CHAPTER XXIII
THERE was a clatter of wooden shoes at the door and a curious, sing-song voice called:
"Hey! Hey! Who's there? It's me, Jules.— Come in, my dear!— I will come in, if there's no bad boy in the house and no sticks behind the door."
Lalie was pale with fright and ran to clutch the skirts of Madeleine, who began to laugh.
"Don't be frightened: it's only Jules the natural, talking to himself. Is that you, Jules?"
"It's me, Jules. Come in, my dear."
"All right, then, come in."
The door opened and a man appeared who at once made the sign of the cross and then spat on the floor to show his disgust.
"You can sit down, Jules," said Madeleine; "there aren't any bad boys around."
The half-wit looked behind the furniture and under the bed; then he stood up in the middle of the room and began to mumble:
"Jules, why do you go to the Dissenters? My Lord God, I have no use for them. Jules, you close the gates of their field, you go and fill their jugs at the spring. My Lord God, it isn't true, Thou art a great liar! May the devil burn all the Dissenters!"
Once more he made the sign of the cross and thus having conjured away any possible bad luck he sat down quietly, sticking his feet out toward the grate.
Madeleine had gone back to her work, without paying much attention to him. She had known him for twenty years and she was used to his ways.
This Jules was a curious sort of half-wit. With a mind on a level of that of a small child, he yet had an astonishing memory. He knew all the villages five leagues round about; he knew all the fields, all the paths, all the trees. On the blackest night he could go anywhere without losing his way or hunting for it, even in parts of the country where he had been but once. He knew everybody by name, sometimes he would tell the youngsters what the weather had been like on the day of their christening and the names of their godfather and godmother and whether there had been any sugar almonds given away to the neighbours. When anybody asked him about things like that he replied at once, without even a moment's thought.
He was very gentle of temper and became angry only when somebody pretended that he ought to get married and insisted on it. If you wanted to get rid of him, you merely had to take a piece of paper and read aloud: "In the name of the law, Jules the natural, I marry you to" That made him scamper away as fast as his legs would take him. One day, when some youngsters were teasing him like this after locking the door, he bit them and jumped at the window like a cornered cat.
He babbled to himself all day long, with questions and answers. You could hear him on the roads, keeping up an interminable conversation with his thousands of friends and acquaintances.
Often he talked with the Lord, and sometimes he would get excited and swing his stick, because He was making him sore with His indelicate questions.
Madeleine explained all this to Lalie as best she could, but the child's fear of the man would not go.
"May the devil burn all the Dissenters! They stink like badgers!"
There was no fire in the grate; nevertheless he held his feet up to it in all seriousness.
"That isn't nice talk," said Madeleine. "Why do you say such things about the Dissenters?"
"They have pillows of chicken feathers and no nails under their wooden shoes—nor any pork in their pantry.— Would you like something to eat, Jules? A little mouthful, with a piece of bread.— Go away, Jules, we have nothing, we're down and out, we can't pay our debts.— Small fry!"
Madeleine smiled and gave him a big hunk of bread and a slice of pork. He ate it so eagerly that even Lalie was amazed.
Madeleine asked him the usual questions.
"How old are you now, Jules?"
"I entered the army at twenty-one. Now you count, from that."
"Jules, is it true you are going to get married?"
He was so well in his stride that he merely replied:
"I am a natural; God protects me."
"I've been told so, though. I've been told the mayor himself was going to marry you."
"May the devil burn the mayor!"
But this last had roused him and he had got up and run to the door.
"Sit down, Jules, he won't come here, never fear!— Sit down!"
He wouldn't be quieted and remained standing, with his eyes on the door.
"Have the Dissenters any more bread for Jules, who has some of his pork left?"
Madeleine handed him a small piece; he gobbled the rest of his pork and said:
"Have the Dissenters any more pork for Jules, who hasn't finished his bread?"
"You're a nice one!" said Madeleine. "Can't you be content with what I've given you? Here, take this slice and go away. I'm busy."
He hid the pork in his hand and swallowed the bread.
"Have the Dissenters" he began.
"Stop it!" said Madeleine, who was trying to catch up with her work. "You aren't hungry any more."
"Dissenters have nails under their wooden shoes. They're big fry, they are!"
"That's all!"
"My Lord God, let the Dissenters sleep on goose feathers!— My Lord God, give them a-plenty to eat!"
"That's all!"
"Jules will tell the news."
Madeleine couldn't help laughing:
"You're a pest!— Go on, tell your news."
"The priest won't give Jules any cider. So Jules says, morning and night: 'My Lord God, Father Picon broke Friday's fast by eating a wren's nest.' Rivard has polled his grey cow. Bourru shut up the devil in his poultry yard and a big rooster pecked out his eye. Mme. Berceger is dead, Mme. Rousselot is dead, Mme. Piquereau is dead. The Protestant pastor has the dropsy in his belly—may he burst!— Have the Dissenters any bread?"
"All right, here you are! Eat!"
He took the bread and went on, by way of thanks.
"Trooper didn't get the job of postman; that made him madder than Jules."
Madeleine turned round as if struck:
"Hush! Don't say that!"
"What news do you want? Would you like to hear about the marriages?"
"All right, tell me about the marriages," said Madeleine.
"Louise Bruneau is marrying Jacques, of L'Ormeau. Pierre Harteau is marrying his cousin, of Monverger. Father Picon is marrying Julie-red-eye, the old witch of the Hardilas: bad business, that!"
"Too bad, I should say!" smiled Madeleine. "Go on!"
"Bray of the Little Pasture is going with Jeanne Lourigeon; Philip the mason is going with Bertha, of the lower village; Michael Corbier, your master here, is going with Violette, of Chantepie—and Jules is going with nails under his wooden shoes when he isn't going barefoot."
Madeleine came closer, not having heard well:
"What's that you say about Michael Corbier?"
"Corbier of the Moulinettes is going with Violette, the dressmaker."
"You're a liar, Jules!"
"My Lord God, is Jules a liar? No, Jules, you are not a liar."
"But who can have told you such a thing?" cried Madeleine.
"Boiseriot, of Chantepie, he told me. He said: 'Go and tell it to Madeleine, at the Moulinettes.' What did he give Jules for his trouble? A handful of sugar and a mellow pear."
"Oh, Boiseriot! Thank you! And now go away, Jules.— No, no, you won't get any more pork; you've eaten enough. You'd be sick. Go away, go away now! Or I'll call the mayor to marry you."
At this threat he skurried out into the yard and ran away as fast as he could.
"The mayor! May the devil burn the mayor! May he burn him!"