The Beast Within (30 page)

‘Well, madame ...’ he began.

He paused in order to savour her anxiety for a second or two more. But she looked at him so earnestly, so beseechingly, so desperately anxious to know, that he took pity on her.

‘Well, madame, I have spoken to the General Manager and have arranged for your husband to keep his job at Le Havre. Everything has been settled.’

She felt a wave of joy surge through her and she almost fainted. Her eyes filled with tears, and she was unable to speak. She stood there smiling.

‘Everything has been settled,’ Monsieur Camy-Lamotte repeated, deliberately emphasizing his words in order to make sure she understood exactly what he meant. ‘You may return to Le Havre with your mind at rest.’

Séverine had understood his meaning perfectly; he was telling her that they would not be arrested, that they were pardoned. He wasn’t simply talking about her husband keeping his job, he was telling her that the whole dreadful business was forgotten, dead and buried. With an instinctive gesture of gratitude, like a contented cat that rubs itself round its owner’s legs, she put her face to his hands, kissed them and held them to her cheeks. He allowed his hands to rest in hers; he felt quite touched by such a charming and tender display of feeling.

‘I don’t need to remind you that you have both been very lucky,’ he continued, attempting to resume an air of formality. ‘You must ensure that in future you give us no further cause for complaint.’

‘Of course, monsieur,’ she replied.

He wanted her to know that he still held them both at his mercy and that the letter remained in his possession.

‘Remember that everything is on file,’ he emphasized. ‘If either of you puts a foot wrong, the whole case can be reopened ... In particular I suggest that you advise your husband to stop meddling in politics. If there were any further trouble on that front we would be quite ruthless. I know that he has had to be warned about it once before; I was told he had an unfortunate argument with the Sub-Prefect. It is also no secret that he has republican sympathies, which is appalling ... Either he behaves himself or we get rid of him; it is as simple as that. Do I make myself clear?’

She was on her feet and eager to be outside, hardly able to contain the sheer joy that was almost choking her.

‘Monsieur, we shall do as you say; we shall do as you please ... No matter when, no matter where, you have only to say the word and I am yours.’

A weary smile played on his lips, a smile of faint contempt, the smile of a man who had drunk long and deep at the fount of human depravity.

‘I shall not take advantage, madame,’ he assured her. ‘That is not my way.’

He went over to the door and opened it for her. As she walked down the landing she turned twice to look at him, her face radiant with gratitude.

Outside in the Rue du Rocher, Séverine was beside herself with excitement. Realizing that she was walking up the street in the wrong direction, she walked back down it, crossed the road for no reason and was nearly run over. She needed to be on the move, to wave her arms about, to shout out loud. The reason why they had been let off was beginning to dawn on her.

‘Why, of course,’ she said to herself, ‘it’s they who are frightened. They’re not going to give us any trouble; it’s too risky. What a fool I’ve been to get so worked up about it! It’s so obvious ... This is my lucky day! I’m saved! It’s all over! When I get back I’ll give my husband the fright of his life. He won’t dare open his mouth for weeks ... I’m saved! Thank heavens! I’m saved!’

As she came out into the Rue Saint-Lazare she saw a clock in a jeweller’s shop window which said twenty to six.

‘There’s plenty of time before the train leaves,’ she said to herself. ‘I’m going to buy myself a nice meal.’

Outside the station she chose the most expensive-looking restaurant. She installed herself at a table for one with a spotless white tablecloth in front of the plate glass window and sat watching the activity on the street outside. She ordered herself a choice meal of oysters, fillet of sole and roast wing of chicken. At least it made up for her dreadful lunch. She ate with relish. The
pain de gruau
was exquisite, and to finish she treated herself to a plate of
beignets soufflés.
⁵
By the time she had drunk her coffee she had only a few minutes left to catch the train. She quickly made her way towards the station.

