Café des voyageurs (S.Corinna Bille)

Café des voyageurs (S.Corinna Bille)

S.Corinna Bille (1912-1979) la mot nha van nu nguoi Thuy Si. Username gioi thieu voi cac ban truyen "Cafộ des voyageurs" cua ba. Truyen nay do Username danh may tu quyen "Rộcits Fantastiques", (C)Hachette, muon o Alliance Franỗaise.

Cafộ des voyageurs

S. Corinna Bille

Un violent vent de Põques soufflait sur la valộe du Rhụne : le foehn ! Il vous prenait tout entier dans sa patte et vous secouait comme gobelet, mộlangeant la fumộe des feux de brousse aux tourbillons de poussiốre et leur braise aux pộtales des pờchers de muraille.

Un jeune homme marchait sur la route, flanquộe parfois d'un peuplier, dernier survivant d'une allộe magnifique aujourd'hui abattue ( non par le vent mais par les hommes), qui avait donnộ un siốcle aux voyageurs son ombre et sa musique d'orgue. Germain ộtait descendu du train l'avant-derniốre station, prộfộrant arriver pied dans la ville de son enfance. "Je serai bien assez tụt chez moi. En attendant, j'aurai pris un grand bol d'air, de cet air de mon pays qui ne ressemble nul autre et qui me manque dans mes annộes d'ộtudes..." Lorsqu'il vit venir lui un fiancre. Sur une route oự ne roulaient plus que des autos, des bus et des camions, il ộtait surprenant de voir paraợtre une voiture de ce genre.

Le fiacre avanỗait lentement, avec quelque hộsitation, et Germain s'aperỗut que le cocher dormait. Il le hộla trốs fort. L'homme demi prostrộ sursauta et son buste surgit au-dessus de la banquette. A voir sa figure rougeaude et son air grossier, Germain s'atten*** une bordộe d'injures. Il n'en fut rien.

- Excusez, monsieur, montez dans la voiture, monsieur...

Comme il restait sur la route, ộtonnộe de cette invite, il enten*** l'autre qui grommelait humblement:
- Montez, monsieur, je vous prie, la place est pour vous.

On le prenait pour quelqu'un d'autre.

- Je crois que vous vous trompez...

- Non, monsieur, je ne me trompe jamais. Vous ou un autre, pour nous c'est tout comme.

- Oự allez-vous ? demanda Germain, de plus en plus ahuri.

- L oự nous devons aller, fit l'homme avec une mauvaise humeur soudaine qui menaỗait de croợtre.

- Ah ! mais... j'allais Sion et vous, vous faites le contraire.

Le cocher ne comprit pas ou, du moins, ne l'enten*** pas de cette oreille.

- Prenez place, je vous dis, nous arriverons en retard !

Germain enjamba le marchepied et son poids fit grincer la guimbarde. L'ộtrange cocher lui jeta une couverture sans le regarder. Le fiacre dộgageait une odeur aigre de vin et de vieux cuir fendillộ.

"Il est complốtement soỷl" , se *** encore Germain en le voyant se dộmener sur son siốge et fouetter le cheval. Mais cette fureur n'eut pas l'air d'ộmouvoir la pauvre rosse qui poursuivit sa marche tranquille. La cocher se retourna vers l'ộtudiant :

- Vous ne vous repentirez pas d'ờtre venu. Mme Victoire tient ce qu'on vous soigne. Elle n'en a jamais tant fait pour ses propre clients !

Dộcoupộ sur le ciel gris, il parlait maintenant avec dignitộ. Le vent l'ộvitait, n'osait pas le palper ; il s'engouffrait dans la capote de la voiture et la gonflait. Elle prit un chemin de traverse qui menait vers le Rhụne. Entourộ de prairies oự croissaient des saules, un hameau s'ộtageait entre deux collines.

Ils s'arrờtốrent devant une maison qui portait en grosses lettres brunes, dộteintes sur la faỗade:

Cafộ des Voyageurs

" Bon, pensa Germain, ici l'aventura prendra fin. Je vais renoncer ờtre celui qu'on croit. Et je pourrai repartir sur la grand-route pour arriver Sion, juste temps." Il sauta de la voiture. Mais il fut poussộ par l'homme dans un couloir dộcrộpit et il se trouva en face d'un vieille femme qui s'exclamait :

- Enfin, te voil.

Elle le contempla avidement, toussota et *** d'un air entendu:

- Je t'attendais.

