Read Online The Widow by Georges Simenon - Free Book Online Page A

fashion, Jean stood still, watching their approach as though it were an interesting show. He noted that the family paused for a brief consultation. The woman took the opportunity to tug at her girdle, and then, her son having bent down to pick something up, she gave his hand a shake.
    â€œWhat is it, Jean?” Tati called from the kitchen, seeing him stock-still.
    He did not catch the words, for both door and window were shut. He merely saw the movement of her lips, and he opened the window a bit.
    â€œVisitors, I think.”
    Frowning, already beginning to tidy her hair, she came and leaned out.
    â€œIt’s Amélie and her husband. I’m going to clean up a little. Tell them I’ll be down in a minute.”
    In a flash she had whisked the dishes into the cupboard and gone upstairs, where she could be heard walking busily about.
    The others, who had covered another fifty yards, paused again on seeing Jean in front of the door, hoe in hand. Another consultation. The husband wore eyeglasses and there was a purple ribbon in the buttonhole of his lapel.
    They finally stepped forward, having come to a decision. They marched past the young man as though he had not existed and Amélie pushed the door half open.
    â€œAre you there, Tati?” she called into the emptiness of the house.
    â€œIf you wish to go in, Tati will be down in a minute.”
    The woman drew back as if to avoid any contact with him. Her husband actually made a detour around Jean so as not to brush against him, and ordered his son: “Go ahead. Sit down on a chair and try to keep still.”
    Just because they were pretending to ignore him, Jean went in too, leaving his hoe outside, and drew up chairs for them.
    â€œSit down. It’s warm out, isn’t it? I suppose you didn’t walk all the way from St. Amand?”
    The husband let slip involuntarily, “We took the bus.”
    And his wife gave him a look of thunder for speaking to this individual.
    Silence. She had sat down. The husband remained standing, mopping his brow, taking off his hat to run a handkerchief over his bald head.
    â€œSit still, Hector.”
    Overhead, the heavy tread of Tati, who was hurriedly putting on her good dress and combing her hair.
    Addressing her husband and still ignoring Jean, Amélie said, to break the silence, “I’m sure Father is out minding the cows. One of these days, with a sun like this, he’ll have a stroke.”
    At length Tati started downstairs, opened the door, and came toward her sister-in-law.
    â€œGood afternoon, Amélie.”
    Two kisses, one on each cheek, hard and dry as the peck of a bird.
    â€œI didn’t think you’d be coming today. Your husband has a day off? Good afternoon, Désiré. Go ahead and sit down! Good afternoon, Hector. Won’t you say good afternoon to your aunt?”
    â€œGood afternoon, Aunt. I’d like to go fishing in the canal.”
    â€œI forbid you to go fishing!” cried his mother. “I’ve no wish to see you fall in the water. Stay here.”
    Jean was ready to leave at a look or a sign from Tati. It was she who kept him back.
    â€œGet the bottle of brandy, Jean. You’ll find some blackcurrant syrup for Amélie just inside the cellar door.”
    She brought some gold-rimmed glasses from the sideboard in the dining room.
    â€œWell, what’s the good news?” she asked, sitting down with a sigh of satisfaction. “You can stay, Jean. We have no secrets. Have we, Amélie? Is Désiré pleased with his new job? Is he still at the drugstore on the Rue Gambetta?”
    â€œStill there!” was the tart reply.
    â€œThat’s fine! Here’s to you. Can the youngster have a drop of black currant?”
    â€œThanks! I would rather he didn’t drink.”
    â€œI’m thirsty, Mamma.”
    â€œYou’ll get a glass of water. Father not here?”
    â€œHe must be somewhere about with the