Nobody's Girl Page 3

  CHAPTER I

  PERRINE AND PALIKARE

  It was Saturday afternoon about 3 o'clock. There was the usual scene;outside the Gates of Bercy there was a crowd of people, and on thequays, four rows deep, carts and wagons were massed together. Coalcarts, carts heaped with hay and straw, all were waiting in the clear,warm June sunshine for the examination from the custom official. All hadbeen hurrying to reach Paris before Sunday.

  Amongst the wagons, but at some little distance from the Gates, stood anodd looking cart, a sort of caravan. Over a light frame work which waserected on four wheels was stretched a heavy canvas; this was fastenedto the light roof which covered the wagon. Once upon a time the canvasmight have been blue, but it was so faded, so dirty and worn, that onecould only guess what its original color had been. Neither was itpossible to make out the inscriptions which were painted on the foursides. Most of the words were effaced. On one side there was a Greekword, the next side bore part of a German word, on the third side werethe letters F I A, which was evidently Italian, and on the last a newlypainted French word stood out boldly. This was _PHOTOGRAPHIE_, and wasevidently the translation of all the others, indicating the differentcountries through which the miserable wagon had come before it hadentered France and finally arrived at the Gates of Paris.

  Was it possible that the donkey that was harnessed to it had brought thecart all this distance? At first glance it seemed impossible, butalthough the animal was tired out, one could see upon a closer view thatit was very robust and much bigger than the donkeys that one sees inEurope. Its coat was a beautiful dark grey, the beauty of which could beseen despite the dust which covered it. Its slender legs were markedwith jet black lines, and worn out though the poor beast was, it stillheld its head high. The harness, worthy of the caravan, was fastenedtogether with various colored strings, short pieces, long pieces, justwhat was at hand at the moment; the strings had been carefully hiddenunder the flowers and branches which had been gathered along the roadsand used to protect the animal from the sun and the flies.

  Close by, seated on the edge of the curb, watching the donkey, was alittle girl of about thirteen years of age. Her type was very unusual,but it was quite apparent that there was a mixture of race. The paleblond of her hair contrasted strangely with the deep, rich coloring ofher cheeks, and the sweet expression of her face was accentuated by thedark, serious eyes. Her mouth also was very serious. Her figure, slimand full of grace, was garbed in an old, faded check dress, but theshabby old frock could not take away the child's distinguished air.

  As the donkey had stopped just behind a large cart of straw, it wouldnot have required much watching, but every now and again he pulled outthe straw, in a cautious manner, like a very intelligent animal thatknows quite well that it is doing wrong.

  "Palikare! stop that!" said the girl for the third time.

  The donkey again dropped his head in a guilty fashion, but as soon as hehad eaten his wisps of straw he began to blink his eyes and agitate hisears, then again discreetly, but eagerly, tugged at what was ahead ofhim; this in a manner that testified to the poor beast's hunger.

  While the little girl was scolding him, a voice from within the caravancalled out:

  "Perrine!"

  Jumping to her feet, the child lifted up the canvas and passed inside,where a pale, thin woman was lying on a mattress.

  "Do you need me, mama?"

  "What is Palikare doing, dear?" asked the woman.

  "He is eating the straw off the cart that's ahead of us."

  "You must stop him."

  "He's so hungry."

  "Hunger is not an excuse for taking what does not belong to us. What willyou say to the driver of that cart if he's angry?"

  "I'll go and see that Palikare doesn't do it again," said the little girl.

  "Shall we soon be in Paris?"

  "Yes, we are waiting for the customs."

  "Have we much longer to wait?"

  "No, but are you in more pain, mother?"

  "Don't worry, darling; it's because I'm closed in here," replied the woman,gasping. Then she smiled wanly, hoping to reassure her daughter.

  The woman was in a pitiable plight. All her strength had gone and she couldscarcely breathe. Although she was only about twenty-nine years of age, herlife was ebbing away. There still remained traces of remarkable beauty: Herhead and hair were lovely, and her eyes were soft and dark like herdaughter's.

  "Shall I give you something?" asked Perrine.

  "What?"

  "There are some shops near by. I can buy a lemon. I'll come back at once."

