Bitter Chocolate

by Sally Grindley

  Pascal pushed him gently on the shoulder. ‘You’d miss me too much, wouldn’t you?’ he chuckled.

  ‘Like a hole in the head,’ muttered Kojo. ‘How are we going to escape?’

  ‘I dunno yet,’ said Pascal. ‘I’ll have to work something out.’

  They sat in silence for a while. Pascal wondered if he had done the right thing in asking Kojo to go with him. Kojo wasn’t as strong as he was, physically or mentally, and might cause problems for him. But for some strange reason, even though at times he longed for his own space, he didn’t want to undertake this next journey alone. Besides, he had promised Kojo when they first discussed escaping, several months before, that they would go together.

  ‘Are you excited or scared?’ Kojo asked at last.

  ‘Relieved,’ said Pascal.

  Chapter 15

  Shouts. Mr Camara smoking his cigarette, repairing the fence. Flames licking at the bamboo edges. Kamil flicking playing cards across the table for Pascal to catch, but he misses every time. Laughter. Bright white lights distorting through cut-diamond faces. Flames licking at pounding feet. Angeline throwing Bijou up in the air, over and over, until Bijou doesn’t come down again. Screams. Mrs Camara rocking in a chair, worrying. Mr Camara running away when Pascal tries to speak to him, running away when Pascal tries to speak to him, running away . . . Shouts. Loud, urgent.

  ‘Wake up, Pascal! Quick! There’s someone coming.’

  Olivier was shaking him. Pascal didn’t know where he was. He sat up abruptly and looked around. Kamil was standing close by, staring into the distance.

  ‘We’ve gotta get out of here – now,’ Olivier hissed. ‘Come on, Kamil, don’t just stand there.’ He pulled Pascal to his feet. ‘Let’s go.’ He began to run, beckoning them to follow.

  ‘Come on, Kamil,’ Pascal urged.

  He tugged at Kamil’s hand. A burst of gunfire made them both jump and, to Pascal’s relief, Kamil began to run with him, soon overtaking him. There were shouts and more gunfire. Pascal felt himself ducking automatically every time the shots rang out, though he had no idea if they were aimed at him. His legs and lungs were soon protesting. A small part of him wanted to give up and take whatever was coming, anything rather than go through the agony of trying to keep up with Olivier. Even Kamil had fallen behind him again now.

  And then Pascal noticed that it had gone quiet. Deadly quiet. Ahead of them, Olivier kept running, but more slowly, and turned every so often to look around. At last, he stopped.

  ‘I think we’ve lost them,’ he puffed. ‘I can’t hear anything any more.’

  ‘How do you know it was us they were after? How do you know they weren’t on our side?’ Pascal asked.

  ‘It won’t be us they were after,’ Olivier replied. ‘But we don’t want to risk being caught, do we?’

  ‘But what if it was someone coming to find us?’

  ‘Pascal, nobody’s looking for us. Not now. Not yet.’

  Pascal knew he was right, but he struggled to cope with the thought that they were all alone.

  ‘They’re all dead.’ Kamil spoke for the first time. ‘All of them. Dead.’

  ‘Shut up, Kamil,’ Olivier hissed. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Bang, bang, you’re dead!’ Kamil snorted.

  A bullet smacked into a tree in front of them. Two men broke through a distant cover of bushes and headed towards them, shouting at them to stay where they were.

  ‘Run!’ Olivier shouted.

  Pascal froze for a moment, then began to run for his life. Kamil didn’t move. Olivier yelled at him to follow but, as the men drew closer to him, Kamil fell to his knees and started to sob and plead and beg them to spare him. Pascal faltered, but his cousin spurred him on.

  ‘We’ll have to leave him. We’ve got no choice,’ Olivier insisted.

  Pascal’s last view of Kamil was of the two rebels, one on either side of him, lifting him up and half dragging, half carrying him away. Kamil was screaming.

  Chapter 16

  Several hours passed by. Pascal and Olivier squatted under an overhanging rock, screened by a mesh of brambles and vines. Neither of them spoke. They were too exhausted and distraught. The only sound they could hear was a nearby waterfall. They had plunged into it briefly in an effort to revive themselves. Pascal had wanted to stay there with the water beating mercilessly on his head, emptying it of everything, but Olivier had pulled him away to hide. Now its uninterrupted whoosh and burble was somehow comforting, yet it was a danger to them because it stifled any other noise.

