16.
I had orders to find myself in front of the Chantiers station at seven the Monday I was to begin work. I became preoccupied with that morning, because I sleep like a lead weight and I feared I might not wake up in time. There'll be mayhem, I said to myself, if I show up late: the tramways will get backed up and all of Versailles will be yelling at me. The idea bothered me so much that for two nights I barely closed an eye.
The result was that by Sunday evening I was falling down with fatique. At dinner with Maria I kept poking my nose into the plate after each mouthful. I got through the meal by her reminding me to pinch myself from time to time, and it was only thanks to that that I ate anything at all.
Once dinner was over I asked Maria to lend me her alarm clock. I also borrowed Madame's. With mine that made three. I stood them on plates to make them noisier.
Set at ease a little, I got into bed, and I hope you'll believe me when I tell you it wasn't long before I was snoring. I slept like a stump, for I don't know how long, without stirring a limb . . . when there erupted a racket like you can't imagine, a clanging worse than a fire alarm. I shot upright in my bed, wide awake, in a total panic, wondering if it was an air raid or the end of the world.
I could hear comings and goings in the apartment, and a voice said, "It seems to come from Bécassine's room." My door opened and Madame and Maria came in. "What's going on?" demanded Madame? "What is this din?" Maria saw the alarm clocks and cried furiously, "I told you it was a scheme of this crackpot. Waking Christian people at this hour! Turn off your alarms at least."
Frazzled as I was, and my thoughts not very clear, I couldn't find the off switch, so I crammed my pillow onto the three alarms. That deadened the noise a little, we could hear ourselves a little better, and I explained what I had done and why.
17.
"Fine, fine, " said Madame. "It's nothing but a good intention that took a bad turn. Maria, let us go back to bed. Bécassine, lie down a little. You have the time. It'll be a busy day." But I was too afraid of going back to sleep. I got up, washed and dressed, and took hold of my calot. But then I felt sleep gaining on me, and as I didn't want to make a noise by walking around in my room, I tried standing on one foot, first the one, and then the other. Ah, well, it wasn't enough. Sometimes it's a drawback to be the kind of sleeper I am. I don't know for sure what happened next. Probably I fell asleep on one foot, and lost my balance without it waking me up.
What I am sure of is that when I came to I was spread out on the bedroom rug, and Maria was shaking me and saying, "Get a move on, this time. It's half past six. The young people of today don't know when to sleep or when to get up."
Half past six! I had all of Versailles to cross! It didn't take me long to find my feet and tumble down the stairs. I galloped down the street, holding onto the calot which was dancing on my head. Already the trams were passing, empty, on the way from the depot to their stations. I could read on top of them: Clagny-Orangerie and Glatigny-Grandchamp. Those made no difference to me, they weren't my route. But soon came a Chantiers-Porchefontaine, mine; and, my bad luck, it was running faster than the others. I ran along beside it with all my speed, but it would have taken a racehorse to catch it. I was about to give up, unable to do more, when it occurred to me to shout, "Stop! Pick me up!"
The tram slowed. I jumped into the cab and when I had caught my breath a little, I said, "Thank you very much, m'sieur driver, you've done me a great service by helping me avoid being late my first day on the trams." He said, "You'd be our new employee that they told me about, the one named Bécassine?" "The same, in person." "I'm called Father Lemboîté, a name which I'll explain to you. It's good work to be in the trams when the weather is nice, the rails aren't cluttered, and there's electricity in the motor. Hold on and give that lever a push. We'll put on a little speed in your honour." I pushed the lever, we took on the momentum of an express train, and in no time we arrived at Chantiers.
"Five minutes ahead of schedule," said Lemboîté. "While I grab a bite, why don't you get acquainted with Virginie Patate the fare-collector, who'll show you what's what. I'll see you in front of the station."
18.
I went over to my fare-collector and delivered a little speech I had prepared in my head. I told her I was happy to be under her direction, that I would do my best to satisfy her, etc etc. She hardly listened to me, and turned her back, so that I concluded she was a proud person and not very polite. Eventually she replied, "We talk about the tram all the time. It doesn't really interest me, the tram. Until it departs, look at this. How beautiful."
