 Chapter 24 of Nobody's Boy This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Campbell Shelp. Nobody's Boy, Hector Malot. Translated by Florence Crue-Jones. Chapter 24. Friendship That Is True I loved Matia when we arrived at Mendez, but when we left the town I loved him even more. I could not tell him before the barber how I felt when he cried out, leave my friend. I took his hand and squeezed it as we tramped along. It's till death taught us part now, Matia, I said. I knew that long ago, he replied, smiling at me with his great dark eyes. We heard that there was going to be an important cattle fair at Yusul, so we decided to go there and buy the cow. It was on our way to Chavanon. We played in every town and village on the road, and by the time we had reached Yusul, we had collected 240 francs. We had to economize it in every possible manner to save this sum, but Matia was just as interested and eager to buy the animal as I. He wanted it to be white. I wanted brown and memory of poor Rosette. We both agreed, however, that she must be very gentle and give plenty of milk. As neither of us knew by what signs one could tell a good cow, we decided to employ the services of a veterinarian. We had heard many stories of late how people had been deceived when buying a cow, and we did not want to run any risk. It would be inexpensive to employ a veterinarian, but that could not be helped. We had heard of one man who had bought an animal for a very low price, and when he had got her home he found that she had a false tail. Another man, so we were told, had bought a cow which seemed to be in a very healthy state, and had every appearance of giving plenty of milk, but she only gave two glasses of milk in 24 hours. By a little trick, practiced by the cattle dealer, the animal was made to look as though she had plenty of milk. Mattia said that as far as the false tail went, we had nothing to fear, for he would hang on to the tail of every cow with all his might, before we entered into any discussion with the seller. When I told him that if it were a real tail he would probably get a kick in the stomach or in his head, his imagination cooled somewhat. It was several years since I had arrived at Yussel with Vitalis, where he had bought me my first pair of shoes with nails. Alas, out of the six of us who started, Cappy and I were the only ones left. As soon as we got to the town, after having left our baggage at the same inn where I had stayed before with Vitalis and the dogs, we began to look about for a veterinarian. We found one, and he seemed very amused when we described to him the kind of a cow we wanted and asked if he would come and buy it for us. But what in the world do you two boys want with a cow, and have you got the money? He demanded. We told him how much money we had and how we got it, and that we were going to give a present, a surprise to Mother Barbarina Chavinon, who had looked after me when I was a baby. He showed a very kindly interest then, and promised to meet us the next morning at the fair at seven o'clock. When we asked him his charges, he refused flatly to accept anything. He sent us off laughing and told us to be at the fair on time. The next day at daybreak the town was full of excitement. From our room at the inn we could hear the carts and wagons rolling over the cobblestones in the streets below, and the cows bellowing, the sheep bleeding, the farmers shouting at their animals and joking with each other. We jumped into our clothes and arrived at the fair at six o'clock, for we wanted to make a selection before the veterinarian arrived. What beautiful cows they were! All colours and sizes, some fat, some thin, and some with their calves. There were also horses and great fat pigs, scooping holes in the ground, and little plump sucking pigs, squealing as though they were being skinned alive. But we had eyes for nothing but the cows. They stood very quiet, placidly chewing. They permitted us to make a thorough examination, merely blinking their eyelids. After one hour's inspection we had found seventeen that pleased us. This for one quality, that for another a third because she was red, two because they were white, which of course brought up a discussion between Metia and myself. The veterinarian arrived. We showed him the cows we liked. I think this one ought to be a good one, Metia said, pointing to a white animal. I think that is a better one, indicating a red one. The veterinarian stopped the argument we had begun by ignoring both and passing on to a third one. This one had slim legs, red coat with brown ears and cheeks, eyes bordered with black, and a whitish circle around her muzzle. This is just the one you want, said the veterinarian. It was a beauty. Metia and I now saw that this was the best. The veterinarian asked a heavy-looking peasant who held the cow by a rope. How much he wanted for it. 300 francs, he replied. Our mouth dropped 300 francs. I made a sign to the veterinarian that we must pass on to another. He made another sign that he would drive a bargain. Then a lively discussion commenced between the veterinarian and the peasant. Our bidder went up to 170. The peasant came down to 280. When they reached this sum, the veterinarian began to examine the cow more critically. She had weak legs, her neck was too short, her horns too long, she hadn't any lungs and her teeth were not well formed. No, she certainly would not give much milk. The peasant said that as we knew so much about cows, he would let us have her for 250 francs because he felt sure she would be in good hands. Thereupon we began to get scared. For both Metia and I thought that it must be a poor cow then. Let us go and see some others. I suggested touching the veterinarian's arm. Hearing this, the man came down 10 francs. Then, little by little, he came down to 210 francs, but he stopped there. The veterinarian had nudged me and given me to understand that he was not serious in saying what he did about the cow, that it was an excellent animal, but then 210 francs was a large sum for us. During this time, Metia had gone behind her and pulled a long wisp of hair from her tail, and the animal had given him a kick. That decided me. All right, 210 francs, I said, thinking the matter was settled. I held out my hand to take the rope. Have you bought a halter? asked the man. I'm selling my cow, not the halter. He said that, as we were friends, he would let me have the halter for 60 sous. We needed a halter, so I parted with the 60 sous, calculating that we should now have but 20 sous left. I counted out the 213 francs, then again I stretched out my hand. Have you got a rope? inquired the man. I've sold you the halter, but I haven't sold you the rope. The rope cost us our last 20 sous. The cow was finally handed over to us, but we had not a sous left to buy food for the animal, nor for ourselves. After warmly thinking the veterinarian for his kindness, we shook hands and said goodbye to him, and went back to the inn, where we tied our cow up in the stable. As it was a very busy day in the town on account of the fair, and people from all parts had come in, Mathia and I thought that it would be better for each to go his own way and see what we could make. In the evening, Mathia brought back four francs and I three francs fifty centimes. With seven francs fifty, we felt that we were again rich. We persuaded the kitchen maid to milk our cow, and we had the milk for supper. Never had we tasted anything so good. We were so enthusiastic about the quality of the milk that we went into the stable as soon as we had finished to embrace our treasure. The cow evidently appreciated this caress, for she licked our faces to show her appreciation. To understand the pleasure that we felt at kissing our cow and to be kissed by her, it must be remembered that neither Mathia nor I had been overburdened with caresses. Our fate had not been that of the petted and pampered children, who are obliged to defend themselves against too many kisses. The next morning we rose with the sun and started for Chavinon. How grateful I was to Mathia for the help he had given me. Without him, I never could have collected such a big sum. I wanted to give him the pleasure of leading the cow, and he was very proud indeed to pull her by the rope while I walked behind. She looked very fine. She walked along slowly, swaying a little, holding herself like an animal that is aware of her value. I did not want to tire her out, so I decided not to get to Chavinon that evening late. Better, I thought, get there early in the morning. That is what we intended to do. This is what happened. I intended to stay the night in the village where I had spent my first night with Vitalis, when Cappy, seeing me so unhappy, came to me and lay down beside me. Before reaching this village we came to a nice green spot, and, throwing down our baggage, we decided to rest. We made our cow go down into a ditch. At first I wanted to hold her by the rope, but she seemed very docile, and quite accustomed to grazing, so after a time I twisted the rope around her horns and sat down near her to eat my supper. Naturally we had finished eating long before she had, so after having admired her for some time and not knowing what to do next, we began to play a little game with each other. When we had finished our game, she was still eating. As I went to her, she pulled up the grass sharply as much as to say that she was still hungry. Wait a little, said Matia. Don't you know that a cow can eat all day long? I replied. Well, wait a little. We got our baggage and instruments together, but still she would not stop eating. I'll play her a piece on the cornet, said Matia, who found it difficult to keep still. There was a cow at Gassett's circus, and she liked music. He commenced to play a lively march. At the first note the cow lifted up her head, then suddenly before I could throw myself at her horns to catch hold of the rope, she had gone off at a gallop. We raced after her as fast as we could, calling her to stop. I shouted to Cappy to stop her. Now one cannot be endowed with every talent. A cattle driver's dog would have jumped at her nose, but Cappy was a genius, so he jumped at her legs. Naturally, this made her run faster. She raced back to the last village we had passed through. As the road was straight, we could see her in the distance, and we saw several people blocking her way and trying to catch hold of her. We slackened our speed, for we knew now that we should not lose her. All we should have to do would be to claim her from the good people who had stopped her going farther. There was quite a crowd gathered round her when we arrived on the scene, and instead of giving her up to us at once, as we expected they would, they asked us how we got the animal and where we got her. They insisted that we had stolen her and that she was running back to her owner. They declared that we ought to go to prison until the truth could be discovered. At the very mention of the word prison, I turned pale and began to stammer. I was breathless for my race and could not utter a word. At this moment a policeman arrived, and in a few words the whole affair was explained to him. As it did not seem at all clear, he decided to take possession of the cow and have us locked up until we could prove that it belonged to us. The whole village seemed to be in the procession which ran behind us up to the town hall, which was also the station house. The mob pushed us and sneered at us and called us the most horrible names, and I do believe that if the officer had not defended us they would have lynched us as though we were criminals of the deepest dye. The man who had charge of the town hall, and who was also jailer and sheriff, did not want to admit us. I thought what a kind man. However the policeman insisted that we be locked up, and the jailer finally turned the big key in a double locked door and pushed us into the prison. Then I saw why he had made some difficulty about receiving us. He had put his provisions of onions to dry in this prison, and they were strewn out on every bench. He heaped them all together in a corner. We were searched, our money matches, and knives taken from us. Then we were locked up for the night. I wish you'd give me a good slap, said Matia miserably when we were alone. Box my ears or do something to me. I was as big a fool as you to let you play the cornet to a cow, I replied. Oh I feel so bad about it, he said brokenly. Our poor cow, the prince's cow. He began to cry. Then I tried to console him by telling him that our situation was not very serious. We would prove that we bought the cow. We would send to Yusuf for the veterinarian, he would be a witness. But if they say we stole the money to buy it, he said. We can't prove that we earned it, and when one is unfortunate they always think you're guilty. That was true. And who will feed her? Went on Matia dismally. Oh dear I did hope that they would feed our poor cow. And what are we going to say when they question us in the morning? Asked Matia. Tell them the truth. And