Maigret Goes to School

by Georges Simenon

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What do you do all day?’

  ‘Nothing. I read. I whittle pieces of wood and make little boats and people out of them.’

  There were dozens of them around him, some rather carefully done.

  ‘Do you ever go over to the window?’

  ‘I’m not supposed to.’

  ‘For fear people would find out you can walk?’

  ‘Yes,’ he replied frankly. Then he asked, ‘Are you going to tell the insurance company?’

  ‘That’s none of my business.’

  There was a silence, during which Maigret turned around to look at the schoolyard and the backs of the houses.

  ‘I suppose that it’s especially during playtime that you look out of the window?’

  ‘Often.’

  Exactly opposite, beyond the little gardens, he could see the windows of Léonie Birard.

  ‘Did the postmistress happen to see you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The child became more subdued, now, still hesitating a bit, but knew already that he would have to talk.

  ‘Already, before, when she saw me she would make faces at me.’

  ‘Did she stick out her tongue at you?’

  ‘Yes. After the accident, she began taunting me, showing me the horseshoe.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Probably to make me understand that she could go and tell everything.’

  ‘Yet she did not do that.’

  ‘No.’

  It was a little as if the former postmistress had been the same age as the youngsters with whom she used to squabble and who had targeted her for their teasing. She would shout, threaten, stick out her tongue at them. At a distance, she was reminding Joseph that she could cause trouble for him.

  ‘Did that scare you?’

  ‘Yes. My parents need money.’

  ‘Do they know about the business with the horseshoe?’

  ‘My father does.’

  ‘You told him about it?’

  ‘He guessed that I had done something that I wasn’t telling him and made me admit the truth.’

  ‘Did he scold you?’

  ‘He advised me to keep quiet.’

  ‘How many times did Léonie Birard show you the horseshoe in the window?’

  ‘Maybe twenty times. She did it whenever she saw me.’

  As he had done on the morning with Jean-Paul, Maigret slowly lit his pipe, so as to appear as unthreatening as possible. He seemed to be listening distractedly to some story or other, and, seeing him relaxing, with an almost naive expression, the boy might have imagined that he was chatting with one of his classmates.

  ‘What did Marcel come to tell you a little while ago?’

  ‘That if he were questioned again, he’d have to own up.’

  ‘Why? Is he frightened?’

  ‘He went to confession. I also think the funeral scared him.’

  ‘He’ll say he saw you at this window before going over to the one on the other side?’

  ‘How did you know? You see! In this house, everything goes wrong. Other people do worse things, and nothing happens to them. In our house, it’s the exact opposite.’

  ‘What were you doing at the window?’

  ‘I was looking.’

  ‘Was the old lady showing you the horseshoe?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me exactly what happened.’

  ‘There’s nothing else I can do, right?’

  ‘Not at this point.’

  ‘I took my rifle.’

  ‘Where was your rifle?’

  ‘In that corner there, near the wardrobe.’

  ‘Was it loaded?’

  There was the slightest hesitation.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Were the cartridges .22 longs or shorts?’

  ‘Longs.’

  ‘Do you usually keep the rifle in your bedroom?’

  ‘Often.’

  ‘Have you happened to shoot at sparrows from the window lately?’

  The boy paused again, thinking as fast as he could, like someone who cannot allow himself the tiniest mistake.

  ‘No. I don’t think so.’

  ‘Did you want to frighten the old woman?’

  ‘Probably. I don’t know exactly what I wanted. She was making fun of me. I thought in the end she’d tell the insurance company and that my father wouldn’t be able to buy himself a new van.’

  ‘That’s what he decided to do with the money?’

  ‘Yes. He’s sure that if he had a good van and could extend his route, he would earn some money.’

  ‘He isn’t earning any at the moment?’

  ‘He’s been losing money for months, and it’s my grandmother who …’

  ‘She’s helping you?’

  ‘When it’s absolutely necessary. She makes a scene every time.’

  ‘You fired the rifle?’

  He nodded, with a vague, apologetic smile.

  ‘Aiming at anything?’

  ‘I was aiming at the window.’

  ‘In short, you wanted to break a pane of glass?’

  He nodded again, and asked hurriedly:

  ‘Will they put me in prison?’

  ‘They don’t put boys your age in prison.’

  He seemed disappointed.

  ‘Then what will they do?’

  ‘The judge will lecture you.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘He’ll speak sternly to your father. He’s the one, in the end, who is responsible.’

  ‘Why, since he didn’t do anything?’

  ‘Where was he, when you fired?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Was he off on his rounds?’

  ‘Probably not. He never leaves that early.’

  ‘Was he in the butcher shop?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘He didn’t hear anything? Your mother didn’t, either?’

  ‘No. They didn’t say anything to me.’

  ‘They don’t know that you’re the one who fired the shot?’

  ‘I didn’t tell them about it.’

  ‘Who took the rifle to the shed?’

  This time he blushed, glanced around uneasily and would not look Maigret in the eyes.

