XXXIII
It was several days since Jean had opened his box of treasures and looked at his old watch.
He was on duty in barracks, when he suddenly thought of it with a feeling of uneasiness.
He returned home, walking more rapidly than was his wont, and on his arrival he opened his box.
His heart felt a sudden shock. The watch was nowhere to be seen.... In feverish anxiety he ransacked the contents of the box.... No, it was no longer there!...
Fatou was humming a tune with an air of indifference, watching him all the time out of the corner of her eye. She was threading beads; arranging colour effects for her necklaces; busy with great preparations for the next day’s festivals, the bamboulas of Tabaski, at which one had to look one’s best.
“You have put it somewhere else? Quick, Fatou, tell me.... I had forbidden you to touch it. Where have you put it?...”
“Ram!”... (I don’t know), answered Fatou unconcernedly.
A cold sweat broke out on Jean’s forehead, distracted as he was with anxiety and rage. He took Fatou by the arm and shook her roughly.
“Where have you put it?... Come, tell me at once.”
“Ram!”
Suddenly a light dawned upon him. He had caught sight of a new pagne, with a pink and blue zig-zag pattern, carefully folded, hidden away in a corner in readiness for the next day’s festivities....
He understood. Snatching up the pagne he unfolded it and flung it on the ground.
“You have sold the watch,” he cried. “Come, Fatou, be quick, tell me the truth.”...
He threw her on her knees on the floor in a furious rage and seized his whip.
Fatou knew perfectly well that she had touched a precious fetish, and that it was a serious matter. But she possessed the audacity that comes of impunity. She had already offended so many times, and Jean had so many times forgiven her.
Yet she had never before seen Jean like this; she uttered a cry; she was afraid. She began to kiss his feet.
“Pardon, Tjean!... Pardon!”
In such moments of fury Jean did not realise his own strength. He was subject to these fits of almost savage passion common to children who have grown up in the woods. He rained blows upon Fatou’s bare back, inflicting stripes from which the blood gushed, and with the falling of the blows his rage increased.
At length he grew ashamed of what he had done, and throwing down the whip he cast himself on his couch....