Read Online The Drinking Den by Émile Zola - Free Book Online Page B

She had just done her blueing, in a little tub on a three-legged stand. She soaked her white linens, shook them around a bit in the tinted water, which had an almost crimson sheen, and, after wringing them lightly, hung them on the upper wooden bars. All the time that she was doing this, she made a point of keeping her back towards Virginie, but she could hear her sniggering and feel her sideways glances on her back. Virginie seemed to have come there solely to provoke her. For one moment, Gervaise turned round and they stared at one another.
    â€˜Don’t take no notice of her,’ Mme Boche murmured. ‘No point in you tearing each other’s hair out… And I tell you, there’s nothing in it! She’s not the one!’
    At that moment, while the young woman was hanging up her last garment to dry, there was laughter at the wash-house door.
    â€˜Two kids asking for their mum!’ Charles shouted.
    All the women craned their necks. Gervaise recognized Claude and Etienne. As soon as they saw her, they ran over, through the puddles of water, thumping the heels of their unlaced shoes against the stone floor. Claude, the elder, was holding his little brother’s hand. As they went past, the women gave exclamations of affection, seeing that they were a bit scared, but smiling all the same. They came to a stop in front of their mother, still holding on to one another, their blond heads looking up at her.
    â€˜Was it Dad that sent you?’ Gervaise asked.
    But as she bent to tie up Etienne’s shoes, she saw that dangling from one finger Claude had the key to the room with its numbered copper tag.
    â€˜What’s this? You’ve got the key?’ she said, in astonishment. ‘Why’s that?’
    The child glanced down, as if remembering the key, which he seemed to have forgotten, was on his finger, and said in a loud, clear voice:
    â€˜Daddy’s gone.’
    â€˜He went to buy something for dinner. Did he tell you to come here for me?’
    Claude looked at his brother and hesitated, not knowing what to say; then, without pausing to draw breath, he continued:
    â€˜Daddy’s gone, he jumped out of bed, put all his things in the trunk, took the trunk down to a cab… He’s gone.’
    Gervaise, who was squatting down, got up slowly, bringing her hands to her ashen cheeks and temples, as if she could hear her head breaking open. She could only think of one thing to say and repeated it twenty times in the same tone of voice: ‘Oh, my God!… Oh, my God!… Oh, my God!’
    Mme Boche, on the other hand was questioning the child in her turn, delighted to find herself involved in this affair.
    â€˜Now, come on, sweetie, tell us all about it… He shut the door and told you to bring the key, did he?’
    And, lowering her voice, whispered in Claude’s ear: ‘Was there a lady in the cab?’
    The child seemed confused again. He went back to his story, repeating with an air of triumph: ‘He jumped out of bed, put all his things in the trunk, and he left…’
    At this, Mme Boche let him go, so he dragged his brother over to the tap and they started to play with it, making the water run.
    Gervaise was beyond tears. She felt stifled, still holding her head between her hands and half sitting on the tub. Brief shudders ran through her and from time to time she gave a deep sigh, at the same time pressing her fists harder against her eyes, as though seeking oblivion in the blackness of abandonment – a pit of darkness into which she felt she was falling.
    â€˜Come, come now, sweetie, what the hell?’ Mme Boche murmured.
    â€˜If only you knew, if only you knew!’ she said at last, in a quiet voice.
    â€˜He sent me this morning to the pawnshop with my shawl and my blouses, to get the money to pay for that cab…’
    She wept. The memory of her trip to the pawnbroker’s had remindedher of a particular incident from the