  They both must have closed their eyes, for Pascal received no warning from Olivier that anything was wrong. Now something was prodding him in the stomach. He went to push it away and felt something cold and hard. He opened his eyes to find a rifle pressed against him and a man staring down at him. Another man was threatening Olivier.

  ‘How sweet you looked,’ one of the men said, grinning broadly.

  ‘Stand up slowly and put your hands in the air,’ ordered the other.

  Olivier and Pascal looked at each other in horror, then did as they were told. The men frisked them, before tying their hands behind their backs.

  ‘I’m Seb, he’s Gustav,’ the first one said. ‘Do as we say and you won’t get hurt. Now start walking.’

  Pascal was sure he was going to die and began to whimper as they trooped along in front of the two men.

  ‘Shut that noise,’ Gustav growled.

  He pushed Pascal forward with his rifle butt. The boys heard a match being struck and tensed, expecting something bad. Seb overtook them and shoved a cigarette into Pascal’s mouth.

  ‘Suck,’ he said.

  Pascal sucked. The smoke caught the back of his throat. He coughed violently, spitting the cigarette out.

  ‘Steady,’ chuckled Seb. He picked up the cigarette and put it in his own mouth. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. Stopped you from crying, didn’t it?’

  ‘You all right?’ Olivier whispered as Pascal continued to cough.

  Pascal nodded. His mouth felt burnt and bitter, and the lingering taste of smoke made him desperate for water.

  ‘Where are you boys from, then?’ Seb asked after they had been walking for some time.

  Olivier told him the name of their village.

  ‘Bad was it, there?’

  ‘You should know,’ Olivier muttered.

  ‘Wasn’t us,’ Gustav said sharply. ‘But we heard about it.’

  Pascal didn’t believe him and a huge rage began to well up inside him. Were these the men who had . . . ?

  ‘We’re trying to protect people,’ Seb protested. ‘You can’t lump us all together.’

  ‘There are different factions,’ Gustav added.

  Pascal didn’t know if he was supposed to believe them, but he didn’t trust them.

  ‘Where are you taking us?’ Olivier asked.

  ‘Our camp is close,’ Seb replied. ‘You hungry?’

  Pascal nodded in spite of himself and despite a doubtful look from Olivier.

  ‘Then you shall eat,’ said Seb. ‘And drink. And sleep.’

  They continued in silence, until the forest cover thinned and finally broke away. The shock of finding themselves in broad daylight again after so many hours in darkness made Pascal recoil, his eyes unable to adjust. The heat was suffocating. Then he saw village huts ahead of them and his heart skipped a beat in the hope of finding friendly faces there.

  The village, however, was empty.

  Seb and Gustav led them to one of the houses, ordered them to sit down and brought them bowls of cold maize soup. Pascal checked that Olivier was eating before he too started to eat. Then he wolfed the soup down, even though it was thin and tasteless. He glanced up to catch Seb smirking at them, which made him feel awkward and powerless.

  ‘Good, eh?’ Seb said. ‘Nice of someone to leave a pan of soup behind when they ran away. Sorry if it’s gone cold.’

  ‘What are you going to do wit
h us?’ Olivier asked.

  ‘I told you. Here, drink this and then you’ll be ready for a good sleep.’ He held a beaker out to each of them.

  ‘You know that’s not what I meant,’ said Olivier.

  Gustav glared at him and growled, ‘You ask too many questions. We don’t like kids who ask questions.’

  ‘Drink,’ Seb repeated. ‘You don’t want to go upsetting Gustav. He’s got a very short fuse.’

  Pascal and Olivier took the drink they were offered. It tasted like some sort of fruit juice, Pascal thought, but he wasn’t sure what. He drank thirstily nevertheless. Seb then pointed to the beds and told them to lie down. Olivier protested that he wasn’t tired and didn’t want to go to sleep.

  ‘It’s not even dark yet,’ he said.

