Bitter Chocolate

by Sally Grindley

  ‘The situation is very worrying,’ he muttered. ‘Very worrying.’

  A loud bang startled them. They ducked down by a bush and listened. There was no other sound. Even the animals had been silenced, if they hadn’t already run away. They hissed at Kamil to hide. He was still rocking. His face was vacant.

  ‘He’s in a bad way,’ said Olivier. ‘We can’t leave him there.’

  They crept over to him, keeping low in case there was somebody else in the forest. Olivier linked his arm through Kamil’s and signalled for Pascal to do the same. Together, they pulled him to his feet and dragged him with them back to the bush. He sat like a rag doll, head lolloping on his chest, until Olivier spoke to him.

  ‘Kamil,’ Olivier said. ‘You’re going to be all right, Kamil. We’re going to look after you.’

  Kamil stared at him, eyes wide, then he saw Pascal. A look of sheer terror crossed his face and he screamed. ‘They killed them,’ he cried out. ‘They killed them, all of them. I saw your papa. They blew him to pieces.’

  Chapter 12

  It was even more stifling in the middle of the plantation. A canopy of taller trees protected the cacao trees with their precious crop of cocoa pods by providing them with shade, but it also prevented heat from escaping. As the afternoon wore on, the boys were so exhausted they could scarcely lift their machetes to cut down another pod. Those with a greater reach, like Pascal, used a long-handled cutting tool to tackle the pods that grew higher up. The pain they suffered in their shoulders was excruciating, even after months of doing the same work, day in, day out.

  They had been allowed a few minutes’ break for a drink of water in between their morning and afternoon jobs, and had dropped to the ground like the pods they were cutting as soon as the whistle went for them to stop. Pascal lay on his back, looking up through the multicoloured patchwork of leaves and fruits, the sunlight dipping this way and that and sewing their edges with gold. For a brief moment, he allowed himself to appreciate the beauty of it, before he succumbed to the effort of keeping his eyes open and allowed them to close.

  Kojo rolled over to him. ‘You’re not going to sleep, are you?’ he asked.

  Pascal grunted.

  ‘I’ll warn you if someone comes,’ Kojo continued, before humming quietly.

  Pascal grunted again.

  ‘That boy doesn’t care any more,’ said Tiene, who was lying close by and flicking ants with a stick. ‘He’s waiting to get his head bitten off.’

  ‘I’ll bite yours off if you don’t shut up,’ muttered Pascal.

  ‘Now why would you want to do that, when my head’s full of shit,’ chuckled Tiene. He flicked a large ant, which landed in Pascal’s hair.

  Kojo glared at him for trying to annoy Pascal, but watched in fascination as the ant made its way out of the hair, down his friend’s forehead and on to his nose. Pascal didn’t make any effort to remove it, even when the ant began to investigate the edges of his nostrils. Then, in one swift movement, he leapt to his feet, brushing the ant from his face, and threw himself on top of Tiene, pinning him to the ground.

  ‘Did you do that?’ he growled.

  ‘Do what?’ Tiene puffed.

  ‘You know what.’

  ‘There are a lot of flying ants around at this time of the year.’ Tiene snickered.

  ‘Very funny,’ said Pascal. ‘Do you know what you are? You’re a major pain in the butt because you never shut up.’

  ‘And you never lighten up,’ Tiene retorted fiercely. ‘At least I try and have a bit of fun. At least I don’t spend all day long being grumpy. You don’t even know what fun is.’

  Pascal felt an overwhelming sense of outrage and injustice welling up inside. Hadn’t he saved this boy from a beating earlier that day? Hadn’t he had to face things in his life that Tiene could never begin to understand? How dare he lie there and judge him. His hands tightened in anger and he began to shake uncontrollably. He’d had enough of people pushing him around, accusing him, persecuting him.

  ‘Stop, Pascal, stop! You’re hurting him.’ Kojo’s voice first, and then his fists, pummelling his back, trying to beat him off. ‘Leave him, Pascal.’

  He pushed at Pascal’s shoulder with all his might, until Tiene managed to twist his torso round and partially free himself. Pascal toppled to the side and Tiene crawled out of his reach.

  ‘You were trying to kill me!’ Tiene hissed. He rubbed his neck, coughing harshly.

  Pascal shuddered and curled up into a tight ball.