then they'll hand you over to Barbarin, or if Mother Barbarin is alone at her place and they question her to see if we are lying, we can't give her a surprise. Oh dear. You've been away from Mother Barbarin for a long time, how do you know if she isn't dead? This terrible thought had never occurred to me, and yet poor Vitalis had died. How was it I had not thought that I might lose her? Why didn't you say that before? I demanded. Because when I'm happy I don't have those ideas. I have been so happy at the thought of offering your cow to Mother Barbarin and thinking how pleased she'd be. I never thought before that she might be dead. It might have been the influence of this dismal room, for we could only see the darkest side of everything. And oh, cried Matia, starting up and throwing out his arms. If Mother Barbarin is dead and that awful Barbarin is alive and we go there, he'll take our cow and keep it himself. It was late in the afternoon when the door was thrown open and an old gentleman with white hair came into our prison. Now you rogues enter this gentleman, said the jailer, who accompanied him. That's all right, that's all right, said the gentleman who was the public prosecutor. Oh question this one. With his finger he indicated me. You take charge of the other, I'll question him later. I was alone with the prosecutor. Fixing me with his eye, he told me that I was accused of having stolen a cow. I told him that we bought the animal at the fair at Yusel, and I named the veterinarian who had assisted us in the purchase. That will be verified, he replied, and now what made you buy that cow? I told him that I was offering it as a token of affection to my foster mother. Her name, he demanded. Madame Barbarin of Chavanon, I replied. The wife of a mason who met with a serious accident in Paris a few years ago, I know her. That also will be verified. Oh, I became very confused. Seeing my embarrassment, the prosecutor pressed me with questions, and I had to tell him that if he made inquiries of Madame Barbarin our cow would not be a surprise after all, and to make it a surprise had been our chief object. But in the midst of my confusion I felt a great satisfaction to know that Mother Barbarin was still alive, and in the course of the questions that were put to me, I learned that Barbarin had gone back to Paris some time ago. This delighted me. Then came the question that Mathieu had feared. But how did you get all the money to buy the cow? I explained that from Paris to Varces, and from Varces to Yusel, we had collected the sum, sue by sue. But what were you doing in Varces? He asked. Then I was forced to tell him that I had been in a mine accident. Which of you two is Remy? He asked in a softened voice. I am Sir. I replied. To prove that, you tell me how the catastrophe occurred. I read the whole account of it in the papers. You cannot deceive me. I can tell if you really are Remy. Now, be careful. I could see that he was feeling very lenient towards us. I told him my experience in the mine, and when I had finished my story, I thought from his manner which was almost affectionate, that he would give us our freedom at once. But instead he went out of the room leaving me alone a prey to my thoughts. After some time he returned with Mathieu. I am going to have your story investigated at Yusel, he said. If it is true as I hope it is, you will be free tomorrow. And our cow, asked Mathieu anxiously, will be given back to you. I didn't mean that, replied Mathieu, but who will feed her, who will milk her? Don't worry, youngster, said the prosecutor. Mathieu smiled contentedly. Ah, then if they milk our cow, he asked, may we have some milk for supper? You certainly shall. As soon as we were alone, I told Mathieu the great news that had almost made me forget that we were locked up. Mother Barbarin is alive and Barbarin has gone to Paris, I said. Ah, then the prince's cow will make a triumphal entry. He commenced to dance and sing with joy. Carried away by his gaiety, I caught him by the hands, and Cappy, who until then had been lying in a corner, quiet and thoughtful, jumped up and took his place between us, standing up on his hind paws. We then threw ourselves into such a wild dance that the jailer rushed in to see what was the matter, probably afraid for his onions. He told us to stop, but he spoke very differently to what he had before. By that I felt that we were not in a very serious plight. I had further proof of this when a moment later he came in carrying a big bowl of milk, our cow's milk. And that was not all. He brought a large piece of white bread and some cold veal, which he said the prosecutor had sent us. Decidedly, prisons were not so bad after all, dinner and lodging for nothing. Early the next morning the prosecutor came in with our friend the veterinarian, who had wanted to come himself to see that we got our freedom. Before we left the prosecutor handed us an official stamped paper. See, I'm giving you this, he said. You are too silly boys to go tramping through the country without any papers. I have asked the mayor to make out this passport for you. This is all you will need to protect you in the future. Good luck, boys. He shook hands with us and so did the veterinarian. We had entered the village miserably, but we left in triumph. Leading our cow by the rope and walking with heads held high, we glanced over our shoulders at the villagers, who were standing on their doorsteps staring at us. I did not want to tire our cow, but I was in a hurry to get to Chavinon that same day, so we set out briskly. By evening we had almost reached my own home. Metia had never tasted pancakes, and I had promised him some as soon as we arrived. On the way I bought one pound of butter, two pounds of flour, and a dozen eggs. We had now reached the spot where I had asked Vitalis to let me rest, so that I could look down on Mother Barberin's house, as I thought for the last time. Take the rope, I said to Metia. With the spring I was on the parapet. Nothing had been changed in our valley. It looked just the same. The smoke was even coming out of the chimney. As it came towards us, it seemed to me I could smell oak leaves. I jumped down from the parapet and hugged Metia. Cappy sprang up on me, and I squeezed them both tight. Come, let's get there as quickly as possible now, I cried. What a pity, said Metia. If this brute only loved music, what a triumphal entry we could make. As we arrived at one of the turns in the road, we saw Mother Barberin come out of her cottage and go off in the direction of the village. What was to be done? We had intended to spring a surprise upon her. We should have to think of something else. Knowing that the door was always on the latch, I decided to go straight into the house after tying up our cow in the cow shed. We found the shed full of wood now, so we heaped it up in a corner and put our cow in poor Rousset's place. When we got into the house, I said to Metia, Now I'll take this seat by the fire so that she'll find me here. When she opens the gate, you'll hear it creak, then you hide yourself with Cappy. I sat down in the very spot which I had always sat on a winter night. I crouched down, making myself look as small as possible, so as to look as near like Mother Barberin's little Rummy as I could. From where I sat I could watch the gate. I looked round the kitchen. Nothing was changed. Everything was in the same place. A pane of glass that I had broken still had the bit of paper pasted over it, black with smoke and age. Suddenly I saw a white bonnet, the gate creaked. Hide yourself quickly, I said to Metia. I made myself smaller and smaller. The door opened and Mother Barberin came in. She stared at me. Who is there? She asked. I looked at her without answering. She stared back at me. Suddenly she began to tremble. Oh Lord, is it my Rummy? She murmured. I jumped up and caught her in my arms. Mama! My boy, my boy! was all that she could say as she laid her head on my shoulder. Some minutes passed before we had controlled our emotion. I wiped away her tears. Why, how you've grown, my boy! she cried, holding me at arm's length. You're so big and so strong, oh, my Rummy! A stifled snort reminded me that Metia was under the bed. I called him. He crept out. This is Metia, I said, my brother. Oh, then you found your parents? She cried. No, he's my chum, but just like a brother. And this is copy, I added after she had greeted Metia. Comet salute your master's mother, Capitano. Copy got on his hind paws and bowed gravely to Mother Barberin. She laughed heartily. Her tears had quite vanished. Metia made me a sign to spring our surprise. Let's go and see how the garden looks, I said. I have kept your bit just as you arranged it, she said, for I knew that someday you would come back. Did you get my Jerusalem artichokes? Ah, you planted them to surprise me. You always liked to give surprises, my boy. The moment had come. Is the cowshed just the same since poor Ruzette went? I asked. Oh no, I keep my wood there now. We had reached the shed by this time. I pushed open the door and at once our cow, who was hungry, began to bellow. A cow, a cow in my cowshed, said Mother Barberin. Metia and I burst out laughing. It's a surprise, I cried, and a better one than the Jerusalem artichokes. She looked at me in a dazed, astonished manner. Yes, it's a present for you. I did not come back with empty hands to the Mama who was so good to the little lost boy. This is to replace Ruzette. Metia and I bought it for you with the money we earned. Oh, the dear boys! she cried, kissing us both. She now went inside the shed to examine her present. At each discovery she gave a shriek of delight. What a beautiful cow! she exclaimed. Then she turned round suddenly. Say, you must be very rich now. I should say so! laughed Metia. We've got fifty-eight sews left. I ran to the house to fetch the milk-pale, and while in the house I arranged the butter, eggs, and flour in a display on the table, then ran back to the shed. How delighted she was when she had a pail three-quarters full of beautiful frothy milk. There was another burst of delight when she saw the things on the table ready for pancakes, which I told her we were dying to have. You must have known that Barbarin was in Paris then, she said. I explained to her how I had learned so. I will tell you why he has gone, she said, looking at me significantly. Let's have the pancakes first, I said. Don't let's talk about him. I have not forgotten how he sold me for forty francs, and it was my fear of him. The fear that he would sell me again, this kept me from writing to tell you news of myself. Oh boy, I thought that was why, she said. But you mustn't speak unkindly of Barbarin. Well, let's have the pancakes now, I said, hugging her. We all set briskly to prepare the ingredients, and before long Metia and I were cramming pancakes down our throats. Metia declared that he had never tasted anything so fine. As soon as we had finished one we held out our plates for another, and copy came in for his share. Mother Barbarin was scandalised that we should give a dog pancakes, but we explained to her that he was the chief actor in our company, and a genius, and that he was treated by us with every consideration. Later, while Metia was out getting some wood ready for the next morning, she told me why Barbarin had gone to Paris. Your family is looking for you, she said almost in a whisper. That's what Barbarin has gone up to Paris about, he's looking for you. My family, I exclaimed. Oh, I have a family of my own. Speak, tell all mother Barbarin, dear mother Barbarin. Then I got frightened. I did not believe that my family was looking for me. Barbarin was trying to find me so that he could sell me again. I would not be sold. I told my fears to mother Barbarin, but she said no, my family was looking for me. Then she told me that a gentleman came to the house who spoke with a foreign accent, and he asked Barbarin what had become of the little baby that he had found many years ago in Paris. Barbarin asked him what business that was of his. This answer was just like Barbarin would give. You know from the bakehouse one can hear everything that is said in the kitchen, said mother Barbarin, and when I knew that they were talking about you, I naturally listened. I got nearer and then I trod on a twig of wood that broke. Oh, we're not alone, said the gentleman to Barbarin. Yes, we are. That's only my wife, he replied. The gentleman then said it was very warm in the kitchen and that they could talk better outside. They went out and it was three hours later when Barbarin came back alone. I tried to make him tell me everything, but the only thing he would say was that this man was looking for you, but that he was not your father, and that he had given him one hundred francs. Probably he said more since. From this and the fine clothes you wore when he found you, we think your parents must be rich. Then Jerome said he had to go off to Paris, she continued, to find the musician who hired you. This musician said that a letter sent