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CHAPTER VIII

DEATH

On the way home Thérèse aired her indignation.

She had taken the fellow out to lunch and in return he had been impertinent. She didn't want anything of him, did she? She'd no need to run after every man she saw. A married woman like her. She wasn't a servant girl to pick up just anyone.

At the restaurant first of all he took the menu and asked, what should he order for us. Like a fool, she said: 'Oh, but I'm going to pay.' The things he ordered ! Now, she'd have been ashamed before all the people. He swore he was a better-class gentleman. Never had he dreamed he'd have to be a poor employee. She comforted him. Then he said, yes, on the other hand he was always lucky with women, but what did he get out ofthat? He needed capital, not very much, but still capital, for every man likes to be his own master. But women have no capital, only savings, wretched little savings; you can't start a business with trifles like that, some people might try, but not him, he was after the lot, no chicken feed for him.

Before he begins on his second cutlet he's taking her hand and saying: 'This is the hand which will make my fortune.'

Then he tickles her. He could tickle beautifully. Nobody ever called her his little fortune before. And does she want to take shares in his business?

But where has the money come from all of a sudden?

Then he laughs and says: my sweetheart will give me the money.

She feels the blood rush to her head with rage. What does he want a sweetheart for when she's there, she's human too.

How old is your sweetheart? she asks.

Thirty, he says.

Is she pretty, she asks.

Pretty as a picture, says he.

Then she asks, couldn t she see a photo of her.

At your service, this very moment if you please. And all at once he sticks his finger into her mouth, such a handsome thick finger as he has too, and says: 'Here she is!'

When she doesn't answer, he chucks her under the chin, such a very forward young man — what can he be up to under the table with his foot, squeezing close up to her, who ever heard of such a thing — stares hard at her mouth and says: he's all on fire with love, if he could only sample those magnificent hips? She can rely on him. He understands business inside out. She'll miss nothing with him.

Then she tells him straight, she puts truth above everything. She must frankly confess. She is a woman without any capital at all. Her husband married her for love. She was a simple employee like him. She doesn't mind admitting it to him. As for the sampling, well, she must see how she can fix things for him. She wouldn t mind trying. Women are like that. She's not like that as a rule, but she can make an exception. He needn't think she takes him because she must. In the street all the men stare at her. She's looking forward to it already. Her husband goes to bed on the stroke of twelve. He falls asleep at once, he's methodical like that. She has a room to herself, a room where the housekeeper used to sleep. There isn't a housekeeper any more. She can't bear her husband in the same room, she must have her night's rest. He's always taking liberties. And he isn't even a man. So she sleeps by herself where the housekeeper used to sleep. At twelve-fifteen she'll come downstairs with the front door key and open to him. He needn't worry. The caretaker sleeps heavily. He's so tired after his day's work. She sleeps all by herself. As for the bedroom suite, she was only buying that to make the flat look like something. She's plenty of time. She can arrange for him to come every night. A woman must get something out of life while she can. Before you know where you are you're forty and that's the end of the lovely time.

Good, he says, he'll dismiss his harem. When he's really in love, there's nothing he won't do for a woman. She ought to repay it as it's only right and fair, and ask her husband for the money. He'd take it from her — he wouldn't take it from any other woman — because to-night he's expecting the bliss of utter happiness, one night of love.

She puts truth above all, she'd like to remind him, and must inform him at once: her husband is stingy and grudges every penny. Never lets a thing out of his hands, not even a book. If she had money, now, she'd invest it at once in his business. Anyone would trust him on his word alone, anyone would have confidence in a man like him. Let him come along to-night. She's looking forward to it already. In her time there used to be a very good saying, it went: Time will tell. We all have to die some day. Such is life. Come round every night at twelve-fifteen and all of a sudden the money will be there. She didn't marry the old man for love. But a girl has got to think of her future.

Then under the table he moves away one of his feet and says: It's all very well, my good woman, but how old is your husband?

Past forty, she's sure of that.