Le jeune homme, quoique intriguộ, demeura plutụt froid.

- Robert, fais-le monter dans le petit salon.

Le petit salon ộtait une horrible chambrette au plancher rouge sang, huilộ sur de la crasse, contenant une table rond, un vieux piano d'oự pendaient les pompons d'un tapis au crochet, un fauteuil usộ et quelque chaises.

Germain pris au piốge demeura debout, regardant par la fenờtre comme pour chercher une issue. A travers le rideau, il apercevait quelque toitures de granges et la pente dorộe des collines. L' odeur de renfermộ de la piốce ộtait si pộnible qu'il regretta amốrement le souffle tiốde du foehn.

Il se jeta vers la porte. Mais le cocher devenu sommelier entrait, lui barrant le passage d'un large plateau chargộ d'une bouteille et de deux verres. Puis refermant avec soin la porte derriốre lui, il s'approcha de la table oự il dộposa son fardeau.

- Vous serez bien ici, n'est-ce pas monsieur ?

Il poussa le fauteuil prốs de la table en face de Germain et se retira.

Le jeune homme, croyant qu'il allait devoir trinquer avec cet individu ou la vieille dame, s'en voulut de s'ờtre laissộ faire. "Mais au nom du ciel, pour qui me prennent-ils ?" Le cocher revint, il avait oubliộ de mettre une nappe; avec un empressement ridicule, il enleva le plateau, le posa sur une chaise et dộplia une nappe blanche, remit dessus le plateau. Il ajouta encore deux assiettes, des couteaux et des fourchettes.

- Elle ne va pas tarder venir, ***-il d'un air fin, sans regarder le jeune homme comme s'il avait compris qu'il fallait donner plus de discrộtion ses paroles.

"Cette fois, s'ộtonna Germain tout allộchộ, on jurerait un rendez-vous galant !..." Mais peine allait-il s'en rộjouir que la vieille dame entra. " C'est donc pour elle !" songea-t-il, dộỗu. Mais elle ne s'assit pas dans le fauteuil et s'installa modestement sur une chaise.

- Tu as bien voyagộ ? Tu n'es pas trop fatiguộ ?

- Heu... non, rộpon***-il.

- Cela doit te changer de revenir ici ?

- Pour ỗa oui.

Germain voyait peu peu en elle une autre personne, une femme beaucoup plus jeune sous les traits d'une vieillarde. Ce qui ộtait beau, ce qui ộtait vrai, c'ộtaient les yeux. Ils s'agrandissaient mesure qu'il les contemplait, ils devenaient brillants et doux. La bouche de mờme : elle ne tombait plus, amốre, comme aux premiers instants, mais les lốvres plus roses souriaient.

- Je me languis, je me languis d'ờtre seule, ***-elle encore. Mais tu avais tellement envie d'aller ộtudier...

"Si c'est pour un ộtudiant qu'on me prend, il n'y a pas tellement de diffộrence !" Et il se sentit plus l'aise.

Le cocher revint avec un plat de viande sốche et du pain. Respectueux, il remplit les deux verres et se retira sans mot dire.

- Comme ỗa doit ờtre une autre vie qu'ici, l-bas ! *** encore la femme.

- Peut-ờtre moins qu'on le croit, fit-il tout hasard.

Il mangeait de grand appộtit. La course et la bizarrerie de sa situation l'avaient creusộ. Mais il mangeait seul.

- Vous n'avez pas faim ? demanda-t-il.

Il n'eut pas de rộponse. Tout d'abord il ne l'avait pas remarquộ, mais il s'aperỗut bientụt qu'elle s'ộtait un peu rapprochộe et que sa main, sa vieille main, beaucoup plus vieille que les yeux et la bouche, couverte de taches rousses, les doigts tordus et la peau flasque, rampait lentement vers la sienne. En s'arrờtant, en feignant vouloir autre chose, mais elle se rapprochait. Elle possộdait sa vie propre, une vie de bờte. Il en eut peur, il voulut cacher la sienne sous la table. Trụp tard ! La bờte avait saisi son poignet et le serrait. Si fort que Germain cria. Il ne reconnaissait plus la visage de la femme. Les yeux trop grands ộtaient devenus hagards, la bouche tremblait, murmurait des phrases qu'il ne pouvait comprendre.

Mais le cochet arrivait. Il prit simplement les deux mains de la vieille et l'entraợna hors de la chambre. Elle se laissa faire, docile soudain, humble.

Quand il revint, Germain trốs põle s'ộtait levộ. Il avait compris.

