The Guillotine Choice

by Michael J Malone

  He paddled until the water was up to his waist and then kicked off into the sea. He loved that moment when he was powering through the water, just him and millions of gallons of this most basic element of life. After several minutes of swimming, he lifted his head, spat out a mouthful of salt water and treaded water. He looked out towards the bad weather and saw that it was moving faster than he realised. Even from here he could see that the wind was churning up the surface into large waves.

  Turning back to shore, he felt that it would be much safer if he was on dry land until this patch of bad weather had passed them by.

  He was soon on land and skipping over the hot sand towards the spot where he had stored his clothing. Sitting down, he could feel a stronger breeze than before. He looked out to sea and saw a bigger change even than he expected. The sky grew darker and as he looked along the beach he could see everyone leaving the water for the safety of dry land.

  The wind was now whipping sand up into his face and the waves were hitting the shore in a rush. The change of weather had been so sudden that there had been no time for the authorities to place the red flags that were usually rolled out to warn of any hazards.

  Mohand watched in amazement as the squall moved in. He considered that he should probably just go back to barracks, but as other occupants rushed from the beach he enjoyed the fact that he might have this space to himself. He was safe. Why would he need to find shelter?

  He noticed one family that hadn’t moved. A woman stood up and with one hand placed at her forehead and one held over her heart, she appeared to be searching the water for someone.

  THREE

  New Trousers

  The sea was becoming more violent by the minute. The waves were growing and crashing onto the shore. Coastguards were shouting and waving to the few stragglers still in the sea, urging them to come ashore.

  Mohand stood up and moved towards the water’s edge. Even from this distance he could see that whoever it was out there, they were stranded at the far end of the squall and struggling to come back. He looked back over towards the family and could see they all had their eyes trained out to sea, but no one was making any effort to help.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Mohand jumped into the surging water and started swimming towards them. At one point he stopped swimming to assess his position relevant to the troubled swimmer. Looking around, he could see a small canoe being launched, but the coastguards and their little craft were having problems getting beyond the swell. The waves were so strong that their boat was continually being thrown back to shore.

  Mohand tucked his head into a wave and fought its push with a kick. With all his strength he fought against the current. The distance to the victim didn’t seem to be getting any shorter.

  Again and again he splashed through the waves. Again and again fighting the power of the ocean. There was nothing but him and the elements and he would not give in.

  At last he saw that he was getting closer. No wonder the woman on the beach was so worried, for the troubled swimmer was just a girl. This gave Mohand fresh strength and even more reason to save her. With a few more strokes he reached her.

  ‘Ne t’inquiete pas,’ he shouted over the roar of the wind and sea. She was so exhausted she barely had the strength to acknowledge. She opened her mouth to try and speak, but a wave washed over her. She came back up on the crest of the next wave, spluttering and choking. Mohand was picked up by another wave and crashed against her. He reached out and grabbed her arm. Panic gave her a little more strength. She thrashed her arms about and Mohand lost his grip on her.

  He managed to swim behind her and pulled her towards him. As he did so, he held her under her armpits and brought the back of her head on to his shoulder.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he shouted into her ear. ‘I’ve got you.’

  She was now limp, a heavy weight in his arms.

  Struggling to tread water, he looked back towards the shore and tried to judge the distance and the movement of the waves. He could see the coastguards still struggling to push the boat beyond the first breaking waves. Behind them a crowd gathered on the shore. They formed a chain along the front, watching the two swimmers being thrown up and down like a twig by the roiling sea.

  Holding the girl’s head, Mohand began to swim backwards. In this new position, he found it difficult to move any further. The sea was too strong. The girl was becoming heavier and heavier. The energy was draining from him.

  A wave caught him in the face. He swallowed water. Spitting it back out, he fought for breath. The situation was becoming hopeless. How was he going to save himself now, let alone the girl?

  The waves battered him. The wind howled in his ears. Spray filled his ears and his mouth. His eyes were stinging with salt.

  His breath was ragged and forced. It felt that each time he opened his mouth to take a gulp of oxygen, only sea water filled his mouth.

  He felt himself weaken. He shook his head, trying to shake water from his eyes. He fought against the next wave, anxious to stay above the surface, finding it more and more difficult to breathe. Battered by the wind and the waves, he became confused. He barely knew which way was up, never mind the direction of the shore.

  His legs were weakening, he could barely hold on to the girl.

  This was the end. He repeated a prayer over and over again.

