“So help me, where did you get that?” asked Hubert, choking with laughter.
“I gave it her,” said Balaoo. “I felt sorry for her, when I saw her passing this morning in her rags. I won’t have her going along the roads with nothing on her back: it’s indecent. I happened to have a dress up at my place, so I dropped it over her shoulders from the top of the Big Beech at Pierrefeu. It fits her like a glove. Tourôô! Tourôô!”
The others “could not get over it” and turned and twisted their sister about, to take the thing in. So she had gone to see the prefect like that, like a real lady, what! She had swaggered round Saint-Martin-des-Bois in that rig-out! What a sensation she must have made! They were proud of her; they could have kissed Balaoo, had Balaoo been willing.
“Why didn’t you let us see it sooner?” they asked.
“You had it when you came back this morning!”
“She’s a secretive kid,” said Élie. “Every time Balaoo gives her something, she keeps it to herself, as if we were likely to steal it.”
“It’s a dress,” said Siméon, speaking with a purpose — a purpose so clumsily emphasized that everybody understood what he meant” — it’s a dress which she is quite right to be careful with. She couldn’t hope for a grander to wear on her wedding-day.”
Zoé at once ceased parading her finery and turned as red as a peony. Balaoo gave a growl and, without ceremony, spat at Siméon’s feet: an invariable sign of his displeasure. And, lest there should be any doubt about it, he grunted:
“I don’t like people to talk about marriage in my presence!”
There was a chilly pause. Hubert thought it wise to say, in a soft voice:
“There’s nothing to upset you, Balaoo, in that remark. Zoé will have to marry some day.”
“That’s her business!” jerked Balaoo, with swelling cheeks and temples.
“And you too, Balaoo! You must, you know, someday!...”
“I!” roared the pithecanthrope, springing up. “I! Marry! Marry a man-girl! Never! Never! Never!...Phoh! Phoh! Goek! Goek! Tch! Tch! Phoh! Phoh! Phoh! Phoh!...A man-girl, indeed!...”
He struck great blows on his chest, which gave forth sounds like a drum, and moved away from his man friends.
“Have you left your sweetheart in your own country, Balaoo?”
“Yes...perhaps...in the Forest of Bandong,” lied Balaoo, with a steaming breath and a voice thick with sobs.
He moved still farther away, flung himself suddenly with his face to the ground and his head in his hands and lay long motionless.
The others did not seek to interfere:
“He is dreaming of the Forest of Bandong,” they said.
“Let’s get to business.”
And they now first thought of asking Zoé the result of her negotiations, so sure were they beforehand that the enemy, whose obstinacy they had learnt to know at the time of the elections, would never accept their conditions on receipt of the first little finger!
Chapter XV
NIGHT FELL OVER the forest. It was agreed that they should cut off the doctor’s second little finger at the first rays of dawn and that Zoé should take it to the prefect at ten o’clock, the time fixed for the morrow’s decision. Once the government saw how ready the Three Brothers were to cut the doctor into pieces, it would be only too eager to meet the gentlemen’s views.
The doctor prepared to spend another sleepless night. He was warned of the fate that awaited him and suffered all the pangs of anguish. He refused his food. He had a temperature, which is easy to understand, and was reduced to a little heap of terror, at the foot of the tree, in the silent darkness.
Never had the forest been so quiet at night. The animals had disappeared; and the leaves scarce ventured to stir, as though frozen hard in the humble expectation of what was coming.
Élie, Siméon and Hubert dined heartily, with Zoé to wait on them. Balaoo all the time lay flat on the ground. When Zoé asked if he would take anything, the only answer she received was a stiff clout. In such cases, it is no use insisting; and Zoé, with tears in her eyes, went and sat in her corner, reflecting that Balaoo was anything but kind to her.
