Nobody's Boy

by Hector Malot

  CHAPTER XXVI

  BITTER DISAPPOINTMENT

  When we got to the street the clerk hailed a cab and told us to jump in.The strange looking vehicle, with the coachman sitting on a box at theback of a hood that covered us, I learned later was a hansom cab. Mattiaand I were huddled in a corner with Capi between our legs. The clerktook up the rest of the seat. Mattia had heard him tell the coachman todrive us to Bethnal-Green. The driver seemed none too anxious to take usthere. Mattia and I thought it was probably on account of the distance.We both knew what "Green" meant in English, and Bethnal-Greenundoubtedly was the name of the park where my people lived. For a longtime the cab rolled through the busy streets of London. It was such along way that I thought perhaps their estate was situated on theoutskirts of the city. The word "green" made us think that it might bein the country. But nothing around us announced the country. We were ina very thickly populated quarter; the black mud splashed our cab as wedrove along; then we turned into a much poorer part of the city andevery now and again the cabman pulled up as though he did not know hisway. At last he stopped altogether and through the little window of thehansom a discussion took place between Greth & Galley's clerk and thebewildered cabman. From what Mattia could learn the man said that it wasno use, he could not find his way, and he asked the clerk whichdirection he should take. The clerk replied that he did not know for hehad never been in that thieves' locality before. We both caught the word"thieves." Then the clerk gave some money to the coachman and told us toget out of the cab. The man grumbled at his fare and then turned roundand drove off. We were standing now in a muddy street before what theEnglish call a gin palace. Our guide looked about him in disgust, thenentered the swing-doors of the gin palace. We followed. Although we werein a miserable part of the city I had never seen anything moreluxurious. There were gilt framed mirrors everywhere, glass chandeliersand a magnificent counter that shone like silver. Yet the people whofilled this place were filthy and in rags. Our guide gulped down a drinkstanding before the beautiful counter, then asked the man who had servedhim if he could direct him to the place he wanted to find. Evidently hegot the information he required for he hurried out again through theswing-doors, we following close on his heels. The streets through whichwe walked now were even narrower and from one house across to anotherwere swung wash lines from which dirty rags were hanging. The women whosat in their doorways were pale and their matted fair hair hung looseover their shoulders. The children were almost naked and the few clothesthat they did wear were but rags. In the alley were some pigs wallowingin the stagnant water from which a fetid odor arose. Our guide stopped.Evidently he had lost his way. But at this moment a policeman appeared.The clerk spoke to him and the officer told him he would show him theway.... We followed the policeman down more narrow streets. At last westopped at a yard in the middle of which was a little pond.

  "This is Red Lion Court," said the officer.

  Why were we stopping there? Could it be possible that my parents livedin this place? The policeman knocked at the door of a wooden hut and ourguide thanked him. So we had arrived. Mattia took my hand and gentlypressed it. I pressed his. We understood one another. I was as in adream when the door was opened and we found ourselves in a room with abig fire burning in the grate.

  Before the fire in a large cane chair sat an old man with a white beard,and his head covered with a black skull cap. At a table sat a man ofabout forty and a woman about six years his junior. She must have beenvery pretty once but now her eyes had a glassy stare and her mannerswere listless. Then there were four children--two boys and twogirls--all very fair like their mother. The eldest boy was about eleven,the youngest girl, scarcely three. I did not know what the clerk wassaying to the man, I only caught the name "Driscoll," my name, so thelawyer had said. All eyes were turned on Mattia and me, only the babygirl paid attention to Capi.

  "Which one is Remi?" asked the man in French.

  "I am," I said, taking a step forward.

  "Then come and kiss your father, my boy."

  When I had thought of this moment I had imagined that I should beoverwhelmed with happiness and spring into my father's arms, but I feltnothing of the kind. I went up and kissed my father.

  "Now," he said, "there's your grandfather, your mother, your brothersand sisters."

  I went up to my mother first and put my arms about her. She let me kissher but she did not return my caress; she only said two or three wordswhich I did not understand.

  "Shake hands with your grandfather," said my father, "and go gently;he's paralyzed."

