David Golder, The Ball, Snow in Autumn & The Courilof Affair (2008) by Irène Némirovsky Read Free Book Online

shone against the mahogany of the Empire desk; they were trembling.
    Golder smiled. “You’re no longer very threatening, my friend…”
    Marcus remained silent for a moment, carefully examining his manicured nails.
    “Fifty-fifty, David! What do you say? We’ve been partners for twenty-six years. Let’s wipe the slate clean and start again. If you’d been here in December when Tubingen spoke to me …”
    Golder fiddled with the telephone wire, winding it around his wrists.
    “In December,” he repeated, frowning. “How good of you … only …”
    He said no more. Marcus knew as well as he did that in December he had been in America looking for investors in Golmar, the company that had bound them together for so many years, like a ball and chain.
    “David, there’s still time…” Marcus continued. “Let’s negotiate with the Soviets together, what do you say? It’s a difficult business. We’ll split everything down the middle— commissions, profits … How about it? That’s fair, isn’t it? David? Otherwise…”
    He waited for some reply, an agreement, even an insult, but Golder’s breathing was laboured and he said nothing.
    “Listen,” Marcus whispered, “Tubingen’s not the only company in the world…” He touched Golder’s unmoving arm as if to wake him. “There are other companies, newer ones, and…” he searched for the right words. “There are companies more willing to speculate, companies that didn’t sign the 1922 Oil Agreement and who don’t give a damn about who holds the old stock, you, for example … They could…”
    “You mean Amrum Oil?” said Golder.
    “Oh!” Marcus winced. “So you know about that as well? Well listen, my friend, I’m sorry, but the Russians are going to sign with Amrum. Since you’re now refusing to play ball, you can keep your shares in Teisk till Judgement Day. You can take them with you to your grave …”
    “The Russians aren’t going to sign with Amrum.”
    “They’ve already signed,” cried Marcus.
    Golder waved his hand. “Yes, I know. A provisional agreement. But it was supposed to be ratified by Moscow within forty-five days. That was yesterday. Now it’s all up in the air again, and you’re worried, so you came to see what you could get out of me …” Golder started to cough. “Let me explain it all to you. Tubingen right? He wasn’t too happy when Amrum whipped those Persian oilfields out from under his feet two years ago. So, this time, I suspect he’d rather die than lose the fight. Actually, it hasn’t been that difficult so far: just a question of offering a bit more to that little Jew who has been helping you negotiatewith the Soviets. Give them a call right now, if you don’t believe me…”
    “You’re lying, you pig!” shouted Marcus in the strange, shrill voice of a hysterical woman.
    “Give them a call. You’ll see.”
    “And… what about Tubingen? Does the old man know?”
    “Of course.”
    “This is all your doing, you bastard, you crook!”
    “Well, what did you expect? Think about it… Last year there was that oil deal in Mexico, and three years ago the high octane deal. How many millions went from my pocket into yours? And what did I say about it? Nothing. And then…” Golder seemed to be looking for more proof, attempting to bring everything together in his mind, but then he brushed it all aside with a shrug of the shoulders.
    “Business,” was all he murmured, as if he were naming some terrifying god…
    Marcus fell silent. He took a packet of cigarettes from the table, opened it, and carefully struck a match. “Why do you smoke these disgusting Gauloises, Golder, when you’re as rich as you are?”
    Golder watched Marcus’s shaking hands as if he were contemplating the final death throes of a wounded animal.
    “I need the money, David,” Marcus suddenly said in a different tone of voice, the corner of his mouth contorting into a grimace. “I… I’m really desperate for money,