Mystery & Suspense - Daily Short Stories

The Parrot - Guy de Maupassant

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Duration:: 14m
Broadcast on:: 29 Jun 2024
Audio Format:: mp3

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We invite you to try Soul Good Media free for one month. Explore our extensive collection and find the perfect audio content that resonates with you. Join our community of passionate listeners and unlock a world of knowledge, relaxation, and inspiration. Visit soulgoodmedia.com today and start your free trial. That's S-O-L-G-O-O-D-M-E-D-I-A. . . The Parrot by Geed Mopesson. 1. Everybody in Ficomp knew Mother Patan's story. She had certainly been unfortunate with her husband for in his lifetime he used to beat her, just as wheat is threshed in the barn. He was a master of a fishing bark and had married her formerly because she was pretty, although poor. Patan was a good sailor, but brutal. He used to frequent father Obazin, where he would usually drink four or five glasses of brandy. On lucky days eight or ten glasses and even more, according to his mood. The brandy was served to the customers by father Obaz's daughter, a pleasing brunette who attracted people to the house only by her pretty face, for nothing had ever been gossiped about her. Patan, when he entered the inn, would be satisfied to look at her and to compliment her politely and respectfully. After he had had his first glass of brandy, he would already find her much nicer. At the second he would wink. At the third he would say, "If you were only willing, maemzel des rei," without ever finishing his sentence. At the fourth he would try to hold her back by her skirt in order to kiss her. And when he went as high as ten, it was father Obaz who brought him the remaining drinks. The old innkeeper, who knew all the tricks of the trade, made Deseret walk about between the tables in order to increase the consumption of drinks. And Deseret, who was a worthy daughter of father Obaz, flitted around among the benches and joked with them, her lips smiling and her eyes sparkling. Patan got so well accustomed to Deseret's face that he thought of it even while at sea, when throwing out his nets, in storms or in calms, on moonlit or dark evenings. He thought of her while holding the tiller in the stern of his boat, while his four companions were slumbering with their heads on their arms. He always saw her smiling, pouring out the yellow brandy with a peculiar shoulder movement and then exclaiming as she turned away, "There, now are you satisfied?" He saw her so much in his mind's eye that he was overcome by any resistable desire to marry her, and not being able to hold out any longer, he asked for her hand. He was rich, owned his own vessel, his nets and a little house at the foot of the hill on the retinue, where his father Obaz had nothing. The marriage was therefore eagerly agreed upon, and the wedding took place as soon as possible, as both parties were desirous for the affair to be concluded as early as convenient. Three days after the wedding, Patan could no longer understand how he had ever imagined Deseret to be different from other women. What a fool he had been to encumber himself with a penniless creature who had undoubtedly invagled him with some drug which he had put in his brandy. He would curse all day long, break his pipe with his teeth and maul his crew. After he had sworn by every known term at everything that came his way, he would rid himself of his remaining anger on the fish and lobsters, which he pulled from the nets and threw into the baskets amid oaths and foul language. When he returned home, he would find his wife, Father Obaz's daughter, within reach of his mouth and hand, and it was not long before he treated her like the lowest creature in the world. As she listened calmly accustomed to paternal violence, he grew exasperated at her quiet, and one evening he beat her, then life at his home became unbearable. For ten years, the principal topic of conversation on the retinue was about the beatings that Patan gave his wife and his manner of cursing at her for the least thing. He could, indeed, curse with a richness of vocabulary and a roundness of tone unequalled by other men in Fachamp. As soon as his ship was sighted at the entrance of the harbor returning from the fishing expedition, everyone awaited the first volley he would hurl from the bridge as soon as he perceived his wife's white cap. Standing at the stern, he would steer, his eye fixed on the bows and on the sail, and not withstanding the difficulty of the narrow passage and the height of the turbulent waves. He would search among the watching women and try to recognize his wife, Father Obaz's daughter, the wretch. Then, as soon as he saw her not withstanding the noise of the wind and the waves, he would let loose upon her with such power and volubility that everyone would laugh, although they pitied her greatly. When he arrived at the dock, he would relieve his mind while unloading the fish in such an expressive manner that he attracted around him all the loafers of the neighborhood. The words left his mouth, sometimes like shots from a cannon, short and terrible, sometimes like peels of thunder which roll and rumble for five minutes. Such a hurricane of oaths that he seemed to have in his lungs one of the storms of the eternal Father. When he left his ship and found himself face to face with her surrounded by all the gossips of the neighborhood, he would bring up a new cargo of insults and bring her back to their dwelling. She in front, he behind, she weeping, he yelling at her. At last, when alone with her behind closed doors, he would thrash her on the slightest pretext. The least thing was sufficient to make him raise his hand, and when he had once begun he did not stop, but he would throw into her face the true motive for his anger. At each blow he would roar, "There you beggar, there you wretch, there you popper." What a bright thing I did when I rinsed my mouth with your rascal of a father's apology for Brandy. The poor woman lived in continual fear, in a ceaseless trembling of body and soul, an everlasting expectation of outrageous thrashings. This lasted ten years. She was so timorous that she would grow pale whenever she spoke to anyone, and she thought of nothing but the blows with which she was threatened, and she became thinner, more yellow and drier than a smoked fish. One night when her husband was at sea she was suddenly awakened by the wild roaring of the wind. She sat up in her bed, trembling, but as she heard nothing more she lay down again. Almost immediately there was a roar in