Nobody's Boy

by Hector Malot

  CHAPTER XVI

  THE PADRONE

  Although I knew later how beautiful was the city of Paris, the slums,being my first glimpse, created anything but a favorable impression.

  Vitalis, who seemed to know his way, pushed through the groups of peoplewho obstructed his passage along the narrow street we had just turneddown.

  "Mind, you don't lose me," cautioned Vitalis.

  But his warning was not necessary, for I trod upon his heels, and to bemore sure of him I held a corner of his coat in my hand.

  We crossed a big courtyard to a dirty, dismal house where surely the sunhad never penetrated. It was the worst looking place I had seen so far.

  "Is Garofoli in?" asked Vitalis of a man who, by the light from alantern, was hanging rags against the door.

  "I don't know; go up and see for yourself," he growled; "the door's atthe top of the stairs; it faces you."

  "Garofoli is the _padrone_, Remi, I told you about," said Vitalis; "thisis where he lives."

  The street, the house, the staircase was not in the nature to reassureme. What would this new master be like?

  Without knocking, Vitalis pushed open the door at the top of the stairs,on the top floor, and we found ourselves in a large attic. There was agreat empty space in the middle of the room, and all around the wallswere beds, a dozen in all. The walls and ceiling that had once beenwhite were now filthy with smoke, dust, and dirt. On the walls was adrawing of a head in charcoal and some flowers and birds.

  "Are you there, Garofoli?" asked Vitalis; "it is so dark I can't see anyone. It's Vitalis."

  A weak, drawling voice replied to Vitalis' question.

  "Signor Garofoli has gone out; he will not be back for two hours."

  A boy about twelve years of age came forward. I was struck by hisstrange looks. Even now, as I write, I can see him as I saw him then. Hehad no body, so to speak, for he seemed all legs and head. His greathead was out of all proportion. Built so, he could not have been calledhandsome, yet there was something in his face which attracted onestrangely, an expression of sadness and gentleness and, yes ...hopelessness. His large eyes held your own with sympathy.

  "You are sure he will not be back for two hours?" asked Vitalis.

  "Quite sure, Signor. That will be dinner time, and no one ever servesdinner but Signor Garofoli."

  "Well, if he comes in before, tell him that Vitalis will be back in twohours."

  "Very well, Signor."

  I was about to follow Vitalis, when he stopped me.

  "Stay here," he said; "you can rest.

  "Oh, I'll come back," he added, reassuringly, noticing my look ofanxiety.

  "Are you Italian?" asked the boy, when Vitalis' heavy step could nolonger be heard on the stairs.

  "No," I replied in French, "I'm French."

  "That's a good thing."

  "What! you like the French better than the Italians?"

  "Oh, no, I was thinking of you when I said 'that's a good thing,'because if you were Italian you would probably come here to work forSignor Garofoli, and I'd be sorry for you."

  "Is he wicked, then?"

  The boy did not reply, but the look he gave me spoke more than words. Asthough he did not wish to continue the conversation, he went over to thefireplace. On a shelf in the fireplace was an immense earthenwaresaucepan. I drew nearer to the fire to warm myself, and I noticed thatthe pot had something peculiar about it. The lid, through which astraight tube projected to allow the steam to escape, was fixed on thesaucepan on one side with a hinge and on the other with a padlock.

  "Why is that closed with a padlock?" I asked, inquisitively.

  "So that I shan't take any of the soup. I have to look after it, butthe boss doesn't trust me."

  I could not help smiling.

  "You laugh," he said sadly, "because you think that I'm a glutton.Perhaps, if you were in my place, you'd do the same as I've done. I'mnot a pig, but I'm famished, and the smell of the soup as it comes outthrough the spout makes me still hungrier."

  "Doesn't Signor Garofoli give you enough to eat?"

  "He starves us...."

  "Oh...."

