Nobody's Boy. Hector Malot
I stared at the man in wonder, Barberin and the owner of the tavern talked in low voices. I knew that I was the subject of their talk. Barberin was telling him that he had brought me to the village to take me to the mayor's office, so that the mayor should ask the Charity Home to pay for my keep. That was all that dear Mother Barberin had been able to do, but I felt that if Barberin could get something for keeping me I had nothing to fear.
The old man, who without appearing, had evidently been listening, suddenly pointed to me, and turning to Barberin said with a marked foreign accent:
"Is that the child that's in your way?"
"That's him."
"And you think the Home is going to pay you for his keep?"
"Lord! as he ain't got no parents and I've been put to great expense for him, it is only right that the town should pay me something."
"I don't say it isn't, but do you think that just because a thing is right, it's done?"
"That, no!"
"Well, then I don't think you'll ever get what you're after."
"Then he goes to the Home, there's no law that forces me to keep him in my place if I don't want to."
"You agreed in the beginning to take him, so it's up to you to keep your promise."
"Well, I ain't going to keep him. And when I want to turn him out I'll do so."
"Perhaps there's a way to get rid of him now," said the old man after a moment's thought, "and make a little money into the bargain."
"If you'll show me how, I'll stand a drink."
"Order the drinks, the affair's settled."
"Sure?
"Sure."
The old man got up and took a seat opposite Barberin. A strange thing, as he rose, I saw his sheepskin move. It was lifted up, and I wondered if he had another dog under his arm.
What were they going to do with me? My heart beat against my side, I could not take my eyes off the old man.
"You won't let this child eat any more of your bread unless somebody pays for it, that's it, isn't it?"
"That's it … because. … "
"Never mind the reason. That don't concern me. Now if you don't want him, just give him to me. I'll take charge of him."
"You? take charge of him!"
"You want to get rid of him, don't you?"
"Give you a child like him, a beautiful boy, for he is beautiful, the prettiest boy in the village, look at him."
"I've looked at him."
"Remi, come here."
I went over to the table, my knees trembling.
"There, don't be afraid, little one," said the old man.
"Just look at him," said Barberin again.
"I don't say that he is a homely child, if he was I wouldn't want him. I don't want a monster."
"Ah, now if he was a monster with two ears, or even a dwarf. … "
"You'd keep him, you could make your fortune out of a monster. But this little boy is not a dwarf, nor a monster, so you can't exhibit him: he's made the same as others, and he's no good for anything."
"He's good for work."
"He's not strong."
"Not strong, him! Land's sakes! He's as strong as any man, look at his legs, they're that solid! Have you ever seen straighter legs than his?"
Barberin pulled up my pants.
"Too thin," said the old man.
"And his arms?" continued Barberin.
"Like his legs … might be better. They can't hold out against fatigue and poverty."
"What, them legs and arms? Feel 'em. Just see for yourself."
The old man passed his skinny hand over my legs and felt them, shaking his head the while and making a grimace.
I had already seen a similar scene enacted when the cattle dealer came to buy our cow. He also had felt and pinched the cow. He also had shaken his head and said that it was not a good cow, it would be impossible to sell it again, and yet after all he had bought it and taken it away with him. Was the old man going to buy me and take me away with him? Oh, Mother Barberin! Mother Barberin!
If I had dared I would have said that only the night before Barberin had reproached me for seeming delicate and having thin arms and legs, but I felt that I should gain nothing by it but an angry word, so I kept silent.
For a long time they wrangled over my good and bad points.
"Well, such as he is," said the old man at last, "I'll take him, but mind you, I don't buy him outright. I'll hire him. I'll give you twenty francs a year for him."
"Twenty francs!"
"That's a good sum, and I'll pay in advance."
"But if I keep him the town will pay me more than ten francs a month."
"I know what you'd get from the town, and besides you've got to feed him."
"He will work."
"If you thought that he could work you wouldn't be so anxious to get rid of him. It is not for the money that's paid for their keep that you people take in lost children, it's for the work that you can get out of them. You make servants of them, they pay you and they themselves get no wages. If this child could have done much for you, you would have kept him."
"Anyway, I should always have ten francs a month."
"And if the Home, instead of letting you have him, gave him to some one else, you wouldn't get anything at all. Now with me you won't have to run for your money, all you have to do is to hold out your hand."
He pulled a leather purse from his pocket, counting out four silver pieces of money; he threw them down on the table, making them ring as they fell.
"But think," cried Barberin; "this child's parents will show up one day or the other."
"What does that matter?"
"Well, those who've brought him up will get something. If I hadn't thought of that I wouldn't have taken him in the first place."
Oh! the wicked man! How I did dislike Barberin!
"Now, look here, it's because you think his parents won't show up now that you're turning him out," said the old man. "Well, if by any chance they do appear, they'll go straight to you, not to me, for nobody knows me."
"But if it's you who finds them?"
"Well, in that case we'll go shares and I'll put thirty down for him now."
"Make it forty."
"No, for what he'll do for me that isn't possible."
"What do you want him to do for you? For good legs, he's got good legs; for good arms, he's got good arms. I hold to what I said before. What are you going to do with him?"
Then the old man looked at Barberin mockingly, then emptied his glass slowly:
"He's just to keep me company. I'm getting old and at night I get a bit lonesome. When one is tired it's nice to have a child around."
"Well, for that I'm sure his legs are strong enough."
"Oh, not too much so, for he must also dance and jump and walk, and then walk and jump again. He'll take his place in Signor Vitalis' traveling company."
"Where's this company?"
"I am Signor Vitalis, and I'll