The Widow by Georges Simenon Read Free Book Online Page B

was a gang, four or five of them. They’d been drinking. It happened in St. Amand. The shop had no shutters and at night you could see all the things in the window. They smashed the glass. When he got home, I didn’t suspect anything. I simply noticed he’d been sick. Next morning he went to work as usual. He was learning carpentry at St. Amand.
    â€œThe police and the gendarmes looked for six weeks and if that fool Chagot …
    â€œUnhealthy young devil, and vicious like nobody’s business … He started talking in his sleep, at night. His father works in a hardware store. The sort of people who think themselves more respectable than other folks.
    â€œThe idiot—Chagot’s father, I mean—went off to the police, stiff as a ramrod, with tears in his voice, and his big hands shook. ‘My duty as a citizen and a father … ’ he told them. And the whole story. The youngster was pulled in. They didn’t have to question him for long. He still had a stolen lighter in his pocket. ‘It was Couderc’s idea … ’ Which just wasn’t true: my son never could have such a notion.
    â€œNow he’s over there, in Africa. I send him money every week. He writes me long letters. One day I’ll read them to you…. ”
    Why was her tone still formal? Jean went on smoking cigarettes, his arms resting on the back of his chair, looking at nothing in particular. A whole family had settled down on the grass not far from them, and the mother was cutting up a pie she had just taken out of its newspaper wrapping.
    â€œIt must be long, five years, eh?”
    The sun had just reached them. All at once, their skins had begun to take on their summer smell.
    â€œAnd all that time, no women?”
    He shrugged.
    â€œAnd since?”
    He smiled, shook his head. She sighed.
    â€œIt’s probably time we went and put the eggs in the incubator. In the country Sunday never lasts all day.”
    They set out the eggs one by one, after candling them. The lamp was refilled with kerosene, the wick cleaned, water poured into the container designed to keep the whole contrivance moist. All that time, it was clear that Tati was thinking of nothing else.
    â€œThere’s a woman near Orléans who ships out three-day-old chicks, in specially made cardboard boxes, and sells them at five francs each. Sixty times five francs every month, allowing for breakage …”
    And the next minute: “You’d better put on your jacket. It’s going to get cooler. Next week, I’ll buy you some things. That’s no fit suit for country work. Tell me!”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhy did you lie just now, when I mentioned the distiller? Why did you tell me he was your father? Trying to be clever, eh?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œYou’re as stupid as René…. Here! Fill this bucket with oats. Every evening, at this time, it’s your job to scatter barley for the chickens. Then you go and get grass for the rabbits against the next day. That way, you’ve got time for other things in the morning.”
    The day had flowed away like water, and it was a surprise to see the patches of sunlight grow red while the sky turned purple.
    â€œIs it true, what you told me just now? That since you came out you haven’t…. ”
    The fire had died out in the kitchen. Only a few logs would be lit to warm up the evening soup.
    â€œThis being the first Sunday, we can treat ourselves to a nip of something. Couderc is at the café, playing cards as usual. I often wonder how he manages to play, deaf as he is. To think that, till he turned fifty, he was a man like any other. It began with me, even while Marcel was still alive. Marcel was my husband. His health was poor. The old man was always after me…. Drink up! It’s a five-year-old brandy, distilled here, from wine made with the grapes of the vine that’s behind the