Evening star., 1922-07-23
THE KNIFE
BY Jean Rameau-


He questioned the man and made
him talk.
But I recognize you, my good fell
low! Haven't you been here before %
The patient protested.
II? Never, monsieur. have never
been here"
Are you sure? Come! 1t was about
fifty years ago. a little further on. on
this Same road. one night in August
Didn't you lose your knife one night
in August?"
'T. monsieur? Never! Not I. I
never lost a knife"
AS he said this his grizzled Jaw
trembled. A last tooth showed its
broken point.
Good! Good. You have a high
fever. You shiver from your head
to your toes. How you shiver! l
will leave you a prescription"
The doctor drew a note book from
his pocket On the pretext of sharp
ening his pencil he also pulled out
the knife. Without taking his eyes
of the gypsy he slowly manipulated
the knife. let the blade spring back,
wiped it. and made it eat into the
pencil with little slashes-for ten
seconds. for twenty seconds.
He saw the sweat form in pearls on
the sick mans brow. his chest heavc
and his eyes turn away.
In heavens name! It is you" the
doctor cried. TT was you who at
tackled me one night with this knife.
All. you rascal! I have you at last"
RuT the doctor turned around. At
the sound of these violent words
the gypsy woman had approached
And a child arrived also-a boy of
four or five years, dark, fine, adorable
under his rags. In his arms he car
ried a fresh loaf of bread, which the
baker had Just made, no doubt-a big
loaf Of bread right out of the oven,
smelling like bread from heaven. The
child seemed proud to hold the loaf in
his arms. He pressed it against his
breast like a trophy, like a friend
All, the bread Of France! Always de-
licious in the mouths Of the poor,
bread the color of cheese and of the
sun, which sometimes shows a dimple
along its crust as If the fingers of an
gels had kneaded it!
Tempted. the child suddenly put his
lips to the bread And, since the
mothers eyes gave him permission, he
bit into 1t delightedly with his four or
five new teeth.
The doctor sighed. He felt his
heart travelling backward, as if to find
its youth. He closed his lids over his
moist eyes. He still had the knife in
his hand. What should he do? De-
nounce this miserable creature? What
would be the good of that? The stat
ute of limitations had run long ago.
Moreover, this old man, who was go
ing to die. who had already expiated
his crime. perhaps, even If he had not
been in jail. . All! who knows
how much suffering there Is In a
transsressor's lifei Who knows If a
man who lives SO long has not atoned
for everything, little by little. in liv-
ing out his days?
So many Of those days weigh on him
as II they were executioners!.
The doctor wrote the prescription
He put 1t on the sick bed. Then he
looked again at the child. who con-
tinued to bite into the bread.
Wait" he said. wait, my little
fellow! am going to cut it for you.
It will be easier"
And with the knife which had been
an instrument. Of crime. the knife once
stained with blood. the old doctor
his hands trembling, too; more, per-
haps. than those Of the sick gypsy
sliced OF . big piece Of bread and
offered It. to the boy.
The knife had been cleansed and re-
habilitated.
Hontanet stuck it into the bread as
tho other had stuck 1t into his back
fifty years before. Then, with lower
ed head, he clambered down the shaky
steps Of the wagon.
Monsieur! Your knife! You forgot
your knife" cried the gypsy woman.
But he pretended not to hear her.