  "I'll tell you what I have done," went on the boy, "'cause if he's goingto be your master, it will be a lesson for you. My name is Mattia.Garofoli is my uncle. My mother, who lives in Lucca in Italy, is verypoor and has only enough for herself and my little sister, Christina.When Garofoli came to beautiful Lucca last year he brought me back withhim. Oh, it was hard to leave my little sister.... Signor Garofoli has alot of boys here, some of them are chimney sweeps, others rag pickers,and those who are not strong enough to work, sing in the streets or beg.Garofoli gave me two little white mice to show to the public and I hadto bring him back thirty sous every night. As many sous as you are shorta day, so many blows you get. It is hard to pick up thirty sous, but theblows are hard, too, especially when it's Garofoli who gives them. So Idid everything that I could to get the money, but I was often short.Nearly all the other boys had their money when they returned at night,but I scarcely ever had mine and Garofoli was mad! There is another boyhere, who also shows mice, and he's taxed forty sous, and he brings thatsum back every night. Several times I went out with him to see how hemade it...."

  He paused.

  "Well?" I asked.

  "Oh, the ladies always said, 'Give it to the pretty little one, not theugly boy.' The ugly one, of course, was I; so I did not go out with himany more. A blow hurts, but it hurts more to have things like that said,and before a lot of people! You don't know that because no one has evertold you that you are ugly. Well, when Garofoli saw that beating medidn't do any good, he tried another way. Each night he took away someof my supper. It's hard, but I can't say to the people in the streets,who are watching my mice: 'Give me something or I won't get any supperto-night!' They don't give for that reason."

  "Why do they give?"

  "Because you are pretty and nice, or because you remind them of a littleboy they've lost, not because they think you're hungry. Oh, I know theirways. Say, ain't it cold to-day?"

  "Awful cold."

  "I didn't get fat on begging," went on the boy. "I got so pale and then,after a time, I often heard people say: 'That poor child is starving todeath.' A suffering look does what good looks can't do. But you have tobe very starved for that. They used to give me food. That was a goodtime for me, because Garofoli had stopped giving me blows just then tosee if it would hurt me more to go without supper, so when I gotsomething to eat outside I didn't care. But one day Garofoli came alongand saw me eating something, a bowl of soup that the fruiterer gave me,then he knew why I didn't mind going without supper at home. After thathe made me stay at home and look after the soup here. Every morningbefore he goes out he puts the meat and the vegetables into the saucepanand locks the lid on, and all I have to do is to see that it boils. Ismell the soup, but that's all. The smell of the soup doesn't feed you;it makes you more hungry. Am I very white? As I never go out now I don'thear people say so, and there's no mirror here."

  "You don't seem any paler than others," I said.

  "Ah, you say that because you don't want to frighten me, but I'm gladI'm sick. I want to be very ill."

  I looked at him in amazement.

  "You don't understand," he said, with a pitiful smile. "When one is veryill, they take care of you or they let you die. If they let me die itwill be all over, I shan't be hungry any more, and there'll be no morebeatings. And they do say that when we die we go up and live with God.Then, if I'm up there, I can look down on Mamma and Christina, and Ican ask God not to let my little sister be unhappy. Also, if they sendme to the Hospital, I shall be pleased."

  The Hospital! No matter how sick I felt while tramping across thecountry, if I thought I might be sent to the hospital I always foundstrength to go on.

  "I'm quite ill now, but not ill enough to be in Garofoli's way," he wenton in his weak, drawling voice, "but I'm getting weaker. Garofoli,fortunately, hasn't given up beating me entirely. He beat
me on the headeight days ago and, look, it's all swelled out now. You see here, thisbig bump? He told me yesterday it was a tumor, and the way that he spokeI believe that it's something serious. It hurts awful. I'm so giddy atnight when I put my head on the pillow I moan and cry. So I think in twoor three days he'll decide to send me to the hospital. I was in thehospital once, and the Sisters speak so kind to you. They say, 'Put outyour tongue, little boy,' and 'There's a good boy,' every time you doanything they tell you to do. I think I am almost had enough now to besent there."

  He came and stood quite close to me, fixing his great eyes on me. Eventhough I had not the same reason for hiding the truth from him, I didnot like to tell him how terrible he looked with his great glitteringeyes, his hollow cheeks, and his bloodless lips.

  "I should think you're ill enough to go to the hospital," I said.

  "At last!"

