The Widow by Georges Simenon Page A

crawled, then made a sudden jump.
    â€œI’ll eat you … I’ll eat you … I’ll eat you…. ”
    And the baby, sitting on the grass, gave a cry of mingled pleasure and fear, then burst into a laugh which went on so long it brought tears to his eyes. She rolled him over on the ground, nibbling at his knees, his calves, and his thighs, and his plump little bottom was naked to the sun.
    â€œAgain?”
    She got up and Jean could see her standing there, her nostrils quivering, her eyes powdered with gold dust. She swept back her hair. In one deep breath she seemed to fill her lungs with all the joy of summer, and she took a few steps, crouched, put her hands on the ground.
    â€œLook out! … The wolf … the wolf … the great big wolf! … Hoooooo! …”
    The child, in rapt suspense, ceased to breathe. He was waiting for the moment when she would jump. He foresaw it almost to a second and gave his cry of pleasure and fear.
    â€œI’ll eat you … I’ll eat you … I’ll eat you…. ”
    Their laughter mingled together The child rolled in the grass. His little fingers clung to his mother’s tawny hair, then, scarcely calmed down, he tried to utter syllables which meant, “Again …”
    And Félicie began all over again. Time didn’t count. There was the sound of the murmuring Cher and now and then the squeaking of a crank—the one that worked the lock gates—and the stumping of the lock-keeper’s wooden leg. Françoise, behind her house, a sack pinned in front of her by way of apron, her bare feet thrust into sabots, was plunging her arms into a tub of soapy water and washing clothes, throwing them out onto the grass where they made a great soft heap.
    â€œThe wolf … the great big wolf … the—”
    She froze, her pupils suddenly fixed, suddenly cold. She had just spied Jean’s face in the long grass behind her son.
    He thought she was going to snatch up the baby and rush off to the house. And the thought that he frightened her was not all that disagreeable. Wasn’t everyone in the district frightened of him, because he had been in Fontevrault and was forbidden by law to live outside a given distance?
    They didn’t know him. They had no means of learning. One day, when she was tamed, he would explain to her, very gently …
    She was looking him in the eyes. Surely she was not afraid, since she did not think of protecting the baby lying between them?
    All of a sudden, just when he least expected it, she stuck out her tongue at him.
    He smiled. All he had to do was to get up, move toward her, speak to her. But she had got to her feet first, she had bent over the child and hoisted it onto her arm, and it was in that pose that she looked her youngest and most fragile.
    He got up also. Before he was fully on his feet, she passed close by him, spat on the ground, and uttered, “Dirty dog!”
    Then, without hurrying, without looking around, she made her way to where her mother was doing her washing.
    As arranged, he waited for the bus at the side of the main road. He helped Tati get down and carried the greater bulk of the parcels. She had frowned on seeing him, and as soon as they were on the sunken path, she asked, “What’s the matter with you?”
    â€œNothing.”
    â€œDid somebody come?”
    â€œNo.”
    How had she guessed that there was something wrong, when it was so intangible? What was there, in fact? Félicie was not frightened of him! It was not because he was fresh from prison that she made off as soon as she saw him!
    She had spat on the ground. She had let fall, “Dirty dog!”
    That was quite different. That was meant for the man who lived at Tati’s, the man who was Tati’s lover.
    Tati, panting because he was walking too fast, still questioned with a searching, suspicious gaze: “Félicie didn’t come?”
    He could say no