By this time, the Moabit clearing was nothing more than a black hole, fearsome as a cave and deep as well. You had to throw your head back to see the blue night and the stars up in the sky. And you had to know the place well to venture your groping steps there. It was as treacherous — even to animals that were not used to it — as the quicksands by the sea. You never knew that the creepers on which you trod were not going to give way and swallow you up for good. A simple carpet of moss, which nobody would suspect, might prove to be a curtain just flung across the breakneck entrance to some deserted quarry which had not been worked since the early days of French history and which was used by the Three Brothers as a store-house to keep their savings and provisions, amid countless skeletons of animals.
In point of fact, Élie, Siméon and Hubert disappeared suddenly, without the doctor’s being able to tell how, and this long before the night was at its darkest. Zoé alone remained to watch the prisoner. As for Balaoo, he rose to his feet in the gloom, preparatory to returning to his barbican in the Big Beech at Pierrefeu.
“Are you going, Balaoo?” asked Zoé, with tears in her voice.
“Yes,” he replied, quite pacified now and a little sad, “I am going. It is safer. If there’s anything fresh, I shall thunder; and then you must all keep still as mice in your hole. If the men come this way, I shall strike my breast three times, like this...” And he gave three terrible blows on his chest, which sounded like a bronze bell. “That will mean, ‘Look out, at Moabit!’ Do you understand?”
“I understand,” said Zoé. “But they won’t have the face to do anything before ten o’clock to-morrow. They promised me.”
“One never knows, with the people of your Race!” Balaoo grunted.
“Ah, yes, I know that, at heart, you despise us,” murmured Zoé.
“No, not your brothers, because they are of the Race without belonging to it and they can see in the dark. I took to them at once. And also they have noses that smell everything in the forest and would never confuse the trail of a rabbit with that of an elephant, like the rest of the Race, who don’t know anything except how to read a book. I wonder what they would do if they had no books, what Coriolis, my master, would do! Whereas your brothers don’t want anything. They are like the animals, who know everything and are not to be humbugged, in the forest. I like your brothers very much. They would have been as happy as could be, if they had been born in the Forest of Bandong.”
“You are always talking of your Forest of Bandong. Do you regret it so?”
“Sometimes.”
“And me?” Zoé ventured to ask, in a trembling voice. “Do you like me?”
“You don’t count: you’re a man-girl!”
“But I say, Balaoo: I know a man-girl who has only to walk in the forest and cry, ‘Balaoo! Balaoo!’ for Balaoo to come hurrying from any distance as fast as ever he can.”
“Now look here,” panted Balaoo, angrily, “look here and just listen to me: you’d better not speak of that one and never mention her name before me. You’d soil it by merely sending it through the dirty little lips of the dirty little man-witch that you are! You go and talk to men: men will understand you and put you in their back-yards, if that’s what you like; but don’t you talk to Balaoo!”
Zoé stood crying in the shade. “Why are you crying, Zoé?”
“You don’t expect me to laugh, do you, after what you’ve said to me? I thought you had become my friend again, because you gave me the dress. What are you here for, if you’re never happy except with her?”
“You dirty little man-witch; you forget that I came to the forest to defend your brothers against those of the Race.”
“And also because of the man you hanged.”
“Who told you that? As?”
“I don’t understand the language of animals as you do, Balaoo
. I only understand them when they don’t speak. And there are plenty who know me in the forest and come and sit in my lap and smicker to me; and we understand one another without speaking. I have friends in the forest. Why, I have only to show myself by the big fir-thicket, with my hands full of nuts, to have squirrels climbing all over me! But, as for your friend As, I despise him too much to associate with him. One evening, when we met in Mme. Boche’s yard, he tried to nod to me, on the pretext, no doubt, that he had seen you and me together; and I threw a big stone at him which nearly broke his paw.”
“What do you think about the hanged man?” asked Balaoo, feeling bored.
“I think that you hanged him as you hanged Camus and Lombard, after settling their business. You can’t pretend it wasn’t you: I was there when they were cut down. I recognized the mark of your long thumb. A thumb like that is called a murderer’s thumb, among us. I don’t care, mind you: I like you as you are. And that’s why I said nothing when my brothers were accused and even when they were sentenced. Their three heads, you see, are nothing to me compared with one smile from you, Balaoo. But you never smile to me, now; and you’re always laughing at me...I put on your Empress’ dress only so that you might think that I looked nice. But you laughed at me, like the others. And yet you will never know what I did for you at the time of Blondel’s death...”
