The Lady and the Little Fox Fur (Penguin European Writers) by Violette Leduc

Author:Violette Leduc [Leduc, Violette]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780241357460
Publisher: Penguin Books Ltd
Published: 2018-09-05T22:00:00+00:00

The office boy knocked once. Silence. The office boy knocked twice with restraint. Silence, silence. The office boy knocked three times, with restraint at first, then more loudly. Silence, silence, silence. The office boy knocked four times with steadily decreasing temerity. He gazed at his wedding ring in panic. She also remained silent. The office boy stood in sullen hesitation. If I don’t keep on knocking, he’ll fire me, he thought. If I do keep on knocking, if I wake him up, he might fire me for that too. He sees everyone, that’s a principle. At such moments the office boy was always assailed by anxiety, angry with his forefinger because it was so timorous, angry with it for being too bold. He began another series of blows on the door. Being able to rest at the beginning of the afternoon was a stroke of good luck, even if you weren’t the boss. The office boy rejoiced at the thought that such a thing as a weekday siesta existed. Then, quite suddenly, he felt stifled by his employer’s silence. He was filled with an abrupt longing for a hammer so that he could knock harder and harder still.

M. Dumont-Boigny woke up, and with his eyes still scarcely open said: ‘Come in.’ He was available again; his five minutes of escape had rejuvenated him.

The office boy hesitated; M. Dumont-Boigny repeated his ‘come in’ and sniffed his hands: they had a scent of Gournay river mud. He had had a pleasant sleep and a pleasant dream about the boat in which he had once spent his days drifting down the river as a boy.

‘She’s peculiar,’ the office boy began.

M. Dumont-Boigny lit a cigarette. The stiffness in his elbows was irritating him. One thing at a time.

‘Explain yourself,’ he said, back once more with his business concerns on the rue d’Hauteville.

The office boy was trying to pinpoint the difference between the packet of Gauloises on his employer’s desk and the packet of Gauloises he himself would buy in rue Popincourt on his way home. He was all dangling arms – like an old monkey. M. Dumont-Boigny, very much at his ease, was comparing sample cards. The office boy shook himself.

‘She’s waiting without saying anything, that’s what makes her peculiar …’

‘So it’s a woman?’ M. Dumont-Boigny cut in.

‘I told you that in the beginning,’ the office boy said under his breath.

M. Dumont-Boigny was pushing away sample cards and pulling others towards him, all with one hand.

‘I don’t see what there is peculiar about being patient …’

He is taking her side without having seen her, the office boy said accusingly to the elegant pen stuck into the elegant penholder.

‘What does she want? What does she say she’s here for?’ M. Dumont-Boigny asked without lifting his head from his sample card.

The office boy was dozing on the penholder. He started.

‘She was already there waiting when I came on duty …’ He consulted his watch. ‘That makes it almost two hours she’s been standing out there. And she won’t have anything to do with the chairs I offer her,’ he added sourly.

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