The Age of Reason Read Online Free Page B

doubt, rather than with any feeling of desire; and now... he’d got stung. A baby. I meant to give her pleasure, and I’ve given her a baby. I didn’t understand what I was doing. Neither in destroying nor in creating life did I know what I was doing.’ He laughed a short, dry laugh. ‘And what about the others? Those who have solemnly decided to become fathers, and feel progenitively inclined when they look at their wives’ bodies — do they understand any more than I do? They go blindly on — three flicks of a duck’s tail. What follows is a gelatinous job done in a dark room, like photography. They have no part in it.’ He entered a yard and saw a light under a door. ‘It’s here.’ He felt ashamed.
    Mathieu knocked.
    ‘What is it?’ said a voice.
    ‘I want to speak to you.’
    ‘This isn’t a time to visit people.’
    ‘I have a message from Andrée Besnier.’
    The door opened slightly. Mathieu saw a wisp of yellow hair and a large nose.
    ‘What do you want? Don’t try to pull any police stuff on me, it’s no good, everything’s in order here. I can have the light on all night if I like. If you’re an inspector, show me your card.’
    ‘I’m not from the police,’ said Mathieu. ‘I’m in a fix. And I was given your name.’
    ‘Come in.’
    Mathieu went in. The old woman was wearing trousers, and a blouse with a zip fastener. She was very thin, and her eyes were set and hard.
    ‘You know Andrée Besnier?’
    She eyed him grimly.
    ‘Yes,’ said Mathieu. ‘She came to see you last year about Christmas-time because she was in trouble: she was rather ill, and you came four times to give her treatment.’
    ‘Well?’
    Mathieu looked at the old woman’s hands. They were a man’s hands, a strangler’s hands: furrowed, cracked, with broken nails, and black with scars and gashes. On the first joint of the left thumb, there were some purple warts, and a large black scab. Mathieu shuddered as he thought of Marcelle’s soft brown flesh.
    ‘I’ve not come on her account,’ he said. ‘I’ve come for one of her friends.’
    The old woman laughed drily: ‘It’s the first time that a man has had the cheek to turn up on my doorstep. I won’t have any dealings with men, let me tell you that.’
    The room was dirty and in disorder. There were boxes everywhere, and straw on the tiled floor. On a table Mathieu noticed a bottle of rum and a half-filled glass.
    ‘I’ve come because my friend sent me. She can’t come today, and she asked me to fix up a date.’
    At the other end of the room a door stood half open. Mathieu could have sworn there was someone behind that door.
    ‘Poor kids,’ said the old woman. ‘They’re too silly. I’ve only got to look at you to see that you’re born unlucky — you’re the sort that upsets glasses, and smashes mirrors. And women trust you. Well, they get what they deserve.’
    Mathieu remained polite.
    ‘I should have liked to see where you operate.’
    The old woman flung him a baleful and suspicious look.
    ‘Look here! Who told you that I operate? What are you talking about? Mind your own business. If your friend wants to see me, let her come herself. I won’t deal with anyone else. You want to make inquiries, do you? Did she make any inquiries before she got into your grip? You’ve had an accident. All right. Then let us hope I shall be better at my job than you were at yours — and that’s all I have to say. Good night.’
    ‘Good night, Madame,’ said Mathieu.
    He went out with a sense of deliverance. He turned and walked slowly towards the Avenue d’Orléans: for the first time since he had left her, he could think of Marcelle without pain, without horror, and with a sort of tender melancholy: ‘I’ll go and see Sarah tomorrow,’ he said to himself.

CHAPTER 2
    B ORIS eyed the red-checked table-cloth, and thought of Mathieu Delarue. ‘A good chap that.’ The orchestra was silent, the air was blue, and there was a buzz of talk. Boris