We were to work untilfour o'clock, and when all was finished we were to lock the gates and goto Arcueil. Supper was for six o'clock. After supper we were to comehome at once, so as not to be late in getting to bed, as Monday morningwe had to be up bright and early, ready for work. A few minutes beforefour we were all ready.
"Come on, all of you," cried M. Acquin gayly. "I'm going to lock thegates."
"Come, Capi."
Taking Lise by the hand, I began to run with her; Capi jumped around us,barking. We were all dressed up in our best, and looking forward to agood dinner. Some people turned round to watch us as we passed. I don'tknow what I looked like, but Lise in her blue dress and white shoes wasthe prettiest little girl that one could see. Time passed quickly.
We were having dinner out of doors when, just as we had finished, one ofus remarked how dark it was getting. Clouds were gathering quickly in the sky.
"Children, we must go home," said M. Acquin, "there's going to be astorm."
"Go, already!" came the chorus.
"If the wind rises, all the glasses will be upset."
We all knew the value of those glass frames and what they mean to aflorist. It would be terrible for us if the wind broke ours.
"I'll hurry ahead with Benny and Alexix," the father said. "Remi cancome on with Etiennette and Lise."
They rushed off. Etiennette and I followed more slowly with Lise. No onelaughed now. The sky grew darker. The storm was coming quickly. Cloudsof dust swirled around us; we had to turn our backs and cover our eyeswith our hands, for the dust blinded us. There was a streak of lightningacross the sky, then came a heavy clap of thunder.
Etiennette and I had taken Lise by the hands; we were trying to drag heralong faster, but she could scarcely keep up with us. Would the father,Benny and Alexix get home before the storm broke? If they were only intime to close the glass cases so that the wind could not get under themand upset them! The thunder increased; the clouds were so heavy that itseemed almost night. Then suddenly there was a downpour of hail, thestones struck us in the face, and we had to race to take shelter under abig gateway.
In a minute the road was covered with white, like in winter. Thehailstones were as large as pigeon eggs; as they fell they made adeafening sound, and every now and again we could hear the crash ofbroken glass. With the hailstones, as they slid from the roofs to thestreet, fell all sorts of things, pieces of slate, chimney pots, tiles,etc.
"Oh, the glass frames!" cried Etiennette.
I had the same thought.
"Even if they get there before the hail, they will never have time tocover the glasses with straw. Everything will be ruined."
"They say that hail only falls in places," I said, trying to hope still.
"Oh, this is too near home for us to escape. If it falls on the gardenthe same as here, poor father will be ruined. And he counted so much onthose flowers, he needs the money so badly."
I had heard that the glass frames cost as much as 1800 francs a hundred,and I knew what a disaster it would be if the hail broke our five or sixhundred, without counting the plants and the conservatories. I wouldliked to have questioned Etiennette, but we could scarcely hear eachother speak, and she did not seem disposed to talk. She looked at thehail falling with a hopeless expression, like a person would look uponhis house burning.
The hurricane lasted but a short while; it stopped as suddenly as it hadcommenced. It lasted perhaps six minutes. The clouds swept over Parisand we were able to leave our shelter. The hailstones were thick on theground. Lise could not walk in them in her thin shoes, so I took her onmy back and carried her. Her pretty face, which was so bright when goingto the party, was now grief-stricken and the tears rolled down hercheeks.
Before long we reached the house. The big gates were open and we wentquickly into the garden. What a sight met our eyes! All the glass frameswere smashed to atoms. Flowers, pieces of glass and hailstones were allheaped together in our once beautiful garden. Everything was shattered!
Where was the father?
We searched for him. Last of all we found him in the big conservatory,of which every pane of glass was broken. He was seated on a wheelbarrowin the midst of the debris which covered the ground. Alexix and Benjaminstood beside him silently.
"My children, my poor little ones!" he cried, when we all were there.
He took Lise in his arms and began to sob. He said nothing more. Whatcould he have said? It was a terrible catastrophe, but the consequenceswere still more terrible. I soon learned this from Etiennette.
Ten years ago their father had bought the garden and had built the househimself. The man who had sold him the ground had also lent him the moneyto buy the necessary materials required by a florist. The amount waspayable in yearly payments for fifteen years. The man was only waitingfor an occasion when the florist would be late in payment to take backthe ground, house, material; keeping, of course, the ten-year paymentsthat he had already received.
This was a speculation on the man's part, for he had hoped that beforethe fifteen years expired there would come a day when the florist wouldbe unable to meet his notes. This day had come at last! Now what wasgoing to happen?
We were not left long in doubt. The day after the notes fell due--thissum which was to have been paid from the sale of his season's flowers--agentleman dressed all in black came to the house and handed us a stampedpaper. It was the process server. He came often; so many times that hesoon began to know us by name.