“Hold your tongue, will you, you filth!” roared Balaoo.
“Oh dear! Oh dear!” sobbed Zoé. “The things he says to me!”
“Why do you speak of that? I never speak of it to myself: surely, there’s no reason why you should...Lombard and Camus had made fun of me. I played with their throats and they died. And I don’t regret it. But Blondel had done me no harm...”
“And what harm had Patrice done you?”
Balaoo began to storm from the bottom of his pithecanthrope chest. His whole thoracic cage rumbled with distant thunder.
“Never mention him to me!” he sent hissing through his terrible jaws.
“Not him, nor her!...I know!...I know!...”
Zoé sniffed, wiped her nose with the Empress’ dress and said, in tones of damp despair:
“You tell us that you’re only happy with us in the forest; and, all the time, you’re lying!...You thinking of no one but her...The reason why you’re here now is that you daren’t go back to your house in the village, because she’d reproach you with the man you hanged: she thinks he’s your first, Balaoo!...If she only knew!...If she only knew!...I saw you dragging him by the hind-legs, from the garden-door to the forest...Oh, that was a fine piece of work you did; and how pleased they’ll be with you in your house in the village! No, don’t come to me with your tales. Don’t tell me that you love my brothers. And you’ve no need either to call me a filth, like Siméon. You don’t go home, because you daren’t, that’s all!”
“It’s true,” said Balaoo, “it’s true. But, as for the men I’ve hanged, the only one I regret killing is Blondel, which proves that I’m not a bad sort!...”
“Who said you were a bad sort?”
This ended their conversation; but Dr. Honorat had heard every word of it. With his cord round his foot and his hair-standing erect with horror, he had listened to that curious talk and wondered if he were dreaming. But, alas, since they had cut off his dear little finger joints, he had lost the right to doubt the reality of his portentous adventure! And this adventure was now complicated by an unparalleled revelation of crimes and criminal complicity that seemed incredible to one who, from time to time, in the village-street, had come across the whimsical and inoffensive figure of M. Noël, the man-servant and gardener of that old eccentric of a Coriolis.
Apart from the fact that the doctor was unable to understand the greater part of the conversation — just the part that puzzled him more than all the rest: what did they mean with the reproaches which each addressed to the other in regard to their race and their association with the beasts of the forest? — M. Noël now inspired him with the same fear as a monster and appeared to him like the beast in Revelation, with the shadow of his rude and superhuman strength cast by the light of the moon, which now hung like a lamp, right over the middle of the clearing. And he had the strength left to withdraw his cowering fear to a distance of at least eighteen inches, which was a praiseworthy feat, considering that his fear had never weighed so much as at this moment.
But nothing could stir in the forest unheard by Balaoo, even when he was not listening:
“Some one’s moved!” he said, without getting particularly excited, so greatly depressed was he by the words of that little man-witch of a Zoé.
“It’s the doctor,” said Zoé, mopping her nose and eyes and all her moist little face with the Empress’ dress.
“What do they mean to do with him?” asked Balaoo, for the sake of saying something.
“They mean to kill him for speaking ill of them to the jury...It’ll do them no good. One never has any peace with them. I’m beginning to have enough of it. We’ve had murders enough, as it is.”
“Yes, yes,” muttered Balaoo, fed up with his last hangings. “Murders enough, as it is...Where are you going, Zoé?”
“I’m going back to the quarry...This is the second night I’ve had no sleep...Good-night, Balaoo...”
And Zoé, in spite of the full moon shining straight upon her, suddenly disappeared before the doctor’s eyes, as though the earth had swallowed her up.
Amid this appalling nightmare, Dr. Honorat heard one phrase sounding and resounding in his ears:
“Murders enough as it is!”
