The Horseman on the Roof (50 page)

“For myself, with no precise goal and traveling light, it's child's play,” said the man. “But I expect I'll be obliged to go through kitchen gardens. On foot it's easy to clamber over fences, but with your mule you'd be in a fine mess. Now here, from what I've been told, the cholera's the last thing to worry about. The dead are dead, they're burned, and that's that. The people have got over their fright (which was excessive) by realizing that the plague was a business proposition; that thanks to it they could first make easy money and then allow themselves a good time. They need customers for all that. When people try to avoid them they consider the bread's being taken out of their mouths. And God knows how nasty they turn then! Do you want to know what I think? We ought to go around by the pyres: that'll be the side they aren't watching. If they have an ambush, it's in the dark. They tell themselves that everyone instinctively keeps away from that kitchen—and it doesn't smell very good, to be sure. Let's hold our noses and go that way. Dead people, roasted into the bargain, can't harm anyone. Whereas live ones have all sorts of ideas, such as putting men and women into two different quarantines.”

Angelo stopped for a minute to load the young woman's pistol himself. She let him do so. He handed the weapon back to her without a word. He wanted to behave perfectly, and it was very difficult.

The pedestrian seemed to be right. They drew near the pyres, which seemed to be burning by themselves, without seeing anyone or anything but the meadows, made greener by the red brilliance of the flames. They even found an earth track along which the mule walked easily, though with ears pricked toward the greasy smoke rolling low over the grass.

Angelo had taken his little saber in his hand, but felt himself absurd. “And yet,” he thought, “a naked blade, with which I'd strike immediately, will make a much greater impression on these runaway bourgeois than a pistol. For it's easy to press a trigger, and they know it, being themselves capable of such a pretty exploit, which brings its man down without any necessity for courage. At the moment, I feel pretty small myself. That's why I feel stupid with this cabbage-chopper in my hand. But the moment danger comes, it'll be a saber again: and I know that with such a weapon I can be very frightening.”

Thus he did not pay undue attention to the sickening stench from the pyres. Often, without knowing it, he escaped much more general causes of disgust in the same fashion.

At last, after wandering for some time through the tangle of sometimes sunken tracks leading to the different blocks of land belonging to the suburbs, they set foot on a small hard road that climbed up the wooded slopes on the other side of the town.

Quite soon they were in a sparse fir forest, which was purring like a cat. The moon was rising in a murky sky.

“In half an hour's time she'll be out of the clouds and it'll be almost as bright as day. We passed the ticklish spot at the right moment. I confess your little saber cheered me. When we were walking in the light of the braziers I thought, watching you, that I was at a romantic opera. I had the impression that at any moment you were going to burst into an aria, and I wasn't frightened. Mind you, I trusted you and perhaps you would have used the thing. But anyhow the danger's passed; it always reduces me to such a jelly that afterwards I have to joke. Then I can breathe again. What's more, I'm going to leave you. I'm not going to Gap. And this road's yours but it takes me out of my way.”

Angelo and the young woman bade him good-bye rather coldly. He set off through the woods. He seemed to know what he was about.

“I think we've walked enough for today,” said Angelo. “I'd never have believed you were so strong. But let's not overdo it. We shall have to do as much again tomorrow. I like this district less and less. I want to get out of it as quickly as possible. You march like a foot soldier. But in a short while it won't be your head but your knees, your ankles, and your hips that take command, and with these things there's no arguing. If you strain yourself too far, all of a sudden you'll drop like a sack and be unable to put one foot before the other. And suppose we again have to hurry past people who are burning their dead…”

He even added a certain tenderness to his following remarks. “If I'm not nice to her,” he thought, “she'll be obstinate, and I shall end by being stupidly tied to a young woman who can't walk a step and whom I shall feel bound to protect through thick and thin. That wouldn't be funny.”

“I am tired, you're right,” she said, “and since the road started to climb I've been dragging. You've been kind to act as if you didn't notice, but in five minutes' time I'd have had to tell you that I'm not altogether up to certain circumstances.”