to Rumeau Fattard to a man named Garrafoli would reach him. And haven't you heard from Barbarin since he went? I asked, surprised that he had sent no news. Not a word, she said. I don't even know where he is living in the city. Mattia came in just then. I told him excitedly that I had a family and that my parents were looking for me. He said he was pleased for me, but he did not seem to share my joy and enthusiasm. I slept little that night. Mother Barbarin had told me to start off to Paris and find Barbarin at once and not delay my parents' joy at finding me. I had hoped that I could spend several days with her, and yet I felt that she was right. I would have to see Lise before going. That could be managed, for we could go to Paris by way of the canal. As Lise's uncle kept the locks and lived in a cottage on the banks, we could stop and see her. I spent the day with Mother Barbarin and in the evening we discussed what I would do for her when I was rich. She was to have all the things she wanted. There was not a wish of hers that should not be gratified when I had money. The cow that you have given me in your poor days will be more to me than anything you can give me when you're rich, Remy, she said fondly. The next day, after bidding dear Mother Barbarin a loving farewell, we started to walk along the banks of the canal. Mattia was very thoughtful. I knew what was the matter. He was sorry that I had rich parents, as though that would make any difference in our friendship. I told him that he should go to college and that he should study music with the very best masters, but he shook his head sadly. I told him that he should live with me as my brother and that my parents would love him just the same because he was my friend, but still he shook his head. In the meantime, as I had not my rich parents' money to spend, we had to play in all the villages through which we passed to get money for our food, and I also wanted to make some money to buy a present for Lise. Mother Barbarin had said that she valued the cow more than anything I could give her when I became rich, and perhaps I thought Lise would feel the same about a gift. I wanted to give her a doll. Fortunately, a doll would not cost so much as a cow. The next town we came to, I bought her a lovely doll with fair hair and blue eyes. Walking along the banks of the canal, I often thought of Mrs. Milligan and Arthur and their beautiful barge and wondered if we should meet it on the canal. But we never saw it. One evening we could see in the distance the house where Lise lived. It stood amongst the trees and seemed to be in an atmosphere of mist. We could see the window lit up by the flames from a big fire inside. The reddish light fell across our path as we drew nearer. My heart beat quickly. I could see them inside having supper. The door and the window were shut, but there were no curtains to the window, and I looked in and saw Lise sitting beside her aunt. I signed to Matia and copy to be silent, and then taking my heart for my shoulder I put it on the ground. Oh, yes! whispered Matia. A serenade. What a fine idea! No, not you. I'll play alone. I struck the first note of my Neapolitan song. I did not sing, for I did not want my voice to betray me. As I played I looked at Lise. She raised her head quickly and her eyes sparkled. Then I commenced to sing. She jumped from her chair and ran to the door. In a moment she was in my arms, and Catherine then came out and invited us into supper. Lise quickly placed two plates on the table. If you don't mind, I said, will you put a third? We have a little friend with us. And I pulled out the doll from my bag and placed her in the chair next to Lise. The look that she gave me I shall never forget. End of Chapter 24 Mother, brothers, and sisters If I had not been in a hurry to go to Paris, I should have stayed a long time with Lise. We had so much to say to each other and could say so little in the language that we used. She told me with signs how good her uncle and aunt had been to her and what beautiful rights she had in the barges. And I told her how I nearly perished in the mine where Alexix worked and that my family were looking for me. That was the reason that I was hurrying to Paris and that was why it had been impossible for me to go and see Etionette. Naturally, most of the talk was about my family, my rich family and all I would do when I had money. I would make her father, brothers, sisters, and about all herself happy. Lise, unlike Mathia, was delighted. She quite believed that if one had money, one ought to be very happy, because would not her father have been happy if he had only had the money to pay his debts? We took long walks, all three of us. Lise, Mathia, and I accompanied by the doll and Cappy. I was very happy those few days. In the evening we sat in front of the house when it was not too damp and before the fireplace when the mist was thick. I played the harp and Mathia played his violin or cornet. Lise preferred the harp, which may be very proud. When the time came and we had to separate and go to bed, I played and sang her my Neapolitan song. Yet we had to part and go on our way. I told her that I would come back for her soon. My last words to her were, I'll come and fetch you in a carriage drawn by four horses. And she quite believed me and she made emotion as though she were cracking a whip to urge on the horses. She also, the same as I, could see my riches and my horses and carriages. I was so eager to get to Paris now that if it had not been for Mathia I would have stopped only to collect what was absolutely necessary for our food. We had no count to buy now, no doll. It was not for me to take money to my rich parents. Let us get all we can, said Mathia, forcing me to take my harp, for we don't know if we shall find barbarian at once. One would think that you had forgotten that night when you were dying of hunger. Oh, I haven't, I said lightly, but we're sure to find him at once. You wait. Yes, but I have not forgotten how I leaned up against the church that day when you found me. Ah, I don't want to be hungry in Paris. We'll dine all the better when we get to my parents, I replied. Well, that's worth just as though we were buying another cow, urged Mathia. This was very wise advice, but I must admit that I did not sing with the same spirit. To get the money to buy a cow for mother barbarian or a doll for lease was quite a different matter. How lazy you'll be when you're rich, said Mathia. The nearer we got to Paris, the gayer I became, and the more melancholy grew Mathia. As I had assured him that we should not be parted, I wondered why he should be so sad now. Finally, when we reached the gates of Paris, he told me how great was the spirit of Garrafoli, and that if he saw him, he knew that he would take him again. You know how afraid you are of barbarian, so you can imagine how I fear Garrafoli. If he's out of prison, he'll be sure to catch me. Oh, my poor head, how he used to bang it! And then he will part us. Of course he'd like to have you as one of his pupils, but he could not force you to stay, but he has a right to me. He's my uncle. I had not thought of Garrafoli. I ranged with Mathia that I should go to the various places that Madhu Barbaran had mentioned as to where I might find Barbaran. Then I would go to the room of Da, and after that he should meet me at seven o'clock outside the Notre Dame Cathedral. Be hard to ask, though we were never going to meet again. Mathia went in one direction and I in another. I had written down on paper the names of the places where Barbaran had lived before. I went first to one place, then to another. At one lodging house they told me that he had lived there four years ago, but that he had not been there since. The landlord told me that he'd like to catch the rogue, for he owed him one week's rent. I grew very despondent. There was only one place left for me to inquire that was at a restaurant. The man who kept the place said that he had not seen him for a very long time, but one of the customers sitting eating at a table called out that he had been living at the Hotel du Contal of late. Before going to the Hotel du Contal, I went to Garafolli's place to see if I could find out something about him so that I could take back some news to poor Mathia. When I reached the yard, I saw, as on my first visit, the same old hanging up dirty rags outside the door. As Garafolli returned, I asked. The old man looked at me without replying, then began to cough. I could see that he would not tell me anything unless I let him know that I knew all about Garafolli. He don't mean to say he's still in prison, I exclaimed. Why, I thought he'd got out long ago. No, he's got another three months yet. Garafolli, three more months in prison? Mathia could breathe. I left the horrible yard as quickly as possible and hurried off to the Hotel du Contal. I was full of hope and joy and quite disposed to think kindly of Barbarin. If it had not been for Barbarin, I might have died of cold and hunger when I was a baby. It was true he had taken me from Mother Barbarin to sell me to the stranger, but then he had no liking for me and perhaps he was forced to do it for the money. After all, it was through him that I was finding my parents. So now I ought not to harbour any bitterness against him. I soon reached the Hotel du Contal, which was only a hotel in name, being nothing better than a miserable, lodging house. I went to see a man named Barbarin. He comes from Chavenon. I sat with dirty old woman who sat at the desk. She was very deaf and asked me to repeat what I had said. Do you know a man named Barbarin? I shouted. Then she threw up her hands to heaven so abruptly that the cat sleeping on her knees sprang down in terror. Alas! Alas! She cried. Then she added. Are you the boy he was looking for? Oh, you know! I cried excitedly. Well, where's Barbarin? Dead, she replied, laconically. I leaned on my harp. Dead? I cried loud enough for her to hear. I was dazed. How should I find my parents now? You're the boy they're looking for. I'm sure you are, said the old woman again. Yes, yes, I'm the boy. Where's my family? Can you tell me? I don't know any more than just what I've told you, my boy. I should say my young gentleman. What did Barbarin say about my parents? Oh, do tell me, I said imploringly. She threw her arms up towards heaven. Ah, if that isn't a story. Well, tell it to me. What is it? At this moment, a woman who looked like a servant came forward. The mischiefs of the hotel Lucantal turned to her. If this isn't an affair. This boy here, this young gentleman, is the man Barbarin talks so much about. But didn't Barbarin speak to you about my family? I asked. I should say so, more than a hundred times. A very rich family it is that you've got, my boy. My young gentleman. And where do they live and what is their name? Barbarin wouldn't tell us anything. He was that mysterious. He wanted to get all the reward for himself. Didn't he leave any papers? No, nothing except one that said he came from Chavno. If he hadn't found that, we couldn't have let his wife know he's dead. Oh, you did let her know? Sure, why not? I could learn nothing from the old woman. I turned slowly towards the door. Where are you going? She asked. Back to my friend. Ah, you have a friend. Does he live in Paris? We got to Paris only this morning. Well, if you haven't a place to lodge in, why don't you come here? You will be well taken care of and it's an honest house. If your family get tired of waiting to hear from Barbarin, they may come here and then they'll find you. What I say is for your own interest. What age is your friend? He's a little younger than I. Just think, two boys on the streets of Paris. You could get into such a bad place. Now this is real respectable on account of the locality. The Hotel Lucantale was one of the dirtiest lodging houses that I had ever seen and I had seen some pretty dirty ones. But what the old woman said was worth considering, besides we could not be particular. I had not found my family in their beautiful Paris mansion yet. Mathieu had been right to want to get all the money we could on our way to the city. What should we have done if he had not our seventeen francs in our pockets? How much will you charge for the room for my friend and myself? I asked. Ten cents a day. That's not much. Well, we'll come back tonight. Come back early. Paris is a bad place at night for boys, she called after me. Night was falling. The street lamps were lit. I had a long way to walk to the cathedral where I was to meet Mathieu. All my high spirits had vanished. I was very tired and all around me seemed gloomy. In this great Paris, full of light and noise, I felt so utterly alone. Would I ever find my people? Was I ever to see my real mother and my real father? When I reached the cathedral, I had still twenty minutes to wait for Mathieu. I felt this night that I needed his friendship more than ever. What a comfort it was to think that I was going to see him so gay, so kind, such a friend. A little before seven, I