  "No, keep the money. We have so little. Go back to Palikare and stop himfrom eating the straw."

  "That's not easy," answered the little girl.

  She went back to the donkey and pushed him on his haunches until he wasout of reach of the straw in front of him.

  At first the donkey was obstinate and tried to push forward again, but shespoke to him gently and stroked him, and kissed him on his nose; then hedropped his long ears with evident satisfaction and stood quite still.

  There was no occasion to worry about him now, so she amused herself withwatching what was going on around her.

  A little boy about her own age, dressed up like a clown, and who evidentlybelonged to the circus caravans standing in the rear, had been strollinground her for ten long minutes, without being able to attract herattention. At last he decided to speak to her.

  "That's a fine donkey," he remarked.

  She did not reply.

  "It don't belong to this country. If it does, I'm astonished."

  She was looking at him, and thinking that after all he looked ratherlike a nice boy, she thought she would reply.

  "He comes from Greece," she said.

  "Greece!" he echoed.

  "That's why he's called Palikare."

  "Ah! that's why."

  But in spite of his broad grin he was not at all sure why a donkey thatcame from Greece should be called Palikare.

  "Is it far ... Greece?"

  "Very far."

  "Farther than ... China?"

  "No, but it's a long way off."

  "Then yer come from Greece, then?"

  "No, farther than that."

  "From China?"

  "No, but Palikare's the only one that comes from Greece."

  "Are you going to the Fair?"

  "No."

  "Where yer goin'?"

  "Into Paris."

  "I know that, but where yer goin' to put up that there cart?"

  "We've been told that there are some free places round thefortifications."

  The little clown slapped his thighs with his two hands.

  "The fortifications: _Oh la la!_"

  "Isn't there any place?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, then?"

  "It ain't the place for you ... round the fortifications! Have yer gotany men with yer? Big strong men who are not afraid of a stab from adagger. One who can give a jab as well as take one."

  "There is only my mother and me, and mother is ill."

  "Do you think much of that donkey?" he asked quickly.

  "I should say so!"

  "Well, the first thing he'll be stolen. He'll be gone tomorrow. Thenthe rest'll come after, and it's Fatty as tells yer so."

  "Really?"

  "Should say so! You've never been to Paris before?"

  "No, never."

  "That's easy to see. Some fools told you where to put your cart up, butyou can't put it there. Why don't you go to Grain-of-Salt?"

  "I don't know Grain-of-Salt."

  "Why, he owns the Guillot Fields. You needn't be afraid of him, and he'dshoot anybody who tried to get in his place."

  "Will it cost much to go there?"

  "It costs a lot in winter, when everybody comes to Paris, but at thistime I'm sure he won't make you pay more than forty sous a week. Andyour donkey can find its food in the field. Does he like thistles?"

  "I should say he does like them!"


  "Well, then, this is just the place for him, and Grain-of-Salt isn't abad chap," said the little clown with a satisfied air.

  "Is that his name ... Grain-of-Salt?"

  "They call him that 'cause he's always thirsty. He's only got one arm."

  "Is his place far from here?"

  "No, at Charonne; but I bet yer don't even know where Charonne is?"

  "I've never been to Paris before."

  "Well, then, it's over there." He waved his arms vaguely in a northerlydirection.

  "Once you have passed through the Gates, you turn straight to theright," he explained, "and you follow the road all along thefortifications for half an hour, then go down a wide avenue, then turnto your left, and then ask where the Guillot Field is. Everybody knowsit."

  "Thank you. I'll go and tell mama. If you'll stand beside Palikare for aminute, I'll go and tell her at once."

  "Sure, I'll mind him for yer. I'll ask him to teach me Greek."

  "And please don't let him eat that straw."

  Perrine went inside the caravan and told her mother what the littleclown had said.

  "If that is so," said the sick woman, "we must not hesitate; we must goto Charonne. But can you find the way?"

  "Yes, it's easy enough. Oh, mother," she added, as she was going out,"there are such a lot of wagons outside; they have printed on them'Maraucourt Factories,' and beneath that the name, 'VulfranPaindavoine.' There are all kinds of barrels and things in the carts.Such a number!"

  "There is nothing remarkable in that, my child," said the woman.

