"You must never be afraid of me," he said.
Finding the boy unresponsive, because he was still ashamed, he said:
“You mustn't do it again, that's all.”
They went back hand-in-hand, following behind the cows, who were somewhat puzzled bv his nocturnal excursion but made no comment, since the master was there. They could not see one another's faces, and the mist made the grass so soft that thev could not hear their footsteps. They were father and son. hand-in-hand and happy to have been afraid, each on the other's account. From time to time Alexis felt a slight tremor pass through his father's large, warm hand, as when one recalls a great disturbance.
“I won't do it again." he said. "You can be quite sure.”
"I know," said Honore.
He was thinking that he had found his son again and that the rest did not matter. And in fact Alexis kept his word. He rebuffed the advances of his fellow shepherds with loud indignation, and then proposed other diversions scarcelv less perverse. The devil was in him. a lively, laughing imp as inquisitive as the devil himself, and not afraid to show his tail.
The cure of Claquebue, whom nothing escaped, closed his eyes as best he could to the turbulence of his youthful parishioners. In the confessional he passed rapidly over certain sins. He was content that his question. “Have vou been misbehaving with a girl?” or “with a boy," should be answered with a simple ves or no, and he wished to hear no more. This was not because he considered that indulgence in the lusts of the flesh was a sin more abominable in children than in grown-ups. The contrary was the case, and his knowledge of evil was in anv event so extensive that he was not easily shocked. But he decided nothing lightly, acting constantly in the best interests of God, the Church and his parish, which had come to be inseparably intermingled in his mind in the same angry love — an efficacious love, when all was said. It was not so much sin itself that he hated, but its consequences: and having observed that the sexual pursuits of children were a mere bodily activity, having nothing to do with love or faith or friendship or hatred, he preferred to regard them as no more than the manifestation of innocence. The children played — thus did he reason — but when they grew up they would play no more; the delights of the flesh would be merged for them in the cares of living, and then only could these be made a rod to beat them with. Moreover he considered that childhood was the best age for the sowing of wild oats, rather than adolescence, when misconduct is bolstered with arrogance and turns to licence and revolt. Not only did he ignore the children’s behaviour, but he was at pains, in his religious instruction, to avoid any allusion, even condemnatory, to the sins of the flesh, and he passed over all such passages in the Scriptures. The Divine mystery was presented to the children in a light of sexless, rarefied femininity which the cure conjured out of the catechism with talk of the Holy Virgin, the Infant Jesus, guardian angels and the more venerable of the saints, all bearded, of course. It was not until later, when the children had reached adolescence and love was a more difficult matter, that they encountered the wrath of God. For the present they loved and sought to please him, provided it was not too much trouble. The boys between ten and thirteen, for example, humoured God by not allowing the younger children to join in their more ribald jokes and pastimes: it also gratified them to set up categories of seniority. The younger ones, mortified by this, had ribald jokes of their own which were not really much inferior. The rule in any case was not a fixed one, the older boys being not unready to let fall crumbs from their superior knowledge to impress their juniors. But Alexis never allowed Gustave and Clotilde to join in these occasions. From genuine piety, and also from a sense of his responsibilities, he kept a watchful eye on them which they feared more than their parents’ supervision, asking awkward questions as to what they had been up to, forbidding them to go to certain places, and doing battle with Tintin Maloret, who was anxious to take their instruction in hand. This role of guardian angel pleased him, and when his nurselings protested at a show of austerity which his own conduct belied, he said suavely: “Wait till you’re ten, and then we’ll see.”
Where Gustave and Clotilde were concerned, Alexis greatly mistrusted the society of old men. He recalled the last years of their grandfather Haudouin, and his abandoned cynicism of speech. The old ones, when they felt themselves to be within a year or two of the end and had settled their affairs on earth, had nothing more to gain by good behaviour. No longer able to work, they were like the children, who did not have to think of earning their daily bread. “God knows,” said the old men, “we’ve kept ourselves in hand long enough, we can break out a little now!” And since the workers were not interested, and were too busy in any case, some of them talked to the children and might even do more than talk. The cure was less afraid for the children than for the old men themselves, who risked dying of apoplexy with a black sin on their conscience. And so he constantly let it be known that old age is virtuous and respectable, with the light of serene wisdom in its eye, hoping to persuade the old parties to live up to their reputation. On the whole his faith in human vanity was justified. Most of the old men behaved themselves: and indeed, an aforeseeable consequence, it was not uncommon for those in the prime of life to turn to them for counsel on occasions when good sense, perception and vigour were called for.
Eight
Deodat walked along with a steady postman’s stride, his eyes as blue as ever. As he crossed the gardens or passed along the hedges the summer flowers took on a brighter hue; but he never noticed, he just went on steadily. He was doing his postman’s round, beginning at the beginning and going on to the end. That was what he was supposed to do, seeing that he was the postman. He had to do his round on Sundays just like any other day, but he didn’t mind, it was his job. It prevented him from going to Mass, but the cure excused him on the understanding that from time to time he would attend morning Mass during the week. So that was nothing to worry about, except that he missed an opportunity of paying his respects to his wife, who had been in the cemetery ten years. Still, she was dead, and so he did not allow this either to worry him unduly. He scarcely thought of her in these days. At the time of her illness it had hurt him to see her suffer, and when she had been carried out feet first by four bearers, he had felt it. And then he had forgotten. She was dead: she was dead. It is a thing that happens often enough, when you come to think of it, and there is nothing more ordinary. Deodat saw no reason to beat his head against the wall. There was nothing he could do about it. He was still there, still alive in his postman’s uniform; and he went on doing his job at a steady, postman’s stride until the time should come when he too would be carried feet first over the threshold. He awaited his turn and never thought about it at all, alive as he was and in no hurry.