“No one can exceed his physical strength. There's nothing to be ashamed of. I'm tired myself.”

“You couldn't tell me anything more cheering. I just felt all the heart go out of me, seeing our companion go off gaily on his way, as if he'd just jumped out of bed. He's walked as much as we have.”

“He hasn't gone far,” said Angelo. “I bet he's simply gone down into the valley to sleep. I know the ways of his kind, especially when they reach a certain age. They'll never let go of anything while you're watching. They're only themselves when they're alone. He hasn't taken his road. He's looking for a corner to lie down in.”

Now and then the moon freed itself from the dappled clouds rising from the south. Then its milky brightness gave the theatrical architecture of the beeches the lightness of vapor.

They left the road and moved into the undergrowth. The soil was springy and covered with crackling leaves. They chose a tall beech on the edge of the valley and retired under its cover. Facing them they had a great slab of curdled sky; the edge of each cloud glittered like salt; low on the horizon of black mountains a few stars shone, veiled and confidential; from the wooded valley hollowed out at their feet emerged high branches frosted with moonlight, the way submerged forests rise again from a lake that is drying up. The air was warm and still. Alone in the sky, the slow rising of the clouds gave life to the night, opening and closing over the woods a fan of gleams and shadows.

Angelo pitched their camp at the foot of the beech, where the dead leaves were thick and warm. He hobbled the mule, which immediately dozed off on its feet, and then, sure that they were staying there, lay down peacefully without ceremony.

“Try to sleep,” said Angelo.

He again referred to the leather breeches, without the least self-consciousness.

Under the circling beacon of the moon the forest became laden with shadows and mystery, then through its white branches opened up vistas in which the stripped trees assumed tragic poses. Saint-Dizier, hidden by the shoulder of the mountain, threw up occasional red glows into the sky.

“Did you notice,” said the young woman, “that the man who's just left us never came close to us while we were walking with him, but took care to keep to his side of the road?”

“It seemed to me quite natural,” said Angelo. “Nowadays it's preferable for people to keep away from each other. I dread the death that lurks in the coat of the passer-by. And he dreads the death that's in mine. If he had been too familiar with us, I should have said something about it out loud and he'd have gone back to his place.”

“And yet for six days now we've been together, you and I,” said the young woman. “I've never seen you shrink from approaching me. And I sleep in your cloak.”

“Naturally. What is there to fear?”

“The death that may lurk in my skirt, as in the coat of the passer-by.”

Angelo didn't reply. She asked if he was asleep.

“Yes,” he said. “I was dropping off.”

“Peacefully, by my side?”

“Of course.”

“Without dreading the death I might give you, the same as anyone else?”

“No, not just the same. I'm sorry,” he added. “I was asleep when I answered just then. That's not what I meant. I meant to say that we are companions and have nothing to fear from each other, because on the contrary we protect one another. We're traveling together. We try not to catch the plague but, if you were to do so, do you suppose I'd make a bolt for it?”

She did not reply and almost immediately after gave the deep sighs of sleep.

The night was one of vast, motionless peace, except for the sky, where the clouds were soundlessly moving; but even this movement, powerful, slow, and regular, added to the serenity of the silence. The mule's nostrils snorted; racing field-mice ruffled the dry leaves; from time to time the big branches stretched and groaned. A faint rumble, like the one that comes out of deep wells, filled all space.

Down in the valley a wood owl began to hoot. Then it uttered a long, composed phrase. It was not an owl but a clarinet, peacefully playing a sad and tender tune.

“He didn't go very far,” thought Angelo. “He talked a great deal but he said nothing of what he really meant, nothing essential. Like all of us. He waited till he was alone.”

The rather absurd warble of the clarinet became transfigured by the swelling echoes, the white décor of the forest, the ceremonious prologue that the beeches rounded out slowly and ceaselessly into noble gestures beneath the moon.