  "Yes, but it's strange to see so many wagons with the same name onthem," replied the girl as she left the caravan.

  Perrine found the donkey with his nose buried in the straw, which he waseating calmly.

  "Why, you're letting him eat it!" she cried to the boy.

  "Well, why not?" he retorted.

  "And if the man is angry?"

  "He'd better not be with me," said the small boy, putting himself in aposition to fight and throwing his head back.

  But his prowess was not to be brought into action, for at this momentthe custom officer began to search the cart of straw, and then gavepermission for it to pass on through the Gates of Paris.

  "Now it's your turn," said the boy, "and I'll have to leave you.Goodbye, Mademoiselle. If you ever want news of me ask for Double Fat.Everybody knows me."

  The employes who guard the entrances of Paris are accustomed to strangesights, yet the man who went into Perrine's caravan looked surprisedwhen he found a young woman lying on a mattress, and even more surprisedwhen his hasty glance revealed to him the extreme poverty of hersurroundings.

  "Have you anything to declare?" he asked, continuing his investigations.

  "Nothing."

  "No wine, no provisions?"

  "Nothing."

  This was only too true; apart from the mattress, the two cane chairs, alittle table, a tiny stove, a camera and a few photographic supplies,there was nothing in this wagon; no trunks, no baskets, no clothes....

  "All right; you can pass," said the man.

  Once through the Gates, Perrine, holding Palikare by the bridle,followed the stretch of grass along the embankment. In the brown, dirtygrass she saw rough looking men lying on their backs or on theirstomachs. She saw now the class of people who frequent this spot. Fromthe very air of these men, with their bestial, criminal faces, sheunderstood why it would be unsafe for them to be there at night. Shecould well believe that their knives would be in ready use.

  Looking towards the city, she saw nothing but dirty streets and filthyhouses. So this was Paris, the beautiful Paris of which her father hadso often spoken. With one word she made her donkey go faster, thenturning to the left she inquired for the Guillot Field.

  If everyone knew where it was situated, no two were of the same opinionas to which road she should take to get there, and several times, intrying to follow the various directions which were given to her, shelost her way.

  At last she found the place for which she was looking. This must be it!Inside the field there was an old omnibus without wheels, and a railwaycar, also without wheels, was on the ground. In addition, she saw adozen little round pups rolling about. Yes, this was the place!

  Leaving Palikare in the street, she went into the field. The pups atonce scrambled at her feet, barked, and snapped at her shoes.

  "Who's there?" called a voice.

  She looked around and saw a long, low building, which might have been ahouse, but which might serve for anything else. The walls were made ofbits of stone, wood and plaster. Even tin boxes were used in itsconstruction. The roof was made of tarred canvas and cardboard, and mostof the window panes were of paper, although in one or two instancesthere was some glass. The man who designed it was another RobinsonCrusoe, and his workman a man Friday.

  A one-armed man with a shaggy beard was sorting out rags and throwingthem into the baskets around him.

  "Don't step on my dogs," he cried; "come nearer."

  She did as she was told.

  "Are you the owner of the Guillot Field?" she asked.

  "That's me!" replied the man.

  In a few words she told him what she wanted. So as not to waste his timewhile listening, he poured some red wine out of a bottle that stood onthe ground and drank it down at a gulp.

  "It can be arranged if you pay in advance," he said, sizing her up.

  "How much?" she asked.

  "Forty sous a week for the wagon and twenty for the donkey," hereplied.

  "That's a lot of money," she said, hesitatingly.

  "That's my price."

  "Your summer price?"

  "Yes, my summer price."

  "Can my donkey eat the thistles?"

  "Yes, and the grass also if his teeth are strong enough."

  "We can't pay for the whole week because we are only going to stay oneday. We are going through Paris on our way to Amiens, and we want torest."

  "Well, that's all right; six sous a day for the cart and three for thedonkey."

  One by one she pulled out nine sous from the pocket in her skirt.

  "That's for the first day," she said, handing them to the man.

  "You can tell your people they can all come in," he said, "How many arethere? If it's a whole company it's two sous extra for each person."

  "I have only my mother."

  "All right; but why didn't your mother come and settle this?"

  "She is in the wagon, ill."

