The Collected Stories of Colette (78 page)

“It was at that moment the rain, fast approaching through the scented darkness and the chirp of insects who thought summer had returned, suddenly burst down on us. A solid sheet of rain, like a ceiling collapsing on our heads, a crushing deluge of rain. I flung my waterproof cape over Louisette and she very deftly draped one half over my shoulders, but what stuff could have stood up to that drenching? The shower poured down in cascades below the bottom of the cape and soaked our feet. Louisette did not hesitate long, she ran, pulling me along with her. The diffused light of the hidden moon showed me we were passing the lions who guarded the non-existent gate, the rowan trees, the spring lashed by rain that fell dead straight: I felt paving stones under my feet and bent my head down to Louisette’s dripping ear to make myself heard in spite of the thunderous drumming of the raindrops: ‘Till tomorrow, darling. Get inside quick!’

“But she did not let go my hand and led me on. I was aware of treading on dry stones, the noise of the rain became less deafening, and I realized, from the denser darkness, that I had crossed a threshold, the threshold of Louisette’s ‘château.’

“The fitful, stormy light only came in faintly through the open door. Forced inside by the solid curtain of rain, I could breathe the smell of those country-house lobbies where there are old straw hats hanging up and they keep the galoshes and the first windfalls.

“‘I mustn’t make any light,’ Louisette whispered to me. ‘Give me your hand.’

“She pushed me, leaving the door wide open, toward one of those long, severely uncomfortable, cane-bottomed settees you find quite as often in Provence as in Breton country houses. A thin quilted mattress covers the seat without making it any less penitential. I remember you had one, in Brittany, around 1908. We sat down. Moving my hands cautiously over her, I made sure the rain had not soaked Louisette’s thin clothes. And if she was shivering, it was not with cold. But my spirit of aggression was severely checked by this unfamiliar haven and the total darkness.

“‘As soon as it’s raining less, you must go,’ whispered Louisette.

“Mentally, I replied that I should not need to be told twice. And I settled Louisette against me, very respectably, with her feet stretched out on the vacant part of the settee and her head on my shoulder. She slipped her arm under mine and we stayed perfectly still. Little by little I made out the size of the room, and some of its features. A staircase with wooden banisters ran down into it just behind us. A bunch of pale flowers gradually grew clearer on a fairly large table that I could touch with my outstretched hand. On my right, an unshuttered window slowly began to show blue. I kept my eyes and ears strained and my jaws clenched. Obviously, what made me uneasy reassured Louisette, for I could feel her warm and relaxed against my arm and as still as a little hare in the hollow of a furrow.

“‘I think it’s raining less,’ I whispered in her ear.

“Hardly had I spoken when the deluge redoubled and the darkness thickened about us. My dear, I simply cannot tell you how I longed to get away from that place. I had just made up my mind to escape and was already looking forward with positive pleasure to being forced to run, guided by the halo of my flashlight, to a safe shelter when I realized, from the limpness of her little torso, that Louisette had dozed off. I’ve told you how promptly she obeyed, as robust temperaments do, the impulses of hunger, sleep, and other physical cravings. I was on the point of waking her up, but it was such a new sensation to hold her asleep in my arms that I wanted to wait just a little longer. You can understand what it meant to be, or at least to fancy myself, watching over her protectively for the first time . . . And I closed
my
eyes too, to give myself a brief illusion that we were sleeping like two lovers. But I opened my eyes at the slightest creak and heaven knows there was nothing that
didn’t
creak in that barn of a place!

