The Horseman on the Roof (39 page)

It was a young but sturdily built girl, well up to doing a man's work, who came to attend to the horses.

“How is the young lady upstairs?” asked Angelo. “Is she being looked after?”

“Is she your wife?”

“Yes.”

“Did you buy her her big ring?”

“Yes, I did.”

“You're generous.”

“I'm extremely generous,” said Angelo, “especially when people serve me well. Is there any cholera here?”

And he gave her a forty-sou piece.

“Not too much,” said she.

“Not too much is how many?”

“Two.”

“When?”

“Eight days ago.”

“Do something for me,” said Angelo. “Here are six francs. Go to the grocer's and buy me ten pounds of maize flour, two sous' worth of salt and one franc's worth of brown sugar. Put the lot under my saddle, here, in the straw. I'll see to the baggage.”

Before going back into the inn, he made sure that there was no way out of the stable except by the carriage entrance, and that this was duly locked and bolted with an iron bar that couldn't be drawn without being heard.

The young woman was sitting by the fireplace, boiling the water for the tea.

“You're not cold?” asked Angelo.

And he glanced at her legs, which were beautiful without their boots, clad in cotton stockings with arabesque designs.

“Not in the least.”

“Here's the baggage,” he said, “and I'm going, if you'll allow me, to be a nuisance. Have you any woolen stockings in your bags?”

“I can answer ‘no' without looking. I've never worn woolen stockings in my life.”

“It's not too late to begin. There must be some at the grocer's: this village must certainly be very cold in winter. We'll buy some. Meanwhile put on these—they're mine and ten times too big for you, but it's important to keep your feet very warm.”

“One could hardly resist such well-meant gallantry,” she said. “Hold these garters for me, I'll put on your stockings. You are right. It's no use entering for a race if one doesn't train. But you, have you taken precautions?”

“I shall soon have been five months wandering about in this filth,” he said. “I've won all the medals going. The contagion fears me like the plague, but I've taken precautions for the days to come.”

He spoke of the purchases he had had made at the grocer's. He said that, from now on, they wouldn't be so foolish as to buy bread but would simply make polenta out of maize flour in the kettle, as in Piedmont. They must keep well fed; they could expect some hard stretches in the mountains; even today's stretch hadn't been within everybody's capacity. Whereupon he began to blush.

“You must excuse me,” he said, turning crimson but not ceasing to gaze wide-eyed at the young woman, “but I absolutely must talk to you just as I would to one of my men. You ride astride. Aren't you sore, or bruised?”

“I'm surprised at this solicitude, so sure of itself, which you show toward everyone, myself included,” she said. “Reassure yourself, I can do stretches like today's for days on end, without being anything but tired, which I am now, I don't deny it. I've been riding since I was a child. My father—I lived alone with him—was a country doctor, and I used to make the rounds with him, rain or shine, on my mare. For reasons it would take too long to explain, I've ridden as much if not more since my marriage. Besides, I'm very well equipped.”

And she told him in a matter-of-fact way of the leather breeches she was wearing under her skirt.

“I'm very glad,” said Angelo. “I don't see why we shouldn't be comrades, just because you're a woman and I'm a man. I admit that, several times today, I was embarrassed. For instance, this morning when I found you pistol in hand, I was tempted to slap you on the shoulder as I do with Giuseppe or even Lavinia when necessary. I restrained myself, which is a pity, for sometimes that says more than any words can at a critical moment.”

He was on the verge of talking passionately to her about fighting for liberty.

“Who is Lavinia?” she said.

“The wife of my foster-brother, Giuseppe. She was my mother's maid in Italy. She went with Giuseppe when he had to go into exile; not long afterward I was reduced to the same extremity. Later they got married. But I can still see her, when she was ten or twelve years old, softening my mother's leather breeches with talc. Like you, my mother used to wear them under her skirts when she rode to our Granta estate.”

And he described the forests of Granta.

The young woman greatly enjoyed the whole chicken he had ordered for her. She finished it off, as Angelo did his. They also ate the eggs, and finished their meal with a substantial plate of soup.