  "Ill! Well, this isn't a hospital."

  Perrine was afraid that he would not let her sick mother come in.

  "I mean she's a little bit tired. We've come a long way."

  "I never ask people where they come from," replied the man gruffly. Hepointed to a corner of the field, and added: "You can put your wagonover there and tie up the donkey. And if it squashes one of my pupsyou'll pay me five francs, one hundred sous ... understand?"

  As she was going he called out:

  "Will you take a glass of wine?"

  "No, thanks," she replied; "I never take wine."

  "Good," he said; "I'll drink it for you."

  He drained another glass, then returned to his collection of rags.

  As soon as she had installed Palikare in the place that the man hadpointed out to her, which was accomplished not without some jolts,despite the care which she took, Perrine climbed up into the wagon.

  "We've arrived at last, poor mama," she said, bending over the woman.

  "No more shaking, no more rolling about," said the woman weakly.

  "There, there; I'll make you some dinner," said Perrine cheerfully."What would you like?"

  "First, dear, unharness Palikare; he is very tired also; and give himsomething to eat and drink."

  Perrine did as her mother told her, then returned to the wagon and tookout the small stove, some pieces of coal and an old saucepan and somesticks. Outside, she went down on her knees and made a fire; at last,after blowing with all her mig
ht, she had the satisfaction of seeingthat it had taken.

  "You'd like some rice, wouldn't you?" she asked, leaning over hermother.

  "I am not hungry."

  "Is there anything else you would fancy? I'll go and fetch anything youwant. What would you like, mama, dearie?"

  "I think I prefer rice," said her mother.

  Little Perrine threw a handful of rice into the saucepan that she hadput on the fire and waited for the water to boil; then she stirred therice with two white sticks that she had stripped of their bark. She onlyleft her cooking once, to run over to Palikare to say a few loving wordsto him. The donkey was eating the thistles with a satisfaction, theintensity of which was shown by the way his long ears stood up.

  When the rice was cooked to perfection, Perrine filled a bowl and placedit at her mother's bedside, also two glasses, two plates and two forks.Sitting down on the floor, with her legs tucked under her and her skirtsspread out, she said, like a little girl who is playing with her doll:"Now we'll have a little din-din, mammy, dear, and I'll wait on you."

  In spite of her gay tone, there was an anxious look in the child's eyesas she looked at her mother lying on the mattress, covered with an oldshawl that had once been beautiful and costly, but was now only a fadedrag.

  The sick woman tried to swallow a mouthful of rice, then she looked ather daughter with a wan smile.

  "It doesn't go down very well," she murmured.

  "You must force yourself," said Perrine; "the second will go downbetter, and the third better still."

  "I cannot; no, I cannot, dear!"

  "Oh, mama!"

  The mother sank back on her mattress, gasping. But weak though she was,she thought of her little girl and smiled.

  "The rice is delicious, dear," she said; "you eat it. As you do the workyou must feed well. You must be very strong to be able to nurse me, soeat, darling, eat."

  Keeping back her tears, Perrine made an effort to eat her dinner. Hermother continued to talk to her. Little by little she stopped crying andall the rice disappeared.

  "Why don't you try to eat, mother?" she asked. "I forced myself."

  "But I'm ill, dear."

  "I think I ought to go and fetch a doctor. We are in Paris now and thereare good doctors here."

  "Good doctors will not put themselves out unless they are paid."

  "We'll pay."

  "With what, my child?"

  "With our money. You have seven francs in your pocket and a florin whichwe could change here. I've got 17 sous. Feel in your pocket."

  The black dress, as worn as Perrine's skirt but not so dusty, for it hadbeen brushed, was lying on the bed, and served for a cover. They foundthe seven francs and an Austrian coin.

  "How much does that make in all?" asked Perrine; "I don't understandFrench money."

  "I know very little more than you," replied her mother.

  Counting the florin at two francs, they found they had nine francs andeighty-five centimes.

  "You see we have more than what is needed for a doctor," insistedPerrine.

  "He won't cure me with words; we shall have to buy medicine."