“A dim light shone down on us and I wanted to wake Louisette to tell her that the moon was out again and I must go. Then I realized that the light was coming neither from the open door nor from the window on the right. Far worse, the light began to move and lit up a landing higher up the staircase. There is a great difference between electric light and any other kind. It was the flame of a lamp, beyond all possibility of doubt, that was coming toward us, and the shadows of the banisters began to shift slowly around in the well of the staircase. I whispered urgently into the bush of damp hair that covered my shoulder: ‘Louisette! Someone’s coming!’ The little thing gave a terrible start, and I leaped to my feet to . . . Oh, yes, quite frankly, to escape, but she clutched me with the same strength that had knocked me over that day among the brambles. All I succeeded in doing was to produce a tremendous clatter of sofa legs and chair legs and all that sprang to my lips was the beginning of a blasphemous oath. The shadows of the banisters swung full circle onto the walls and I saw a woman appear, holding the lamp—quite a small woman, in a mauve dressing gown tightly girdled around the waist. Her resemblance to Louisette left me no doubt, no hope. Same frizzy hair, but already almost completely white, and faded features that one day would be Louisette’s. And the same eyes, but with a wide, magnificent gaze Louisette perhaps would never have, a gaze that was not upturned in anguish but that imperiously insisted on seeing everything, knowing everything. How interminable it seems, a moment like that, and how is it that boredom, yes, sheer boredom, a boredom that tempts one to yawn and chuck the whole thing, manages to intervene between the fractions of dramatic seconds? And that little idiot, clutching tight hold of me and refusing to let me go. With a violent shake, I tore my sleeve out of her fingers and stood up.

“I remember I said: ‘Madame, don’t be frightened . . .’

“And then, I found myself unable to go on. The little thing, still lying on the settee, was supporting herself on one arm like the
Dying Gladiator
. And with her other bent elbow, she flung back her hair. She did, poor girl, the only thing she could; she screamed for help: ‘Mamma!’

“And then she began to cry. The astonishing thing is that I was not in the least touched, because, in spite of all my exasperation with everything, myself included, I was spellbound by the principal character who had just made her stage entrance, the mother. She set down her oil lamp, turned to Louisette, and asked her: ‘So that’s the man, is it, my girl?’

“The little thing raised her face, showing her streaming eyes and a mouth open square, like a crying baby’s, and shrieked: ‘No, Mamma, no, Mamma!’

“‘Not so much noise, my girl,’ said the white-haired woman. ‘Because it definitely is that man who’s been leading you astray all this while. I’ve seen you, so it’s no good lying. I saw you with him in the copse, in among the bushes. As to
him
, I’m not sorry to see his face, no, not at all sorry.’

“She turned to me with a quick movement. The unshaded lamp shone straight in her eyes but she did not blink. I could not prevent myself from noticing the difference between the expression of her face and the words on which she had broken off. I thought I ought to emerge from my silence. You can’t imagine how immensely anxious one becomes, at such an unforeseen moment, about what is the proper thing to do or not to do. The decision I made was not the most fortunate one.

“‘Madame,’ I said, ‘in spite of appearances, which, I admit, are deplorable, I can assure you I have not behaved toward . . . toward Mademoiselle Louisette in a way that could . . .’

“The white-haired lady put her hands on her hips, thrusting her fists into the hollows of her waist. This gossip’s attitude was not unbecoming to her; on the contrary.

“‘In a way that could . . .’ she repeated.

“‘In a way that could put her into a certain situation . . .’

“‘I know what you’re trying to say,’ she broke in harshly. ‘You think that’s an excuse?
I
don’t. Do you expect me to say thank you?’

“The little thing stopped sobbing. At the same moment, the rain stopped too and this double truce filled the room with a great silence that seemed to be awaiting my answer. It is extremely unusual for a man who is appearing at a disadvantage in the presence of two women not to be tempted to lose patience and make some stupid retort. That was what happened to me.

“‘Come now, Madame, it’s true I’m not a saint, but in this case, I haven’t forced anyone against their will, and your daughter’s beauty . . .’

“The feet of the cane settee rasped on the flagstones as it was pushed backward and I was confronted with Louisette, her face red and inflamed with crying.

“‘I forbid you to talk to my mother in that tone,’ she said in a low, harsh voice.

“‘Oh!’ I said. ‘If I’ve got the two of you against me, I prefer . . .’

“And I made an attempt to retreat, an attempt that was frustrated because the haughty little lady stood between me and the door and made no effort to get out of my way.

“‘You’re not here to tell us about your preferences,’ she said.

“She had really admirable eyes, and a sunburned, windburned face with a shiny glaze on the cheekbones and the bridge of the nose. And she was staring at me as if she were boring into my brain, so much so that it put my back up.

“‘Very well, Madame, if you will be good enough to tell me in what terms I may express my regrets . . .’

“‘Monsieur,’ she interrupted me rudely, ‘may one know your age?’

