Domestic fiction; Married women -- Fiction; Paris (France) -- Fiction; Working class women -- Fiction
For a week Coupeau was very bad. The family, the neighbors, everyone,
expected to see him turn for the worse at any moment. The doctor—a very
expensive doctor, who charged five francs for each visit—apprehended
internal injuries, and these words filled everyone with fear. It was
said in the neighborhood that the zinc-worker’s heart had been injured
by the shock. Gervaise alone, looking pale through her nights of
watching, serious and resolute, shrugged her shoulders. Her old man’s
right leg was broken, everyone knew that; it would be set for him, and
that was all. As for the rest, the injured heart, that was nothing. She
knew how to restore a heart with ceaseless care. She was certain of
getting him well and displayed magnificent faith. She stayed close by
him and caressed him gently during the long bouts of fever without a
moment of doubt. She was on her feet continuously for a whole week,
completely absorbed by her determination to save him. She forgot the
street outside, the entire city, and even her own children. On the
ninth day, the doctor finally said that Coupeau would live. Gervaise
collapsed into a chair, her body limp from fatigue. That night she
consented to sleep for two hours with her head against the foot of the
bed.
Coupeau’s accident had created quite a commotion in the family. Mother
Coupeau passed the nights with Gervaise; but as early as nine o’clock
she fell asleep on a chair. Every evening, on returning from work,
Madame Lerat went a long round out of her way to inquire how her
brother was getting on. At first the Lorilleuxs had called two or three
times a day, offering to sit up and watch, and even bringing an
easy-chair for Gervaise. Then it was not long before there were
disputes as to the proper way to nurse invalids. Madame Lorilleux said
that she had saved enough people’s lives to know how to go about it.
She accused the young wife of pushing her aside, of driving her away
from her own brother’s bed. Certainly that Clump-clump ought to be
concerned about Coupeau’s getting well, for if she hadn’t gone to Rue
de la Nation to disturb him at his job, he would never had fallen.
Only, the way she was taking care of him, she would certainly finish
him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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