  Kojo stood between them, looking anxiously from one to the other. ‘Pascal?’ he said quietly.

  ‘I should report him,’ said Tiene. ‘He’s a lunatic.’

  ‘He’s not a lunatic,’ said Kojo. ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘I understand that he had his hands around my neck.’

  ‘He didn’t mean it,’ Kojo insisted. ‘I’m sure –’ He stopped when he saw that Pascal’s body was shaking. ‘Pascal,’ he said again, ‘are you all right?’

  A low howl of anguish startled both Kojo and Tiene. They looked at each other in astonishment. Pascal was crying. Kojo wanted to bend down to him, to touch his arm just to let him know that he was there for him.

  Tiene held him back. ‘Don’t,’ he hissed. ‘He might go for you. Nobody wants to be seen crying, especially Pascal. Leave him alone.’

  ‘He’s my friend. I can’t just leave him alone. What if Le Cochon comes? It must be nearly time to go back to work.’

  ‘It’s not my problem,’ Tiene said dismissively. ‘Why should I care when he just tried to kill me?’ He walked away, humming tunelessly and kicking at the leaves that covered the ground.

  Kojo stood, wondering what to do. The whistle blew and he knew that Le Cochon or one of the other overseers would be heading in their direction. Pascal was now completely still and silent.

  ‘Pascal,’ Kojo called quietly. ‘We’ve got to get back to work.’

  There was no response. He hesitated for a few moments longer, then began to move over to where he had dropped his machete. He heard a scuffling noise and turned to see that Pascal was on his feet. He smiled at him, but Pascal seemed not to notice. Kojo walked very slowly, hoping that his friend would catch up with him, but Pascal strode past him without a word, picked up his cutter and resumed his work.

  Pascal remained silent for the rest of the day. When Tiene and Youssouf tried to goad him by calling him a nutcase and a lunatic, he ignored them. At one point, Mr Kouassi stood by him and watched him work.

  ‘I’m impressed,’ he said. ‘If you can cut down that many pods today, why can’t you cut down that many pods every day?’

  Pascal didn’t answer.

  ‘Seems to me that if you can cut down that many pods one day, you must be slackin’ on them other days,’ the overseer continued. ‘Seems like all them other boys must be slackin’ too.’ He cracked the bicycle chain hard on the ground. ‘D’you hear me? Seems like you other boys are slackin’, and what happens to slackers?’

  The boys tried to speed up as he moved to each of them in turn and stood behind them, breathing heavily while he jangled the bicycle chain and lashed the undergrowth with his stick.

  ‘What happens to slackers?’ he repeated.

  ‘They get beaten,’ the boys replied.

  ‘And why do they get beaten?’ asked Le Cochon.

  ‘Because slackers waste the boss’s money,’ said the boys.

  ‘Louder,’ ordered Le Cochon.

  ‘Slackers waste the boss’s money,’ the boys shouted.

  Le Cochon was looking directly at Pascal when he barked his last order. Pascal stayed tight-lipped, staring down at his hands, which were holding the cutting tool.

  ‘What’s the matter? Have you lost your tongue?’ Le Cochon barked. ‘I asked what happens to slackers, and you ain’t told me.’

  Pascal raised his head and stared at him. He didn’t say a word.

  ‘You been cryin’, boy?’

  Pascal didn’t answer.r />
  ‘I’ll make you cry for your insolence,’ Le Cochon snarled. He raised the bicycle chain and brought it down on Pascal’s back.

  Pascal winced with pain, but didn’t utter a word.

  ‘You want some more, do you?’ Le Cochon demanded.

  ‘Don’t, sir, please don’t,’ Kojo cried.

  The overseer ignored him, swinging the chain and catching Pascal round the back of his legs. Pascal fell to the ground, biting his lip to prevent himself from screaming.

  ‘Please don’t hit him again,’ Kojo begged.

  ‘Leave him, sir,’ Tiene joined in. ‘He’s hurt enough.’

  Le Cochon swung round as though he were about to hit Tiene as well, but instead he growled at them to get back to work and lumbered off.

  Kojo and Tiene helped Pascal to his feet. His legs were bleeding and covered in livid welts, and blood was seeping through his T-shirt.

  ‘Are you OK?’ asked Kojo.

  Pascal nodded his head, though when he tried to walk his legs collapsed. Kojo and Tiene helped him to a tree stump.