“If I had been expecting a question, it was most certainly not that one. Moreover, I was astonished that this strange mother, finding her daughter in the arms of a man, had not had recourse to any of the classical arguments and vituperations. She had a mouth made for vehemence, a freedom of manner that was half peasant, half middle class. Her preposterous question shattered me so much that I found myself making a series of idiotic gestures such as running my hand through my hair, pulling my leather belt down over my loins, and drawing myself up to my full height.

“‘I cannot see, Madame, what the precise number of my years has to do with all this. However, I am willing to confess to you that I am forty-nine.’

“For a moment, I thought she was going to laugh. Why not turn the scene into light comedy? The good woman seemed to me to have a sense of humor and she was anything but shy. A kind of laugh did, in fact, run over her features. She seized her daughter by the arm, pulled her close against her, mingling her white hair with the red hair, and whispered passionately: ‘You hear him, child? You
see
that man there? Child, he’s three times as much as your fifteen and a half, and even more! You’ve let yourself be led astray by a man of fifty, Louise! A young boy such as there are plenty of around here,
that
I could understand. But a man of fifty, Louise, of
fifty
! Ah! You may well be ashamed!’

“If I had not controlled myself, I assure you I should have gone for those two cows and knocked them down. Their two heads, close together and so terribly alike, stared me out of countenance. And that blinding, unshaded lamp. The older let go of the younger’s arm, pointing the forefinger of her shriveled brown hand at me, and raised her voice: ‘If your father were still alive, Louise, he’d be just the age of that man there!’

“Louisette gave a sharp little moan and hid her face in her mother’s white mane. Her mother did not repulse her and went on talking.

“‘Yes, now you don’t want to see him anymore, high time too, Louise! All the same, you’ve
got
to look at him! Yes, look at him, the man who was born the same year as your own father!’

“Plunging her hand into her daughter’s hair, she forced her face around toward me. As if she were brandishing a decapitated head, she held her by her hair so tightly that the little thing’s eyes were drawn up slantwise.

“‘That man who would have been fifty years older than his child, suppose you had been pregnant by him, Louise!’

“At that shriek, Louisette freed herself and did indeed begin to look at me. The screaming shrew had not finished with me and she no longer respected the silence of the night.

“‘Do you see what he’s got on his temples? White hairs, Louise, white hairs, just like me! And those wrinkles he’s got under his eyes! All over him, wherever you look, he’s got the stamp of ancience, my girl, yes, ancience.’

“She screamed that peasant word with an air of murderous delight, with a gloating joy that shriveled me up. Louisette remained looking earnest and stupid as children do when they wake up, the flame of the lamp was reflected yellow in her eyes. She fastened her open blouse, smoothed down its pleats, buckled her belt again, and muttered to her mother: ‘Do you want me to go for him, Mother? Us two’ll “chaäse” him, shall we?’

“The mother had no time to answer before I had shot out of the house. Yes, right out of the house and the devil himself couldn’t have stopped me. You don’t understand? You can’t understand that I’d rather do anything in the world than fight a woman—or two women. Any set-to between men, even war, is less alarming to us men, less alarming to our nerves, than the fury of a woman. We can never foresee what a woman may do when she loses all control. We never know whether she is going to call us a ‘cad’ with an air of tremendous dignity or whether she is going to try and tear our nails out or bite our nose off with one snap of her teeth. What’s more, she herself hasn’t the least idea either. It comes from too deep down in her. Goodness, I ran fast. And I kept my eyes open too, so as to dodge stones and ruts. If I’ve ever laughed about my misadventure, by gad, it certainly wasn’t at that moment! The terrace, the spring, the avenue of rowans, the pillars with the lions, I fled past them as if in a nightmare. I outdistanced my two pursuers and I took the narrow path that skirted the outer wall. But the moon had moved across the sky and it now shone full on the path. When I came abreast of the scented laurels, I stopped. I could no longer hear footsteps behind me and I forced myself to recover my breath. To prove to myself I was perfectly calm, I deliberately gazed out over the valley, which was once again a clear blue, steaming with warm mists and dotted with delicate birches whose satiny trunks shimmered as if in broad daylight. I mopped my brow and the back of my neck, and as I searched for a cigarette, I noticed that my hands were trembling.