  I also shook hands with my brothers and my eldest sister. I wanted totake the little one in my arms but she was too occupied with Capi andpushed me away. As I went from one to the other I was angry with myself.Why could I not feel any pleasure at having found my family at last. Ihad a father, a mother, brothers, sisters and a grandfather. I hadlonged for this moment, I had been mad with joy in thinking that I, likeother boys, would have a family that I could call my own to love me andwhom I could love.... And now I was staring at my family curiously,finding nothing in my heart to say to them, not a word of affection. WasI a monster? If I had found my parents in a palace instead of in a hovelshould I have had more affection for them? I felt ashamed at thisthought. Going over again to my mother I put my arms round her andkissed her full on the lips. Evidently she did not understand what mademe do this, for instead of returning my kisses she looked at me in alistless manner, then turning to her husband, my father, she shruggedher shoulders and said something that I could not understand but whichmade him laugh. Her indifference and my father's laugh went right to myheart. It did not seem to me that my affection should have been receivedin such a way.

  "Who is he?" asked my father, pointing to Mattia. I told him that Mattiawas my dearest friend and how much I owed him.

  "Good," said my father; "would he like to stay and see the country?" Iwas about to answer for Mattia, but he spoke first.

  "That's just what I want," he exclaimed.

  My father then asked why Barberin had not come with me. I told him thathe was dead. He seemed pleased to hear this. He repeated it to mymother, who also seemed pleased. Why were they both pleased thatBarberin was dead?

  "You must be rather surprised that we have not searched for you forthirteen years," said my father, "and then suddenly to go off and lookup this man who found you when you were a baby."

  I told him that I was very surprised, and that I'd like to know aboutit.

  "Come near the fire then and I'll tell you all about it."

  I flung the bag from my shoulders and took the chair that he offered me.As I stretched out my legs, wet, and covered with mud, to the fire mygrandfather spat on one side, like an old cat that is annoyed.

  "Don't pay any attention to him," said my father; "the old chap doesn'tlike any one to sit before his fire, but you needn't mind him, if you'recold."

  I was surprised to hear any one speak like this of an old man. I kept mylegs under my chair, for I thought that attention should be paid to him.

  "You are my eldest son now," said my father; "you were born a year aftermy marriage with your mother. When I married there was a young girl whothought that I was going to marry her, and out of revenge she stole youfrom us when you were six months old. We searched everywhere for you butwe did not go so far as Paris. We thought that you were dead until threemonths ago when this woman was dying she confessed the truth. I wentover to France at once and the police in that locality where you hadbeen left, told me that you had been adopted by a mason named Barberinwho lived at Chavanon. I found him and he told me that he had loanedyou to a musician named Vitalis and that you were tramping throughFrance. I could not stay over there any longer, but I left Barberin somemoney and told him to search for you, and when he had news to write toGreth and Galley. I did not give him my address here, because we areonly in London during the winter; the rest of the year we travel throughEngland and Scotland. We are peddlers by trade, and I have my owncaravans. T
here, boy, that is how it is you have come back to us afterthirteen years. You may feel a little timid at first because you can'tunderstand us, but you'll soon pick up English and be able to talk toyour brothers and sisters. It won't be long before you're used to us."

  Yes, of course I should get used to them; were they not my own people?The fine baby linen, the beautiful clothes had not spoken the truth. Butwhat did that matter! Affection was worth more than riches. It was notmoney that I pined for, but to have affection, a family and a home.While my father was talking to me they had set the table for supper. Alarge joint of roast beef with potatoes round it was placed in themiddle of the table.

  "Are you hungry, boys?" asked my father, addressing Mattia and myself.Mattia showed his white teeth.

  "Well, sit down to table."

  But before sitting down he pushed my grandfather's cane rocker up to thetable. Then taking his own place with his back to the fire, hecommenced to cut the roast beef and gave each one a fine big slice andsome potatoes.

  Although I had not been brought up exactly on the principle of goodbreeding, I noticed that my brothers and sister's behaved very badly attable; they ate more often with their fingers, sticking them into thegravy and licking them without my father and mother seeming to noticethem. As to my grandfather, he gave his whole attention to what wasbefore him, and the one hand that he was able to use went continuallyfrom his plate to his mouth. When he let a piece fall from his shakingfingers my brothers and sisters laughed.

  I thought that we should spend the evening together round the fire, butmy father said that he was expecting friends, and told us to go to bed.Beckoning to Mattia and me he took a candle and went out to a stablethat led from the room where we had been eating. In this stable were twobig caravans. He opened the door of one and we saw two small beds, oneabove the other.

  "There you are, boys, there are your beds," he said. "Sleep well."

  Such was the welcome into my family.