Then he moves the second foot away under the table, gets up and says: 'Allow me, madam, this is beyond endurance.'

Please go on eating, she tells him. She can do nothing about it, but her husband looks like a skeleton and certainly isn't strong. Every morning when she gets up she thinks: To-day he'll be dead. But when she comes in with the breakfast, he's still alive. Her mother, God rest her, was just the same. Ill at thirty and not dead till she was seventy-four. And then she died of hunger. No one would have believed it, the dirty old hag.

At this the superior young man lays down his knife and fork for the second time and says: He can eat no more, he is afraid.

At first he wouldn't say why, then, when he did open his mouth he said: How easily a man can be poisoned! Here we two sit happily together savouring the sweetness of the coming night over our little dinner. The proprietor — or a waiter — out of sheer envy sprinkles a secret powder on our food and behold us both in the cold grave. There's an end of the love dream, before we've got into the very centre of bliss. But still he doesn't think they're going to do it; it's always found out in a public place. If he were a married man, he would live in terror, A woman stops at nothing. He knows women better than he knows himself, inside and outside, not only hips and legs, although those are the best in a woman if you understand a thing about it. Women are reliable. First they wait until the will is signed and sealed, then they make away with the husband and join hands in wedlock with the faithful lover across the fresh corpse. Naturally the lover keeps to his bargain and nothing ever comes out.

She had her answer ready at once. She wouldn't do it. A respectable woman like her. Sometimes things do come out, and then you go to gaol. A respectable woman doesn t go to gaol. Things would be much better, if you didn't have to go to gaol at once. The least little thing gets about and round come the police and you go to gaol in a minute. They don't care whether a woman can bear it. They poke their noses into every mortal thing. What business is it of theirs now a wife gets on with her husband ? A wife has to put up with everything. A wife isn't human. And her man's no use for anything. Is it a man? It's no man at all. Nobody'll miss such a man. The best thing would be if her friend took an axe and hit him on the head in his sleep. But he locks his door every night because he's afraid. Her friend must think out how to do it himself. He says, nothing will come out. She won't do such a thing. A respectable woman like her.

At this the young man interrupts her. She mustn't shout so loud. He deeply regrets this unfortunate misunderstanding. Does she mean to say that he wants her to commit murder by poisoning? He's a kind-hearted soul and he wouldn't hurt a fly. That's why all the women want to eat him up.

'They know a good thing when they see it!' she says.

'So do I,' says he. All at once he gets up, takes her coat off the stand and pretends she's cold. Really he only does it to press a kiss on her neck. The man's got lips like his voice. And what does he say as he docs it: 'I like kissing a beautiful neck — think the matter over.'

When he sits down again he starts laughing: 'That's the way to do it! How did it taste? We shall have to pay now!'

Then she pays for both. Why was she such a fool? Everything has been lovely. But out in the street the trouble begins. First of all he says nothing for a long time. She doesn't know what to answer to that. When they get to the furniture shop, he asks:

'Yes or no?'

'Yes, if you don't mind! On the stroke of 12.15.'

'I meant the capital!' he says.

Quite innocently she makes him a pretty answer: 'Time will tell!'

Then they both go into the shop. He disappears at the back. The chief suddenly pops out and says:

'I trust you enjoyed your lunch. The bedroom suite will be delivered to-morrow morning. Or have you any other directions?'

'No!' she says, 'I'd just as soon pay for it now.'

He takes the money and gives her the receipt. Then out comes the superior young man and says to her face, quite loud, in front of everyone:

'You'll have to choose another gentleman for the post of boy friend, dear lady. I have offers from younger ladies than you. And prettier, oh very much prettier too, dear lady !'

Then she ran out of the shop, banged the door and in the open street in front of all the people, began to cry.

