My Uncle Jules — Part One

Classic Guy de Maupassant story adapted for audio:

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An old, white-haired man begged us for alms. My companion, Joseph Davranche, gave him five francs. Noticing my surprised look, he told me this story about his childhood in Normandy.

I grew up in a poor family in the port of Le Havre. My father worked hard but earned very little. We never had enough money.

My mother often had harsh words for her husband. The poor man would respond with a gesture that used to distress me. He would silently pass his open hand over his forehead, as if to wipe away perspiration.

I felt his helpless suffering. We economised on everything and never would accept a dinner invitation, so as not to have to return the courtesy. All our provisions were bought at bargain sales.

Because my two sisters made their own gowns, there would be long discussions about the cheapest fabrics. Every lost button was fretted over, every centime counted.

The highlight of our week was a Sunday promenade in our best clothes along the seashore. My sisters would clean any stains on Father’s frock coat with a rag moistened with benzine. I still remember that smell.

Then father would put on his tall silk hat, and we would set out as if for a funeral. My sisters marched on ahead, arm in arm. They were of marriageable age and on display.

I walked on the left of my mother and my father on her right. I remember the pompous air of my poor parents in these Sunday walks: their stern expression, their stiff, ungainly movements, as if they were a royal couple moving among their subjects.

Our promenading would always end at the docks. There we would watch the big steamers that were returning from unknown and distant countries.

And my father would say: “What a surprise it would be if Jules were on that one! Eh?”

Uncle Jules left Le Havre when I was a small child, but I knew every detail of his life up to the day of his departure for America. He went away after committing one of the greatest crimes for a poor family: wasting money.

With rich people, a young man is permitted to amuse himself: to sow his wild oats, as they say. But a poor boy who does this is a good-for-nothing, a wastrel. Uncle Jules spent everything before leaving our town in disgrace, on a freighter sailing to New York.

Soon after he arrived in America, he wrote to my father:

I am sorry for everything that has happened, and I hope to pay you back soon. I am doing business here….import and export… It’s going very well…

That changed everything, transforming Jules suddenly into a good man, a kind-hearted fellow, true and honest like all the Davranches. We were further heartened by meeting a sailor who knew someone who knew my uncle. “Apparently, he has rented a large shop. Yes, they say he’s doing some important business.”

Our spirits lifted despite the lack of further details.

Eighteen months later, a second letter arrived from Uncle Jules.

My dear Philippe, I am writing to inform you that I leave tomorrow for a long trip to South America. Business is good and my health excellent, so don’t worry if you don’t hear from me for a while. When my fortune is made, I shall return to Le Havre, and we shall all live happily together . . . .

This letter became our family bible. We showed it to everybody over the following years, and we heard nothing from or about Uncle Jules.

My parents refused to give up hope of a triumphant homecoming.“‘Life will be different for us when Jules is back!” my mother would say.

*Part Two — the concluding part of the story (6-minute read)*