  ‘It will be when I close this door,’ Seb snorted. He went out, closed the door and locked it behind him.

  ‘Pig,’ Olivier called after him, but without any intensity.

  Pascal fought to keep his eyes open in the blackness. ‘What do you think they’re going to do with us?’ he whispered. His voice sounded strange to him, as if it were travelling through a long tunnel.

  There was no reply.

  Chapter 17

  It was raining the next morning. The sky was sombre in its dark-grey blanket, matched by the mood of the boys as they set off into the plantation. Nothing dampened their spirits more than working when it was wet. Everything was harder then. The machetes and cutting tools slipped dangerously in their hands. The sacks in which they collected the pods soaked up water and, added to the weight of the pods, rubbed their shoulders raw. Their sodden clothes chafed their skin.

  Pascal and Tiene were ordered to fill sacks and carry them to the edge of the field. Kojo was sent to the field to split open pods, much to his dismay.

  ‘I’ll have Mr Piggy on my back again,’ he grumbled. ‘And my hands are already so covered in blisters I won’t be able to hold on to the machete.’

  ‘Hopefully you’ll let go of it and it’ll wing its way towards Pigface,’ grinned Tiene. He brought down the side of his hand on the back of his neck and squealed, which made Pascal grimace.

  They set off in opposite directions, Kojo silent with Youssouf and a number of other boys, Tiene whistling loudly alongside Pascal.

  Just as they reached the heaps of pods that were lying on the ground waiting to be collected, Tiene said quietly, ‘I heard you talking last night.’

  Pascal pulled a sack from a pile, bent over and began to push pods into it.

  ‘I want to come with you.’ Tiene bent over next to him, sack in hand, his face turned towards Pascal, watching for his reaction.

  Pascal ignored him and carried on shovelling pods.

  ‘I said, I want to come with you,’ Tiene repeated.

  ‘You’d better hurry up, then,’ said Pascal. ‘My sack’s nearly full.’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ hissed Tiene.

  ‘You can’t,’ Pascal hissed back.

  ‘Why not?’ asked Tiene.

  ‘Three’s too many,’ said Pascal. ‘Someone would see us.’

  ‘Then take me instead of Kojo.’

  Pascal threw several more pods into the sack, stood and heaved it up on to his back. ‘No,’ he snapped.

  He hurried away towards the field, inwardly cursing that his secret was out before he had even had time to put plans into place. The rain lashed his face as he marched along and sucked his shorts round his legs. He wondered if he wouldn’t be better off trying to escape on his own after all. It would be so much easier not to have to worry about anyone else. But ahead of him, he saw Mr Kouassi standing by Kojo’s side, waving his stick menacingly.

  Kojo’s not my problem, he tried to tell himself. Kojo will have to look after himself.

  He knew, though, that he couldn’t leave his friend. Kojo relied on him, treating him like the older brother he had left behind. They had been through too much together, and without him Kojo would be destroyed by Le Cochon.

  Pascal walked straight past the overseer and tipped the pods on to the pile that Kojo and the other boys were working their way through.

  ‘Lost your tongue this mornin’, have you?’ Le Cochon aimed at him as he turned to make his way back.

  Pascal shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘Put your tongue out and let me see it,’ Le Cochon demanded, gripping his stick with both hands.

  Pascal waited just long enough to give the overseer the impression that he was going to disobey, then stuck out his tongue.

  ‘Now use it to say “Good mornin’, Mr Kouassi, SIR”,’ said the overseer.

  Pascal looked him straight in the eye. ‘Good mornin’, Mr Kouassi, SIR,’ he copied.

  ‘You,’ Le Cochon shouted, pointing at Kojo. ‘You say it.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Kouassi, SIR,’ said Kojo.

  ‘Again,’ shouted Le Cochon. ‘Louder.’

  ‘Good morning, Mr Kouassi, SIR,’ cried Kojo.

  ‘Now get back to work, both of you, and remember your manners next time.’

  Pascal filled his sack with empty pods and headed back to the edge of the field. As he walked along the path, he saw Tiene coming towards him, whistling loudly. When they drew level, Tiene stopped whistling and caught Pascal’s arm.

  ‘What if Mr Kouassi got to hear that you attacked me?’ he whispered.

