The Death of Napoleon by Simon Leys

Author:Simon Leys
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-59017-843-0
Publisher: New York Review Books
Published: 2015-03-28T16:00:00+00:00

IT WAS NOT UNTIL the room was almost dark that a silence fell at last. The visitor had no desire to take his leave. He could not face the prospect of departing from this unexpected haven and continuing his endless wandering in the cold indifference of unfamiliar streets. But how could he induce Widow Truchaut to offer him a bed for the night?

As he was vainly mulling this question over in his mind, a surprising turn of events suddenly came to his rescue.

All at once the sound of children’s voices was heard in the street. The door was flung open and half a dozen scruffy kids rushed into the room in a state of high excitement.

“You rascals!” screamed Widow Truchaut, full of motherly indignation, her hand raised ready to give them a clout. “Can’t you see I have a visitor? You monkeys!”

“Ostrich, Ostrich! Listen, listen!” the children squealed in their shrill voices, but as they were all shouting at once, it was impossible to understand anything.

Then three men, breathing hard, burst into the room. The last of the three shut the door carefully behind him. Silence. The children, who had been their advance guard, were now huddled together against the wall, all aquiver with the special thrill that children feel at the news that some major catastrophe has occurred in the world of adults.

Napoleon’s eyes were now accustomed to the darkness of the room, and he easily guessed who the newcomers were—their bearing alone betrayed their background. The tall beardless one with the horseman’s rolling gait was probably Sergeant Maurice, whom the widow had mentioned earlier; the bald head and the potbelly no doubt belonged to the medical officer, Dr. Latruelle-Something. As to the last of the trio, he had the swollen features of an absinthe drinker. His face, as worn as an old doormat, had the vacuous look so typical of loyal old soldiers who have never risen above the ranks.

“Ostrich . . .” The medical officer began to speak in a hoarse, solemn voice. (A moment ago Napoleon had been shocked to hear the children addressing the widow in this manner. Now, however, from the serious way the newcomer used the nickname, he presumed that the bad joke was of such ancient origin that it had lost any humorous connotation.) The medical officer stopped: he had just noticed the presence of a stranger in the room.

“You can speak freely, Major,” the Ostrich said, “he’s one of us.” She introduced Lieutenant Lenormand. The three men shook hands with him silently and very solemnly, as one does at a funeral.

“Ostrich . . .” the medical officer continued, his voice more husky than ever, “and you, comrade,” he added, turning to Napoleon, “the news that I must . . . that we have just . . . Oh, read it for yourselves . . .” He took from his pocket a sheet of newspaper almost rolled into a ball, which no one could have deciphered in the growing darkness, and collapsed onto a stool, his head bowed, his fingers working the crumpled paper into a rag.

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