“You will now sleep in a bed,” said Angelo. “I'm not going to leave the horses and baggage. It wouldn't take long to be robbed of them. You noticed how the mustard merchant eyed them too. At heart, I'm not a dupe except for the fun of it. When it comes to essentials, I can add and subtract like anyone else.”

He advised her not to yield to the temptation of a warm bath; water thoroughly boiled was necessary.

“You must,” he added, “cover yourself up very warm and keep my woolen stockings on while you sleep. Fatigue leads to shivering and, anyway, warmth relaxes one. Bolt the door and put your pistols under the bolster. At the least thing, even the least shiver, just fire your pistol, since you don't have a bell. We're in enemy country; it's silly to economize on powder. Anyhow,” he added, “the main thing is that you shouldn't run any sort of risk and that you should be spared everything. The fact of setting the whole inn in a turmoil is of no importance and perfectly legitimate. I am here to make everybody understand that.”

He then went and smoked a cigar outside the door.

It was still raining gently. The mountain was sighing above the village.

Angelo made his bed in the straw, beside the horses. He was just falling asleep when he heard the sound of wheels, and a moment later the small door communicating with the inn opened, the innkeeper hurried across the huge, echoing stable, and drew the bolt of the main entrance.

It was to let in a cabriolet. A man stepped down from it to whom the innkeeper kowtowed for all he was worth.

When the commotion subsided, the man came back with the stable girl and some trusses of straw. He too made ready to sleep beside his horse.

He was a man of about fifty, severely dressed in clothes of good quality; his stock was of choice cashmere. He spread a large Scottish plaid over his straw.

“I'm sorry to have disturbed you,” he said, noticing that Angelo had his eyes open. “If I'd followed your example earlier I'd have saved myself a lot of trouble.”

He described how, three days before, he had been robbed of a magnificent horse and carriage. He'd had to pay a stiff price for this one. He had come from Chauvac. He was trying to get to the Rhone valley where, with luck, he hoped to get a boat across the river and reach the Ardèche, where, it seemed, the air was putting up a victorious fight against the infection. He came from Savoy, where the cholera was raging beyond all belief.

Angelo asked him whether the soldiers were causing travelers much trouble at Chauvac.

“To tell the truth,” said the man, “I'm more inclined to think now that they're not doing enough. They could certainly have found my robbers and got me back a lovely horse, which those peasants will only ruin without anyone being the better off. I must admit, anyone who's a little hotheaded has a hundred occasions a day for flying into a rage with those arrogant officers; they seem to believe you can deal with cholera by a military expedition, but actually they're (forgive the expression) pissing in their boots, figuratively, before the force of things brings them to do so in reality. As their orders are to stay put and they're scared, they've invented orders designed to give them as much company as possible, especially that of people like you and me. If you are going up into the Alps, monsieur, what lies ahead of you is not pretty.”

He explained that the towns were at their last gasp.

“Do you know the stage things have reached in the biggest of them—towns where, with fifteen to twenty thousand inhabitants, you might expect there'd be some spirit left? The stage of absolute funk (they don't beat about the bush). The stage of masquerades, carnivals on the
corso.
People dress up as Pierrots, Harlequins, Columbines, clowns, to get away from death. They wear masks, they put on cardboard noses, false mustaches, false beards, they paint themselves ludicrous faces, they play at
‘après moi le déluge'
vicariously. We're right back in the Middle Ages, sir. At every crossroads they're burning straw effigies entitled ‘Father Cholera'; they insult it, they laugh at it. They dance around it and then go home to die of fear or diarrhea.”

“Monsieur,” said Angelo, “I despise people who lack a sense of humor.”

“That's an excellent rule of conduct,” said the man. “If one dies at your age, it's perfect. If one reaches mine, one modifies it. So it gives no trouble in any case. It's been said again and again with variations that the best medicine against the cholera is a swift horse. And it's true. Result: here we are both lying in the straw at our horses' feet for fear of having them stolen; you from prudence, no doubt, for which I congratulate you; I from experience. It's no use pretending we have much love for our neighbors. You may say: ‘I'm not doing anyone any harm.' Be careful: the opposite of love is not hate; it's selfishness that's opposed to love, or, to be more exact, sir, a sentiment you'll hear much talk of from now on, both good and ill: the spirit of self-preservation.

