David Golder, The Ball, Snow in Autumn & The Courilof Affair (2008) by Irène Némirovsky

his stomach with difficulty. “I’m very happy.”
    “Oh, yes. That pearl fishing business in Monaco …” Golder sniggered. “I thought they’d thrown you in jail…”
    Fischl gave a long, good-humoured laugh.
    “Absolutely, I was taken to court… But, as you can see, it didn’t end up as badly as usual. Austria, Russia, France …” He counted off on his fingers. “I’ve been in prison in three countries. I hope that’s the end of it now, that they’ll leave me in peace … They can all go to hell, I don’t want to work any more. I’m old.”
    He lit a cigarette. “What was the Stock Market like yesterday?”
    “Bad.”
    “Do you know what the Huanchaca shares were selling at?”
    “One thousand three hundred and sixty-five,” Golder said, rubbing his hands together. “You really got screwed there, didn’t you?”
    He wondered suddenly why he was so happy to see the man lose money. Fischl had never done anything to him. “It’s strange how I can’t bear him,” he thought.
    But Fischljust shrugged his shoulders. “
Iddische Glick,
” he said in Yiddish.
    “He must be rolling in it again, the pig,” thought Golder. (He knew how to recognise the inimitable, telling little tremor in a man’s voice that gives away his emotion even if his words appear indifferent.) “He doesn’t give a damn…”
    “What are you doing here?” he grumbled.
    “Your wife invited me… Hey, listen …”
    He walked over to Golder, automatically lowering his voice. “There’s a business I know about that will interest you… Have you ever heard of the El Paso silver mines?”
    “No, thank God,” Golder interjected.
    “There are millions to be made there.”
    “There are millions to be made everywhere, but you have to know how to make them.”
    “You’re wrong to refuse to do business with me. We’re made for each other. You’re intelligent, but you lack daring, you’re not willing to take chances, you’re afraid of the law. Don’t you think?”
    He laughed, pleased with himself.
    “As for me, I’m not interested in run-of-the-mill stuff— buying, selling… But to get something going, to create something—a mine in Peru, for example—when you don’t even know where it is… Listen, I started something like that two years ago. When I bought the shares, they hadn’t even turned over a shovelful of earth. Then the American investors jumped in. Whether you believe me or not, I’m telling you that within two weeks the land was worth ten times what I’d paid. I sold my shares for a huge profit. When business works like that, it’s pure poetry.”
    Golder shrugged his shoulders. “Not really.”
    “Whatever you say. You’ll regret it. There’s nothing fishy about this one.”
    He smoked for a while in silence. “Tell me …”
    “What?”
    He looked at Golder, narrowing his eyes. “Marcus…”
    But the aged face remained blank; there was a mere twitch of a muscle in one corner of his mouth. “Marcus? He’s dead.”
    “I know,” Fischl said quietly, “but why?” He lowered his voice even further. “What did you do to him, you old Cain?”
    “What did
I do
to him?” Golder repeated. He looked away. “He wanted to cheat old man Golder,” he said abruptly, angrily, as his hollow ashen cheeks blushed suddenly, “and that’s dangerous…”
    Fischl laughed. “You old Cain,” he repeated smugly, “but you’re right. As for me, well, I’m too nice.”
    He stopped speaking; he’d heard something.
    “Here comes your daughter, Golder.”

    “ IS DAD HERE? ” shouted Joyce. Golder could hear her laughing. Instinctively he closed his eyes, as if to listen for longer. His daughter… What a lovely voice, what a radiant laugh she had. “Like gold,” he thought, feeling indescribable pleasure.
    Nevertheless, he didn’t move, made not a single sign of going towards her, and when she appeared, leaping on to the terrace in that light, quick way she had that showed her knees beneath her