Mr Hire's Engagement (16 page)

And never had the walls looked so bare, so lofty, so smooth, or the pavement so hard. A bell came ringing through the packed, stationary cars, but it was only the ambulance, arriving before the firemen, and it stopped just in front of the door, hardly five yards from the spot where Mr. Hire would fall.

There was general relief when the fire brigade's bell was heard at last. But then tension returned, for everyone realized that this was the end. Perhaps some were even secretly hoping there would be a tragedy after all?

Mr. Hire hung inert, swaying almost imperceptibly, as though blown by the wind.

Heedless of spectators and police, the fireman took possession of the cross-roads. Twenty or thirty of them were bustling round a red-painted machine, and a ladder emerged from this, climbed, lengthened, reached the third floor, then the fourth.

Émile, as white as a sheet, was still staring upwards, his trembling hand clenched round a cigarette-lighter in his pocket.

Alice first looked at him, then looked at the inspector, and ventured an occasional glance at the pale sky, whose harsh light hurt her eyes, or towards the brick front of the house.

A brass-helmeted fireman began rushing into space up the ladder even before it was fully extended. It sagged under his weight, as though this were a circus act. The last section was run out, and once again Mr. Hire's feet swung apart and came together, and he half turned his head, showing one side of his moustache.

Everything was silent, except for one big car, which was obstinately threading its way through the traffic block. The people at the skylight could see nothing, and were making signs to ask what was going on.

The fireman was drawing nearer. Six feet. Three feet. Three rungs. Two. One . . .

He put an arm round Mr. Hire's waist, and visibly had to make an effort to induce him to let go. As he came down the highest rungs the body was still moving, as though in protest, and then it lay limp.

Lower down, the swaying of the ladder diminished. Towards the bottom it was as steady as a flight of stairs, and everyone rushed forward simultaneously, while the police tried to join hands and form a cordon.

Two rungs. One rung. The fireman had reached the ground with his burden. Its head was dangling. Alice, in the crowd, gripped Émile by the wrist. People ventured to whisper again, then to speak out loud. The sound increased.

'Silence!'

And they laid Mr. Hire's inert body on the edge of the pavement, while the concierge's doctor made his way through the crowd. The face was waxen. The waistcoat had worked up, revealing his striped shirt and braces.

All sound ceased, except that of the winch as it wound the ladder down, section by section.

'He's dead. Heart failure . . .' said the doctor, straightening up.

The superintendent was not the only one to hear him. People were craning forward. Mr. Hire no longer existed. There was only a dead man, whose eyes had just been closed. There were red bloodstains on his outspread hands.

'Move them on! Bring up the ambulance!'

The ambulance rang its bell, and the crowd reluctantly made way. The concierge was right at the back, and did not know what to do. She paced to and fro behind everybody else, not daring to come nearer.

Émile worked his way forward to the third row, then to the second, and his little eyes made dark holes in his thin face.

Now and then, Alice squeezed his arm. He paid no attention. He was watching. He didn't want to miss anything. The body was put on a stretcher and two men lifted it up.

'Émile!' whispered the girl.

He stared at her, coldly, surprised to see her there.

'What's the matter?'

He turned his head away.

'You aren't jealous, are you? You don't imagine that . . .'

Then, with sudden eagerness:

'It's not true! I didn't need to do anything at all, Émile, I swear I didn't!'

She leant her breast on his arm.

'Don't you believe me? Do you think I'm lying?'

He freed himself, to take out a cigarette, and light it. People were beginning to scatter. The ambulance rang its bell, preparing to drive off. The cars began to move.

'I swear it!' she repeated.

And a yard away she saw the dairy window, with the proprietress waiting for her. The inspector was supervising the break-up of the crowd, and she passed close by him, but he did not smile at her. His face was pale and he was frowning.

Everyone was going away, shamefaced! The concierge ran along: beside the doctor, saying:

'I wonder if it isn't diphtheria, and ...'

'Here I am!' cried Alice, hurrying into the shop and picking up the bucket and floorcloth she had left on the doorstep. 'I can't be in two places at once!'

Standing on the step of the red vehicle as it tore back towards Paris, the fireman was explaining:

'He went limp in my arms, up there, as though he'd suddenly fainted. I knew that was the end of him.'

And there was great excitement at Villejuif, because all that little world was two hours late.