Upon leaving her, Jacques had returned to his room to change into his working clothes and had then gone back to the engine shed. Normally he arrived there only half an hour before his locomotive was due to leave. He had come to rely on his fireman, Pecqueux, to get the engine ready, even though he was more often than not drunk. Today, however, perhaps because of the emotional state he was in, he felt he needed to check for himself that everything was in proper working order, particularly as on the way down from Le Havre he had sensed that the engine was not working as efficiently as it should have been.

Inside the vast engine shed, black with soot and lit by grimy windows high up in the roof, Jacques’s locomotive, surrounded by other engines standing idle near by, was waiting near the entrance ready to leave. One of the shed firemen had just finished stoking the firebox; red-hot cinders dropped from beneath the engine into the ash-pit below. The engine was a four-coupled express locomotive of imposing yet delicate beauty. Its finely wrought driving wheels were linked by steel coupling-rods. It was a broad-chested, long-limbed, powerful machine,
⁶
yet possessed all the logic and mechanical certainty which constitutes the sovereign beauty of these creatures of shining steel. Precision coupled with strength! Along with the Western Railway Company’s other locomotives, it carried both a number and a name, the name of one of the Company’s stations, Lison, a town in the Cotentin. Jacques affectionately referred to his engine as
La Lison,
as if it were a woman, because he was so attached to it.

It was true: he had been driving this locomotive for four years and he had fallen in love with it. He had driven many other locomotives. Some were easy to handle and some were awkward, some worked hard and some were useless. He had come to realize that they all had their own individual characters and that many of them, as might be said of many women, left much to be desired. The fact that he loved
La Lison
was a sure sign that it possessed all the best qualities he could ever hope to find in a woman. It was gentle and responsive. Thanks to its excellent steaming capacity, it was easy to handle, steady and reliable. When it pulled out of a station so effortlessly, some said it was simply because its wheel tyres gave it a good grip on the rails or because the slide valves had been so finely adjusted. Similarly, they attributed the fact that it steamed so well on so little coal to the quality of the copper in the boiler tubes and the carefully calculated dimensions of the boiler. But Jacques knew that there was more to it than this, because other locomotives of identical construction, which had been assembled with just the same care and attention, displayed none of these qualities. It was something impossible to define, something special about the way it had been built, about the way the metal had been hammered into place or the fitter’s hand had lined up the various parts: the locomotive had a personality, a life of its own.

So Jacques loved
La Lison;
she responded so willingly to his command. He felt grateful to her as a man might feel grateful to a mettlesome horse that always does as it is bidden. He loved it too because, as well as providing him with his regular wage, it also enabled him to earn a little extra money in fuel payments; in fact it steamed so well that it saved him a great deal on coal. Jacques had only one criticism, which was that it needed too much oiling. The cylinders especially consumed inordinate quantities of oil; they were insatiable. He had tried to reduce it, but the locomotive had quickly run short of breath; it needed oil, it was simply part of its character. Jacques had eventually decided that he would just have to put up with it, as one has to put up with the shortcomings of someone who is in other respects a paragon of virtue. He used to joke about it with his fireman, saying that
La Lison
was like a beautiful woman; she needed to be kept well lubricated.

As the fire got hotter and
La Lison
began to build up pressure, Jacques walked around it examining every moving part and trying to find out why it had consumed more oil than usual that morning. He could find nothing wrong. The locomotive was clean and shiny, sparkling in fact, a clear indication that it was well looked after by its driver. He was always to be seen wiping it down and polishing it. When it had just arrived after a journey he made a point of rubbing it vigorously all over, as one rubs down a horse that is sweating after a long gallop; he found that it was easier to clean off stains and splashes when the engine was warm. He never drove it too hard, trying to maintain steady progress and not get behind time, which would have required sudden, extravagant bursts of speed. He had such a good relationship with his locomotive that never once in four years had he had to enter a fault on the shed register, where drivers listed items that needed repair. Poor drivers, because they were either lazy or drunk, were always complaining about their engines. Today, however, Jacques was seriously concerned about it using such huge amounts of oil. There was something else, too; he couldn’t pin it down but he sensed it very strongly, something he had never felt before, a sort of anxiety or wariness, as if the locomotive couldn’t be altogether trusted, and he needed to make sure that it wasn’t going to let him down on the journey.