Zoé had uttered it and gone, but M. Noël had repeated it and stayed. Who could this person be, who walked about so easily, with his hands in his pockets, on the tree-tops in the forest? The Three Brothers must have great confidence in him, not to hide their secrets from him!
Meantime, he heard M. Noël calling:
“Zoé! Zoé! What about the doctor? Are you leaving him to himself?”
Zoé’s voice rose from somewhere close at hand, from a tiny bush not large enough to hide a pair of lizards; Zoé must be underground:
“That’s all right!” she cried. “They’ve tied him with a poacher’s knot...Good-night, Balaoo.”
And, from that moment, an immense silence filled the moonlight.
For ten minutes, the pithecanthrope stood motionless as a statue. He stared at the doctor, who pretended to be asleep. Persuaded that the prisoner was sleeping, he sat down with infinite precautions, hardly displacing the air as he moved. He took off his socks, his hat, his overcoat, his jacket, his neck-tie and collar, his shirt, his trousers. At last, as in the days of the Forest of Bandong, he sat quite naked under the moon.
The doctor looked at M. Noël’s feet. A monkey! M. Noël was a monkey!
He nearly swallowed his tongue in the effort not to cry out. Oh, there was not a doubt of it, because of the feet, the shoe-hands, the lower hands with which he hung to the nearest branch and swung, gleefully, upside down, as in the days of the Forest of Bandong! And then he let go and hung on with his upper hands and, swinging here and swinging there, caught hold with his lower hands, in mid-air, and thus flew from tree to tree across the clearing, the Trapezium King of the forest, under the silent moon.
Suddenly, a last bound brought him seated in front of the doctor, who pretended to sleep and who had his back so close against the tree that he seemed to form part of the trunk, Balaoo contemplated the prisoner, with one elbow on his left thigh and his cheek in his right upper hand, in the attitude of a member of the Race who is thinking. What was Balaoo thinking of? Why those sighs? Why that trembling, that movement of the lips? What was the man-phrase that escaped from that animal mouth?
“Murders enough as it is!”
Balaoo craftily imagined that, if he saved one of the race, Madeleine would perhaps forgive him for dragging his distinguished visitor by the hind-legs to the tree where he hanged him. And, as I live, here was Balaoo undoing the poacher’s knot and, abandoning his pithe
canthrope attitude, tapping Dr. Honorat on the head:
“Hop!” he said, rudely. “Get up!”
Get up! The quadrumane was telling him to get up!
The quadrumane was releasing him! Already, in his stupid brain, apt to draw hasty and sentimental inferences, the doctor was setting animals above men, because of this one generous act. Nothing could please him better than to get up. Unfortunately, he was unable to get up, because the monkey, with his human way of expressing himself, had given him a blow on the head more powerful than one administered with a quarter-staff! Balaoo lifted him up, Balaoo made him take a drain of the fire-water left over from the banquet, at the bottom of a flask. The doctor sighed, leant on the arm of the dear, kind quadrumane, took a few steps, felt his assurance return and suddenly thought that perhaps he might recover his strength and not die after all!...
He collected the last remnants of that strength and, hanging on to the quadrumane, who led the way, walking erect, ever so erect, while he, the man, was nearly crawling on all fours, he dived under the trees. Sometimes the quadrumane took him in his arms and carried him into the trees...and he made no more resistance than a babe in the arms of its nurse. Oh, the dear, kind quadrumane!...
At last, they came to a foot-path...Balaoo put him down...Yes, yes, the doctor remembered stories of “wild men of the woods” in books of travel. After all, once that eccentric of a Coriolis had a wild man of the woods living with him, perhaps there was nothing so very extraordinary about the adventure. True, this particular wild man of the woods talked. Well; why shouldn’t he have been taught to talk? Scientists had been known to say that it was not impossible. At any rate, the great thing for good old Dr. Honorat was to get out of his perilous predicament as quickly as he could.
Collected Works of Gaston Leroux Page 303