Most of my Saturday nights went in this way. On the whole, the two hours when one was perfectly and wildly happy seemed worth the subsequent headache. For many men in the quarter, unmarried and with no future to think of, the weekly drinking-bout was the one thing that made life worth living.

Chapter XVIII

XVIII

CHARLIE told us a good story one Saturday night in the bistro. Try and picture him–drunk, but sober enough to talk consecutively. He bangs on the zinc bar and yells for silence:

‘Silence, messieurs et dames–silence, I implore you! Listen to this story that I am about to tell you. A memorable story, an instructive story, one of the souvenirs of a refined and civilised life. Silence, messieurs et dames!

‘It happened at a time when I was hard up. You know what that is like–how damnable, that a man of refinement should ever be in such a condition. My money had not come from home; I had pawned everything, and there was nothing open to me except to work, which is a thing I will not do. I was living with a girl at the time–Yvonne her name was–a great half-witted peasant girl like Azaya there, with yellow hair and fat legs. The two of us had eaten nothing in three days. Mon Dieu, what sufferings! The girl used to walk up and down the room with her hands on her belly, howling like a dog that she was dying of starvation. It was terrible.

‘But to a man of intelligence nothing is impossible. I propounded to myself the question, “What is the easiest way to get money without working?” And immediately the answer came: “To get money easily one must be a woman. Has not every woman something to sell?” And then, as I lay reflecting upon the things I should do if I were a woman, an idea came into my head. I remembered the Government maternity hospitals–you know the Government maternity hospitals? They are places where women who are enceinte are given meals free and no questions are asked. It is done to encourage childbearing. Any woman can go there and demand a meal, and she is given it immediately.

‘“Mon Dieu!” I thought, “if only I were a woman! I would eat at one of those places every day. Who can tell whether a woman is enceinte or not, without an examinaion?”

‘I turned to Yvonne. “Stop that insufferable bawling,” I said; “I have thought of a way to get food.”

‘“How?” said she.

‘“It is simple,” I said. “Go to the Government maternity hospital. Tell them you are enceinte and ask for food. They will give you a good meal and ask no questions.”

‘Yvonne was appalled. “Mais, mon Dieu,” she cried, “I am not enceinte!”