  Pascal flinched. ‘He wouldn’t care,’ he replied.

  ‘What if he found out that you were planning to run away?’

  The question was encrusted with the answer. Pascal glared at Tiene. ‘Would you really go that far?’ he asked.

  Tiene started to whistle again, then stopped and said, ‘I want to get out of here as much as you do, and I don’t want to do it on my own.’

  ‘Then nobody goes,’ said Pascal flatly.

  ‘You don’t mean that,’ said Tiene. ‘You’re just trying to trick me to shut me up.’

  ‘I can think of far better ways to shut you up,’ Pascal retorted, and immediately regretted it. ‘If three of us try to get away, we won’t make it,’ he added hurriedly. ‘I’m not leaving Kojo behind, therefore our only option is to stay. You can do what you like.’

  He strode past Tiene and over to the pile of empty pods that would be loaded up on to a truck and taken away, to be turned into soap, somebody said. He tipped his own load on top, retrieved the sack and, as he did so, an idea began to form in his mind.

  Chapter 18

  Pascal had no idea how long he had been asleep. He woke when light from the open door fell across his face.

  ‘Time to get up,’ a gruff voice ordered.

  He sat up, his head spinning. Olivier groaned from somewhere to the left of him. They struggled to their feet and stumbled outside.

  ‘Sleep all right?’ Seb called to them from a clearing, where he was tending a small fire.

  Pascal’s tongue felt as if it were coated with fur and his throat was tight. He nodded in answer.

  ‘Grub’s up,’ Seb grinned.

  The thought of food made Pascal want to vomit. Olivier groaned again and collapsed on the ground without warning. Gustav appeared from nowhere and hauled him to his feet, helping him over to a tree stump by the fire and pushing Pascal forward at the same time.

  ‘Eat,’ he ordered.

  Seb handed them each a bowl of soup. Pascal lifted his to his lips and tried to sip. His stomach lurched violently in anticipation. He lowered the bowl again, making out that it was too hot.

  ‘You need to toughen up,’ said Seb.

  You need to toughen up.

  The words triggered an explosion of images in Pascal’s mind. He dropped the bowl and launched himself at Seb, thumping his chest and kicking at his ankles.

  Seb just laughed, caught hold of his fists and held him at arm’s length. ‘Now then, littl’un,’ he said. ‘Save your energy for someone who deserves to be beaten. Sit down before I lose my temper.’

  Pascal had no choice but to obey. Next to him, Olivier slurped
his soup, spilling half of it down his front, while Gustav chopped wood somewhere behind him and Seb prodded the fire with a stick. It was all so surreal, Pascal felt as if he had stepped into someone else’s dream.

  ‘What are your names and how old are you boys, then?’ Seb asked.

  ‘I’m Olivier and I’m twelve, and Pascal – he’s my cousin, he’s ten,’ Olivier offered blankly.

  ‘I’m nearly eleven,’ Pascal added quickly.

  ‘Ten and twelve, eh?’ said Seb. ‘Good ages for learning new things, I bet.’ He stared at them as though searching for agreement, but continued regardless. ‘How about we teach you how to fire a gun? Every boy I’ve ever met wants to know how to fire a gun.’

  Pascal’s mouth dropped open in alarm. He didn’t want to know how to fire a gun. It was bad enough playing pretend shoot-’em-up games with his cousins. Why would he want to know how to fire a real gun? He turned to Olivier. His cousin looked awful, as though someone had knocked all the stuffing out of him.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Seb added. ‘It’s only so you can defend yourselves if someone starts taking potshots at you. Besides, you might want to take revenge if a person hurts someone you love. What do you reckon, Gustav?’

  ‘I’d kill ’em, I would,’ said Gustav. ‘Anyone who comes near my family.’

  ‘That’s what he did,’ said Seb. ‘Took his revenge.’

  Olivier came out of his daze. ‘What, you mean –’

  ‘Nobody messes with me or Gustav,’ Seb interrupted. ‘Not without consequences.’

  ‘Who are you?’ Olivier asked.

  ‘We’re friends,’ said Seb. ‘That’s all you need to know. Here, take this and see if you can hit that rock over there.’