Domestic fiction; Married women -- Fiction; Paris (France) -- Fiction; Working class women -- Fiction
They taunted each other, stimulated by Gervaise’s presence. Goujet
placed the pieces of iron that had been cut beforehand in the fire,
then he fixed a tool-hole of large bore on an anvil. His comrade had
taken from against the wall two sledge-hammers weighing twenty pounds
each, the two big sisters of the factory whom the workers called Fifine
and Dedele. And he continued to brag, talking of a half-gross of rivets
which he had forged for the Dunkirk lighthouse, regular jewels, things
to be put in a museum, they were so daintily finished off. Hang it all,
no! he did not fear competition; before meeting with another chap like
him, you might search every factory in the capital. They were going to
have a laugh; they would see what they would see.
“Madame will be judge,” said he, turning towards the young woman.
“Enough chattering,” cried Goujet. “Now then, Zouzou, show your muscle!
It’s not hot enough, my lad.”
But Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, asked: “So we strike
together?”
“Not a bit of it! each his own bolt, my friend!”
This statement operated as a damper, and Goujet’s comrade, on hearing
it, remained speechless, in spite of his boasting. Bolts of forty
millimetres fashioned by one man had never before been seen; the more
so as the bolts were to be round-headed, a work of great difficulty, a
real masterpiece to achieve.
The three other workmen came over, leaving their jobs, to watch. A
tall, lean one wagered a bottle of wine that Goujet would be beaten.
Meanwhile the two blacksmiths had chosen their sledge hammers with eyes
closed, because Fifine weighed a half pound more than Dedele.
Salted-Mouth, otherwise Drink-without-Thirst, had the good luck to put
his hand on Dedele; Fifine fell to Golden-Mug.
While waiting for the iron to get hot enough, Salted-Mouth, otherwise
Drink-without-Thirst, again showing off, struck a pose before the anvil
while casting side glances toward Gervaise. He planted himself solidly,
tapping his feet impatiently like a man ready for a fight, throwing all
his strength into practice swings with Dedele. _Mon Dieu!_ He was good
at this; he could have flattened the Vendome column like a pancake.
“Now then, off you go!” said Goujet, placing one of the pieces of iron,
as thick as a girl’s wrist, in the tool-hole.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account