"As the ship approached the port, a strong desire arose in my heart: I wanted to see Jules, my uncle jules, one more time. I wanted to get close to him and say a few comforting words to him.
But I couldn't see him anymore—no one was eating oysters anymore, and that poor man could only return to the bottom of the cabin, where there was only foul, cold air.
On our way back, we took the Sainte-Marie to avoid meeting him again. During a day on Jersey, Mother was restless and worried sick.
From then on, I never saw my father's brother again!
In the future, you will still see me sometimes give a vagrant a 5-franc silver coin, and the reason is everything I just said."
After Lionel finished the last sentence of the story, there was silence around him.
He looked up and saw Maupassant standing there stunned, his eyes filled with shock, confusion, admiration, and many other indescribable complex emotions intertwined, his lips trembling slightly, wanting to say something, but unable to say anything.
Alice and Petty were already teary-eyed, hugging each other. If they hadn't been afraid of disturbing Lionel's storytelling mood, they might have already been sobbing uncontrollably.
A few other passengers who had been queuing to eat oysters were now standing still, not only not urging him, but carefully extinguishing their cigarettes.
One lady even threw herself into the arms of her male companion, silently sobbing.
As the saying goes, "men are silent, women cry," and it was just like that.
The old oyster shucker, Jules D'almanse—of course, fifteen minutes ago he was still called Antoine Mathieu—was trembling all over, barely able to hold the knife in his hand.
His eyes gleamed, and his teeth chattered almost constantly. After a long while, he finally spoke: "Sir, are you going to give me a 5-franc silver coin?"
Everyone: "…"
However, as the silent atmosphere was broken, everyone became more lively, wiping away tears and lighting cigarettes. Maupassant was about to pull out a 5-franc coin from his pocket and toss it to Jules D'almanse, but Lionel quickly pulled him away.
What the disappointed old sailor didn't know was that a few months later, he would tell everyone he met that his name was Jules D'almanse, that he lived in Le Havre, that he was ignorant in his youth, squandered his brother's family fortune, and was sent to America…
Moreover, the oysters he shucked would sell for the exorbitant price of 5 francs a dozen, and many customers would give him an additional 5-franc silver coin as a tip. The Saint-Michel he worked on also became the most popular ferry on the "Le Havre—Jersey" route, with tickets being impossible to get.
Lionel and the others returned to the cabin. Alice and Petty had not yet recovered, but Maupassant had already fallen into a strange mental state, both excited and depressed.
He first paced back and forth in the cabin, then pulled out a cigarette and tried to light it—but failed several times because his hands were shaking too much.
After a long while, he sat next to Lionel and extended a hand to him.
Lionel was a little confused and didn't react for a moment. Suddenly, a shadow fell, and then he was tightly embraced by Maupassant. Soon, Maupassant grabbed his shoulders and shook him, his voice choked with tears:
"A masterpiece! A masterpiece, Lionel! You are the only genius I have ever seen! How long did it take you to come up with this story just now? One minute? Thirty seconds?
Or did that damned Muse goddess bestow inspiration upon you in a flash? No, mere inspiration is not enough—
It also has a perfect structure, profound social criticism, and even warm emotions are not lacking.
And that 'I'—little Joseph. Oh my god! The 'I' in 'the old guard', and the 'I' in this story—
Lionel, does such a child really live inside you? Oh my god, what kind of spirituality, what kind of talent is this…
I'm finished, I'm finished…"
As he spoke, tears actually flowed from his eyes.
Lionel did not "resist," but silently watched Maupassant vent his emotions.
This future "King of Short Stories," although his personal life was unrestrained, his pursuit of the art of the novel was unquestionable.
The works he and his teacher, Flaubert, wrote were all called the "purest, most refined, and most concise" representative works of French literature, which shows his dedication.
But Maupassant was almost 30 years old now. Apart from publishing a few controversial poems and a play no one watched, it was no exaggeration to describe him as "unknown."
Before Lionel appeared, he was not in a hurry.
Both his teacher Flaubert and he himself were convinced in their hearts that the name "Maupassant" would one day shock the entire French literary world, and even the entire European literary world.
So he lived a life of debauchery, whether in his hometown or in Paris.
During the day, he was a corporate drone at the Ministry of the Navy, and at night he frequented salons and brothels, occasionally writing "little things," but not caring too much whether they could be published.
But now it was different. Lionel Sorel was like a comet, streaking from the distant edge of the universe towards the literary world.
Although its light was not yet very brilliant, Maupassant, through today's events, had completely confirmed that this comet would surely illuminate the entire night sky.
It might even become a fixed star in the sky, like Mr. Hugo, Mr. Zola, or his teacher Gustave Flaubert.
And that position, in his mind, was reserved for himself.
How could this not make him bewildered, pained, lost, and even desperate?
Lionel patted his shoulder, his tone exceptionally sincere and friendly: "Guy, don't be discouraged. Actually, you could also write the story 'my uncle jules', and it would be even more wonderful than mine.
What you need to do now is to break free from your current 'idle' state. Life is actually full of stories everywhere—
A simple and honest old farmer, an oyster shucker, a plump prostitute, a bookkeeper with a boring life, a vain woman, a handsome man…
It doesn't matter what stories they themselves have; what matters is what story we want to give them."
Maupassant, upon hearing this, jumped up as if he had been electrocuted: "You're right, Lionel! It's not about what stories they have, but what story we want to give them…
You've sobered me up! Thank you, Lionel! Besides my teacher, no one has ever inspired me so much!
Oh, I also have to apologize to you…"
Lionel was a little puzzled. If he was grateful, wouldn't that be enough? Why apologize?
However, given that Maupassant's mental state was not very stable at the moment, he didn't ask further.
At this moment, the whistle of the Saint-Michel ferry let out a long, deep blast—
Jersey, we've arrived.