The peasant was standing opposite the doctor, by the bedside of the
dying old woman, and she, calmly resigned and quite lucid, looked at
them and listened to their talking. She was going to die, and she did
not rebel at it, for her life was over--she was ninety-two.
The July sun streamed in at the window and through the open door and
cast its hot flames on to the uneven brown clay floor, which had been
stamped down by four generations of clodhoppers. The smell of the
fields came in also, driven by the brisk wind, and parched by the
noontide heat. The grasshoppers chirped themselves hoarse, filling the
air with their shrill noise, like that of the wooden crickets which are
sold to children at fair time.
The doctor raised his voice and said: "Honore, you cannot leave your
mother in this state; she may die at any moment." And the peasant, in
great distress, replied: "But I must get in my wheat, for it has been
lying on the ground a long time, and the weather is just right for it;
what do you say about it, mother?" And the dying woman, still possessed
by her Norman avariciousness, replied YES with her eyes and her
forehead, and so urged her son to get in his wheat, and to leave her to
die alone. But the doctor got angry, and stamping his foot he said:
"You are no better than a brute, do you hear, and I will not allow you
to do it. Do you understand? And if you must get in your wheat to-day,
go and fetch Rapet's wife and make her look after your mother. I WILL
have it. And if you do not obey me, I will let you die like a dog, when
you are ill in your turn; do you hear me?"
The peasant, a tall, thin fellow with slow movements, who was tormented
by indecision, by his fear of the doctor and his keen love of saving,
hesitated, calculated, and stammered out: "How much does La Rapet
charge for attending sick people?"
"How should I know?" the doctor cried. "That depends upon how long she
is wanted for. Settle it with her, by Jove! But I want her to be here
within an hour, do you hear."
So the man made up his mind. "I will go for her," he replied; "don't
get angry, doctor." And the latter left, calling out as he went: "Take
care, you know, for I do not joke when I am angry!" And as soon as they
were alone, the peasant turned to his mother, and said in a resigned
voice: "I will go and fetch La Rapet, as the man will have it. Don't go
off while I am away."
And he went out in his turn.
La Rapet, who was an old washerwoman, watched the dead and the dying of
the neighborhood, and then, as soon as she had sewn her customers into
that linen cloth from which they would emerge no more, she went and
took up her irons to smooth the linen of the living. Wrinkled like a
last year's apple, spiteful, envious, avaricious with a phenomenal
avarice, bent double, as if she had been broken in half across the
loins, by the constant movement of the iron over the linen, one might
have said that she had a kind of monstrous and cynical affection for a
death struggle. She never spoke of anything but of the people she had
seen die, of the various kinds of deaths at which she had been present,
and she related, with the greatest minuteness, details which were
always the same, just like a sportsman talks of his shots.
When Honore Bontemps entered her cottage, he found her preparing the
starch for the collars of the village women, and he said: "Good
evening; I hope you are pretty well, Mother Rapet."
She turned her head round to look at him and said: "Fairly well, fairly
well, and you?"
"Oh I as for me, I am as well as I could wish, but my mother is very
sick."
"Your mother?"
"Yes, my mother!"
"What's the matter with her?"
"She is going to turn up her toes, that's what's the matter with her!"
The old woman took her hands out of the water and asked with sudden
sympathy: "Is she as bad as all that?"
"The doctor says she will not last till morning."
"Then she certainly is very bad!" Honore hesitated, for he wanted to
make a few preliminary remarks before coming to his proposal, but as he
could hit upon nothing, he made up his mind suddenly.
"How much are you going to ask to stop with her till the end? You know
that I am not rich, and I cannot even afford to keep a servant-girl. It
is just that which has brought my poor mother to this state, too much
work and fatigue! She used to work for ten, in spite of her ninety-two
years. You don't find any made of that stuff nowadays!"
La Rapet answered gravely: "There are two prices. Forty sous by day and
three francs by night for the rich, and twenty sous by day, and forty
by night for the others. You shall pay me the twenty and forty." But
the peasant reflected, for he knew his mother well. He knew how
tenacious of life, how vigorous and unyielding she was. He knew, too,
that she might last another week, in spite of the doctor's opinion, and
so he said resolutely: "No, I would rather you would fix a price until
the end. I will take my chance, one way or the other. The doctor says
she will die very soon. If that happens, so much the better for you,
and so much the worse for me, but if she holds out till to-morrow or
longer, so much the better for me and so much the worse for you!"
The nurse looked at the man in astonishment, for she had never treated
a death as a speculative job, and she hesitated, tempted by the idea of
the possible gain. But almost immediately she suspected that he wanted
to juggle her. "I can say nothing until I have seen your mother," she
replied.
"Then come with me and see her."
She washed her hands, and went with him immediately. They did not speak
on the road; she walked with short, hasty steps, while he strode on
with his long legs, as if he were crossing a brook at every step. The
cows lying down in the fields, overcome by the heat, raised their heads
heavily and lowed feebly at the two passers-by, as if to ask them for
some green grass.
When they got near the house, Honore Bontemps murmured: "Suppose it is
all over?" And the unconscious wish that it might be so showed itself
in the sound of his voice.
