The Little Man From Archangel by Georges Simenon

occasions he would think of Doussia, whom he would picture as each of the heroines in turn.
    After that the gas bill was brought and he opened the till, paid, intended to go upstairs to finish off the laundry, when a young man brought in some school books to sell to him. Jonas was sure that he would come in a week or two to buy them back, that he was selling them only because he was short of pocket money. But as other peoples' affairs were no concern of his, he made an offer.
    'Is that all?'
    He was still a businessman.
    'If they were not in such bad condition . . .'
    There were three shelves of them, all school books, and it was these that brought in the most money, because the editions seldom changed, and the same books would pass through his hands a great many times in a few years. There were some he recognized, by a stain on the cover, for example, before he so much as touched them.
    In the end he was able to go upstairs, finish off his list, tie up the dirty washing in a pillow case which he hid under the counter to await the arrival of the laundry man. It did not seem odd to him to send Gina's washing to the laundry, In his mind she was still, always would be, part of the household.
    At ten o'clock he went over to Le Bouc's bar, where there was only a lorry driver whom he didn't know. He heard the usual.
    "Morning, Monsieur Jonas.'
    And he gave the ritual response:
    "Morning, Fernand. An espresso coffee, please.'
    'There you are.'
    He picked up his two bits of sugar and began to unwrap them. The driver held his glass of white wine in his hand and said nothing, all the time keeping an eye on his lorry through the window. Contrary to his usual habit, Le Bouc worked the percolator in silence, and Jonas thought he seemed uncomfortable.
    He had been expecting one question, and as it did not come, he volunteered:
    'Gina hasn't come back.'
    Fernand murmured, placing the steaming cup on the counter:
    'So they tell me.'
    So they had been talking about it here too. Not Frédo, surely, who did not frequent the bars of the Vieux-Marché. Was it Louis? But how would Louis have known, since his son, when he left, had gone off in the direction of the town?
    They had certainly questioned the young cripple as she stepped out of the bus!
    He couldn't understand it any longer. There was something entirely beyond him in this undercurrent of distrust. The time that Gina had been away for three days there had been no talk and, at most, a few people had given her a lewd glance. Only the butcher had commented: 'How's your wife?' He had replied: 'Very well, thank you.'
    And Ancel had exclaimed, with a conspiratorial look at the assembled company: 'Heavens above!'
    Why were they making a tragedy out of what had amused them only six months earlier? If he had been alone with Le Bouc, he would have been tempted to ask him. He probably would not have done so when all was said and done, from pure shame, but he would have felt like it.
    And why did he need to explain himself, as though he felt guilty? Even now, he could not prevent himself from saying, with ill-affected indifference:
    'She must have been held up.'
    Le Bouc contented himself with a sigh, and avoided his gaze: 'No doubt.'
    What had he done to them? Yesterday morning, when Gina had already departed, he still felt he was on good terms with them.
    They were letting him drop all of a sudden, without a word of explanation, without letting him show his defence. He had done nothing, nothing! Was he going to be forced to shout it aloud to them? He was so upset that he inquired, as if he had not always known, the price of his coffee: 'How much is that?'
    'The usual: thirty francs.'
    They must be talking about him all over the Square. There were rumours of which he knew nothing. Somewhere there must have been a misunderstanding which a few words would suffice to clear up. 'I'm beginning to be anxious,' he went on, with a forced smile. The observation fell flat. Le Bouc stood before him like a