- Elle est folle ?

- Ah ! si vous saviez ! Mais c'est la premiốre fois qu'elle fait cela. La premiốre ! Pourquoi ?

Il dộvisageait Germain d'un air fõchộ.

- Peut-ờtre, ajouta-t-il, parce que vous lui ressemblez trop.

- qui ? qui je ressemble ? hurla Germain.

- son fils. Je peux bien vous le dire maintenant. Il est mort, il y a vingt ans, le jour de Põques ! En descendant du train... Le train lui a passộ dessus. Il ộtait aux ộtudes. Il revenait pour les vacances. C'ộtait comme aujourd'hui.

- Affreux...

- J'allais toujours le chercher la gare... Il y a avait le foehn, et vous lui ressemblez , comme vous lui ressemblez !

- Mais pourquoi, pourquoi m'avoir fait venir ?

- Elle n'a jamais voulu croire sa mort. Elle m'envoyait le chercher avec le fiacre... Chaque annộe, je ramassais quelqu'un sur la route. Si possible jeune, un monsieur, ou mờme n'importe qui ! Elle ộtait contente, et lui aussi : il dợnait. Mme Victoire, elle, restait tranquille le regarder. Ensuite il repartait. Ni vu ni connu.

Il montra la porte au jeune homme :

- Mais vous, vous l'avez ressuscitộ ! Vous l'avez trop ressuscitộ. moi aussi, il me semblait tout le temps que c'ộtait lui. Adieu.

- Adieu, *** Germain.

Et le vent de Põques le reprit dans sa puissante main, effaỗant sur lui les traces de l'autre.

Username da co gang dich truyen nay ra tieng Anh, nhung vi trinh do tieng Anh cung nhu tieng Phap deu co han nen chac chan ban dich nay co nhieu sai sot. Chang han nhu gio foehn o Thuy Si minh khong biet dich sang tieng Anh la gi nen van cu giu la foehn. Moi cac ban thuong thuc va gop y
Café of travelers

S. Corinna Bille

A violent wind of Easter blew on the valley of the Rhone: the foehn ! It took you in its paw and shook you like a goblet, mixing the smoke of the bush fires with whirlwinds of dust and their embers to a high wall of peach petals.

A young man was walking on the road, sometimes flanked by a poplar, last surviving of a magnificent alley cut down today (not by wind but by men), that, in one century, had given to travelers its shade and its organ music. Germain had descended of the train at the last but one station, preferring to arrive on foot in the city of his childhood. " I will be quite early at home. While waiting, I will have taken a big bowl of air, the air of my country that doesn't resemble no where else and that I miss in my years of study... " He saw a carriage coming to him. On a road where only cars, buses and trucks traveled, he was surprised to see a coach of this kind appear.

The carriage advanced slowly, with some hesitation, and Germain perceived that the coachman was sleeping . He hailed him loudly. The half-prostrate man jumped up and his bust rose above of the bench. Seeing his red face and his coarse air, Germain expected a broadside of injuries. But it was not.

- Excuse, gentleman, get up the coach, gentleman...

While he still stayed on the road, astonished of this invite, he heard another one that grumbled humbly:
- Go up, gentleman, I pray you, the place is for you.

This invite would be taken for someone else.

- I believe that you are mistaken...

- No, gentleman, I am never mistaken. You or any one else, for us it is the same.

- Where do you go? wondered Germain, more and more dazed.

- We must go there, said the man with a bad sudden mood that threatened to grow.

- Ah! but... I was going to Sions and you, you make the opposite.

The coachman didn't understand or, at less, didn't hear him.

- Take place, I tell you, we will arrive late!

Germain stepped over the step and his weight made creak the jalopy. The strange coachman threw him a blanket without looking at it. The carriage emitted a sour odor of wine and old leather crackled.

"He is completely drunk", thought Germain again while seeing him moving wildly about on his seat and whipping the horse. But this fury didn't seem to move the poor horse that pursued its calm walking. The coachman turned around toward the student:

- You won't repent of having come. Mrs. Victoire will take care of you. She has never done so much to her own customers!

He now spoke with dignity. Wind avoided him, didn't dare to feel him; he rushed into the top of the coach and inflated it. It took a short cut that led toward the Rhone. Surrounded by prairies where willows grew, a hamlet raised between two hills.