heard a quirk hark. Then out of the shadows jumped Keppie. He strung on to my knees and licked me with his soft wet tongue. I held him in my arms and kissed his cold nose. It was not long before Mathieu appeared. In a few words I told him that Barbarin was dead and that there was now little hope that I could ever find my family. Then he gave me all the sympathy of which I was in need. He tried to console me and told me not to despair. He wished as sincerely as I that we could find my parents. We returned to the hotel de Cantel. The next morning I rode to mother Barbarin to express my grief for her loss. And to ask her if she had any news from her husband before he died. By return mail she sent me word that her husband had written to her from the hospital where they had taken him and said that if he did not get better she was to write to Gretin Gallies, Lincoln Square, London for they were the lawyers who were looking for me. He told her that she was not to take any steps until she was sure that he was dead. We must go to London, said Mathieu, when I have finished reading the letter that the priest had written for her. If the lawyers are English that shows that your parents are English. Oh, I'd rather be the same as Liz and the others. But, I added, if I'm English I'll be the same as Mrs. Milligan and Arthur. I'd rather you were Italian, said Mathieu. In a few minutes our package was ready and we were off. It took us eight days to hike from Paris to Boulogne, stopping at the principal towns en route. When we reached Boulogne we had 32 Franks in our purse. We took passage on a cargo boat that was going the next day to London. What a rough journey we had, who Mathieu declared that he would never go on the sea again. When at last we were steaming up the Thames, I begged him to get up and see the wonderful sights, but he implored me to let him alone. At last the engine stopped and the ropes were thrown into the ground and we landed in London. I knew very little English, but Mathieu had picked up quite a great deal from an Englishman who had worked with him at the Gasouk Circus. When we landed he had once asked a policeman to direct us to Lincoln Square. It seemed to be a very long way. Many times we thought that we had lost ourselves, but again upon making inquiries we found that we were going in the right direction. Finally, we reached Temple Bar and a few steps further we came to the Green Square. My heart beats so quickly when we stood before the door of Grethe and Gally's office that I had to ask Mathieu to wait a moment until I had recovered myself. After Mathieu had stated to declare my name and my business, we were shown at once into a private office at the head of the firm. Mr. Grethe. Fortunately this gentleman spoke French, so I was able to speak to him myself. He questioned me upon every detail of my life. My answers evidently convinced him that I was the boy he was looking for, for he told me that I had a family living in London and that he would send me to them at once. One moment, sir. Have I a father? I asked, scarcely able to say the word father. Yes, not only a father, but a mother, brothers, and sisters, he replied. Oh, he touched a bell and a clerk appeared whom he told to take charge of us. Oh, I had forgotten, said Mr. Grethe. Your name is Driscoll. Your father's name is Mr. John Driscoll. In spite of Mr. Grethe's ugly face, I think I could have jumped at him and hugged him if he had given me time, but with his hand he indicated the door and we followed the clerk. Chapter 26 Of Nobody's Boy This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by phone. Nobody's Boy by Hector Malo. Translated by Florence Crue-Jones. Chapter 26 Bitter Disappointment When we got to the street, the clerk hailed a cab and told us to jump in. The strange-looking vehicle, with the coachman sitting on a box at the back of a hood that covered us, I learned later was a handsome cab. Mattia and I were huddled in a corner with cappy between our legs. The clerk took up the rest of the seat. Mattia had heard him tell the coachman to drive us to Bethnal Green. The driver seemed none too anxious to take us there. Mattia and I thought it was probably on account of the distance. We both knew what green meant in English, and Bethnal Green undoubtedly was the name of the park where my people lived. For a long time the cab rolled through the busy streets of London. It was such a long way that I thought perhaps their estate was situated on the outskirts of the city. The word green made us think that it might be in the country, but nothing around us announced the country. We were in a very thickly populated quarter. The black mud splashed our cab as we drove along. Then we turned into a much poorer part of the city, and every now and again the cab man pulled up as though he did not know his way. At last he stopped altogether, and through the little window of the handsome, a discussion took place between Gress and Gally's clerk and the bewildered cabman. From what Mattia could learn the man said it was no use. He could not find his way, and he asked the clerk which direction he should take. The clerk replied that he did not know, for he had never been in that thieves locality before. We both called the word thieves. Then the clerk gave some money to the coachman and told us to get out of the cab. The man grumbled at his fare, and then turned round and drove off. We were standing now in a muddy street before what the English call a gen palace. Our guide looked about him in disgust, then entered the swing doors of the gen palace. We followed. Although we were in the miserable part of the city, I had never seen anything more luxurious. There were guilt-framed mirrors everywhere, glass chandeliers and a magnificent counter that shone like silver. Yet the people who filled this place were filthy and in rags. Our guide gulped down a drink standing before the beautiful counter, then asked the man who had served him if he could direct him to the place he wanted to find. Evidently he got the information he required, for he hurried out again through the swing doors, we following close on his heels. The streets through which we walk now were even narrower and from one house across to another were swing wash lines from which dirty rags were hanging. The women who sat in their doorways were pale, and their matted fair hair hung loose over their shoulders. The children were almost naked, and the few clothes that they did wear were but rags. In the alley were some pigs wallowing in the stagnant water from which a fetid odor arose. Our guide stopped. Evidently he had lost his way, but at this moment a policeman appeared. The clerk spoke to him, and the officer told him he would show him the way. We followed the policeman down more narrow streets. At last we stopped at a yard in the middle of which was a little pond. This is Red Lion Court, said the officer. Why were we stopping there? Could it be possible that my parents lived in this place? The policeman knocked at the door of a wooden hut, and our guide thanked him. So we had arrived. Mattia took my hand, and gently pressed it. I pressed his. We understood one another. I was as in a dream when the door was opened, and we found ourselves in a room with a big fire burning in the grate. Before the fire in a large cane chair sat an old man with a white beard, and his head covered with a black skull cap. At a table sat a man of about forty, and a woman about six years his junior. She must have been very pretty once, but now her eyes had a glassy stare, and her manners were listless. Then there were four children, two boys and two girls, all very fair like their mother. The eldest boy was about eleven, the youngest girl, scarcely three. I did not know what the clerk was saying to the man. I only called to name Driscoll, my name, so the lawyer had sent. All eyes were turned on Mattia and me. Only the baby girl paid attention to Cappy. Which one is Remi? asked the man in French. I am, I said, taking a step forward. Then come and kiss your father, my boy. When I had thought of this moment I had imagined that I should be overwhelmed with happiness and spring into my father's arms, but I felt nothing of the kind. I went up and kissed my father. Now, he said, there's your grandfather, your mother, your brothers, and sisters. I went up to my mother first, and put my arms about her. She let me kiss her, but she did not return my caress. She only said two or three words, which I did not understand. She cans with your grandfather, said my father, and go gently. He's paralyzed. I also shook hands with my brothers and my eldest sister. I wanted to take the little one in my arms, but she was too occupied with Cappy, and pushed me away. As I went from one to the other, I was angry with myself. Why could I not feel any pleasure at having found my family at last? I had a father, a mother, brothers, sisters, and a grandfather. I had longed for this moment. I had been mad with joy in thinking that I, like other boys, would have a family that I could call my own to love me and whom I could love. And now I was staring at my family curiously, finding nothing in my heart to say to them, not a word of affection. Was I a monster? If I had found my parents in a palace instead of in a hovel, should I have had more affection for them? I felt ashamed at this lot. Going over again to my mother, I put my arms around her and kissed her full on the lips. Evidently, she did not understand what made me do this, for instead of returning my kisses, she looked at me in a listless manner. Then, turning to her husband, my father, she shrugged her shoulders and said something that I could not understand, but which made him laugh. Her indifference and my father's love went right to my heart. It did not seem to me that my affection should have been received in such a way. Who is he? asked my father, pointing to Matia. I told him that Matia was my dearest friend and how much I owed him. Good! said my father. Would you like to stay and see the country? I was about to answer for Matia, but he spoke first. That's just what I want, he exclaimed. My father then asked why Barbarin had not come with me. I told him that he was dead. He seemed pleased to hear this. He repeated it to my mother, who also seemed pleased. Why were they both pleased that Barbarin was dead? You must be rather surprised that we have not searched for you for thirteen years, said my father, and then suddenly to go off and look up this man who found you when you were a baby. I told him that I was very surprised and that I'd like to know about it. Come near the fire, then, and I'll tell you all about it. I flung the bag from my shoulders and took the chair that he offered me. As I stretched out my legs, wet and covered with mud, to the fire my grandfather spat on one side, like an old cat that is annoyed. Don't pay any attention to him, said my father. The old chap wasn't like anyone to sit before his fire, but you needn't mind him, if you're cold. I was surprised to hear anyone speak like this of an old man. I kept my legs under my chair, for I thought that attention should be paid to him. You are my eldest son now, said my father. You were born a year after my marriage with your mother. When I married, there was a young girl who thought that I was going to marry her, and out of revenge she stole you from us when you were six months old. We searched everywhere for you, but we did not go so far as Paris. We thought that you were dead until three months ago, when this woman was dying, she confessed the truth. I went over to France at once, and the police in that locality where you had been left, told me that you had been adopted by a mason named Barbarin, who lived at Chavinol. I found him, and he told me that he had loaned you to a musician named Vitalis, and that you were tramping through France. I could not stay over there any longer, but I left Barbarin some money, and told him to search for you, and when he had news to write to Gress and Galli. I did not give him my address here, because we are only in London during the winter. The rest of the year we travel through England and Scotland. We are peddlers by trade, and I have my own caravans. There, boy, that is how you have come back to us after 13 years. You may feel a little timid at first, because you can't understand us, but you'll soon pick up English and be able to talk to your brothers and sisters. It won't be long before you're used to us. Yes, of course I should get used to them. Were they not my own people? The fine baby linen, the beautiful clothes, had not spoken the truth. But what did that matter? Affection was worth more than riches. It was not money that I pined for, but to have affection, a family, and a home. While my father was talking to me, they had set the table for supper. A large joint of roast beef with potatoes rounded was placed in the middle of the table. Are you hungry, boys? asked my father, addressing Matia and myself. Matia showed his white teeth. Well, sit down to table. But before sitting down, he pushed my