Free The Beast Within by Émile Zola Page B

gone by five minutes earlier had now cleared the next section. He returned to his cabin, telegraphed the two other section boxes, noted down the time of the train and waited. It was the same routine day in day out, all day long, never moving from his cabin, eating his meals there, not even bothering to read a newspaper, and apparently with never so much as a thought passing through his empty head.
    Jacques, who used to pull his godmother’s leg about the many inspectors whose hearts she had broken, couldn’t help smiling.
    ‘Perhaps he’s jealous,’ he said.
    Phasie shrugged her shoulders as if she felt sorry for him, but she couldn’t prevent a mischievous little twinkle suddenly appearing in her poor, lifeless eyes.
    ‘Him, jealous!’ she said. ‘He doesn’t know the meaning of the word! So long as he wasn’t out of pocket, he couldn’t care a fig what I got up to.’
    Again she started to shake.
    ‘That side of things never bothered him,’ she said. ‘All he cares about is money. What’s really upset him is that I won’t give him the thousand francs that Father left me last year. It’s brought bad luck, just like he said it would. It’s made me ill. I’ve been ill ever since. Ever since then.’
    Jacques sensed what she was trying to tell him, but assumed it was her illness that made her entertain such dark thoughts. He attempted to reassure her. But she kept shaking her head and would not be persuaded otherwise. Eventually Jacques said, ‘Look, there’s a simple answer. If you want him to stop bothering you, give him the money.’
    With an extraordinary effort she dragged herself to her feet, suddenly transformed, exclaiming furiously:
    ‘Give him my money! Never! I’d rather die! I’ve hidden it! No one will ever find it! Never! Not even if they turn the house upside down! I tell you, he’s been looking everywhere, hoping to lay his greedy hands on it! I’ve heard him in the night, tapping on the walls. Well, he can go on looking for all he’s worth. It makes me laugh to see him poking around all over the house. We shall see who dies first, him or me! I’m careful now. I don’t eat a thing if he’s been anywhere near it. Even if I was the first to die, he still wouldn’t get the money. I’d rather see it buried.’
    She fell back on to her chair, exhausted. The sound of Misard’s horn came in through the window. He was standing at the door of his cabin, setting the signal for a train to Le Havre. Despite her determination not to give in to him over the legacy, she was secretly frightened of him, and her fear was growing, just as a giant fears the bite of a tiny insect. The rumble of the approaching train could be heard in the distance, a stopping train that had left Paris at twelve forty-five that afternoon. They heard it emerge from the tunnel, the bark of its exhaust getting suddenly louder as it ran out into the open country. It came thundering past them, its wheels pounding on the track, its long string of carriages whisked along behind it like an unstoppable hurricane.
    Jacques watched as the line of little square windows rushed by, each with the shape of a passenger outlined in it. In an attempt to take Phasie’s mind off her gloomy thoughts, he said jokingly, ‘Aunt, you grumble about never seeing anyone from one week to the next, but look at all those people!’
    At first she didn’t understand him.
    ‘What people?’ she asked him, puzzled. ‘Oh, you mean the people in the train! A fat lot of good they are! I don’t know them from Adam, and you can’t stop and have a chat with them!’
    Jacques laughed.
    ‘But, Aunt Phasie, you know me,’ he said, ‘and I go past nearly every day.’
    ‘Oh, I know you,’ she answered. ‘And I know the time of your train. I look out for you, driving the engine. But you go so fast! Yesterday you gave me a little wave, like this, but I didn’t even have time to wave back! That’s no way of getting to know people.’
    The thought of