Ferdinand was afraid to hear any more. He wanted to bring this recital to an end.
“All the same, in the end you got away all right. That’s all that matters.”
“Whatever way I die, I hope to God it won’t be through being caught flat on my stomach underneath a bed!. . But before I could get out the door opened. I saw the bottom of mother’s skirts, and behind them— what do you think? — the sergeant’s boots. At first I didn’t realise. . But then I saw the skirts being pulled up.
“Honore!. .” said Ferdinand in a stifled voice.
“And I heard what went on on the mattress above my head, and there was nothing I could do about it. It wasn’t my skin I was thinking of, but even if I could have fixed the whole thing with a rifle-shot I couldn’t have brought myself to do it — I mean, I couldn’t have shown myself— I just couldn’t. . ”
Ferdinand wiped away the sweat that was running down from under his hat.
“It’s not a thing to talk about,” he muttered. “You shouldn’t have told me.”
“Well, now you know why it wasn’t talked about in Claquebue. Anything father may have told you could only be as much as he was told himself. I was the only one who knew the truth. Toucheur was killed a week later, and that was a great relief to me. After the war I could have settled with Zephe Maloret — shot him from behind a bush. Dead men tell no tales. But while mother was alive I wanted it to look as though I didn’t even remember. And anyway, shooting a man like that, it’s not the kind of thing I like doing, even if it meant ridding the world of Zephe Maloret.”
“He certainly behaved badly,” murmured Ferdinand.
He was silent for a moment, unable to prevent himself from recalling his conversation with Valtier, from which it had been clear that the Deputy was particularly anxious to get Zephe elected mayor. Valtier was, in fact, very much taken with Marguerite Maloret. There could be no better wav of obliging him than bv enabling him to oblige her; and Ferdinand could see much to be gained from his friendship. Setting aside personal ambition, he had to consider the career of his elder son, Frederic, who might, \\ ith the help of Valuer's influence, be given a splendid start.
“Listen, Honore. I agree that Zephe behaved extremely badly. All the same, one mav suppose that he did so in a moment of panic. To find oneself held up on the road by a detachment of Prussians-”
"I know Zephe. He’s cautious and he doesn’t like being knocked about, but I'm sure he’s not a coward. It would have taken more than that-”
“In any case,” said Ferdinand, “there’s no question of our forgiving him. I would never go as far as that. But personal grievances have nothing to do w ith the matter we’re discussing. In our own interest, in the interests of the familv as a whole, it is necessarv that Zephe should become mayor. That’s how we have to look at it.’’
“When it comes to interests I’m sure you know a lot more about it than I do, but the fact remains that Zephe forced your mother to let herself be rogered by a Prussian.”
The gross word caused Ferdinand to blush. He was revolted by a freedom of speech which insulted the victim's memory.
“You should at least have some respect for the dead!”
“Oh, the dead don't need anyone to feel sorrv for them. If it was only a question of the dead I wouldn’t give a damn. But I was there under the bed, don’t forget, and I’m not dead! And the Maloret who sent that Prussian to have his fun over my head, he isn’t dead either. And that’s what matters.”
“Of course. I agree. But one has to accept things as they are, and since Valtier-”
“That’ll do,” said Honore in a harsh voice. “I thought I’d said all that was needed. You can take it from me that Zephe will never become mayor of Claquebue so long as I’m able to prevent it.”
Feridnand realised that he was up against a fixed resolve which no amount of persuasion could alter. He saw his son’s whole future compromised by an idiotic grudge.
Exasperated by his powerlessness to reason with Honore, he looked round for a bludgeoning argument, a means of forcing him. His pallid eyes turned towards the house — the house which was his property, out of which he might turn his brother at little more than a day’s notice. In his rage he came very near to uttering the threat, but with an effort of reflection he assessed the risks it entailed. Honore would not hesitate to go, and it was important to Ferdinand that he should continue to occupy the Hau-douin house, since he served his political interests in Claquebue. Moreover, Honore looked after the property as though it were his own. So Ferdinand suppressed the words that were rising to his lips; but seeing his expression and noting the direction of his gaze, Honore guessed what was passing through his mind. He answered it directly:
“I’ll go whenever you want me to, you know. Perhaps I shan’t wait to be told.”
“No, no, no!” said Ferdinand. “What on earth are you talking about? Good Heavens, I’m quite ready to give you a written undertaking-”
“As for written undertakings, you can stuff them you know where!”
Ferdinand stammered a confused protest to the effect that he had never had the smallest intention of taking advantage of his position as owner, and that so long as he lived his brother could be quite sure. .
Honore was scarcely listening. He was looking at the sun which hung suspended over the far end of Claquebue before it sank behind the Montee-Rouge. Half-blinded by its light he lowered his eyes and repeated in a soft and lingering voice:
“You know where.”
Of all the Haudouins Honore was my favourite. I owe it to him, perhaps, that I was able to master the despair engendered by my fruitless obsessions and mv two-dimensional lusts. From that gay and gentle-hearted man I learned the secret of a spacious eroticism which found its truest satisfaction beyond the confines of realitv. This is not to say that he had any hankering after physical chastity: he caressed his wife and was not indifferent to any woman. But his true pleasure in love bore no resemblance to those rational felicities which the devotees of moral hygiene extol with an austere freedom; neither had it anything in common with the dismal conjugal duties which Ferdinand never performed without a secret sense of shame. It was born sometimes of a ray of sunshine, and at other times was distracted from the moment of its own consummation by the passage of a cloud. When Honore made love to his wife he was embracing the cornfields as well, and the river and the Raicart woods.
On a certain Sunday when he was eighteen, being alone in the dining-room with the maidservant, she made advances to him in a manner which caused him to respond. The countryside beyond the window was buried in snow, and a sudden burst of sunshine lent a momentary brilliance to this cold coverlet. All the colours of the rainbow-seemed to spring to life in a whirling dance. Honore felt this snow-carnival as though it were a tingle in his blood, and abruptly abandoning a diversion which had already reached an advanced stage, he went and opened the window to laugh at the dancing rays of the sun. In my seventy years I have known many lovers, but never another ready to abandon his pleasure so near to its fulfilment, and at the bidding of beaut}’ alone. It was the privilege of that particular Haudouin to be able to preserve without effort the most precious illusions. On the other hand it must be admitted that he sometimes fell from grace. Out in the fields, at the sight of the tall corn swaying in the breeze or at the scent of the gashed earth, he would sometimes pause at his work while desire swept through his body, a longing for a huge embrace. It was as though a whole world in ecstasv pressed down upon his limbs grown sluggish with a wholesome weariness. And then the desire would lose its wide splendour, would more meagrely define itself to become reduced, at length, to a single point on his horizon, and Honore would resume his labour picturing the bosom of some girl in Claquebue.