grandfather's cane-walker up to the table. Then, taking his own place with his back to the fire, he commenced to cut the roast beef and gave each one a fine-baked slice and some potatoes. Although I had not been brought up exactly on the principle of good breeding, I noticed that my brothers and sisters behaved very badly at table. They ate more often with their fingers, sticking them into the gravy and licking them, without my father and mother seeming to notice them. As to my grandfather, he gave his whole attention to what was before him. And the one hand that he was able to use went continually from his plate to his mouth. When he led a piece full from his shaking fingers, my brothers and sisters laughed. I thought that we should spend the evening to get around the fire, but my father said that he was expecting friends, and told us to go to bed. Beckoning to Matia and me, he took a candle and went out to a stable that led from the room where we had been eating. In his stable were two big caravans. He opened the door of one, and we saw two small beds, one above the other. There you are, boys, there are your beds, he said. Sleep well. Such was the welcome into my family. End of Chapter 26 Recording by Phone Chapter 27 of Nobody's Boy This is a LibriVox Recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Campbell Shelp. Nobody's Boy, Hector Mollott. Translated by Florence Crue-Jones. Chapter 27, A Distressing Discovery My father left the candle with us, but locked the caravan on the outside. We got into bed as quickly as possible, without chatting, as was our habit. Matia did not seem to want to talk any more than I, and I was pleased that he was silent. We blew the candle out, but I found it impossible to go to sleep. I thought over all that had passed, turning over and over in my narrow bed. I could hear Matia, who occupied the berth above mine, turn over restlessly also. He could not sleep any more than I. Hours passed, as it grew later a vague fear oppressed me. I felt uneasy, but I could not understand why it was that I felt so. Of what was I afraid, not of sleeping in a caravan even in this vile part of London? How many times in my vagabond life had I spent the night less protected than I was at this moment? I knew that I was sheltered from all danger, and yet I was oppressed with a fear that amounted almost to terror. The hours passed one after the other. Suddenly I heard a noise at the stable door, which opened onto another street. Then came several regular knocks at intervals. Then the light penetrated our caravan. I glanced hastily round in surprise and copy, who slept beside my bed, woke up with a growl. I then saw that this light came in through a little window of the caravan against which our berths were placed, and which I had not noticed when going to bed, because there was a curtain hanging over it. The upper part of this window touched Matia's bed, and the lower part touched mine. Afraid that copy might wake up all the house, I put my hand over his mouth, then looked outside. My father had entered the stable and quietly opened the door on the other side. Then he closed it again in the same cautious manner, after admitting two men heavily laden with bundles, which they carried on their shoulders. Then he placed his finger on his lip, and with the other hand which held the lantern, he pointed to the caravan in which we were sleeping. I was about to call out that they need not mind us, but I was afraid I should wake up Matia, who now I thought was sleeping quietly, so I kept still. My father helped the two men unload their bundles, then he disappeared, but he soon returned with my mother. During his absence the men had opened their baggage. There were hats, underclothes, stockings, gloves, etc. Evidently these men were merchants who had come to sell their goods to my parents. My father took each object and examined it by the light of the lantern and passed it on to my mother, who with a little pair of scissors cut off the tickets and put them in her pocket. This appeared strange to me, as also the hour that they had chosen for this sale. While my mother was examining the goods, my father spoke to the men in a whisper. If I had known English a little better I should perhaps have caught what he had said, but all I could hear was the word police. That was said several times and for that reason caught my ear. When all the goods had been carefully noted, my parents and the two men went into the house, and again our caravan was in darkness. They had evidently got inside to settle the bill. I wanted to convince myself that what I had seen was quite natural, yet despite my desire I could not believe so. Why had not those men who had come to see my parents entered by the other door? Why did they talk of the police and whispers as though they were afraid of being heard outside? Why had my mother cut off the tickets after she had bought the goods? I could not drive these thoughts from my mind. After a time a light again filled our caravan. I looked out this time in spite of myself. I told myself that I ought not to look and yet I looked. I told myself that it was better that I should not know and yet I wanted to see. My father and mother were alone. While my mother quickly made a bundle of the goods, my father swept a corner of the stable. Under the dry sand that he heaped there was a trap door. He lifted it. By then my mother had finished tying up the bundles and my father took them and lowered them through the trap to a cellar below. My mother holding the lantern to light him. Then he shut the trap door and swept the sand over it again. Over the sand they both strewed wisps of straw as on the rest of the stable floor. Then they went out. At the moment when they softly closed the door it seemed to me that Mattia moved in his bed and that he lay back on his pillow. Had he seen, I did not dare ask him. From head to foot I was in a cold perspiration. I remained in this state all night long. A cock crowed its daybreak. Then only did I drop off to sleep. The noise of the key being turned in the door of our caravan the next morning woke me. Thinking that it was my father who had come to tell us that it was time to get up, I closed my eyes so as not to see him. It was your brother, said Mattia. He has unlocked the door and he's gone now. We dressed. Mattia did not ask me if I had slept well. Neither did I put the question to him. Once I caught him looking at me and I turned my eyes away. We had to go to the kitchen, but neither my father nor mother were there. My grandfather was seated before the fire and his big chair as though he had not moved since the night before, and my eldest sister, whose name was Annie, was wiping the table. Alan, my eldest brother, was sweeping the room. I went over to them to wish them good morning, but they continued with their work without taking any notice of me. I went towards my grandfather, but he would not let me get near him, and like the evening before he spat at my side, which stopped me short. Ask them, I said to Mattia, which time I shall see my mother and father. Mattia did as I told him and my grandfather, upon hearing one of us speak English, seemed to feel more amiable. What does he say? He says that your father has gone out for the day and that your mother is asleep and that if we like we may go out. Did he only say that? I asked, finding this translation very short. Mattia seemed confused. I don't know if I understood the rest, he said. Tell me what you think you understood. It seemed to me that he said if we found some bargains in the city we were not to miss them. He said that we lived at the expense of fools. My grandfather must have guessed that Mattia was explaining what he had said to me, for with the hand that was not paralyzed he made a motion as though he were slipping something into his pocket. Then he winked his eye. Let us go out, I said quickly. For two or three hours we walked about, not daring to go far for fear we might become lost. Beth Nol Green was even more horrible in the daytime than it had been at night. Mattia and I hardly spoke a word. Now and again he pressed my hand. When we returned to the house my mother had not left her room. Through the open door I could see that she was leaning her head on the table. Thinking that she was sick I ran to her to kiss her as I was unable to speak to her. She lifted up her head which swayed. She looked at me but did not see me. I smelled the odor of gin on her hot breath. I drew back. Her head fell again on her arms resting on the table. Gin, said my grandfather grinning. I remained motionless. I felt turned to stone. I don't know how long I stood so. Suddenly I turned to Mattia. He was looking at me with eyes full of tears. I signed to him and again we left the house. For a long time we walked about side by side holding each other's hands, saying nothing, going straight before us without knowing where we were going. Where do you want to go Remy? He asked at last anxiously. I don't know. Somewhere so we can talk I want to speak to you Mattia. We can't talk in this crowd. We had by this time come to a much wider street at the end of which was a public garden. We hurried to this spot and sat down on a bench. You know how much I love you Mattia boy. I began. And you know that it was through friendship for you that I asked you to come with me to see my people. You won't doubt my friendship no matter what I ask of you. Don't be such a silly. He said forcing a smile. You want to laugh so that I won't break down? I replied. If I can't cry when I'm with you, when can I cry? But oh oh Mattia, Mattia! Throwing my arms around dear old Mattia's neck, I burst into tears. Never had I felt so miserable. When I had been alone in this great world, never had I felt so unhappy as I did at this moment. After my burst of sobs, I forced myself to be calm. It was not because I wanted Mattia's pity that I had brought him to this garden. It was not for myself. It was for him. Mattia, I said resolutely. You must go back to France. Leave you never. I knew beforehand what you would reply and I am pleased. Oh so pleased that you wish to be with me. But Mattia you must go back to France at once. Why tell me that? Because tell me Mattia, don't be afraid. Did you sleep last night? Did you see? I did not sleep. He answered. And you saw? All. And you understood? That those goods had not been paid for. Your father was angry with the men because they knocked at the stable door and not at the house door. They told him that the police were watching them. You see very well then that you must go, I said. If I must go, you must go also. It is no better for one than for the other. If you had met Gérifoli in Paris and he had forced you to go back to him, I am sure you would not have wanted me to stay with you. I am simply doing what you would do yourself. He did not reply. You must go back to France, I insisted. Go to least and tell her that I cannot do for her father what I promised. I told her that the first thing I did would be to pay off his debts. You must tell her how it is and go to Mother Barbarine also. Simply say that my people are not as rich as I had thought. There is no disgrace in not having money. But don't tell them anything more. It is not because they are poor that you want me to go, so I shan't go. Mattia replied obstinately. I know what it is. After what we saw last night, you are afraid for me. Mattia, don't say that. You are afraid one day that I shall cut the tickets off goods that have not been paid for. Mattia, Mattia, don't. Well if you are afraid for me, I am afraid for you. Let us both go. It's impossible, my parents are nothing to you, but this is my father and mother and I must stay with them. It is my family. Your family, that man who steals your father, that drunken woman your mother. Don't you dare say so, Mattia. I cried springing up from my seat. You are speaking of my father and mother and I must respect them and love them. Yes, so you should if they are your people, but are they? You forget their many proofs. You don't resemble your father or your mother. Their children are all fair while you are dark. And then how is it they could spend so much money to find a child? Put all these things together and in my opinion you are not a driscoll. You might write to mother Barbara and ask her to tell you just what the clothes were like that you wore when you were found. Then ask that man you call your father to describe the clothes his baby had on when it was stolen. Until then I shan't move. But suppose one day Mattia gets a bang on his poor head. That would not be so hard if he received the blow for a friend, he said smiling. We did not return to the red lion court until night. My father and mother passed no remark upon our absence. After supper my father drew two chairs to the fireside, which brought a growl from my grandmother, and then asked us to tell him how we had made enough money to live on in France. I told the story. Not only did we earn enough to live on, but we got enough to buy a cow, said Mattia with assurance. In his turn