  With dragging limbs he went slowly over to the table and began to wipeit.

  "Garofoli will be here shortly," he said; "we mustn't talk any more."

  Wearily he went round the table, placing the plates and spoons. Icounted twenty plates. So Garofoli had twenty boys. As I only saw twelvebeds, they evidently slept, some of them, two in a bed. What beds! whatsheets! the coverlets must have been brought from the stables when theywere too old and not warm enough for the horses!

  "Don't you come here," said the boy, "Try to get somewhere else."

  "Where?"

  "I don't know. No matter where, you'd be better than here."

  The door opened and a child came into the room. He carried a violinunder his arm and a big piece of wood in his hand.

  "Give me that bit of wood," said Mattia, going up to the child.

  But the little fellow held the piece of wood behind his back.

  "No," he said.

  "Give it me for the fire; the soup'll be better."

  "Do you think I brought it for the soup? I've only made thirty-six sousto-day and I thought this bit of wood might save me a beating. It's tomake up for the four sous I'm short."

  "You'll have to pay. Each in his turn."

  Mattia said this mechanically, as though the thought of the boy beingpunished gave him satisfaction. I was surprised to see a hard look comeinto his soft, sad eyes. I knew later that if you live with wickedpeople you get to be like them in time.

  One by one the boys returned; each one as he came in hung his instrumenton a nail above his bed. Those who were not musicians, but simplyexhibitors of trained animals, put their mice and guinea pigs into acage.

  Then a heavy step sounded on the stairs and a little man wearing a grayovercoat came into the room. It was Garofoli. The moment he entered hefixed his eyes on me with a look that scared me. Mattia quickly andpolitely gave him Vitalis' message.

  "Ah, so Vitalis is here," he said; "what does he want?"

  "I don't know," replied Mattia.

  "I'm not speaking to you, I'm speaking to this boy."

  "He is coming back and he will tell you himself what he wants," Ireplied.

  "Ah, here's a little fellow who knows the value of words. You're notItalian?"

  "No, I'm French."

  The moment Garofoli entered the room two small boys took their places,one on each side of him, and were waiting until he had finishedspeaking. Then one took his felt hat and placed it carefully on the bed,and the other brought forward a chair. They did this with the samegravity and respect that a choir boy waits upon a priest. When Garofoliwas seated another little boy brought him a pipe stuffed with tobacco,and a fourth offered him a lighted match.

  "It smells of sulphur, animal," he cried, throwing it in the grate.

  The culprit hastened to repair his mistake; lighting another match helet it burn for a time before offering it to his master. But Garofoliwould not accept it.

  "No, you imbecile," he said, pushing the boy aside roughly. Then heturned to another child and said with an ingratiating smile:

  "Ricardo, dearie, bring a match."

  The "dearie" hastened to obey.

  "Now," said Garofoli, when he was comfortably installed and his pipeburning; "now to business, my little angels. Bring the book, Mattia."

  Garofoli made a sign to the boy who had lit the first match.

  "You owe me a sou from yesterday; you promised to bring it to-day. Howmuch have you brought?"

  The child hesitated for a long time, his face showing distress, "I'mone sou short," he said at last.

  "Ah, you're one sou short."

  "It's not the sou for yesterday; it's a sou for to-day."

  "That makes two sous! I've never seen the like of you!"

  "It's not my fault."

  "No excuses. You know the rules. Undo your coat; two blows foryesterday, two for to-day, and no supper, for your impudence. Ricardo,dearie, you're a good boy and you deserve some recreation. Take thestrap."

  Ricardo, the child who had lit the second match, took down from the walla short-handled whip with two leather-knotted straps. Meanwhile, the boywho was short two sous was unfastening his coat. Then he dropped hisshirt, baring his body to the waist.

  "Wait a minute," said Garofoli, with an ugly smile; "you won't be theonly one, perhaps; it's always pleasant to have a companion."

  The children stood motionless before their master. At his cruel jokethey all forced a laugh.

  "The one who laughed most is the one who is short the most," saidGarofoli; "I'm sure of that. Who laughed the loudest?"

  All pointed to the boy who had come home first, bringing his piece ofwood.

