midway between a fish and a crab. As
it was from the sea they made of it, of course, a very nice hot
fish soup with savoury pepper and laurel leaves, or broth with
vinegar and fricassee of fish and cabbage, or crayfish sauce, or
served it cold with horse-radish. . . . I vividly imagined it being
brought from the market, quickly cleaned, quickly put in the pot,
quickly, quickly, for everyone was hungry . . . awfully hungry!
From the kitchen rose the smell of hot fish and crayfish soup.

I felt that this smell was tickling my palate and nostrils, that
it was gradually taking possession of my whole body. . . . The
restaurant, my father, the white placard, my sleeves were all
smelling of it, smelling so strongly that I began to chew. I moved
my jaws and swallowed as though I really had a piece of this marine
animal in my mouth . . .

My legs gave way from the blissful sensation I was feeling, and I
clutched at my father's arm to keep myself from falling, and leant
against his wet summer overcoat. My father was trembling and
shivering. He was cold . . .

"Papa, are oysters a Lenten dish?" I asked.

"They are eaten alive . . ." said my father. "They are in shells
like tortoises, but . . . in two halves."

The delicious smell instantly left off affecting me, and the illusion
vanished. . . . Now I understood it all!

"How nasty," I whispered, "how nasty!"

So that's what "oysters" meant! I imagined to myself a creature
like a frog. A frog sitting in a shell, peeping out from it with
big, glittering eyes, and moving its revolting jaws. I imagined
this creature in a shell with claws, glittering eyes, and a slimy
skin, being brought from the market. . . . The children would all
hide while the cook, frowning with an air of disgust, would take
the creature by its claw, put it on a plate, and carry it into the
dining-room. The grown-ups would take it and eat it, eat it alive
with its eyes, its teeth, its legs! While it squeaked and tried to
bite their lips. . . .

I frowned, but . . . but why did my teeth move as though I were
munching? The creature was loathsome, disgusting, terrible, but I
ate it, ate it greedily, afraid of distinguishing its taste or
smell. As soon as I had eaten one, I saw the glittering eyes of a
second, a third . . . I ate them too. . . . At last I ate the
table-napkin, the plate, my father's goloshes, the white placard
. . . I ate everything that caught my eye, because I felt that nothing
but eati