he told how we came by the cow. You must be clever kids, said my father. Show us what you can do. I took my harp and played a piece, but not my Neapolitan song. Mattia played a piece on his violin and a piece on his cornet. It was the cornet solo that brought the greatest applause from the children who had gathered round us in a circle. And copy can he do anything, asked my father. He ought to be able to earn his food. I was very proud of copy's talents. I put him through all his tricks, and as usual he scored a great success. Why, that dog is worth a fortune, exclaimed my father. I was very pleased that this praise and assurance that copy could learn anything that one wished to teach him. My father translated what I said into English, and it seemed to me that he added something more which made everybody laugh. For the old grandfather winked his eye several times and said, fine dog. This is what I suggest, said my father. That is, if Mattia would like to live with us. I want to stay with Remy, replied Mattia. Well, this is what I propose, continued my father. We're not rich, and we all work. In the summer we travel through the country, and the children go and sell the goods to those who don't take the trouble to come to us, but in the winter we haven't much to do. Now you and Remy can go and play music in the streets. You'll make quite a little money as Christmas draws near, but Ned and Allen must take copy with them, and he'll make the people laugh with his tricks, and that's why the talent will be distributed. Copy won't work well with anyone but me, I said quickly. I could not bear to be parted from my dog. He'll learn to work with Allen and Ned easy, said my father. We'll get more money this way. Oh, but we'll get ever so much more with copy, I insisted. That's enough, replied my father briefly, when I say a thing I mean it, no arguments. I said nothing more. As I laid down in my bed that night, Mattia whispered in my ear. Now tomorrow you wretched to Mother Barbarine, then he jumped into bed. But the next morning I had to give copy his lesson. I took him in my arms, and while I gently kissed him on his cold nose, I explained to him what he had to do, poor doggy, how he looked at me, how he listened. I then put his leash in Allen's hand, and he followed the two boys obediently, but with a forlorn air. My father took Mattia and me across London where there were beautiful houses, splendid streets with wide pavements, and carriages that shone like glass, drawn by magnificent horses and driven by big fat coachmen with powdered wigs. It was late when we got back to Red Lion Court, for the distance from the west edge to Bethnal Green is great. How pleased I was to see copy again. He was covered with mud, but in a good humour. I was so pleased to see him, that after I had rubbed him well down with dry straw, I wrapped him in my sheepskin and made him sleep in my bed. Things went on this way for several days. Mattia and I went one way and copy Ned and Allen another. Then one evening my father told me that we could take a copy the next day with us, as he wanted the two boys to do something in the house. Mattia and I were very pleased and we intended to do our utmost to bring back a good sum of money, so that he would let us have the dog always. We had to get copy back and we would not spare ourselves, Ned, the one of us. We made copy undergo a severe wash and combing early in the morning, then we went off. Unfortunately for our plan, a heavy fog had been hanging over London for two entire days. It was so dense that we could only see a few steps before us, and those who listened to us playing behind these fog curtains could not see copy. It was a most annoying state of affairs for our takings. Little did we think how indebted we should be to the fog a few minutes later. We were walking through one of the most popular streets when suddenly I discovered that copy was not with us. This was extraordinary for he always kept close at our heels. I waited for him to catch up with us. I stood at the entrance of a dark alley and whistled softly, where we could see but a short distance. I was beginning to fear that he had been stolen from us when he came up on the run, holding a pair of woolen stockings between his teeth. Placing his fore paws against me, he presented them to me with a bark. He seemed as proud as when he had accomplished one of his most difficult tricks and wanted my approval. It was all done in a few seconds. I stood dumbfounded. Then Matia seized the stockings with one hand and pulled me down the alley with the other. Walk quick, but don't run, he whispered. He told me a moment later that a man who had hurried past him on the pavement was saying, What is that thief? Forget him. We went out by the other end of the alley. If it had not been for the fog, we should have been arrested as thieves, said Matia. For a moment I stood almost choking. They had made a thief of my good honest copy. Holt him tight, I said, and come back to the house. We walked quickly. The father and mother were seated at the table folding up material. I threw the pair of stockings down. Alan and Ned laughed. Here's a pair of stockings, I said. You've made a thief of my dog. I thought you took him out to amuse people. I was trembling so I could scarcely speak and yet I never felt more determined. And if it was not for amusement, demanded my father, what would you do I like to know? I'd tie a cord round copy's neck, and although I love him dearly, I'd drown him. I don't want copy to become a thief any more than I want to be one myself. And if I thought that I should ever become a thief, I'd drown myself at once with my dog. My father looked me full in the face. I thought that he was going to strike me. His eyes gleamed. I did not flinch. Oh, very well then, said he recovering himself. So that it shall not happen again, you may take copy out with you in the future. I showed my fists to the two boys. I could not speak to them, but they saw by my manner that if they dared have anything more to do with my dog, they would have me to reckon with. I was willing to fight them both to protect copy. From that day, everyone in my family openly showed their dislike for me. My grandfather continued to spit angrily when I approached him. The boys and my eldest sister played every trick they possibly could upon me. My father and mother ignored me, only demanding of me my money every evening. Out of the whole family for whom I had felt so much affection when I had landed in England, there was only baby Kate who had let me fondle her, and she turned for me coldly if I had not candy or an orange in my pocket for her. Although I would not listen to what Matia had said at first, gradually little by little, I began to wonder if I did really belong to this family. I had done nothing for them to be so unkind to me. My T.S. seemed me so greatly worried, which say as though to himself. I am just wondering what kind of clothes Mother Barbarin will tell us you are. At last the letter came. The priest had read in it for her. It read, My little Rami, I was surprised and sorry to learn the contents of your letter. From what Barbarin told me and also from the clothes you had when you were found, I thought that you belonged to a very rich family. I can easily tell you what you wore, for I have kept everything. You were not wound up in wrappings like a French baby, you wore long robes and underskirt like little English babies. You had on a white flannel robe and over that a very fine linen robe, then a big white cashmere palace lined with white silk and trim with beautiful white embroidery and you had a lovely lace bonnet and then white wool and socks with little silk rosettes. None of these things were marked, but the little flannel jacket you had next to your skin in the flannel robe had both been marked, but the marks had been carefully cut out. There Rami boy, that is all I can tell you. Don't worry dear child, that you can't give us all the fine presents that you promised. Your cow that you bought with your savings is worth all the presents in the world to me. I am pleased to tell you that she's in good health and gives the same fine quantity of milk, so I am very comfortably off now and I never look at her without thinking of you and your little friend, Matia. Let me have news of you sometimes dear boy. You are so tender and affectionate and I hope now you have found your family. They will all love you as you deserve to be loved. I kiss you lovingly. Your foster mother Widow Barbarin. Dear mother Barbarin, she imagined that everybody must love me because she did. She's a fine woman, said Matia. Very fine she thought of me. Now let's see what Mr. Driscoll has to say. He might have forgotten the things. Does one forget the clothes that their child wears when out was kidnapped? Why it's only through its clothes that they can find it? Wait until we hear what he says before we think anything. It was not an easy thing for me to ask my father how I was dressed on the day that I was stolen. If I had put the question casually without any underthought, it would have been simple enough. As it was I was timid. Then one day when the cold sleet had driven me home earlier than usual, I took my courage in both hands and broached the subject that was causing me so much anxiety. At my question my father looked me full in the face, but I looked back at him far more boldly than I imagined that I could at this moment. Then he smiled. There was something hard and cool in this smile, but still it was a smile. On the day that you were stolen from us, he said slowly, you wore a flannel robe, a linen robe, a lace bonnet, white woolen shoes, and a white embroidered cashmere police. Two of your garments were marked FD, Francis Driscoll, your real name, but this mark was cut out by the woman who stole you, for she hoped that in this way you would never be found. I'll show you your baptismal certificate, which, of course, I still have. He searched in a drawer and soon brought forth a big paper which he handed to me. If you don't mind, I said with a last effort, Mattia will translate it for me. Certainly. Mattia translated it as well as he could. It appeared that I was born on Thursday, August the 2nd, and that I was the son of John Driscoll and Margaret Grange, his wife. What further proofs could I ask? That's all very fine, said Mattia that night when we were in our caravan. But how comes it that peddlers were rich enough to give their children lace bonnets and embroidered palaces? Peddlers are not so rich as that. It is because they were peddlers that they could get those things cheaper. Mattia whistled, but he shook his head. Then again he whispered, You are not that Driscoll's baby, but you are the baby that Driscoll stole. I was about to reply, but he had already climbed up into his bed. End of Chapter 27 Chapter 28 of Nobody's Boy This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Nobody's Boy Hector Malau Translated by Florence Crew Jones Chapter 28 A Mysterious Stranger If I had been in Mattia's place, I should perhaps have had as much imagination as he, but I felt in my position that it was wrong for me to have such thoughts. It had been proved beyond a doubt that Mr. Driscoll was my father. I could not look at the matter from the same point of view as Mattia. He might doubt, but I must not. When he tried to make me believe as he did, I told him to be silent. But he was pig-headed, and I was not always able to get the better of his obstinacy. Why are you dark and all the rest of the family fair? He would ask repeatedly. How was it that poor people could dress their baby in fine laces and embroidery? Was another often repeated question, and I could only reply by putting a question myself. Why did they search for me if I was not their child? Why had they given money to Barbara and to Grethe and Gally? Mattia could find no answer to my question, and yet he would not be convinced. I think we should both go back to France, he urged. That's impossible. Because it's your duty to keep with your family, eh? But is it your family? These discussions only had one result. They made me more unhappy than I had ever been. How terrible it is to doubt. Yet, in spite of my wish not to doubt, I doubted. Who would have thought when I was crying so sadly because I thought I had no family that I should be in such despair now that I had one? How could I know the truth? In the meantime, I had to sing and dance and laugh and make grimaces when my heart was full. One Sunday my father told me to stay in the house because he wanted me. He sent Mattia off alone. All the others had gone out. My grandfather alone was upstairs. I had been with my father for about an hour when there was a knock at the door. A gentleman who was unlike any of the men who usually called on my father came in. He was about fifty years old and dressed in the height of fashion. He had white pointed teeth like a dog, and when he smiled he drew his lips back over them as though he was going to bite. He spoke to my father in English, turning continually to look