"How do you do, Mlle. Etiennette? Hello, Remi; hello, Alexix!"
And he handed us his stamped paper smilingly, as though we were friends.The father did not stay in the house. He was always out. He never toldus where he went. Probably he went to call on business men, or he mighthave been at court.
What would the result be? A part of the winter passed. As we were unableto repair the conservatories and renew the glass frames, we cultivatedvegetables and hardier flowers that did not demand shelter. They werenot very productive, but at least it was something, and it was work forus. One evening the father returned home more depressed than usual.
"Children," he said, "it is all over."
I was about to leave the room, for I felt that he had something seriousto say to his children. He signed to me to stop.
"You are one of the family, Remi," he said sadly, "and although you arenot very old, you know what trouble is. Children, I am going to leaveyou."
There was a cry on all sides.
Lise flung her arms round her father's neck. He held her very tight.
"Ah, it's hard to leave you, dear children," he said, "but the courtshave ordered me to pay, and as I have no money, everything here has tobe sold, and as that is not enough, I have to go to prison for fiveyears. As I am not able to pay with my money, I have to pay with myliberty."
We all began to cry.
"Yes, it's sad," he continued brokenly, "but a man can't do anythingagainst the law. My attorney says that it used to be worse than it is."
There was a tearful silence.
"This is what I have decided is the best thing to do," continued thefather. "Remi, who is the best scholar, will write to my sisterCatherine and explain the matter to her and ask her to come to us. AuntCatherine has plenty of common sense and she will be able to decide whatshould be done for the best."
It was the first time that I had written a letter, and this was a verypainful one, but we still had a ray of hope. We were very ignorantchildren and the fact that Aunt Catherine was coming, and that she waspractical, made us hope that everything could be made right. But she didnot come as soon as we had hoped. A few days later the father had justleft the house to call on one of his friends, when he met the policeface to face coming for him. He returned to the house with them; he wasvery pale; he had come to say good-by to his children.
"Don't be so downcast, man," said one of them who had come to take him;"to be in prison for debt is not so dreadful as you seem to think.You'll find some very good fellows there."
I went to fetch the two boys, who were in the garden. Little Lise wassobbing; one of the men stooped down and whispered something in her ear,but I did not hear what he said.
The parting was over very quickly. M. Acquin caught Lise up in his armsand kissed her again and again, then he put her down, but she clung tohis hand. Then he kissed Etiennette, Alexix and Benny and gave Lise intoher sister's care. I stood a little apart, but he came to me and kissedme affectionately, just like the others, and then they took him away. Weall stood in the middle of the kitchen crying; not one of us had a wordto say.
Aunt Catherine arrived an hour later. We were still crying bitterly. Fora country woman who had no education or money, the responsibility thathad fallen upon her was heavy. A family of destitute children, theeldest not yet sixteen, the youngest a dumb girl. Aunt Catherine hadbeen a nurse in a lawyer's family; she at once called upon this man toask his advice, and it was he who decided our fate. When she returnedfrom the lawyer's, she told us what had been arranged. Lise was to goand live with her. Alexix was to go to an uncle at Varses, Benny toanother uncle, who was a florist at Saint-Quentin, and Etiennette to anaunt who lived at the seashore.
I listened to these plans, waiting until they came to me. When AuntCatherine ceased speaking, and I had not been mentioned, I said, "Andme?..."
"Why, you don't belong to the family."
"I'll work for you."
"You're not one of the family."
"Ask Alexix and Benny if I can't work, and I like work."
"And soup, also, eh?"
"But he's one of the family; yes, aunt, he's one of the family," camefrom all sides.
Lise came forwards and clasped her hands before her aunt with anexpression that said more than words.
"Poor mite," said Aunt Catherine, "I know you'd like him to come andlive with us, but we can't always get what we want. You're my niece, andif my man makes a face when I take you home, all I've to tell him isthat you're a relation, and I'm going to have you with me. It will belike that with your other uncles and aunts. They will take a relation,but not strangers."
I felt there was nothing to say. What she said was only too true. I wasnot one of the family. I could claim nothing, ask nothing; that would bebegging. And yet I loved them all and they all loved me. Aunt Catherinesent us to bed, after telling us that we were to be parted the next day.
Scarcely had we got upstairs than they all crowded round me. Lise clungto me, crying. Then I knew, that in spite of their grief at parting fromone another, it was of me that they thought; they pitied me because Iwas alone. I felt, indeed, then that I was their brother. Suddenly anidea came to me.
"Listen," I said; "even if your aunts and uncles don't want me, I cansee that you consider me one of the family."
"Yes, yes," they all cried.
Lise, who could not speak, just squeezed my hand and looked up at mewith her big, beautiful eyes.
"Well, I'm a brother, and I'll prove it," I said stoutly.
