Everything Under the Sky Read Online Free PDF Page B

back in his chair and remained still for a few minutes, staring straight through me, not blinking, lost in thought. Finally, after repeatedly twisting the ends of his mustache, he leaned on the desk and gazed at me over his spectacles with great sadness in his eyes.
    “When the band of thieves broke into his house, madame, Rémy was nghien. That's why they were able to do what they did.”
    “Nghien ?” I repeated with difficulty.
    “In a state of need … needing opium, that is. Rémy was addicted to opium.”
    “Addicted to opium? Rémy?”
    “Yes, madame. I hate to be the one to tell you, but in the last few years your husband squandered his fortune on opium, gambling, and brothels. I beg you not to think ill of Rémy. He was an excellent man, as you know. These three passions tend to corrupt all men in Shanghai, whether they're Chinese or Westerners. Very few escape. It's this city…. This damn city is at fault. This is what life here consists of, madame, this and getting rich if there's enough time. Everyone here spends lavishly, on gambling most of all. I've seen many prominent men fall and more than one fortune disappear. I've been in Shanghai so long that nothing surprises me anymore. It was a foregone conclusion with Rémy, if you'll forgive me for saying so. I'm sure you understand. You could see it coming before the war, and after it … well, he lost control. That was the end.”
    I ran my hand over my forehead and noticed that my palms were cold and clammy. My anxiety attack hadn't materialized; perhaps it was staved off by the enormous sorrow I felt. Really, if I was honest with myself, Rémy had come to the only end possible. I wasn't referring to his violent death, which was unjust no matter how you looked at it, but to his plummet into self-destruction. He was the nicest, most entertaining, elegant man in the world, but he was also weak, and fate had unfortunately placed him in the most inappropriate place. If he'd disappeared for days in Paris, arriving home in a sorry state, what must have happened in Shanghai where it seemed that overindulgence was both common and easy? A man like Rémy wouldn't be able to resist. What I still didn't understand, however, was where he'd gotten the money he sent me every now and then through the Crédit Lyonnais. The salary I earned working for Paul Ranson's widow as a teacher at her Académie didn't allow many luxuries, so on occasion I would write to Rémy for help. Nearly as fast as the return post, a generous sum would be waiting for me at the Crédit branch on boulevard des Italiens.
    M. Julliard interrupted my train of thought.
    “Now, Mme De Poulain, you will have to settle Rémy's debts or face lawsuits and seizures. In fact, there are already cases in progress that won't stop as a result of his death.”
    “What about his brother? I don't have any money.”
    “As I told you, madame, Arthème paid off most of Rémy's debts a few years ago. The company lawyers and Monsieur Voillis, the new representative, have advised me that the family washes its hands of any problem with respect to Rémy or to you. They asked me to relay the message that you not ask them for any assistance or make any claim against them.”
    My pride made me square my shoulders.
    “Tell them not to worry. They don't exist as far as I'm concerned. But I repeat, M. Julliard, I don't have any money. I can't make those payments.”
    I once again felt my heart race, and no air seemed to reach my lungs.
    “I know, madame, I know, and you can't imagine how sorry I am,” the lawyer murmured. “If you'll allow me, I can propose a few solutions that I've been considering in order to tackle this problem.”
    He began to rummage through the file so vigorously that the papers scattered all over his desk.
    “And the servants, M. Julliard?” I asked. “How am I going to pay the servants?”
    “Oh, don't worry about that!” he exclaimed, distracted. “Servants work for room and board. That's the