  "How much are you short, you there?" demanded Garofoli.

  "It's not my fault."

  "And the one who says 'it's not my fault' will get an extra cut. Howmuch is missing?"

  "I brought back a big piece of wood, a beautiful piece of wood...."

  "That's something. But go to the baker's and ask him to exchange yourwood for bread, will he do it? How many sous are you missing? Speakout!"

  "I've made thirty-six sous."

  "You're four short, you rogue. And you can stand there before me likethat! Down with your shirt! Ricardo, dearie, you're going to have a goodtime."

  "But the bit of wood?" cried the boy.

  "I'll give it to you for supper."

  This cruel joke made all the children who were not to be punished laugh.All the other boys were then questioned as to how much they had broughthome. Ricardo stood with whip in hand until five victims were placed ina row before him.

  "You know, Ricardo," said Garofoli, "I don't like to look on, because ascene like this always makes me feel ill. But I can hear, and from thenoise I am able to judge the strength of your blows. Go at it heartily,dearie; you are working for your bread."

  He turned towards the fire, as though it were impossible for him towitness this chastisement.

  I, in my corner, trembled with indignation and fear. This was the manwho was going to be my master. If I did not bring him back the thirtyor forty sous that he demanded of me, I should have to be whipped byRicardo. Ah, I understood now how Mattia could speak of death so calmly.

  "FOR EACH CRY YOU WILL RECEIVE ANOTHER SLASH."]

  The first lash of the whip, as it cut into the flesh, made the tearsspring to my eyes. I thought that I was forgotten, but I made a mistake;Garofoli was looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

  "There's a boy with a heart," he said, pointing to me; "he is not likeyou other rogues; you laugh when you see your comrades suffer. Take thislittle comrade for an example."

  I trembled from head to foot. Their comrade!

  At the second blow the victim uttered a wail, at the third a piercingshriek. Garofoli lifted his hand; Ricardo stopped with raised whip. Ithought Garofoli was going to show mercy, but it was not so.

  "You know how much it hurts me to hear you cry," said Garofoli, gently,addressing the victim. "You know that if the whip tears your skin, yourcries pierce my heart. So then I warn you that for each cry you willreceive another slash, and it will be your own fault. If
you have anyaffection or gratitude you will keep silent. Go on, Ricardo."

  Ricardo raised his arm and the strap curled on the backs of the victims.

  "Oh, Mamma, Mamma," cried one.

  Thank God, I saw no more of this frightful torture, for at this momentthe door was thrown open and Vitalis entered.

  In a glance, he understood all. He had heard the shrieks while climbingthe stairs. Running to Ricardo, he snatched the whip from him, then,wheeling round upon Garofoli, he stood before him with folded arms.

  It all happened so quickly that, for a moment, I was dumbfounded, butGarofoli quickly recovered himself and said gently:

  "Isn't it terrible? That child has no heart."

  "Shame! It's a shame!" cried Vitalis.

  "That is just what I say," murmured Garofoli.

  "Stop that," commanded Vitalis; "it's you, not the child! What acowardly shame to torture these poor children who cannot defendthemselves."

  "Don't you meddle in what does not concern you, you old fool," criedGarofoli, changing his tone.

  "It concerns the police," retorted Vitalis.

  "You threaten me with the police, do you?" cried Garofoli.

  "Yes, I do," replied my master, nowise intimidated by the bully's fury.

  "Ah, Vitalis," he hissed, "so you'll talk? Well, I can talk also. Youraffairs do not concern me, but there are others who are interested inyou and if I tell, if I say one name.... Ah, who will have to hide hishead in shame?"

  My master was silent. Shame! His shame! I was amazed, but before I hadtime to think, he had taken me by the hand.

  "Come, Remi," he said. And he drew me to the door.

  "Oh," cried Garofoli, now laughing, "I thought you wanted to talk to me,old fellow."

  "I have nothing to say to you."

  Then, without another word, we went down the stairs, he still holding metightly by the hand. With what relief I followed him! I had escaped fromthat tyrant! If I had dared I would have thrown my arms around Vitalis'neck.