“Those are Mozart's ‘German Dances,'” said the young woman.

“I thought you were asleep.”

“I wasn't asleep, I had my eyes closed in peace.”

Day came with a dirty and somber sky.

“We must move on at once,” said Angelo, “and find shelter. It's going to rain.”

They quickly boiled the tea, encouraging the fire with dry beech leaves that flared up briskly. They ate some cornstarch, but without much appetite.

“I am thirsty for cold water,” said the young woman. “This weather, heavy with rain, slows me down.”

“The plague has a predilection for organisms that are tired and cold. It's unpleasant walking in the rain, and where we are going there are heights where in cloudy weather it's very cold for people with wet clothes. I'm afraid of houses, but I'm also afraid of rain, indeed that's perhaps what I fear most on your account. We have to choose. And above all, we must get on our way. We may have the luck to find a hut by this forest track or, better still, a cave. I would love a drink of cold water too. I dream so much of unhealthy drinks that I've only to close my eyes to hear fountains flowing. But let's think of keeping alive.”

They walked through hilly woods under an increasingly overcast sky that made threatening gestures. The gusts of warm wind smelt of water. Rain scampered like rats among the leaves. From the top of a knoll they looked out over the great forest through which they were passing. It was thick as fleece. It covered a humped, dark blue country, without much hope. The trees were selfishly rejoicing in the imminent rain. These vast vegetable expanses, living a well-organized life, perfectly indifferent to anything that was not their immediate concern, were as frightening as the cholera.

There were no longer even any crows. They saw a falcon searching for something quite other than corpses.

Fortunately the track was clearly marked. Though not a carriage road, it sufficed for the mule, and above all it showed signs of having been kept up. It clearly existed for some reason, and led to inhabited places. At all events, very remote ones. Though Angelo and the young woman forced their pace, they saw nothing but trees and undergrowth the entire morning. The clouds had finally resolved themselves into a fine drizzle that barely seeped below the pines but spread the sound of the sleeping sea over the whole countryside. The indifference of it all was such that Angelo found a distant roll of thunder most attractive. He much preferred to be assaulted directly. At last, as they were crossing the donkey-back of a ridge, they saw at one and the same time the black workings of the sky, and about a quarter of a league ahead, the reddish patch of a clearing and the front of a large house.

The autumn storm, indolent but brutal, struck two or three heavy blows in the neighboring valleys. Dense curtains of rain fell all around in the woods. The sound made the mule prick up its ears and step out more vigorously. The young woman held on to the strap of the pack-saddle. They ran. The downpour caught them. Yet they had time to see that they were crossing a sort of park before they were in shelter under the porch of the house's front door.

“Dry your hair quickly,” said Angelo. “Don't catch cold in your head. We've got here just in time.”

After a mild flash and a rumble that shook up echoes like caldrons, the rain began to fall with violence. The enormous house, deserted and acting as a drum for the rain, increased their sense of solitude.

“This is a curious place,” said Angelo. “The box bushes have been trimmed and the trees planted in avenues, more than a hundred years ago, to judge from the thickness of those maple trunks that form the drive. What's this barrack doing in the woods? Can't you smell sulphur?”

“Yes. But if you're trying to frighten me, it's no good. I'm not thinking of the devil. I remember this smell of rotten eggs. It woke me up in my closed carriage the first time I passed through this district. According to my husband, there are four or five villages about here with sulphur springs, and people bathe in them. This barrack must be simply a sort of hotel used in summer during the watering season.”

“I only thought of the devil vaguely,” said Angelo, “and merely because the devil's better than nothing. So you think we're in the right direction, since you've already smelled this smell on the way to Gap?”

“If we're on the outskirts of one of those villages, we've only ten or twelve leagues left before reaching Gap, and Théus is three more beyond. I remember too that we went through woods. But it was night. I was riding in a carriage and not worrying. I was a long way from supposing that one day I'd have to find my way on foot through these forests.”