The Dogs and the Wolves Read Online Free Page A

armchair was threadbare and wobbly. From the riverbank they could hear the unearthly shouting of a drunkard being beaten by police. She had given up all hope of increasing her fortune by herself now. She’d done her very best in the past, though. When she was single, she hadn’t been content to allow a marriage broker to find her a husband; she’d looked for a suitable man herself amongst the university students in the town because they were responsible and intelligent, they had good prospects. Several times, she had gone on the prowl, tirelessly . . . until finally one of them fell into the trap – and how much trouble she had gone to! How many silk skirts had she patiently hemmed, how many old hats mended in her room, in the silence of the night. How many long walks had she taken along the wide avenues of her hometown where, at dusk, young men and unmarried women paraded themselves. She’d had to endure lascivious glances, crude comments. And all her craftiness, the endless, unrelenting schemes to finally steal the chosen one from her more beautiful or richer friends! It had been such a long, cruel, silent war. But what could she do now, a helpless, penniless widow?She was old, and the husband she had conquered after so many battles – a good husband, owner of the town’s first printing works – had died suddenly, leaving her to bring up two children, the pretty Lilla, aged twelve, and that rascal Ben! Lilla was her only hope.
    Lilla and Ben were sitting up very straight, next to each other. Lilla was a brunette with pale skin, an innocent, serious, pretty face, a schoolgirl’s dress and hair tied back with a black satin ribbon at the base of her neck. Ben had long black curls and a thin, translucent neck. They glanced around the room with curious, frightened faces, though Ben himself seemed less afraid than mocking. He was six years old and small for his age, but his expression was sarcastic, shrewd and bitter, if such emotions are possible in someone so young, and they made him appear older. Sometimes he had the look of a sly, sickly monkey. His face was never at rest; his features constantly quivered; he spoke little, but his eyes, his smile, were eloquent. His hands trembled, his lips moved; he copied the gestures of his mother, his uncle, his grandfather, not simply to mock them, but out of some unconscious imitation. He was passionate about everything: he lifted the lid of the sugar bowl to study a fly that had got trapped inside; he screwed up his eyes, made a horrible face, leaned forward to better see how its little feet moved, caught it in his hand, threw it into Ada’s cup. He got hold of his uncle’s watch and opened it with his agile fingers, made the needles go round. Every so often, he’d slip away, go over to the window and press his pale, angular little face to the panes of glass, but they were covered in ice. He turned his head this way and that, with quick little movements; his breath etched out a dingy, moist circle in the frosty patterns, so he could see the street where the lights were out in all the shops, where not a single soul passed by. Then he’d go back and sit down again next to Lilla.
    On the old, smoke-tinged ceiling, amidst the stains and shadows,Ada looked for a thin white face, a face only she could see by tilting her head at a certain angle; the face leaned down towards her and gestured to her, mysteriously. Ada smiled, snuggled up in her father’s arms, closed her eyes and fell asleep.

4
    Ada was seven years old and had more or less grown accustomed to living with her aunt and cousins. Lilla and Ben didn’t bother her. Her aunt only paid attention to her in the presence of her father, who no longer took her with him to work, now that he needn’t worry about her. And so she was even more alone than before; she played silently on the old settee or in the courtyard. On Sundays, Lilla took her out. It was convenient for Lilla to have her little cousin with her when she met