She didn't want anything of him, did she? She paid for his lunch and then he was impertinent. A married woman like her. There was no need for her to run after every man she saw. She wasn't a servant 
girl to pick up just anyone. She could have ten at every finger end. In the streets all the men stared at her. Whose fault was it anyway? It was all her husband's fault! She had to go running around buying furniture for him. And what did she get in return? Nothing but insults. He might at least do his own dirty work. He was no use for anything. It was his flat after all. It couldn't be all the same to him what sort of furniture he'd got among his books. The patience of a saint, she had. That kind of man thinks he can simply trample on you. First you do every mortal thing for him, and then he leaves you to be insulted in front of all the people. Suppose it happened to the superior young man's wife! But then he hasn't a wife. Why hasn't he a wife? Because he's a real man. A real man has no wife. A real man doesn't marry until he has something to show for it. That old stick at home has nothing to show at all ! What has he got to show for himself? Nothing but skin and bone! People would take him for dead already. What's a thing like that got to go on living for? But it does go on living. A creature like that is no good for anything. Simply taking other people's beautiful money.

She entered the house. The caretaker appeared on the threshold of his little room and bellowed:

'They're up to something to-day, Mrs. Professor.'

'We shall see!' she replied and contemptuously turned her back on him.

On the top floor she unlocked the door of the flat. Not a soul was moving. In the hall the furniture was all piled up anyhow. Noiselessly she opened the door to the dining-room. Then she started back in horror. The walls suddenly looked quite different. They used to be brown, now they are white. They'd been up to something. What had they beçn up to? In the next room the same change. In the third, the one she had planned to turn into a bedroom, a light dawned on her. Her husband had turned all the books round!

Books belong with their faces to the wall so you can get a hold on their spines. That's how it has to be for dusting. How are you to take them out if not? Well, he can have it his own way. She was sick and tired of all this dusting. For dusting, people keep a char. He's got money and to spare. On furniture he simply throws money away. He'd do far better to save a little. The lady of the house has a heart too.

She began to look for him, to hurl this heart at his head. She found him in his study. He lay, stretched out full length on the floor, the ladder on top of him, overlapping his head by a tew inches. The beautiful carpet underneath him was soiled with bloodstains.

Bloodstains are very difficult to clean off. What would be the best thing to try? He never thinks for a moment of all the work he makes! He must have rushed up the ladder in too much of a hurry and fallen off the top. Just as she said, he's not at all strong. If the superior young man could see this now. Not that she was gloating over it at all, she wasn't like that. Is this a way to die, now? The creature almost makes her sorry for him. She wouldn't care at all to climb up a ladder and fall off it dead. Who ever heard of such a thing, not looking what you're doing? Everyone to his taste. Eight years and more she d been up and down that ladder every day, flicking off the dust, and had anything like that happened to her? A respectable person holds on tight. Why was he such a fool? Now all the books belonged tpjier. In this room only half of them had been turned round. They were worth a fortune, so he always said. He ought to know what he was talking about, he bought them. She wouldn't lay a finger on the corpse. She might hurt herself struggling with that heavy ladder and the next thing you know you're in hot water with the police. She'd better leave it all just as it was. Not on account of the blood. She wasn't afraid of blood. It wasn't real blood, anyway. How would a man like that have real blood? Good enough to make stains with and that's about all. A pity about the carpet. All the same, it all belonged to her now; the beautiful flat was worth something too. She'd sell the books at once. Who'd have thought of such a thing yesterday? But that's die way things happen. First of all you take liberties with your wife and next thing you're dead. She always knew it would come to no good, but it wasn't for her to say so. A man like that thinks there's no one else in the world. Going to bed at midnight and never leaving his wife a moment's peace, who ever heard of such things? A respectable person goes to bed at nine and leaves his wife alone.

Taking pity on the disorder which reigned on the writing desk, Thérèse glided up to it. She switched on the table-lamp and searched about among the papers for a will. She took it for granted that before he fell down he would have put it out ready. She didn't doubt that she would be his only heir, for she had never heard of any other relations. But among all the scholarly notes which she read through from top to bottom, there was no mention of money. Sheets covered with writing in strange characters she laid conscientiously on one side. They must be specially valuable and could be sold. Once at table he had said to her that the things he wrote were worth their weight in gold, but he did not write for the sake of gold.