  ‘I assume,’ insisted the inspector, ‘that you could not go downstairs and cross the courtyard in your cast. So?’

  ‘I asked Marcel …’

  He stopped short.

  ‘No. That’s not true,’ he admitted. ‘It was my father. You’d find it out in the end, anyway.’

  ‘Did you ask him to take down the rifle?’

  ‘Yes. I didn’t explain why to him.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Wednesday morning.’

  ‘Didn’t he ask you any questions?’

  ‘He just looked at me with annoyance.’

  ‘He didn’t mention it to your mother?’

  ‘If he had, she would have come immediately to worm things out of me.’

  ‘She has the habit of doing that?’

  ‘She always guesses when I try to lie.’

  ‘Are you the one who asked Marcel to claim that he’d seen the teacher come out of the tool shed?’

  ‘No. I didn’t even know he would be questioned.’

  ‘Why did he do it?’

  ‘Probably because he saw me at the window.’

  ‘With the rifle. Were you holding the rifle?’

  Joseph was flushed; he was making valiant efforts, trying his best not to contradict himself or appear to be hesitating.

  Although Maigret was speaking to him in a neutral voice, without pressing him, as if he were saying nothing important, the boy was intelligent enough to realize that he was moving ever closer towards the truth.

  ‘I don’t remember exactly. Maybe I hadn’t already picked it up.’

  ‘But when Marcel was at the other window and saw the postmistress falling, did he suspect that you had fired the shot?’

  ‘He didn’t tell me that.’


  ‘The two of you didn’t talk about it?’

  ‘Not until today.’

  ‘And he simply announced that, if he were questioned, he’d be obliged to admit the truth?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Was he sad?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you?’

  ‘I’d rather get it over with.’

  ‘But would you rather go to prison?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘No reason. To see.’

  He did not add that prison was doubtless more fun than his parents’ house.

  Maigret rose with a sigh.

  ‘You would have let the teacher be convicted?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’

  No. Joseph was not sure about that. That he had wronged Gastin seemed not to have occurred to him. Had it occurred to the other villagers?

  ‘Are you leaving?’ asked the boy in astonishment, seeing the inspector walk towards the door. Maigret stopped at the threshold.

  ‘What else would I do?’

  ‘Are you going to tell the lieutenant everything?’

  ‘Except, perhaps, the business about your accident.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He wasn’t that happy about being left alone.

  ‘I suppose you have nothing to add?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘You’re sure that you’ve told me the truth?’

  He nodded again and then, instead of opening the door, Maigret sat down on the edge of the bed.

  ‘Now, tell me exactly what you saw in the courtyard.’

  ‘Which courtyard?’

  The blood had rushed to the child’s face, and his ears were crimson.

  Before replying, Maigret opened the door a little, without having to get up, and told Marcellin’s wife, standing out on the landing:

  ‘Please be kind enough to go downstairs.’

  After she had done so, he closed the door.

  ‘In this courtyard.’

  ‘Our courtyard?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What would I have seen?’

  ‘I’m not the one who knows. You are.’

  The child, in his bed, had drawn back to the wall and was staring wild-eyed at Maigret.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You were at the window and the old lady was showing you the horseshoe.’

  ‘I already told you.’

  ‘Except that the rifle was not in your room.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Your father was downstairs, in the yard, with the door to the shed open. What was he doing?’

  ‘Cutting up a lamb.’

  ‘From his position, he could see you at your window, the way he could see Léonie Birard.’

  ‘No one could have told you all that,’ murmured the youngster, more dazzled than stunned. ‘Did you simply guess?’

  ‘He was on no better terms than you were with the old woman. She insulted him every time he went by on the road.’

  ‘She called him a good-for-nothing and a beggar.’

  ‘Did she stick her tongue out at him?’

  ‘That was her favourite thing.’

  ‘Did your father go into the shed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘When he came back out, was he holding your rifle?’

  ‘What will they do to him?’

  ‘It depends. Have you made up your mind not to lie to me any more?’

  ‘I’ll tell you the truth.’

  ‘Could your father still see you in the window at that moment?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I’d stepped back.’

  ‘So that he wouldn’t know you were watching?’

  ‘Maybe. I don’t remember. It happened very fast.’

  ‘What happened very fast?’

  ‘He took a quick look around and fired. I heard him mutter, “Take this, you old louse!” ’

  ‘Did he aim carefully?’

  ‘No. He put the gun to his shoulder and fired.’

  ‘Is he a good shot?’

  ‘He couldn’t hit a sparrow at ten paces.’

  ‘Did he see Léonie Birard fall?’

  ‘Yes. He froze for a moment, maybe completely shocked. Then he dashed into the shed to put away the rifle.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘He looked at my window and went inside the house. Then I heard him going out.’

  ‘To go where?’

  ‘To have a drink at Louis’ place.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘Because when he came home, he was drunk.’

  ‘Théo was in his garden?’

  ‘He had just come out of his shed.’

  ‘Did he see your father shoot?’

  ‘He couldn’t have, from where he was.’

  ‘But he saw you at the window?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Did he hear the shot?’

