So, he would have been assured of a life annuity from Uderan? That Pecresse would have provided for him? Mother, crazily, would have let him do it… It was possible…
How weak her mother was! There it was: she saw clearly what her mother had become, a creature without any strength, gifted with an illusory will that could be broken like a nutshell. Nothing. And it was Jacques who, day after day, had reduced his mother to nothing.
Since a very young age, Maud had imagined him as nasty, but in an instinctive and childish way, not more. Now she understood that it wasn’t about a natural tendency such as courage or devotion. Jacques was mean as a sort of reverse action against himself. Doing good discouraged him in advance, and he carefully avoided it. He didn’t dare try to be better, because every beginning, even that of an attitude, is arid and desolate like the break of day.
Thus, he found it preferable to sink little by little into meanness, and to deliver a more decisive blow each day to Taneran, Maud, and his mother, whom he held well in hand. His life took on unity and strength. He won victories; he got stronger. That’s why every happy scene saddened him. Just thinking about it sent chills down Maud’s spine…
The sound of the doorbell drew Maud from her numbness. Her mother’s footsteps headed toward the door. Maud strained to hear. A kind of curiosity and also hope made her sit up in bed… Her mother was going to speak to him. Perhaps it was the beginning of a catastrophe so serious, so horrible, that it would eclipse everything else for a certain time… Crazy, she was crazy to believe it, or even anticipate such a windfall.
Her brother’s resounding voice echoed in the hallway. When he came in, he always woke up everyone and didn’t show any qualms about it. On the other hand, when he was sleeping, what perfect calm was maintained around him!
It was true; this voice drew her back into the past. It announced the same dreaded hours approaching dawn every night. Jacques boomed at his mother. “You’re not in bed, what’s the matter with you?”
“Be quiet,” she pleaded. “I’m begging you to be quiet. The police were here for you while we were away…”
He was silent and then replied, “What are you talking about?”
Mrs. Taneran repeated what she had just said. Jacques must have been drinking, because his voice was sticky and he articulated slowly, like someone waking up. Soon Maud didn’t hear them anymore. Maybe they were talking very, very quietly… And then Jacques went at it again, with sudden brutality: “Oh! They came? When? How many times? For heaven’s sake, talk!”
“It’s up to you to tell me, my dear…”
“It’s Tavares,” he replied. “I just need to play dead.”
“You signed?” queried his mother. “For how much?”
“Fifty thousand,” retorted Jacques, “but I’m telling you I just need to play dead. They won’t get me for a few loan payments… Besides, it’s old business, you remember…”
Maud fell back onto her bed. At the tone of her brother’s voice, she understood there was no real danger. Nothing bizarre, nothing. Only Tavares, and with him, she knew, there was always a way to work things out. Life would take on its infernal ebb and flow.
They had entered the dining room. From time to time she picked up bits of sentences, like, “So you’ve finished crying?” and then, “Oh, I was so fearful, my dear. Why did you do that?”
“It was for Muriel. I wanted to come to you, but surely you know me by now. I would have died rather than ask you for money. What can I do, I’m just like that!” Little by little he perked up again and held his head higher.
Maud deeply resented the filth of each of his words. Just the effect of his voice made her feel altered. She hadn’t heard him for a long time, but he was still at the same place: he was still using his same old lies and pathetic exaggerations.
He was playing a new role in the eyes of his mother and Maud found he had increased in boldness and strength. Oh, what a show-off he was!
“I’m a fellow people don’t really understand. Of course, I’m not talking about you! I’ve always said, ‘You’re a saint.’ But them…”
“What are you planning to do?”
“Obviously, it would be better to pay… I’m not a crook. Fake papers, that’s basically not my strong suit. I was recommended to the bank as Muriel’s husband…”
He smelled the fifty thousand francs received the day before from the Pecresses that his mother had in her possession. “She won’t say anything,” thought Maud, “she won’t tell him they don’t have anything now on account of me…” And effectively, Mrs. Taneran let him go through all his useless tactics of cozying up to her. Perhaps she herself forgot that she owed this money to the Pecresses, if Maud wasn’t going to marry John.
“Obviously, I was saying, it’s better that I pay… I’ll go back to work, and I’ll pay. It’ll take me ten years, but I’ll get there…”
At the same time, his mother persisted in not offering anything. One had to really not know her (and he knew her well) to think she would decide from the outset not to give back the sum to the Pecresses. But Mrs. Taneran would let things unfold on their own until she came to a point of no return.
“It’s not the first time something like this has happened,” Jacques continued. “If you only knew how many times I’ve spared you from something like this you’d be amazed, my dear mother, amazed…”
And certainly, she would never be so naïve as to offer him what he wanted today. But one night, between them, and just between them, she would brusquely take the money from her closet, between two piles of sheets, and give it to him without saying a word. The passing days would have weakened their memory of the Pecresses, whose image was already fading. As for the Grants, they lived in reality.
Right up until dawn they talked together like that, softly. Mrs. Taneran let herself be beguiled, basically happy with these confidences that brought her closer to her son.
Maud didn’t sleep. She didn’t listen, either. She waited for the morning in order to leave. As soon as the first rays of dawn caused the night to fade, she got up. Then, not knowing what to do, she stayed glued to the middle of her room. She realized that before her departure for Uderan something was going to happen.
Already that something was inside her, in her mind, which little by little got used to it and let it take shape. Then she felt it on the outside, very small but living and focused and looking at her like the eye of a motionless bird.
The door of the dining room opened. Jacques said to his mother as he yawned, “They’re sleeping. By the way, it’s better not to tell anything to them or the old man. And especially not to my sister. You can say whatever you want about her; I know what I think about her now. I know women. Happily, she’s going to be on her way…” They went toward the kitchen.
“Come,” said the mother, “I’m not going to go to bed now, it’s too late. I’m going to make a little coffee.”
Maud slipped into the kitchen before them and waited. As soon as they saw her, they stopped in their tracks in the doorway. They didn’t dare enter, held back by a vague fear. Mrs. Taneran tried to smile. “Are you crazy, my dear? What are you doing there?”
Jacques advanced very decidedly, pale and seized abruptly by anger that deformed his face. “What are you doing there? Let me at her, Mother…”
In truth, Maud didn’t know what she was doing there. She only guessed that she irritated Jacques, in all her weakness, in all her distress simply presented, to the point of stirring up in him a desire for murder: the way one wants to kill an inoffensive animal after having wounded it, without thinking, without hatred. She looked at her brother, so pale in the early morning light, blown up with anger. He was looking around him for something he could use to crush his sister’s face.