Speaker 1: The Parrot by Gui de Mopesso one. Everybody in fcomp
knew Mother PETA's story. She had certainly been unfortunate with
her husband, for in his lifetime he used to beat
her just as wheat is threshed in the barn. He
was a master of a fishing bark, and had married
her formerly because she was pretty. Although poor Petain was
a good sailor, but brutal. He used to frequent father
Obas Inn, where he would usually drink four or five
glasses of brandy on lucky days, eight or ten glasses,
and even more according to his mood. The brandy was
served to the customers by Father Oba's daughter, a pleasing
brunette who attracted people to the house only by her
pretty face. For nothing had ever been gossiped about her. Petain,
when he entered the inn, would be satisfied to look
at her and to compliment her politely and respectfully. After
he had had his first glass of brandy, he would
already find her much nicer. At the second, he would wink.
At the third he would say, if you were only
billing Mademoiselle desiree, without ever finishing his sentence. At the
fourth he would try to hold her back by her
skirt in order to kiss her. And when he went
as high as ten, it was father Obin who brought
him the remaining drinks. The old innkeeper, who knew all
the tricks of the trade, made Desiree walk about between
the tables in order to increase the consumption of drinks,
and Desiree, who was a worthy daughter of Father Obin,
flitted around among the benches and joked with them, her
lips smiling and her eyes sparkling. But Tag got so
well accustomed to Desiree's face that he thought of it
even while at sea, when throwing out his nets in
storms or in calms, on moonlit or dark evenings. He
thought of her a while holding the tiller in the
stern of his boat, while his four companions were slumbering
with their heads on their arms. He always saw her, smiling,
pouring out the yellow brandy with a peculiar shoulder movement,
and then exclaiming as she turned away, there, now are
you satisfied. He saw her so much in his mind's
eye that he was overcome by an irresistible desire to
marry her, and, not being able to hold out any longer,
he asked for her hand. He was rich, owned his
own vessel, his gnats in a little house at the
foot of the hill on the Retinue, whereas father Oba
had nothing. The marriage was therefore eagerly agreed upon, and
the wedding took place as soon as possible, as both
parties were desirous for the affair to be concluded as
early as convenient. Three days after the wedding, Petak could
no longer understand how he had ever imagined Desiree to
be different from other women. What a fool he had
been to encumber himself with a penniless creature who had
undoubtedly inveigled him with some drug which he had put
in his brandy. He would curse all day long, break
his pipe with his teeth, and maul his crew. After
he had sworn by every known term at everything that
came his way, he would rid himself of his remaining
anger on the fish and lobsters which he pulled from
the nets and threw into the baskets, aas oaths and
foul language. When he returned home, he would find his wife,
father Oba's daughter within reach of his mouth and hand,
and it was not long before he treated her like
the lowest creature in the world. As she listened calmly,
accustomed to paternal violence, he grew exasperated at her quiet,
and one evening he beat her. Then life at his
home became unbearable. For ten years, the principal topic of
conversation on the Retinue was about the beatings that Petag
gave his wife, and his manner of cursing at her
for the least thing. He could, indeed curse with a
richness of vocabulary in a roundness of tone unequaled by
other men in fecamp. As soon as his ship was
sighted at the entrance of the harbor, returning from the
fishing expedition, every one awaited the first volley he would
hurl from the bridge. As soon as he perceived his
wife's white cap standing at the stern, he would steer,
his eye fixed on the boughs and on the sail, and,
notwithstanding the difficulty of the narrow passage and the height
of the turbul waves, he would search among the watching
women and try to recognize his wife, father Oba's daughter,
the Wretch. Then, as soon as he saw her, notwithstanding
the noise of the wind and the waves, he would
let loose upon her with such power and volubility that
everyone would laugh, although they pitied her greatly. When he
arrived at the dock, he would relieve his mind while
unloading the fish, in such an expressive manner that he
attracted around him all the loafers of the neighborhood. The
words left his mouth, sometimes like shots from a cannon,
short and terrible, Sometimes like peals of thunder which roll
and rumble for five minutes, Such a hurricane of oaths
that he seemed to have in his lungs, one of
the storms of the eternal Father. When he left his
ship and found himself face to face with her, surrounded
by all the gossips of the neighborhood, he would bring
up a new cargo of insults and bring her back
to their dwelling. She in front, he behind, she weeping,
he yelling at her. At last, when alone with her
behind and closed doors, he would thrash her. On the
slightest pretext, the least thing was sufficient to make him
raise his hand, And when he had once begun, he
did not stop, but he would throw into her face
the true motive for his anger. At each blow, he
would roar, there, you beggar, there you wretch, there, you popper,
What a bright thing I did when I rinsed my
mouth with your rascal of a father's apology for Brandy.
The poor woman lived in continual fear, in a ceaseless
trembling of body and soul, in everlasting expectation of outrageous thrashings.
This lasted ten years. She was so timorous that she
would grow pale whenever she spoke to anyone, and she
thought of nothing but the blows with which she was threatened,
And she became thinner, more yellow, and drier than a
smoked fish. Two. One night, when her husband was at sea,
she was suddenly awakened by the wild roaring of the wind.
She sat up in her bed, trembling, but as she
heard nothing more, she lay down again. Almost immediately there
was a roar in the chimney which shook the entire house.