  ‘We should do something about that pig,’ said Tiene. ‘He shouldn’t be allowed to get away with that.’

  Pascal looked up at him. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Sorry for what I did. I just lost it.’

  ‘It happens,’ replied Tiene. ‘And I know I’m an annoying little rat.’ He fell to the ground, squeaking loudly and snuffling through the leaves.

  Kojo began to giggle, then Pascal joined in, until all three of them were squeaking and giggling like three-year-olds, stopping only when they were breathless and Youssouf warned them about the noise they were making.

  ‘Better get on with some work before The Pig comes back,’ said Pascal.

  Chapter 13

  ‘We need to move on,’ said Olivier finally. ‘We’re not safe here. We need to go deeper into the forest.’

  Pascal was too shocked to argue. Kamil’s outburst had stripped him of any last stubborn deception that what he had seen in front of his very eyes hadn’t really taken place. And yet he still tried to believe that it was possible to survive, that his father had survived. He wanted to go back, but was terrified of what he might find. He wanted to know if Angeline was safe. He wanted to search for his mother and Bijou, but was petrified of being caught by the rebels.

  ‘Everyone will have run away,’ Olivier insisted. ‘Everyone who . . . We’ll find them again when it’s all over. They’ll search for us. They’re bound to search for us.’

  Pascal was amazed at how calm his cousin seemed to be when he had no idea what had happened to his own family. He was relieved that Olivier was there to make the decisions for him. Olivier had taken charge, kept them together and looked out for them, even though he was less than two years older than Pascal and six months younger than Kamil.

  They had heard other voices, other footsteps in the forest. They had thrown themselves to the ground whenever they thought somebody was coming in their direction. In the gloom, with their fears playing havoc with their senses, they couldn’t tell who was friend and who was foe. Kamil didn’t seem to understand the danger. Sometimes he cried out, sometimes he refused to hide and had to be pulled out of sight. Now, as they went deeper and deeper into the forest, pushing their way past tentacled vines and through tangled undergrowth, Pascal wondered where the boy his father had thought would go far in life had disappeared to. And then, as he thought again of his father, a huge, aching disquiet hit him. He felt nauseous and his head began to swim. He tried to focus on one thing and one thing alone. His mother had not been at home. His mother would find him and everything would be all right.

  At last, they felt safe enough to stop for the night. The only sounds they could hear now were made by monkeys high up in the treetops and smaller animals scuttling along the forest floor. They found a narrow piece of ground that was surrounded by low bushes, which screened them when they sat down. Kamil lay on his back and didn’t say a word. Olivier stripped the bark off a fallen branch, exploring underneath it to discover what insects were hiding there, as though conducting some sort of field trial. Pascal stood for a while and wandered between one bush and another. He didn’t feel safe enough to sit, convinced that if he were still he would be bombarded with unwelcome thoughts.

  ‘You hungry?’ Olivier asked suddenly.

  Pascal shrugged his shoulders and winced with pain. He felt the place where the bullet had grazed him. It was sticky now, a sign that it had stopped bleeding. The thought of congealed blood made him want to retch, and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to eat if someone put food in front of him. ‘How long will we have to stay here?’ he asked instead.

  It was Olivier’s turn to shrug his shoulders. ‘Tonight. Tomorrow, maybe. Are you scared?’

  Pascal wanted to say no, but found himself nodding.

  ‘I am too,’ Olivier said simply. ‘Flipping scared.’

  Pascal sat down next to him. ‘We’ll be all right, though, won’t we?’ he asked. ‘They won’t do anything to kids.’ He wanted so much to believe it.

  ‘We won’t let them,’ replied Olivier. ‘We won’t let them catch us.’

  ‘What about Kamil?’

  ‘You’ll be all right, won’t you, Kamil? He’ll be all right in the morning,’ Olivier said.

  Pascal started to cry. He had tried so hard not to, but a surge of terror took hold of him and beat him into submission, leaving him gasping for breath. Olivier moved over to put his arm around him. Pascal sank against him, overwhelmed by exhaustion.

  ‘I’m scared to close my eyes,’ he sobbed.

