George Orwell

DOWN AND OUT IN PARIS AND LONDON
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CHAPTER XVIII

Charlie told us a good story one Saturday night in the BISTRO. Try and picture him—drunk, but sober enough to talk consecutively. He bangs on the zinc bar and yells for silence:

‘Silence, MESSIEURS ET DAMES—silence, I implore you! Listen to this story, that I am about to tell you. A memorable story, an instructive story, one of the souvenirs of a refined and civilized life. Silence, MESSIEURS ET DAMES!

‘It happened at a time when I was hard up. You know what that is like —how damnable, that a man of refinement should ever be in such a condition. My money had not come from home; I had pawned everything, and there was nothing open to me except to work, which is a thing I will not do. I was living with a girl at the time—Yvonne her name was—a great half-witted peasant girl like Azaya there, with yellow hair and fat legs. The two of us had eaten nothing in three days. MON DIEU, what sufferings! The girl used to walk up and down the room with her hands on her belly, howling like a dog that she was dying of starvation. It was terrible.

‘But to a man of intelligence nothing is impossible. I propounded to myself the question, “What is the easiest way to get money without working?” And immediately the answer came: “To get money easily one must be a woman. Has not every woman something to sell?” And then, as I lay reflecting upon the things I should do if I were a woman, an idea came into my head. I remembered the Government maternity hospitals—you know the Government maternity hospitals? They are places where women who are ENCEINTE are given meals free and no questions are asked. It is done to encourage childbearing. Any woman can go there and demand a meal, and she is given it immediately.

‘“MON DIEU!” I thought, “if only I were a woman! I would eat at one of those places every day. Who can tell whether a woman is ENCEINTE or not, without an examination?”

‘I turned to Yvonne. “Stop that insufferable bawling.” I said, “I have thought of a way to get food.”

‘“How?” she said.

‘“It is simple,” I said. “Go to the Government maternity hospital. Tell them you are ENCEINTE and ask for food. They will give you a good meal and ask no questions.”

‘Yvonne was appalled. “MAIS, MON DIEU,” she cried, “I am not ENCEINTE!”

‘“Who cares?” I said. “That is easily remedied. What do you need except a cushion—two cushions if necessary? It is an inspiration from heaven, MA CHERE. Don’t waste it.”

‘Well, in the end I persuaded her, and then we borrowed a cushion and I got her ready and took her to the maternity hospital. (...)

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