The Flood | Page 9

As they drew
themselves up on the roof, I cried:
"And Aunt Agathe? And Jacques? And Rose?"
They shook their heads. Large tears coursed down their cheeks. They
explained to me that Jacques had struck his head against a beam and
that Rose had been carried down with her husband's body, to which she
clung. Aunt Agathe had not reappeared.
Raising myself, I looked toward the roof, where Aimee stood. The
water was rising constantly. Aimee was now silent. I could see her
upstretched arms holding her children out of the water. Then they all
sank, the water closed over them beneath the drowsy light of the moon.
V.
There were only five of us on the roof now. The water left us but a
narrow band along the ridge. One of the chimneys had just been carried
away. We had to raise Marie and Veronique, who were still
unconscious, and support them almost in a standing position to prevent
the waves washing over their legs. At last, their senses returned, and
our anguish increased upon seeing them wet, shivering and crying
miserably that they did not wish to die.
The end had come. The destroyed village was marked by a few vestiges
of walls. Alone, the church reared its steeple intact, from whence came

the voices--a murmur of human beings in a refuge. There were no
longer any sounds of falling houses, like a cart of stones suddenly
discharged. It was as if we were abandoned, shipwrecked, a thousand
miles from land.
One moment we thought we heard the dip of oars. Ah! what hopeful
music! How we all strained our eyes into space! We held our breath.
But we could see nothing. The yellow sheet stretched away, spotted
with black shadows. But none of those shadows--tops of trees,
remnants of walls--moved. Driftwood, weeds, empty barrels caused us
false joy. We waved our handkerchiefs until, realizing our error, we
again succumbed to our anxiety.
"Ah, I see it!" cried Gaspard, suddenly. "Look over there. A large
boat!"
And he pointed out a distant speck. I could see nothing, neither could
Pierre. But Gaspard insisted it was a boat. The sound of oars became
distinct. At last, we saw it. It was proceeding slowly and seemed to be
circling about us without approaching. I remember that we were like
mad. We raised our arms in our fury; we shouted with all our might.
And we insulted the boat, called it cowardly. But, dark and silent, it
glided away slowly. Was it really a boat? I do not know to this day.
When it disappeared it carried our last hope.
We were expecting every second to be engulfed with the house. It was
undermined and was probably supported by one solid wall, which, in
giving way, would pull everything with it. But what terrified me most
was to feel the roof sway under our feet. The house would perhaps hold
out overnight, but the tiles were sinking in, beaten and pierced by
beams. We had taken refuge on the left side on some solid rafters. Then
these rafters seemed to weaken. Certainly they would sink if all five of
us remained in so small a space.
For some minutes my brother Pierre had been twisting his soldierly
mustache, frowning and muttering to himself. The growing danger that
surrounded him and against which his courage availed nothing, was
wearing out his endurance. He spat two or three times into the water,
with an expression of contemptuous anger. Then, as we sank lower, he
made up his mind; he started down the roof.
"Pierre! Pierre!" I cried, fearing to comprehend.
He turned and said quietly:

"Adieu, Louis! You see, it is too long for me. And it will leave more
room for you."
And, first throwing in his pipe, he plunged, adding:
"Good night! I have had enough!"
He did not come up. He was not a strong swimmer, and he probably
abandoned himself, heart-broken at the death of our dear ones and at
our ruin.
Two o'clock sounded from the steeple of the church. The night would
soon end-- that horrible night already so filled with agony and tears.
Little by little, beneath our feet, the small dry space grew smaller. The
current had changed again. The drift, passed to the right of the village,
floating slowly, as if the water, nearing its highest level, was reposing,
tired and lazy.
Gaspard suddenly took off his shoes and his shirt. I watched him for a
moment as he wrung his hands. When I questioned him he said:
"Listen, grandfather; it is killing me to wait. I cannot stay here. Let me
do as I wish. I will save her."
He was speaking of Veronique. I opposed him. He would never have
the strength to carry