  Chapter 14

  Pascal cursed the wooden pallet for its refusal to allow him just the smallest of hollows to relieve the throbbing soreness of his back. Lying on either side wasn’t an option because it rubbed his swollen lower legs, which weren’t protected by his shorts. Lying on his front was virtually impossible, the pallet was so hard. On his back, he could cope as long as he took his weight on one shoulder and didn’t move, but the pain was unbearable if he tried to shift to the other shoulder.

  His physical pain was nothing compared to the mental torment he was suffering. He replayed the scene with Tiene over and over again, trying to understand what had driven him to attack his friend so viciously. Tiene could be irritating, very irritating, but he was funny and tried hard to keep the other boys’ spirits up with his ridiculous antics. He hadn’t deserved to be assaulted. Besides, it was important to all of them that they stick together and help each other. Pascal knew that more than anyone else. A rift between any of them would make life harder for everyone.

  The thing that terrified him most was the thought that, had Kojo not been there to stop him, he might have carried on, might have seriously hurt Tiene, might have . . . Every time he asked himself the question ‘Would I have let go of him?’, he could not allow himself to reach an answer. Yet the question kept repeating itself. He tried to push it away, but it was there, nagging at him, demanding, insistent.

  He closed his eyes and tried to sleep. He couldn’t. The pain in his body prevented it. The hunger that wracked him prevented it. The question prevented it. He listened to the other boys. Some were stone-dead silent. Some were muttering. Some were thrashing around, creaking on their wooden pallets.

  Pascal wondered if Kojo was asleep. He wasn’t moving. They hadn’t talked very much that evening, just the odd word here and there after the boys had returned from their corn-paste supper to find Pascal huddled in his corner. The dormitory had been unusually quiet. There was a tension in the air, no one speaking in case it provoked an unwelcome reaction. Although they had larked around earlier on in order to forget what had happened, when they lay down in the darkness, the memory of that moment of madness joined forces with the other ghosts that haunted them.

  I did that, Pascal thought to himself. I went too far and broke the rules. Why?

  He jumped to his feet and stood at the window. He held the bars and gritted his teeth.

  ‘I’ve got to
get out of here,’ he said under his breath. ‘I’ve got to get out of here.’

  He heard one of the boys get up and pee into the bucket that served as their latrine. When the boy went to lie down again, he stubbed his toe. He yelped with pain, swore loudly and cursed his pallet bed. Pascal wanted to hiss at him to be quiet, dreading that the other boys might wake up and disturb his thoughts. They didn’t, though, and Pascal breathed a sigh of relief.

  A moth that must have settled on the inside walls of the dormitory while it was still light suddenly flew past Pascal and away towards the moon. Pascal watched its silhouette grow smaller and smaller until it disappeared, and as he watched he grew more determined that one day, soon, he would escape. He had very little money because none of them had been paid for weeks – the price of chocolate had gone down, they were told – but somehow he would find a way to go back home to his own country and discover what had happened to his mother and sisters. If his father was no longer there to protect them, then he must take over that role.

  Kojo stirred and sat up. ‘You all right?’ he asked.

  Pascal nodded in the darkness. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘About earlier.’

  ‘I’ve forgotten about it,’ said Kojo.

  Pascal didn’t argue, though he knew it wasn’t true. He dropped down next to Kojo. ‘I’ve got to leave,’ he said quietly. ‘You coming with me?’

  He felt his young friend turn towards him questioningly. ‘Leave?’ asked Kojo, his voice tight. ‘When?’

  ‘Soon,’ said Pascal. ‘Very soon. I know we said we’d wait until we had enough money, but that could be never.’

  ‘How will we manage without?’

  ‘We’ll manage. I’ve got a bit,’ Pascal said determinedly. He didn’t want Kojo to undermine the decision he had reached, didn’t want him to sow doubt. ‘You don’t have to come with me.’

  Kojo didn’t reply straight away, but then he said quietly, ‘I’ll never forget the day Papa lost his job. I was larking around in the woods with my brother. I’d just hit him with a papaya and was running away, when I saw my father coming across the rickety bridge with his bicycle. It was too early for him to be there. He tried to pretend there was nothing to worry about, but, Pascal, I could see it in his face. He looked old suddenly. I was only eight, but I could tell that something bad had happened. He never recovered from losing his job, and that’s when he became ill.’ Pascal heard his friend swallow and sniff before continuing. ‘I’m not helping my family by staying, and I’m not staying if you’re going.’