“But I'm preventing you from sleeping and no doubt you still have a long way to go, with many ambushes; so have I. And while I'm on the subject, I should tell you that people around here seem to have taken to robbery with violence, to holding up passengers on the roads, even to stripping the dead. I saw three thieves shot the day before yesterday with a great deal of ceremony. They were actually very humble-looking fellows. Thieves at a fair.

“Let's not be over-particular, let's be content, sir, with what we have this evening (and were certainly looking for): a raft at sea, just wide enough to sleep on.

“Good night, sir.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The young woman was up early and obviously in perfect health. Angelo had supervised with great care the boiling of the water for the tea. He also showed great personal satisfaction over the bag of maize flour, the brown sugar, and the dozen hard-boiled eggs he had had the wit to order.

“The news I have about Chauvac isn't good,” he said.

He described the man who had slept beside him, who had left at daybreak.

“I think we're going to have a struggle getting there. In any case, this is my idea. Tell me if you agree. Let's stick to the wildest and most deserted part of the country. Let's keep away from the roads and towns, everywhere where there are people. It seems that not only have they the cholera, but they've gone mad as well. In the mountains we've only one thing to fear: brigands. Apparently there are some about. We shall see.

“Anyhow, from what Giuseppe told me, and according to his map, Sainte-Colombe is in an appallingly lonely spot. As soon as we've joined forces with my foster-brother and his wife, we can ride roughshod over all the brigands in the world. Giuseppe's a lion and Lavinia would die for her husband or for me.”

“I agree entirely,” said the young woman. “I've only one thing to add.”

And she leaned toward Angelo to speak into his ear.

“Pay my bill, it will look more natural. I'll pay you back the money when we're alone. No, don't draw away. Listen: I know it's not important, but I haven't finished; I'm going to give you a bit of advice that concerns our safety in the highest degree: if it didn't I wouldn't ask you what I'm going to ask you, and it will cost you a lot. This is what it is: pay, but be miserly. Don't give a sou more than you're asked for. Even try to give a sou less. People will respect us like the Holy Sacrament. For the rest, I've as much confidence in you as you have in yourself, if not more, and I know we shall ride roughshod over all the brigands in the world, without help from either your Giuseppe or your Lavinia.”

“You talk like the police officer at Turin who didn't dare arrest me. ‘Ah! sir,' he said, ‘why duel with the saber when it's so easy to assassinate with the knife? In those cases we have the right to be blind.'”

“You see,” she said, “you put excellent people in embarrassing situations. You come upon them without warning and demand of them courage, generosity, enthusiasm, or heaven knows what, things they're not capable of except after long reflection and much warming-up. They're family men most of the time. Be generous: give less. They wreck themselves wishing to follow you. Here, it's more simple. It's dangerous to show that we have money. People may take a shot at you from a window or put rat poison in your soup.”

“You're right,” said Angelo; “that would spoil everything.”

Without actually trying to beat the man down, Angelo paid the bill like a bourgeois. He counted his change carefully and looked at both faces of the two-sou piece he gave the stable girl.

“We had rather sharp words last night,” he said to the innkeeper, “but you must be used to excitable people these days. Do you know a place called Sainte-Colombe? We should like to get there without going through Chauvac.”

“You're all the same,” said the man. “What is there so terrible about Chauvac? It's only the sickest ones who die.”

“That's my opinion too,” said Angelo; “it's just the soldiers I'm worrying about. I'm not keen on them.”

“Neither am I,” said the man. “They've taken the bread out of my mouth by stopping people traveling. Just when I was putting a few pennies aside. Here's my advice. Leave the stream right where you are. There's been a guard post at the top of Charouilles since the day before yesterday. Go left through the woods. When you get through the trees, follow the valley. When you reach the other end, head for the Villebois windmill—it's as plain as the nose in your face. You'll come to a brook. Follow up it. It goes through a gorge. Your Sainte-Colombe is in there.”