"There's a job with Pernuit; shall I go over and speak to himto-morrow?" asked Etiennette.
"I don't want a job. If I take a job I shall have to stay in Paris, andI shan't see you again. I'm going to put on my sheepskin and take myharp, and go first to one place and then to another where you are allgoing to live. I shall see you all one after the other, and I'll carrythe news from one to the other, so you'll all be in touch. I haven'tforgotten my songs nor my dance music, and I'll get enough money tolive."
Every face beamed. I was glad they were so pleased with my idea. For along time we talked, then Etiennette made each one go to bed, but no oneslept much that night, I least of all. The next day at daybreak Lisetook me into the garden.
"You want to speak to me?" I asked.
She nodded her head.
"You are unhappy because we are going to be parted? You need not tellme; I can see it in your eyes, and I am unhappy, too."
She made a sign that it was something else she wanted to say.
"In fifteen days I shall be at Dreuzy, where you are going to live."
She shook her head.
"You don't want me to go to Dreuzy?"
In order for us to understand each other, I made more progress byquestioning. She replied either with a nod or a shake of the head. Shetold me that she wanted to see me at Dreuzy, but pointing her finger inthree directions, she made me understand that I must first go and seeher brothers and sister.
"You want me first to go to Varses, then Esnandes and thenSaint-Quentin?"
She smiled and nodded, pleased that I understood.
"Why?"
Then with her lips and hands, and above all with her eyes, she explainedto me why she wished this. She wanted me to go and see her sister andbrothers first, so that when I reached Dreuzy I could tell her news ofthem. They had to start at eight o'clock, and Aunt Catherine had ordereda cab to take them, first of all to the prison to say good-by to theirfather, and then each, with their baggage, to the different depots wherethey had to take their trains. At seven o'clock Etiennette, in her turn,took me in the garden.
"I want to give you a little keepsake, Remi," she said. "Take thislittle case; my godfather gave it to me. You'll find thread, needles andscissors in it; when you are tramping along the roads you'll need them,for I shan't be there to put a patch on your clothes, nor sew a buttonon. When you use my scissors, think of us all."
While Etiennette was speaking to me, Alexix loitered near; when she leftme to return to the house, he came up.
"Say, Remi," he began, "I've got two five franc pieces. Take one; I'llbe so pleased if you will."
Of the five of us, Alexix was the only one who cared very much formoney. We always made fun of his greed; he saved up sou by sou, countinghis hoard continually, he was always very proud when he had a brand newpiece. His offer touched me to the heart; I wanted to refuse, but heinsisted, and slipped a shiny silver piece into my hand. I knew that hisfriendship for me must be very strong if he were willing to share histreasure with me.
Benjamin, neither, had forgotten me; he also wanted to give me apresent. He gave me his knife, and in exchange he exacted a sou, becausehe said "a knife cuts friendship."
The time passed quickly. The moment had come for us to part. As the cabwas drawing up at the house, Lise again made a sign for me to follow herinto the garden.
"Lise!" called her aunt.
She made no reply, but ran quickly down the path. She stopped at a bigBengal rose tree and cut off a branch, then, turning to me, she dividedthe stalk in two; there was a rose on either side. The language of thelips is a small thing compared with the language of the eyes; how coldand empty are words compared with looks!
"Lise! Lise!" cried her aunt.
The baggage was already in the cab. I took down my harp and called toCapi. At the sight of my old suit, he jumped and barked with joy. Heloved his liberty on the high roads more than being closed up in thegarden. They all got into the cab. I lifted Lise onto her aunt's lap. Istood there half dazed, then the aunt gently pushed me away and closedthe door. They were off.
Through a mist I watched Lise as she leaned out of the window wavingher hand to me, then the cab sharply turned the corner of the street andall I could see was a cloud of dust.
Leaning on my harp, with Capi sprawling at my feet, I stayed therelooking absently down the street. A neighbor, who had been asked to lockup the house and keep the key, called to me:
"Are you going to stay there all day?"
"No, I'm off now."
"Where are you going?"
"Straight ahead."
"If you'd like to stay," he said, perhaps out of pity, "I'll keep you,but I can't pay you, because you're not very strong. Later I might giveyou something."
I thanked him, but said no.
"Well, as you like; I was only thinking for your own good. Good-by andgood luck!"
He went away. The cab had gone, the house was locked up.
I turned away from the home where I had lived for two years, and where Ihad hoped always to live. The sky was clear, the weather warm, verydifferent from the icy night when poor Vitalis and I had fallenexhausted by the wall.
So these two years had only been a halt. I must go on my way again. Butthe stay had done me good. It had given me strength and I had made dearfriends. I was not now alone in the world, and I had an object in life,to be useful and give pleasure to those I loved.