They stopped before a house that carried thick brown, faded letters on the facade:
Café of Travelers

" Good, thought Germain, here the adventure will come to an end. I am going to give up being the one that they believe. And I will be able to leave on the highway to arrive in Sion, just in time." He jumped off the coach. But the man pushed him in a dilapidated corridor and he was in front of an old woman who exclaimed:

- At last, you are here.

She contemplated him avidly, coughed and said knowingly:

- I have been waiting for you.

The young man, although intrigued, was still rather cold.

- Robert, lead him to go up the small lounge.

The small lounge was a horrible chamber with the red blood floor, lubricated on the scum, containing a round table, an old piano where pompoms of a carpet were hung on the hook, a worn-out armchair and some chairs.

Germain, taken to the pitfall, remained standing, watching by the window as to look for an exit. Through the curtain, he saw roofs of barns and the golden slope of hills. The uncommunicative odor of the room was so arduous that he regretted bitterly the tepid blow of the foehn.

He tended toward the door. But the coachman, who had become wine waiter, entered, blocking the passage by a large tray with a bottle and two glasses. Then closing again the door behind him carefully, he approached the table where he put down his burden.

- You are well here, isn't this, gentleman?

He pushed the armchair close to the table in front of Germain and retired.

The young man, believing that he was going to clink glasses with this man or the old lady, regretted having left alone. " what the hell it is, for who do they take me? " The coachman came back, he had forgotten to put a tablecloth; with a ridiculous readiness, he removed the tray, put it on a chair and unfolded a white tablecloth, put back over the tray. He added again two plates, knives and forks.

- She is not going to linger to come, he says, without looking at the young man as if he had understood that it was necessary to give more discretion to his words.

" This time, wondered Germain, enticed, one would swear an elegant appointment!..." But hardly was he going to be delighted of this, the old lady entered. " It is therefore for her! " he thought, disappointed. But she didn't sit down in the armchair and got settled modestly on a chair.

- Have you well traveled? You are not too tired?

- Heu... no, he answered.

- You have to change to come back here?

- Yes.

Germain saw her little by little as another person, a younger woman under the features of an old one. What was beautiful, what was true, was the eyes. They enlarged as he contemplated them, they became brilliant and soft. The mouth in the same way: she didn't fall anymore, bitter, as at the first instants, but the pinker lips smiled.

- I languish, I languish for living alone, she said again. But you wanted so much to go to study...

" If they take me like a student, there is not much difference !" And he felt gladder.

The coachman came back with a dish of dry meat and bread. Respectfully, he fills the two glasses and retired without saying.

- Because over there that must be a life other than here! the woman said again.

- Maybe, said he randomly.

He ate with great appetite. The race and the peculiarity of his situation had made him hungry. But he ate alone.

- You are not hungry? he asked.

He didn't receive an answer. First of all he had not noticed her, but he perceived soon that she had come closer a little and that her hand, her old hand, older than eyes and the mouth, covered by red spots, the twisted fingers and the flabby skin, crawled slowly toward to his. Stopping, pretending to want something else, but she came closer. She possessed her own life, like the life of a beast. He was afraid of her, he wanted to hide under the table. Too late! The beast had seized his wrist and had tightened it. So strong that Germain shouted. He didn't recognize the woman's face anymore. The too big eyes had become haggard, the mouth trembled, whispered sentences that he could not understand.

But the coachman arrived. He took the two hands of the old woman and dragged her out of the room. She let he do, docile sudden, humble.

When he came back, Germain, very pale, had risen. He had understood.

- Is she mad?

- Ah! if only you knew! But it is the first time that she behaves like this. The first time! Why?

He stared Germain angrily.

- Maybe, he added, because you look like him too much.

- Like who? Who do I look like? squalled Germain.

- Like her son. Now I can tell it well to you. He died twenty years ago, the day of Easter! While getting off the train... The train passed over him. He was at studies. He was coming back for vacation. It was like today.

- Awful...

- I always went to look for him at the station... There was the foehn, and you look like him, as you look like him!

- But why, why was I forced to come here?

- She didn't want to believe his death. She sent me to look for him with the carriage... Every year, I pick up someone on the road. So possible young, a gentleman, or even whoever! She was happy, and he also: he dined. Mrs. Victoire, she, remained to look at him alone. Then he left. Neither seen nor known.

He showed the door to the young man:

- But you, you revived him! You really revived him! It seemed to me too all the time that it was him. Farewell.

- Farewell, said Germain.

And the wind of Easter took him in its powerful hand, effacing the trace of the other travelers before him.
Translated into English by Username