oneâs waiting for such an important event⦠You see, my wife â¦â
He smiled without quite managing to conceal his pride.
â⦠Any moment now, we are going to have a childâ¦â
He explained. He felt the need to explain. That they had seen Dr. Van der Donck, the leading specialist. That it was he who had given them the midwifeâs name. That he had told them: âShe is the one I would choose for my own wife.â
âYou understand⦠If a man like Dr. Van der Donckâ¦â
Sometimes somebody would go past, keeping close to the houses, with his coat collar turned up, and his footsteps would go on echoing for a long time through the maze of streets. Under each lamp-post, every fifty yards or so, a patch of fog and rain made a circle of yellow light.
âWhat are they doing over there?â
There was a lot of coming and going over in the Place Saint-Lambert. Policemenâs capes could be seen passing by. A horse-guard had galloped past.
âThe anarchistsâ¦â
âWhat have they done?â
Désiré asked the question politely, but had he so much as understood?
âTheyâve thrown a bomb at the shop windows of the Grand Bazaar.â
âWith the children that come later, I suppose you feel used to it⦠But with the first ⦠Especially seeing that my wife isnât very strong ⦠and rather nervyâ¦â
Désiré still had not noticed that he was bare-headed. He was wearing round celluloid sleeves which fell over his hands with every movement. He had just finished his packet of cigarettes and he would have to go too far to buy another.
âIf that woman forgot to wave the lampâ¦Sheâs got so much to do!â¦â
At midnight, the policeman himself apologized and went off. There was no longer a soul to be seen in the street, no more trams, nothing but distant footsteps, doors shutting, bolts being pushed home.
At last, the lampâ¦
It was exactly ten minutes past midnight. Désiré rushed forward like a madman. His long legs threshed through space.
âÃliseâ¦â
âHush!â¦Not so loudâ¦â
Then he burst into tears. He no longer knew what he was doing, nor what he was saying, nor that some women were looking at him. He did not dare touch the child who was all red. The insipid smell in the flat upset him. Valérie went to empty a bucket on the entresol.
Ãlise, between the sheets which had just been put on the bed, the sheets she had embroidered specially for the occasion, smiled weakly.
âItâs a boy,â she stammered. As for him, with a complete lack of self-restraint, he said, crying all the while:
âI shall never, never forget that you have just given me the greatest joy a woman can give a manâ¦â
âDésiré ⦠Listen ⦠What time is it?â
The child had been born at ten past twelve. Ãlise whispered:
âListen, Désiré ⦠Heâs come into the world on a Friday the thirteenth ⦠Nobody must know ⦠You must beg that woman â¦â
And that was why, the next morning, when Désiré, accompanied by his brother Arthur as a witness, went to register the childâs birth at the Town Hall, he told the clerk, with an innocent expression:
âRoger Mamelin, born at Liége, at No. 18, Rue Léopold, on Thursday 12 February 1903.â
He added automatically:
âOver Cessionâs.â
CHAPTER TWO
W HY shouldnât it be a guardian spirit? Why was it always at the same moment that it revealed its presence and seemed to bid them good day? Most mornings, Ãlise bustled backwards and forwards, but today she lay motionless in the warmth of the bed, her shoulders propped up against her pillow and Désiréâs. In the cradle, the child, who had just been fed, was breathing with a slight whistling sound. Ãlise was wearing her morose expression, not sad, but morose, a
He smiled without quite managing to conceal his pride.
â⦠Any moment now, we are going to have a childâ¦â
He explained. He felt the need to explain. That they had seen Dr. Van der Donck, the leading specialist. That it was he who had given them the midwifeâs name. That he had told them: âShe is the one I would choose for my own wife.â
âYou understand⦠If a man like Dr. Van der Donckâ¦â
Sometimes somebody would go past, keeping close to the houses, with his coat collar turned up, and his footsteps would go on echoing for a long time through the maze of streets. Under each lamp-post, every fifty yards or so, a patch of fog and rain made a circle of yellow light.
âWhat are they doing over there?â
There was a lot of coming and going over in the Place Saint-Lambert. Policemenâs capes could be seen passing by. A horse-guard had galloped past.
âThe anarchistsâ¦â
âWhat have they done?â
Désiré asked the question politely, but had he so much as understood?
âTheyâve thrown a bomb at the shop windows of the Grand Bazaar.â
âWith the children that come later, I suppose you feel used to it⦠But with the first ⦠Especially seeing that my wife isnât very strong ⦠and rather nervyâ¦â
Désiré still had not noticed that he was bare-headed. He was wearing round celluloid sleeves which fell over his hands with every movement. He had just finished his packet of cigarettes and he would have to go too far to buy another.
âIf that woman forgot to wave the lampâ¦Sheâs got so much to do!â¦â
At midnight, the policeman himself apologized and went off. There was no longer a soul to be seen in the street, no more trams, nothing but distant footsteps, doors shutting, bolts being pushed home.
At last, the lampâ¦
It was exactly ten minutes past midnight. Désiré rushed forward like a madman. His long legs threshed through space.
âÃliseâ¦â
âHush!â¦Not so loudâ¦â
Then he burst into tears. He no longer knew what he was doing, nor what he was saying, nor that some women were looking at him. He did not dare touch the child who was all red. The insipid smell in the flat upset him. Valérie went to empty a bucket on the entresol.
Ãlise, between the sheets which had just been put on the bed, the sheets she had embroidered specially for the occasion, smiled weakly.
âItâs a boy,â she stammered. As for him, with a complete lack of self-restraint, he said, crying all the while:
âI shall never, never forget that you have just given me the greatest joy a woman can give a manâ¦â
âDésiré ⦠Listen ⦠What time is it?â
The child had been born at ten past twelve. Ãlise whispered:
âListen, Désiré ⦠Heâs come into the world on a Friday the thirteenth ⦠Nobody must know ⦠You must beg that woman â¦â
And that was why, the next morning, when Désiré, accompanied by his brother Arthur as a witness, went to register the childâs birth at the Town Hall, he told the clerk, with an innocent expression:
âRoger Mamelin, born at Liége, at No. 18, Rue Léopold, on Thursday 12 February 1903.â
He added automatically:
âOver Cessionâs.â
CHAPTER TWO
W HY shouldnât it be a guardian spirit? Why was it always at the same moment that it revealed its presence and seemed to bid them good day? Most mornings, Ãlise bustled backwards and forwards, but today she lay motionless in the warmth of the bed, her shoulders propped up against her pillow and Désiréâs. In the cradle, the child, who had just been fed, was breathing with a slight whistling sound. Ãlise was wearing her morose expression, not sad, but morose, a
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