the chimney which shook the entire house. It seemed to cross the heavens like a pack of furious animals, snorting and roaring. Then she rose and rushed to the harbor. Other women were arriving from all sides carrying lanterns. The men were also gathering, and all were watching the foaming crests of the breaking wave. The storm lasted fifteen hours. Eleven sailors never returned. Patan was among them. In the neighborhood of Dieppe, the wreck of his bark, the jeune amelie, was found. The bodies of his sailors were found near Saint-Valerie, but his body was never recovered. As his vessel seemed to have been cut in two, his wife expected and feared his return for a long time, for if there had been a collision he alone might have been picked up and carried a far off. Little by little she grew accustomed to the thought that she was rid of him, although she would start every time that a neighbor, a beggar or a peddler would enter suddenly. One afternoon, about four years after the disappearance of her husband, while she was walking along the rural jeve, she stopped before the house of an old sea captain, who had recently died and whose furniture was for sale. Just at that moment, a parrot was at auction. He had green feathers and a blue head, and was watching everybody with a displeased look. "Three franks!" cried the auctioneer. "A bird that can talk like a lawyer. Three franks!" A friend of the Patan woman nudged her and said, "You ought to buy that, you who are rich. It would be good company for you. That bird is worth more than thirty franks. Anyhow, you can always sell it for twenty or twenty-five." Patan's widow added 50 santine, and the bird was given her in a little cage, which she carried away. She took it home, and as she was opening the wire door in order to give it something to drink, he bit her finger and drew blood. "Oh, how naughty he is," she said. Nevertheless, she gave it some hemp seed and corn and watched it pruning its feathers as it glanced warily at its new home and its new mistress. On the following morning, just as day was breaking, the Patan woman distinctly heard a loud, deep, roaring voice calling, "Are you going to get up, Carian?" Her fear was so great that she hid her head under the sheets. For when Patan was with her as soon as he would open his eyes, he would shout those well-known words into her ears. Trembling, rolled into a ball, her back prepared for the thrashing which she already expected. Her face buried in the pillows, she murmured, "Good Lord, he is here, good Lord, he is here, good Lord, he has come back." Minutes passed. No noise disturbed the quiet room. Then, trembling, she stuck her head out of the bed, sure that he was there, watching ready to beat her. Except for a ray of sun shining through the window she saw nothing, and she said to herself, "He must be hidden." She waited a long time, and then, gaining courage, she said to herself, "I must have dreamed it seeing there is nobody here." A little reassured, she closed her eyes. When from quite near a furious voice the thunderous voice of the drowned man could be heard crying, "Say, when in the name of all that's holy are you going to get up, you." She jumped out of bed, moved by obedience, by the passive obedience of a woman accustomed to blows, and who still remembers and always will remember that voice. She said, "Here I am, Patan, what do you want?" But Patan did not answer. Then, at a complete loss, she looked around her. Then, in the chimney and under the bed, and finally sank into a chair, wild with anxiety, convinced that Patan's soul alone was there near her, and that he had returned in order to torture her. Suddenly, she remembered the loft in order to reach which one had to take a ladder. Surely, he must have hidden there in order to surprise her. He must have been held by savages on some distant shore, unable to escape until now, and he had returned worse than ever. There was no doubting the quality of that voice. She raised her head and asked, "Are you up there, Patan?" Patan did not answer. Then, with a terrible fear which made her heart tremble, she climbed the ladder, opened the skylight, looked, saw nothing, entered, looked about, and found nothing. Sitting on some straw, she began to cry. But while she was weeping, overcome by a poignant and supernatural terror, she heard Patan talking in the room below. He seemed less angry, and he was saying, "Nasty weather, fierce wind, nasty weather, I haven't eaten, dammit." She cried through the ceiling, "Here I am, Patan, I am getting your meal ready, don't get angry." She ran down again. There was no one in the room. She felt herself growing weak as if death were touching her, and she tried to run and get help from the neighbors when a voice near her cried out. "I haven't had my breakfast by, gah." And the parrot in his cage watched her with his round, knowing wicked eye. She too looked at him wildly murmuring, "Ah, so it's you." He shook his head and continued, "Just you wait, I'll teach you how to loaf." What happened within her? She felt she understood that it was he, the dead man who had come back, who had disguised himself in the feathers of this bird in order to continue to torment her, who had cursed as formerly all day long and bite her and swear at her in order to attract the neighbors and make them laugh. Then she rushed for the cage and seized the bird, which scratched and tore her flesh with its claws and beak. But she held it with all her strength between her hands. She threw it on the ground and rolled over it with the frenzy of one possessed. She crushed it and finally made of it nothing but a little green flabby lump which no longer moved or spoke. Then she wrapped it in a cloth, as in a shroud, and she went out in her nightgown barefoot. She crossed the dock against which the choppy waves of the sea were beating. And she shook the cloth and let drop this little dead thing which looked like so much grass. Then she returned, threw herself on her knees before the empty cage and, overcome by what she had done, kneeled and prayed for forgiveness, as if she had committed some heinous crime. End of The Parrot. Hey there, it's Solomon from Solgood Media. A lot of our listeners have asked how to get ad-free access to our podcast. You asked and we answered, we're offering an exclusive one month free trial to our ad-free streaming platform, packed with over 500 audiobooks, meditation sounds, and engaging podcasts. No strings attached, just pure listening pleasure. Sign up today at solgoodmedia.com and dive into a world of stories and sounds that inspire and relax. 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