  "I have an idea. You can imagine that all the time I was walking besidePalikare I did not waste my time just talking to him, although he likesthat. I was also thinking of both of us, but mostly of you, mama,because you are sick. And I was thinking of our arrival at Maraucourt.Everybody has laughed at our wagon as we came along, and I am afraid ifwe go to Maraucourt with it we shall not get much of a welcome. If ourrelations are very proud, they'll be humiliated.

  "So I thought," she added, wisely, "that as we don't need the wagon anymore, we could sell it. Now that you are ill, no one will let me taketheir pictures, and even if they would we have not the money to buy thethings for developing that we need. We must sell it."

  "And how much can we get for it?"

  "We can get something; then there is the camera and the mattress."

  "Everything," said the sick woman.

  "But you don't mind, do you, mother, dear?..."

  "We have lived in this wagon for more than a year," said her mother;"your father died here, and although it's a poor thing, it makes me sadto part with it.... It is all that remains of him ... there is not oneof these old things here that does not remind us of him...."

  She stopped, gasping; the tears were rolling down her cheeks.

  "Oh, forgive me, mother, for speaking about it," cried Perrine.

  "My darling, you are right. You are only a child, but you have thoughtof the things that I should have. I shall not be better tomorrow nor thenext day, and we must sell these things, and we must decide to sell...."

  The mother hesitated. There was a painful silence.

  "Palikare," said Perrine at last.

  "You have thought that also?" asked the mother.

  "Yes," said Perrine, "and I have been so unhappy about it, and sometimesI did not dare look at him for fear he would guess that we were going topart with him instead of taking him to Maraucourt with us. He would havebeen so happy there after such a long journey."

  "If we were only sure of a welcome, but they may turn us away. If theydo, all we can do then is to lie down by the roadside and die, but nomatter what it costs, we must get to Maraucourt, and we must presentourselves as well as we can so that they will not shut their doors uponus...."

  "Would that be possible, mama?... The memory of papa ... he was so good.Could they be angry with him now he is dead?"

  "I am speaking as your father would have spoken, dear ... so we willsell Palikare. With the money that we get for him we will have a doctor,so that I can get stronger; then, when I am well enough, we will buy anice dress for you and one for me, and then we'll start. We will takethe train as far as we can and walk the rest of the way."

  "That boy who spoke to me at the Gates told me that Palikare was a finedonkey, and he knows, for he is in a circus. It was because he thoughtPalikare was so beautiful that he spoke to me."

  "I don't know how much an Eastern donkey would bring in Paris, but we'llsee as soon as we can," said the sick woman.

  Leaving her mother to rest, Perrine got together their soiled clothingand decided to do some washing. Adding her own waist to a bundleconsisting of three handkerchiefs, two pairs of stockings and twocombinations, she put them all into a basin, and with her washboard anda piece of soap she went outside. She had ready some boiling water whichshe had put on the fire after cooking the rice; this she poured over thethings. Kneeling on the grass, she soaped and rubbed until all wereclean; then she rinsed them and hung them on a line to dry.

  While she worked, Palikare, who was tied up at a short distance fromher, had glanced her way several times. When he saw that she hadfinished her task he stretched his neck towards her and sent forth fiveor six brays ... an imperative call.

  "Did you think I had forgotten you?" she called out. She went to him,changed his place, gave him some water to drink from her saucepan, whichshe had carefully rinsed, for if he was satisfied with all the food thatthey gave him, he was very particular about what he drank. He would onlydrink pure water from a clean vessel, or red wine ... this he likedbetter than anything.

  She stroked him and talked to him lovingly, like a kind nurse would to alittle child, and the donkey, who had thrown himself down on the grassthe moment he was free, placed his head against her shoulder. He lovedhis young mistress, and every now and again he looked up at her andshook his long ears in sign of utter content.

  All was quiet in the field and the streets close by were now deserted.From the distance came the dim roar of the great city, deep, powerful,mysterious; the breath and life of Paris, active and incessant, seemedlike the roar of a mighty ocean going on and on, in spite of the nightthat falls.

  Then, in the softness of the coming night, little Perrine seemed to feelmore impressed with the talk that she had had with her mother, andleaning her head against her donkey's, she let the tears, which she hadkept back so long, flow silently, and Palikare, in
mute sympathy, benthis head and licked her hands.