at me. Then he began to talk French. He spoke this language with scarcely an accent. This is the young boy that you spoke to me about, he said. He appears very well. Answer the gentleman, said my father to me. Yes, I am quite well, I replied, surprised. You have never been ill? I had pneumonia once. Ah, when was that? Three years ago. I slept out in the cold all night. My master, who was with me, was frozen to death and I got pneumonia. Haven't you felt any effects of this illness since? No. No fatigue? No perspiration at night? No. When I'm tired it's because I have walked a lot, but I don't get ill. He came over to me and felt my arms, then put his head on my heart, then at my back and on my chest, telling me to take deep breaths. He also told me to cough. That done he looked at me for a long time. It was then that I thought he wanted to bite me. His teeth gleamed in such a terrible smile. A few moments later he left the house with my father. What did it mean? Did he want to take me and his employee? I should have to leave Matia and copy. No, I wouldn't be a servant to anybody, much less this man whom I disliked already. My father returned and told me I could go out if I wished. I went into the caravan. What was my surprise to find Matia there? He put his finger to his lips. Go and open the stable door, he whispered. I'll go out softly behind you. They mustn't know that I was here. I was mystified, but I did as he asked. Do you know who that man was who was with your father? He asked excitedly when we were in the street. It was Mr. James Mulligan, your friend's uncle. I stood staring at him in the middle of the pavement. He took me by the arm and dragged me on. I was not going out all alone, he continued, so I went in there to sleep. But I didn't sleep. Your father and a gentleman came into the stable and I heard all they said. At first I didn't try to listen, but afterward I did. Solid is a rock, so the gentleman. Nine out of ten would have died, but he pulled through with pneumonia. How was your nephew? asked your father. Better. Three months ago the doctor again gave him up, but his mother saved him once more. Oh, she's a marvelous mother, is Mrs. Mulligan. You can imagine when I heard this name if I did not glue my ears to the window. Then if your nephew is better, continued your father, all you've done is useless. For the moment, perhaps, replied the other, but I don't say that Arthur is going to live. It would be a miracle if he did, and I am not afraid of miracles. The day he dies, the only heir to that estate will be myself. Don't worry. I'll see to that, said Driscoll. Yes, I count on you, replied Mr. Mulligan. My first thought was to question my father, but it was not wise to let them know that they had been overheard. As Mr. Mulligan had business with my father, he would probably come to the house again, and the next time, Matia, whom he did not know, could follow him. A few days later, Matia met a friend of his, Bob, the Englishman, whom he had known at the Gassat Circus. I could see by the way he greeted Matia that he was very fond of him. He at once took a liking to copy in myself. From that day we had a strong friend, who, by his experience and advice, was of great help to us in time of trouble. Chapter 29 of Nobody's Boy This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Spring came slowly, but alas the day arrived for the family to leave London. The caravans had been repainted, and were loaded with merchandise. There were materials, hats, shawls, handkerchiefs, sweaters, underwear, earrings, razors, soap, powders, cream, everything that one could imagine. The caravans were full, the horses bought. Where and how? I did not know, but we saw them come and everything was then ready for departure. We did not know if we were to stay with the old grandfather or go with the family, but my father, finding that we made good money playing, told us the night before that we should go on the road with him and play our music. Let us go back to France, urged Matia. Here's a good chance now. Why not travel through England? Because I tell you something's going to happen if we stay here, and besides, we might find Mrs. Milligan in Arthur in France. If he has been ill, she will be sure to take him on their barge. Now the summer is coming. I told him that I must stay. The same day we started. I saw in the afternoon how they sold the things that cost so little. We arrived at a large village and the caravans were drawn up on the public square. One of the sides was lowered and the goods displayed temptingly for the purchasers to inspect. Look at the prize! Look at the prize! cried my father. You couldn't find anything like this elsewhere for the price. I don't sell them. I'm giving them away. Look at this! He must have stolen them. I heard the people say when they saw the prizes. If they had glanced at my shamed looks, they would have known that they were right in their suppositions. If they did not notice me, Mattia did. How much longer can you bear this? he asked. I was silent. Let us go back to France. He urged again. I feel that something is going to happen and going to happen soon. Don't you think sooner or later the police will get on to this call, seeing how cheap he's selling the things? Then what'll happen? Oh, Mattia, if you will keep your eyes shut, I must keep mine open. We shall both be arrested and we haven't done anything. But how can we prove that? Aren't we eating the food that is paid for by the money that he gets for these things? I never thought of that. It struck me now like a blow in the face. Would we earn our food? I stammered, trying to defend ourselves. That's true, but we're living with the thieves, replied Mattia, speaking more frankly than he had ever done before. And then, if you're sent to prison, we can't look for your family. And I'm anxious to see Mrs. Milligan to warn her against that James Milligan. You don't know what he might not do to Arthur. Let us go while we can. Let me have a few more days to think it over, Mattia, I said. Hurry up, then. Chuck the giant killer smelled flesh. I smelled danger. Circumstances did for me what I was afraid to do. Several weeks had passed since we left London. My father had set up his caravans in a town where the races were about to be held. As Mattia and I had nothing to do with selling the goods, we went to see the rarest course, which was at some distance from the town. Outside the English race courses, there is usually a fair going on. Mountbanks of all descriptions, musicians and star holders gathered there two or three days in advance. We were passing by a campfire over which a kettle was hanging when we recognized our friend Bob, who had been with Mattia in the circus. He was delighted to see us again. He had come to the races with two friends and was going to give an exhibition of strength. He had engaged some musicians, but they had failed him at the last moment and he was afraid that the performance the next day would be a failure. He had to have musicians to attract the crowd. Would we help him out? The profits would be divided between the five of us that made up the company. There would even be something for Cappy, for he would like to have Cappy perform his tricks in the intervals. We agreed and promised to be there the next day at the time he mentioned. When I told that this arrangement to my father, he said that he wanted Cappy and that we could not have him. I wondered if they were going to make my dog do some dirty trick. From my look, my father guessed my thoughts. Oh, it's all right, he said. Cappy's a good watchdog. He must stand by the caravans. In a crowd like we shall have, we might easily be robbed. You two go alone and play with your friend Bob, and if you're not finished until late, which will be quite likely, you can join us at the Old Oak Tavern. We shall go on our way again tomorrow. We had spent the night before at the Old Oak Tavern, which was a mile out on a lonely road. The place was kept by a couple whose appearance did not inspire one with confidence. It was quite easy to find this place. It was on a straight road. The only annoying thing was that it was a long walk for us after a tiring day. But when my father said a thing, I had to obey. I promised to be at the tavern. The next day after tying Cappy to the caravan, where he was to be on guard, I hurried off to the race course with Mathia. We began to play as soon as we arrived and kept it up till night. My fingers ached as though they had been pricked with a thousand pins and poor Mathia had blown his cornet so long that he could scarcely breathe. It was past midnight. Just since they were doing their last turn, a big part of iron, which they were using in their feeds, fell on Mathia's foot. I thought that his foot was broken. Fortunately, it was only severely bruised. No bones were broken, but still he could not walk. It was decided that he should stay there that night with Bob and that I should go on alone to the Old Oak Tavern, for I had to know where the Driscoll family was going the next day. All was dark when I reached the tavern. I looked on for the caravans. They were nowhere to be seen. All I could see, beside one or two miserable wagons, was a big cage from which, as I drew near, came the cry of a wild beast. The beautiful, gaudy-colored caravans, belonging to the Driscoll family, were gone. I knocked at the tavern door. The landlord opened it and turned the light from his lantern full on my face. He recognized me, but instead of letting me go in, he told me to hurry after my parents, who had gone to Louvre, and said that I better not lose any time joining them. Then he shut the door in my face. Since I had been in England, I had learned to speak English fairly well. I understood clearly what he said, but I had not the slightest idea where Louvre was situated, and besides, I could not go, even if I found out the direction, and leave Mathia behind. I began my very tramp back to the race course, and an hour later I was sleeping beside Mathia in Bob's wagon. The next morning, Plop told me how to get to Leaves, and I was ready to start. I was watching him boil the water for breakfast when I looked up from the fire, and saw Capy being led towards us by a policeman. What did it mean? The moment Capy recognized me, he gave a tug at his leash, and escaping from the officer, bounded toward me, and jumped into my arms. Is that your dog? asked the policeman. Yes. Then come with me. You're under arrest. He seized me by the collar. What do you mean by arresting him? cried Bob, jumping up from the fire. Are you his brother? No, his friend. Well, a man and a boy robbed St. George's Church last night. They got up a ladder and went through the window. This dog was there to give the alarm. They were surprised in the act and in their hurry to get out by the window the dog was left in the church. I knew that with the dog I'd be sure to find the thieves. Here's one. Now where's his father? I could not utter a word. Mathia, who had heard the talk, came out of the caravan and limped over to me. Bob was telling the policeman that I could not be guilty because I had stayed with him until one o'clock. Then I went to the old oak tavern and spoke to the landlord there and came back here at once. He was a quarter after one that the church was entered, said the officer, and this boy left here at one o'clock so he could have met the other and got to the church. It takes more than a quarter of an hour to go from here to the town, said Bob. On the run? No, replied the policeman. And what proves that he left here at one o'clock? I can prove it. I swear, cried Bob. The policeman struck his shoulders. This boy can explain to the magistrate, he said. As I was being led away, Mathia threw his arms above my neck, as though it was because he wanted to embrace me, but Mathia had another object. Keep up your courage, he whispered. We won't forsake you. Take care of Cappy, I said in French, but the officer understood. Oh no, he said. I'll keep that dog. He helped me find you. He may help me to find the other. Handcuffed to the policeman, I had to pass under the gaze of a crowd of people, but they did not hear me like the peasants in France had done at my first arrest. These people, almost all of them, were antagonistic to the police. They were gypsies, tramps. In fact, the Bohemian vagabond. There were no audience strewn over this prison where I was now locked up. This was a real jail with iron bars at the windows, the sight of which put all thoughts of escape from my mind. In the cell there was only a bench and a hammock. I dropped onto the bench and remained for a long time with my head buried in my hands. Mathia and Bob, even with the help of other friends, could never get me away from here. I got up and went over to the window. The bars were strong and closed together. The walls were three feet thick. The ground beneath was paved with large stones. The door was covered with a plate of sheet iron. No, I could not escape. I began to wonder if it would be possible for me to prove my innocence despite