It seemed to cross the heavens like a pack of
furious animals, snorting and roaring. Then she arose and rushed
to the harbor. Other women were arriving from all sides,
carrying lanterns. The men were also gathering, and all were
watching the foaming crests of the breaking wave. The storm
lasted fifteen hours. Eleven sailors never returned. Patin was among them.
In the neighborhood of Dieppe, the wreck of his bark,
the Jean Amelie, was found. The bodies of his sailors
were found near Saint Valerie, but his body was never recovered,
as his vessel seemed to have been cut in two.
His wife expected and feared his return for a long time,
for if there had been a collision, he alone might
have been picked up and carried afar off. Little by
little she grew accustomed to the thought that she was
rid of him, although she would start every time then
a neighbor, a beggar or a peddler would enter. Suddenly,
one afternoon, about four years after the disappearance of her husband,
while she was walking along the Rue de Juif, she
stopped before the house of an old sea captain who
had recently died, and whose furniture was for sale. Just
at that moment, a parrot was at auction. He had
green feathers and a blue head, and was watching everybody
with a displeased look. Three francs cried the auctioneer. A
bird that can talk like a lawyer three francs. A
friend of the pata woman nudged her and said, you
ought to buy that, you who are rich, It would
be good company for you. That bird is worth more
than thirty francs. Anyhow, you can always sell it for
twenty or twenty five. PETA's widow added fifty sentine and
the bird was given her in a little cage, which
she carried away. She took it home, and as she
was opening the wire door in order to give it
something to drink, he bit her finger and drew blood.
Oh how naughty he is, she said. Nevertheless, she gave
it some hemp seed and corn and watched it pruning
its feathers as it glanced warily at its new home
and its new mistress. On the following morning, just as
day was breaking, the Pateau woman distinctly heard a loud, deep,
roaring voice calling, are you going to get up? Carrion?
Her fear was so great that she hid her head
under the sheets, for when Petao was with her, as
soon as he would open his eyes, he would shout
those well known words into her ears. Trembling rolled into
a ball, her back prepared for the thrashing which she
already expected. Her face buried in the pillows, she murmured,
good Lord, he is here, Good Lord, he is here,
Good Lord, he has come back. Minutes passed, no noise
disturbed the quiet room. Then, trembling, she stuck her head
out of the bed, sure that he was there, watching,
ready to beat her. Except for a ray of sun
shining through the window, she saw nothing, and she said
to herself, must be hidden. She waited a long time,
and then, gaining courage, she said to herself, I must
have dreamed at seeing there is nobody here. A little reassured,
she closed her eyes, when from quite near a furious voice,
the thunderous voice of the drowned man, could be heard, crying, say,
when in the name of all that's holy, are you
going to get up? You boo? She jumped out of bed,
moved by obedience, by the passive obedience of a woman
accustomed to blows, and who still remembers and always will remember,
that voice, she said, here, I am Petad, What do
you want? But Petad did not answer. Then, at a
complete loss, she looked around her, then in the chimney,
and under the bed, and finally sank into a chair,
wild with anxiety, convinced that Petad's soul alone was there
near her, and that he had returned in order to
torture her. Suddenly she remembered the loft in order to reach,
which one had to take a ladder. Surely he must
have hidden there in order to surprise her. He must
have been held by sex savages on some distant shore,
unable to escape until now, and he had returned worse
than ever. There is no doubting the quality of that voice.
She raised her head and asked, are you up there, Petit?
Petad did not answer. Then, with a terrible fear, which
made her heart tremble, she climbed the ladder, opened the
skylight a looked, saw nothing, entered, looked about and found nothing,
sitting on some straw. She began to cry. But while
she was weeping, overcome by a poignant and supernatural terror,
she heard Petan talking in the room below. He seemed
less angry, and he was saying, nasty weather, fierce wind,
nasty weather. I haven't eaten, damn it, she cried through
the ceiling. Here I am Petat, I am getting your
meal ready. Don't get angry, She ran down again. There
was no one in the room. She felt herself growing weak,
as if death were touching her, and she tried to
run and get help from the neighbors. When a voice
near her cried out, I haven't had my breakfast bike,
and the parrot in his cage watched her with his round,
knowing wicked eye. She too, looked at him wildly, murmuring, ah,
so it's you. He shook his head and continued, just
you wait, I'll teach you how to loaf. What happened
within her, she felt she understood that it was he,
the dead man who had come back, who had disguised
himself in the feathers of this bird in order to
continue to torment her, That he would curse as formerly
all day long and bite her and swear at her
in order to attract the neighbors and make them laugh.
Then she rushed for the cage and seized the bird,
which scratched and tore her flesh with its claws and beak,
but she held it with all her strength between her hands.
She threw it on the ground and rolled over it.
With the frenzy of one possessed. She crushed it and
finally made of it nothing but a little green, flabby lump,
which no longer moved or spoke. Then she wrapped it
in a cloth, as in a shroud, and she went
out in her nightgown barefoot. She crossed the dock against
which the choppy waves of the sea were beating, and
she shook the cloth and let drop this little dead thing,
which looked like so much grass. Then she returned, threw
herself on her knees before the empty cage, and, overcome
by what she had done, kneeled and prayed for forgiveness,
as if she had committed some heinous crime. And of
the parrot