But the old woman was not dead. She was lying on her back, on her
wretched bed, her hands covered with a pink cotton counterpane,
horribly thin, knotty paws, like some strange animal's, or like crabs'
claws, hands closed by rheumatism, fatigue, and the work of nearly a
century which she had accomplished.
La Rapet went up to the bed and looked at the dying woman, felt her
pulse, tapped her on the chest, listened to her breathing, and asked
her questions, so as to hear her speak: then, having looked at her for
some time longer, she went out of the room, followed by Honore. His
decided opinion was, that the old woman would not last out the night,
and he asked: "Well?" And the sick-nurse replied: "Well, she may last
two days, perhaps three. You will have to give me six francs,
everything included."
"Six francs! six francs!" he shouted. "Are you out of your mind? I tell
you that she cannot last more than five or six hours!" And they
disputed angrily for some time, but as the nurse said she would go
home, as the time was slipping away, and as his wheat would not come to
the farmyard of its own accord, he agreed to her terms at last:
"Very well, then, that is settled; six francs including everything,
until the corpse is taken out."
"That is settled, six francs."
And he went away, with long strides, to his wheat, which was lying on
the ground under the hot sun which ripens the grain, while the
sick-nurse returned to the house.
She had brought some work with her, for she worked without stopping by
the side of the dead and dying, sometimes for herself, sometimes for
the family, who employed her as seamstress also, paying her rather more
in that capacity. Suddenly she asked:
"Have you received the last sacrament, Mother Bontemps?"
The old peasant woman said "No" with her head, and La Rapet, who was
very devout, got up quickly: "Good heavens, is it possible? I will go
and fetch the cure"; and she rushed off to the parsonage so quickly,
that the urchins in the street thought some accident had happened, when
they saw her trotting off like that.
The priest came immediately in his surplice, preceded by a choir-boy,
who rang a bell to announce the passage of the Host through the parched
and quiet country. Some men, working at a distance, took off their
large hats and remained motionless until the white vestment had
disappeared behind some farm buildings; the women who were making up
the sheaves stood up to make the sign of the cross; the frightened
black hens ran away along the ditch until they reached a well-known
hole through which they suddenly disappeared, while a foal, which was
tied up in a meadow, took fright at the sight of the surplice and began
to gallop round at the length of its rope, kicking violently. The
choir-boy, in his red cassock, walked quickly, and the priest, the
square biretta on his bowed head, followed him, muttering some prayers.
Last of all came La Rapet, bent almost double, as if she wished to
prostrate herself; she walked with folded hands, as if she were in
church.
Honore saw them pass in the distance, and he asked: "Where is our
priest going to?" And his man, who was more acute, replied: "He is
taking the sacrament to your mother, of course!"
The peasant was not surprised and said: "That is quite possible," and
went on with his work.
Mother Bontemps confessed, received absolution and extreme unction, and
the priest took his departure, leaving the two women alone in the
suffocating cottage. La Rapet began to look at the dying woman, and to
ask herself whether it could last much longer.
The day was on the wane, and a cooler air came in stronger puffs,
making a view of Epinal, which was fastened to the wall by two pins,
flap up and down. The scanty window curtains, which had formerly been
white, but were now yellow and covered with fly-specks, looked as it
they were going to fly off, and seemed to struggle to get away, like
the old woman's soul.
Lying motionless, with her eyes open, the old mother seemed to await
the death which was so near, and which yet delayed its coming; with
perfect indifference. Her short breath whistled in her throat. It would
stop altogether soon, and there would be one woman less in the world,
one whom nobody would regret.
At nightfall Honore returned, and when he went up to the bed and saw
that his mother was still alive he asked: "How is she?" just as he had
done formerly, when she had been sick. Then he sent La Rapet away,
saying to her: "To-morrow morning at five o'clock, without fail." And
she replied: "To-morrow at five o'clock."
She came at daybreak, and found Honore eating his soup, which he had
made himself, before going to work.
"Well, is your mother dead?" asked the nurse.
"She is rather better, on the contrary," he replied, with a malignant
look out of the corner of his eyes. Then he went out.
La Rapet was seized with anxiety, and went up to the dying woman, who
was in the same state, lethargic and impassive, her eyes open and her
hands clutching the counterpane. The nurse perceived that this might go
on thus for two days, four days, eight days, even, and her avaricious
mind was seized with fear. She was excited to fury against the cunning
fellow who had tricked her, and against the woman who would not die.
Nevertheless, she began to sew and waited with her eyes fixed on the
wrinkled face of Mother Bontemps. When Honore returned to breakfast he
seemed quite satisfied, and even in a bantering humor, for he was
carrying in his wheat under very favorable circumstances.
La Rapet was getting exasperated; every passing minute now seemed to
her so much time and money stolen from her. She felt a mad inclination
to choke this old ass, this headstrong old fool, this obstinate old
wretch--to stop that short, rapid breath, which was robbing her of her
time and money, by squeezing her throat a little. But then she
reflected on the danger of doing so, and other thoughts came into her
head, so she went up to the bed and said to her: "Have you ever seen
the Devil?"