Pecqueux was nowhere to be seen. When he eventually turned up, his speech slurred after a meal with one of his mates, Jacques lost his temper. Normally the two men got on very well together, having worked side by side for many years, travelling from one end of the line to the other, flung together on the footplate, silently going about their work, united in a common task, braving the same dangers. Although he was more than ten years younger than Pecqueux, Jacques took a fatherly interest in his fireman, making allowances for his failings and letting him take an hour’s nap when he had had too much to drink. Pecqueux returned these favours with a dog-like devotion to his driver; he was a first-rate workman and despite his heavy drinking he was highly skilled at his job. What was more, he too was very attached to
La Lison,
which made for a good understanding between them. The two of them and the locomotive made a happy threesome, and there were hardly ever any arguments. So Pecqueux was taken aback to receive such a rough welcome and even more surprised to hear Jacques muttering doubts about the engine.

‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘She goes like a dream.’

‘No,’ said Jacques, ‘there’s something not right.’

Even though everything appeared to be working as it should, he continued to shake his head. He tested the controls and checked that the safety-valve was working properly. He climbed up on to the running-plate and filled the cylinder lubricators. Pecqueux cleaned the dome, where there remained a few slight traces of rust. The sand boxes
⁷
were working normally. There should have been no cause for concern. The real trouble was that
La Lison
was no longer the only pull on Jacques’s heart strings; another love had implanted itself - a slim, fragile little creature, whom he still saw sitting beside him on the park bench, pleading to be helped, so in need of love and protection. Never before, even when some unforeseen incident had made him lose time and he had driven the locomotive at speeds of eighty kilometres an hour, had it occurred to him that he might be putting his passengers at risk. But now, the mere thought of driving back to Le Havre with Séverine on the train worried him. Only that morning he had wanted nothing to do with her; she had irritated him. Now he was frightened there might be an accident; he imagined her wounded because of him, and dying in his arms. On him depended the safety of the woman he loved.
La Lison
had better behave herself if she was to stay in his good books.

It struck six. Jacques and Pecqueux climbed up on to the little steel connecting plate between the engine and tender. At a nod from his driver, Pecqueux opened the cylinder drain cocks, and a cloud of white steam filled the dark engine shed. As the driver eased open the regulator,
La Lison
moved out of the shed and whistled to be given the road. Almost immediately it was given the all clear and ran into the Batignolles tunnel. At the Pont de l’Europe it had to wait; at the appointed time the signalman allowed it to back up to the 6.30 express, and two shunters ensured that it was firmly attached to the train.

The train was ready to leave; there were only five minutes left. Jacques leaned out, puzzled not to see Séverine amongst the crowd of passengers. He was sure she wouldn’t get on the train without first coming to see him. Eventually she appeared; she was late and almost running. She walked the whole length of the train, not stopping until she had reached the locomotive. Her face was flushed with excitement and she looked so happy.

She stood on tiptoe on her tiny feet, looking up at him and laughing.

‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Here I am.’

Jacques too began to laugh, happy to see her there.

‘Good,’ he said, ‘you made it.’

She raised herself higher so that she could speak to him more quietly.

‘My dear friend,’ she said, ‘I’m so happy, so very happy. This has been my lucky day. I’ve got everything I could have wished for.’

He knew exactly what she meant and he was very pleased for her. As she ran back to get on the train she turned round and added as a joke: ‘Hey! Make sure you don’t run us off the rails!’

‘Never fear!’ he called back jovially. ‘I’ll be very careful.’

The carriage doors were already being slammed to, and Séverine only just had time to get on board. The guard waved his flag, Jacques gave a short blast on the whistle and opened the regulator. The train pulled out of the station. It was just as it had been on that tragic evening in February, the same time of day, the same hustle and bustle on the platform, the same sounds, the same smoke from the engine. But this time it was still daylight, a pleasant sunny evening, soft and gentle. Séverine opened the carriage window and looked out.