  ‘He must have heard it.’

  ‘Your father hasn’t mentioned anything since?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You haven’t talked to him either?’

  ‘I didn’t dare.’

  ‘Did Marcel think you were the one who fired?’

  ‘Surely.’

  ‘That’s why he lied?’

  ‘I’m his friend.’

  Maigret patted him absently on the head.

  ‘That’s all, little fellow!’ he said as he stood up.

  He almost added: ‘Some people learn about life sooner than others.’

  Why bother? Joseph wasn’t taking the whole thing too tragically. He was so used to little daily dramas that this one, in his eyes, was hardly more impressive than the rest.

  ‘They’re going to put him in prison?’

  ‘Not for long. Unless they prove that he aimed at Léonie Birard and tried to hit her.’

  ‘He just wanted to scare her.’

  ‘I know. The whole village will testify in his favour.’

  After thinking it over, the boy agreed.

  ‘I think so, yes. They do like him, in spite of everything. It’s not his fault.’

  ‘What isn’t his fault?’

  ‘Everything.’

  Maigret was halfway down the stairs when the child called down to him.

  ‘Don’t you want to take off my cast?’

  ‘It would be better if I sent the doctor over to you.’

  ‘Will you send him over right away?’

  ‘If he’s at home.’

  ‘Don’t forget.’

  Finally, when Maigret reached the bottom of the stairs, he heard a murmured:

  ‘Thank you.’

  He did not stop at the kitchen. The sun was sinking behind the houses, and mist was rising from the ground. The three women were still there, motionless, and silently watched him go past the window.

  The priest was talking with a middle-aged woman in front of the church, and the inspector thought he seemed tempted to cross the street and speak to him. He must know, too. He knew from Marcel’s confession of his lie. But he was the only one without the right to say anything.

  When Maigret nodded in greeting, the priest appeared a bit surprised. Then the inspector entered the village hall, where he found Daniélou waiting for him, smoking a cigar. He looked up expectantly.

  ‘You can release the teacher,’ said Maigret.

  ‘It’s Joseph?’

  Maigret shook his head.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘His father, Marcellin.’

  ‘I assume all that’s left is for me to arrest him?’

  ‘I’ll have a word or two with him first.’

  ‘He didn’t confess?’

  ‘He’s not in any condition to confess anything whatsoever. If you would come with me …’

  They both headed for the inn, but, just at the door, Maigret remembered a promise he had made and went to ring at Doctor Bresselles’ house.

  The sister opened the do
or.

  ‘Is the doctor in?’

  ‘He just left to deliver a baby.’

  ‘When he returns, would you ask him to go and remove Joseph’s cast?’

  She, too, must have thought that Joseph was the culprit.

  The lieutenant was waiting at Louis’ door. There was no longer anyone outside. A dozen or so drinkers still lingered inside, one of them sleeping with his head on a table.

  ‘Where did they put Marcellin?’ Maigret asked Thérèse.

  He had spoken loudly enough for Théo to hear. And it was the inspector’s turn to consider the deputy mayor with an eye twinkling with mischief. Théo, moreover, was a good sport. Instead of scowling, he simply shrugged as if to say:

  ‘Too bad! It’s not my fault …’

  ‘The room to the left of the stairs, Monsieur Maigret.’

  He went up, alone, and opened the door; startled by the noise, the butcher sat up and looked at him with bulging eyes.

  ‘What do you want, you?’ he said thickly. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Five o’clock.’

  He put both feet on the floor, rubbed his eyes, his face, then looked around him for something to drink. His breath was so rank with alcohol that Maigret felt nauseated, and there were patches of vomit on the floor.

  ‘The lieutenant is waiting for you downstairs, Marcellin.’

  ‘Me? Why? What have I done?’

  ‘He’ll tell you himself.’

  ‘You went to my house?’

  Maigret did not reply.

  ‘You hassled the boy?’ the butcher went on in a dull voice.

  ‘Get up, Marcellin.’

  ‘If I feel like it.’

  His hair was mussed; his eyes, fixed in a stare.

  ‘Well, aren’t you the clever one! You must be proud of yourself! Tormenting children! That’s what you came here to do! … And that’s the kind of work the government pays you for!’

  ‘Downstairs.’

  ‘Don’t you dare touch me.’

  On his feet, swaying, he was muttering.

  ‘All this because that other fellow’s a teacher, because he’s an educated man who gets the taxpayers’ money, too …’

  To emphasize his disdain, he spat on the floor, then made for the door and almost fell down the stairs.

  ‘A Pernod, Louis!’ he ordered, clinging to the counter.

  Needing to go out with a flourish, he gazed at those around him while attempting to sneer.

  With a look, Louis asked Maigret whether to serve the drink, and the inspector shrugged with indifference.

  Marcellin downed his Pernod in one gulp, wiped his lips, turned towards Théo and cried:

  ‘Anyway, I got her, that lousy stinker!’

  ‘Well, don’t go around boasting about it,’ murmured the deputy mayor, consulting the cards in his hand.