She was talking about some sacks that were being unloaded from a truck in front of the station. The seam on one of the sacks was torn, allowing a view of the potatoes within. Virginie gazed at them lovingly, caressed them, repeating, "How beautiful! How beautiful!" I picked up a potato, and, to say something, I observed, "It's de la vitelotte, extra quality." "De la what?" "De la vitelotte." Then, suddenly, this woman I believed to be proud and rude took me in her arms and placed two big kisses on my cheeks, and said, "Please excuse me, it's stronger than I am. I'm so happy to be with someone who understands potatoes. You said la vitelotte. Isn't that a lovely word? A lovely word. Thank you for teaching it to me. I'll give you another hug." She added two more big kisses.
You can imagine my stupefaction. I even felt a little worried and I asked myself if I was dealing with a crazy person. Luckily my embarrassments were ended by the big voice of Lemboîté who yelled, "Hey! Patate! Hey! Bécassine! Come on, it's time!" We hurried to the tram.
I'll tell you later what happened that morning. For now, I have to finish introducing you to my new friend, and tell you the conversation I had with her. It was at our midday break. Virginie proposed a lunch on the grass. We bought some bread, some pork, a bottle of beer, and we sat down in a little corner, fresh and shaded, not fifty metres from the Porchefontaine gate, where our tram was stopped. At first, nobody said very much. I ate with a good appetite and remembered that it's bad manners to speak with your mouth full. Virginee hardly ate.
She looked at the trees, the grass, and she repeated, "How beautiful! How beautiful! Ah! the countryside, the plants, the earth, nothing can compare." In a moment she was up and had pulled a turf out of the ground nearby. She rolled it around in her hands, and said, "Ah! the earth, beautiful earth like this, I could just eat it up." Then she came over to me and she asked me, "Don't you love all that, yourself?" "Sure," I replied, "but in Clocher-les-Bécasses, the place where I was born, you always see the earth, the plants and the countryside ..."
19.
"... so it doesn't get me very worked up." As I had told her the place of my birth, I thought I could without indiscretion ask her the same. I was on my knees at that moment, gathering up the greasy wrappers and the remains of our lunch.
She took my hands and, red and shame-faced as if she were confessing a great sin, she said, "You're going to hate me, you the farm-girl. I am from Belleville." I assured her that it was nothing to be ashamed of, and that, in the final tally, not everyone could be from Clocher-les-Bécasses. That seem to relieve her, and she told me her life story.
From a young age she worked at the chocolate factory of Guérin-Boutron on rue de Maroc. She never saw anything but the big gloomy houses and chemical works of her neighbourhood. For greenery, only the grassy slopes of the fortifications.
And then she got married to another worker from the factory. One month later the war broke out. Her husband, declared unfit for military service, remained at the factory, which was operating day and night. They were both on the night shift. "You can't imagine, Bécassine, how sad it is to work at night ... it's frightening ... you are always afraid you'll fall into a tank of chocolate. All through the night shift I dreamed of sun, of open air, of countryside. The best day of my life was when my husband found another job in Versailles, and I got myself on the trams. I see the trees, I see the plants. I think of other things than chocolate. Hold on, breathe the smell of that horsecart going by. It's manure. What a lovely smell manure has!"
It was time to get back to work. We were at the line, next to the park gate, when Virginie spoke once more: "Patate is not my real name. It's Father Lemboîté who called me that, teasing me about my love for potatoes, the only vegetable I can recognize. He's a man of the town. He doesn't care about anything but the tram and its mechanisms. He's a brave man, but he doesn't understand me. You, I can tell that you understand me. You're a country girl. Let me give you a hug." We embraced one more time and hurried to the tram.
There were a lot of travellers heading toward the tram. "People are funny," said Virginie. "They could walk in the country, but they take the tram to get to town. People are funny." Everyone got on.
Father Lemboîté was in good humour. "Everything is ready," he shouted. "I have electricity in my wire, just enough, as much as it takes, but not too much. Forward -- " "Forward the wheelbarrow," finished Virginie with a laugh. And the tram started up so abruptly that I took a tumble.
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