Read Online David Golder, The Ball, Snow in Autumn & The Courilof Affair (2008) by Irène Némirovsky - Free Book Online Page B

his heart.
    He had time to think “I’m dying,” to feel he was being pushed, thrown over the edge of a precipice into a hole, a crater, as narrow and suffocating as a tomb. He could hear himself calling out, but his voice sounded as if it were coming from very far away, as if it were someone else’s voice, separated from him by deep, murky water that swept over him and was dragging him down, lower and lower, into the wide, gaping hole. The pain was unbearable. Soon he fainted, which eased the pain a little, transforming it into a feeling of heaviness, suffocation, an exhausting and vain battle. Once again, he could hear someone calling in the distance, panting, shouting, struggling. He felt as if someone were holding his head under water and that it went on for centuries.
    Finally, he came to.
    The sharp pains had stopped. But his entire body felt wracked, as if all his bones had been broken, crushed beneath heavy wheels. And he was afraid to move, afraid to lift a single finger, afraid to call out. The slightest sound, the slightest movement would make it start all over again, he was sure of it… and this time, it would mean death. Death.
    In the silence, he could hear his heart beating, hard and hollow; it seemed to tear at the muscles in his chest.
    “I’m afraid,” he thought desperately, “I’m afraid…”
    Death. No, it wasn’t possible, no! Couldn’t anyone tell, sense that he was here, alone like a dog, abandoned, dying? “If I could only ring the bell, call someone. No, I just have to wait, wait… The night will soon pass.” It had to be very late already, very late … He peered anxiously into the darkness that surroundedhim; it was as thick and deep as before, without a glimmer of light, without even that vague halo that illuminates everything just before dawn. Nothing. Was it ten o’clock, eleven o’clock? To think that his watch was right there, the light was there, that he only had to reach out, stretch out his arm to press the alarm. It was worth the risk! But no, no … He was afraid to make a sound, afraid to breathe. If it happened again, if he felt his heart failing… and that horrible pain… No! The next time, he would surely die. “But what’s happening, for God’s sake? What is it? My heart. Yes.” But he’d never had heart trouble. He’d never even been ill… A bit of asthma, perhaps… Especially recently. But at his age, everyone had something wrong. A bit of discomfort. It was nothing. Watch your diet, get some rest. But this! Oh, what difference if it was his heart or something else? They were only words, words that mean one thing: death, death, death. Who was it who’d said, “It will happen to all of us one day”? Oh, yes. All of us. And him. Those old Jews with their vicious faces who rubbed their hands together, sniggering… It would be worse for them! The dogs, the bastards! And the others… His wife … His daughter… Yes, even her, he was no fool. He was nothing more than a money machine … Good for nothing else …Just pay, pay, and then, drop down dead…
    Good Lord, wouldn’t this damned train ever stop? It had been hours, they’d been travelling for hours without a break! “Don’t people sometimes make a mistake at stations and open the door of a compartment that’s already occupied? My God, if only that would happen now!” He imagined hearing a sound in the corridor, the door banging open, people’s faces… He would be taken away… It didn’t matter where—to a hospital, a hotel… Anywhere, as long as they had a stretcher…
    The sound of footsteps, human voices, some light, an open window …
    But no, nothing… Nothing at all. The train was going faster. Long, piercing whistles filled the air, then faded away… There was the sound ofwheels pounding the tracks in the darkness… a bridge… For a moment he thought that the train was slowing down. He listened hard, gasping for breath. Yes, they were going slower… slower… they’d