Cappy's presence in the church. Mathia and Bob could help me by proving an alibi. If they could prove this, I was saved in spite of the mute testimony that my poor dog had carried against me. I asked a jailer when he brought in some food if it would be long before I should appear before the magistrate. I do not know then that in England you were taken into court the day after the arrest. The jailer, who seemed a kindly sort of man, told me that it would certainly be the next day. I had heard tales of prisoners finding messages from their friends in the food that was brought into them. I could not touch my food, but I at once began to crumble my bread. I found nothing inside. There were some potatoes also. I mashed them to a pulp, but I found not the tiniest note. I did not sleep that night. The next morning the jailer came into my cell carrying a jug of water and a basin. He told me to wash myself if I wished to, for I must appear before the judge, and a good appearance never went against one. When the jailer returned, he told me to follow him. We went on several passages, then came to a small door which he opened. Pass in, he said. The room I entered was very close. I heard a confused murmur of voices. Although my temples were throbbing and I could scarcely stand, I was able to take in my surroundings. The room was of fair size with large windows and high ceiling. The judge was seated on a raised platform. Beneath him in front sat three other court officials. Near where I stood was a gentleman wearing a robe and a wig. I was surprised to find that this was my lawyer. How was it I had an attorney? Where did he come from? Amongst the witnesses I saw Bob and his two friends, the landlord of the old oak tavern and some men whom I did not know. Then on another stand opposite amongst several other persons I saw the policeman who had arrested me. The public prosecutor in a few words stated the crime. A robbery had been committed in St. George's church. The thieves, a man and a child had climbed up a ladder and broken a window to get in. They had with them a dog to give the alarm. At a quarter after one a late pedestrian had seen a light in the church and had it once aroused sexton. Several men ran to the church. The dog worked and thieves escaped through the window, leaving the dogs behind them. The dog's intelligence was remarkable. The next morning the animal had led the policeman to the rarest course where he had recognized his master, who was none other than then accused, now standing in the prisoner's dog. As to the second thief, they were on his trail and they hoped to arrest him shortly. There was little to be said for me. My friends tried to prove an alibi, but the prosecutor said that I had ample time to meet my accomplice at the church and then run to the old oak tavern after. I was asked then how I could account for my dog being at the church at quarter after one. I replied that I could not say for the dog had not been with me all day, but I declared that I was innocent. My attorney tried to prove that my dog had wandered into the church during the day I had been locked in when the sexton closed the door. He did his best for me but the defense was weak. Then the judge said that I should be taken to the county jail to wait for the grand jury to decide if I should or should not be held for the assizes. The assizes. I fell back on my bench. Oh, why had I not listened to Matia? End of Chapter 29. Chapter 30 of Nobody's Boy. This is a Leap of Box recording. All Leap of Box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit Leapofox.org. Nobody's Boy. Hector Malat. Translated by Florence Crew Jones. Chapter 30. Escape. I had not been acquitted because the judge was expecting the arrest of the man who had entered the church with the child. They would then know if I was this man's accomplice. They were on the trail, the prosecutor had said. So I should have the shame and sorrow of appearing in the prisoner's dock at the assizes beside him. That evening, just before dusk, I heard the clear notes of a cornet. Matia was there, dear old Matia. He wanted to tell me that he was near and thinking of me. He was evidently in the street on the other side of the wall opposite my window. I heard footsteps and the murmur of a crowd. Matia and Bob were probably giving a performance. Suddenly I heard a clear voice call out in French, tomorrow at daybreak. Then at once Matia played his loudest on the cornet. It did not need any degree of intelligence to understand that Matia had not addressed these French words to an English public. I was not sure what they meant, but evidently I had to be on the alert at daybreak the next morning. As soon as it was dark I got into my hammock, but it was some time before I could go to sleep. Although I was very tired. At last I dropped off to sleep. When I awoke, it was night. The stars shone in the dark sky and silence rained everywhere. A clock struck three. I counted the hours and the quarter hours, leaning against the wall. I kept my eyes fixed on the window. I watched the stars go out one by one. In the distance I could hear the cocks crowing. It was daybreak. I opened the window very softly. What did I expect? There were still the iron bars and the high wall opposite. I could not get out. And yet foolish though the thought was, I expected my freedom. The morning air chilled me, but I stayed by my window, looking out without knowing at what. Listening without knowing to what. A big white cloud came up in the sky. It was daybreak. My heart throbbed wildly. Then I seemed to hear a scratching on the wall, but I had heard no sound of footsteps. I listened. The scratching continued. I saw a head appear above the wall. In the dim light I recognized Bob. He saw me with my face pressed against the bars. Silence, he said softly. He made a sign for me to move away from the window. Wondering, I obeyed. He put a pea shooter in his mouth and blew. A tiny ball came through the air and fell at my feet. Bob's head disappeared. I pounced on the ball. It was tissue paper made into a tiny ball like a pea. The light was too dim for me to see what was written on it. I had to wait till day. I closed my window cautiously and lay down again in my hammock with a tiny bit of paper in my hand. How slowly the light came. At last I was able to read what was written on the paper. I read, tomorrow you will be taken in the train to the county jail. A policeman will be in the compartment with you. Keep near the same door by which you enter. At the end of 40 minutes, count them carefully. The train will slacken speed as it nears a junction. Then open the door and jump out. Climb the small hill on the left. We'll be there. Keep your courage up. Above all, jump well forward and fall on your feet. Saved. I should not appear before the assizes. Good Mattia, dear old Bob. How good of Bob to help Mattia. For Mattia, poor little fellow, could not have done this alone. I reread the note. 40 minutes after the train starts. Hill to the left. It was a risky thing to do to jump from a train. But even if I killed myself in doing so, I would better do it. Better die than be condemned as a thief. What would they think of Cappy? After I had again read my note, I chewed it into a pulp. The next day in the afternoon, a policeman came into my cell and told me to follow him. He was a man over 50 and I thought with satisfaction that he did not appear to be very nimble. Things turned out just as Bob had said. The train rolled off. I took my place near the door where I had entered. The policeman said opposite me. We were alone in the compartment. Do you speak English? Asked the policeman. I understand if you don't talk too rapidly. I replied, Well then, I want to give you a little advice, my boy. He said, Don't try and fool the law. Just tell me how it all happened. And I'll give you five shillings. It'll be easier for you if you have a little money in jail. I was about to say that I had nothing to confess. But I felt that might annoy the man. So I said nothing. Just think it over, he continued. And when you're in jail, don't go and tell the first comer. But send for me. It is better to have one who is interested in you. And I'm very willing to help you. I nodded my head. Ask for Dolphin. You'll remember my name? Yes, sir. I was leaning against the door. The window was down and the air blew in. The policeman found that there was too much air, so he moved into the middle of the seat. My left hand stole softly outside and turned the handle. With my right hand, I held the door. The minutes passed. The engine whistled and slackened at its speed. The moment had come. I pushed open the door quickly and spring out as far as I could. Fortunately, my hands, which I held out before me, touched the grass. Yet the shock was so great that I rolled on the ground unconscious. When I came to my senses, I thought that I was still in the train for I felt myself being carried along. Looking round, I saw that I was lying at the bottom of a cart. Strange. My cheeks were wet. A soft warm tongue was licking me. I turned slightly. An ugly yellow dog was leaning over me. Mattia was kneeling beside me. You're saved, he said, pushing aside the dog. Where am I? You are in a cart, Bob's driving. How goes it? cried Bob from his seat. Can you move your arms and legs? I stretched out and did what he asked. Good, said Mattia. Nothing broken. What happened? You jumped from the train as we told you. But the shock stunned you and you rolled into a ditch. When you didn't come, Bob left the cart, grabbed down the hill and carried you back in his arms. We thought you were dead. Oh, Remy. I was afraid. I stroked his hand and the policeman. I asked. The train went on. It didn't stop. My eyes again fell on the ugly yellow dog that was looking at me with eyes that resembled Cappy's. But Cappy was white. What dog is that? I asked. Before Mattia could reply, the ugly little animal had jumped on me, licking me furiously and whining. It's Cappy. We died him, cried Mattia, laughing. Died him? Why? So that he wouldn't be recognized. Now Bob wants to make you more comfortable. While Bob and Mattia were making me comfortable, I asked them where we were going. To Little Hampton, said Mattia, where Bob's brother has a boat that goes over to France to fetch butter and eggs from Normandy. We owe everything to Bob. What could a poor little wretch like me have done alone? It was Bob's idea that you jumped from the train. And Cappy. Whose idea was it to get him? Mine. But it was Bob's to paint him yellow so that he wouldn't be recognized after we stole him from policeman Jerry. The judge called Jerry intelligent. He wasn't so very intelligent to let us get Cappy away. True. Cappy smelled me and almost got off alone. Bob knows the tricks of dog thieves. And your foot? Better. Or almost better. I haven't had time to think of it. Night was falling. We had still a long distance to go. Are you afraid? asked Mattia as I lay there in silence. No. Not afraid. I answered. For I don't think that I shall be caught. But it seems to me that in running away I admit my guilt. That worries me. Better? Anything? Bob and I thought. Then that you should appear at the asaises. Even if you got off, it's a bad thing to have gone through. Convinced that after the train stopped the policeman would lose no time looking for me. We went ahead as quickly as possible. The villages through which we drove were very quiet. Lights were seen in only a few of the windows. Mattia and I got under a cover. For some time a cold wind had been blowing. And when we passed our tongues over our lips we tasted salt. We were nearing the sea. Soon we saw a light flashing every now and again. It was a lighthouse. Suddenly Bob stopped his horse and jumping down from the cart told us to wait there. He was going to see his brother to ask him if it would be safe for him to take us on his boat. Bob seemed to be away a very long time. We did not speak. We could hear the waves breaking on the shore at a short distance. Mattia was trembling and I also. It is cold. He whispered. Was it the cold that made us shake? When a cow or a sheep in the field at the side touched against the fence we trembled still more. There were footsteps on the road. Bob was returning. My fate had been decided. A rough looking sailor wearing a sowester and an oil skin hat was with Bob. This is my brother. Said Bob. He'll take you on his boat. So we'll have to part now. No one need know that I brought you here. I wanted to thank Bob but he cut me short. I grasped his hand. Don't speak of it. He said lightly. You two boys helped me out the other night. One good turn deserves another and I'm pleased to have been able to help a friend of Mattia's. We followed Bob's brother down some winding quiet streets till we came to the docks. He pointed to a boat without saying a word. In a few moments we were on board. He told us to go down below into a little cabin. I start in two hours time. He said stay there and don't make a sound. But we were not trembling now. We sat in the dark side by side. End of chapter 30.