  ‘I witness that there is only one God and Mohamed is his prophet.’

  Suddenly a giant wave come from nowhere and carried them both into the air. It flattened, and they were dropped in front of a large rock. Mohand somehow found the strength to kick forward and trusting that one hand was enough to keep hold of the girl he stretched his other out to try and get a grip on the rock. His fingers felt the slime of seaweed. He frantically wrapped this around his wrist, prayed that it would be anchored strong enough to the rock to hold him and prayed that another large wave wouldn’t come and push them over the far side of the rock and away from safety. With all of his strength, he pushed the girl towards the rock. Seeing that she was close to being safe, she found some last reserves of strength and with one foot on Mohand’s chest and a knee on his face she clambered to safety. He was bruised by her actions and pushed harder against the surface of the rock where he felt it tear at his skin. He barely felt the pain and now that he had a free hand he fought for a grip on the rock and pulled himself up out of the sea.

  They both lay on their backs fighting to fill their lungs.

  The girl was chanting, ‘Merci, merci, merci.’

  Mohand sent a silent prayer of thanks to Allah and struggled up onto his knees to assess their situation afresh. They may be out of reach of the waves for the moment, but they were still some way off the shore.

  He could see that the coastguards had eventually got beyond the first set of waves and were not far from them.

  He waved to let them know that they were safe.

  He shouted, ‘A rope. We need a rope.’

  Some minutes later they reached them, but couldn’t come too close in case a wave lifted them on to the rocks. At least now the wind had died down a little and the situation was not quite as precarious.

  A coastguard threw a rope to Mohand. He plucked it from the air and tied it around the girl’s tiny waist. Her mouth made a small shape of panic. Her breathing, which had all but recovered, was becoming more and more ragged at the thought of going back into the sea.

  ‘Trust me,’ he said. ‘This is almost over. I won’t let you go.’

  She opened her mouth and a tiny squeal was all she could allow.

  He couldn’t delay any further. Before panic could fully take a hold of her, he had to take the next step towards safety. He lifted her up and jumped back into the sea. She thrashed against him.

  ‘Calme toi,’ he shouted. ‘They have the other end of the rope.’

  In the water again, he could feel that the force of the waves had lessened, and the coastguards were able to pull the rope towards them. Once they were close to the
canoe, one man reached over and pulled the girl on board.

  There was no room for Mohand.

  ‘Can you hold on to the side?’ one of the men asked him.

  He nodded, gripped the side of the boat and, as the men began to paddle, he sent a thousand prayers of thanks as he felt the craft move back to shore.

  The journey back to the beach was relatively uneventful. Mohand initially worried that he wouldn’t have the strength to hold his grip, but the closer the shore appeared, the more he was able to relax. As soon as he could, he stood up in the water and with more gratitude than he had ever felt, he made his way to the sand.

  The canoe beached and was immediately surrounded. A man and woman were red-eyed and praising everyone for the safe delivery of their child. The father reached in to the boat and pulled the girl into his arms. The mother hovered over them both, tears of joy flooding her face.

  People were crowding around the boat. Those at the back couldn’t see what was happening and shouted anxiously, ‘Is she alive?’

  Someone close to the front shouted back, ‘I think he saved her.’

  ‘What a brave man!’ a woman said.

  ‘Did anyone see who he was?’

  Mohand realised that the sheer numbers of people around them meant that few could see where, or even who, he was. Gratefully, he moved back to the area of the beach where he had stored his clothes. Without drying himself, he pulled his trousers and shirt on.

  Now dressed, he headed back towards his barracks. Unfortunately, this meant he had to pass through the main part of the beach and with his head down he walked quickly.

  Some people recognised him as the saviour of the young girl, and they congratulated him as he passed. He noticed that those who realised he was a convict held back their praise, unsure of how they should react. Mohand acknowledged no one and continued on his path. He was proud that he had saved the girl’s life, but he knew that even if he saved one hundred of their daughters he would still be a convict. He would still be considered as the scum of their society.

  * * *

  Once in his cell, Mohand found a clean uniform and changed, but suddenly he was as exhausted as if he had spent a week clearing a spot in the jungle, and he collapsed onto the bed.

  He closed his eyes and slept.

  After what felt like mere moments, he heard a knock on the door. He lifted his head from the pillow, not sure who to expect. He was half-asleep, confused and had all but cast the incident from his mind.

  Who would be knocking at his door, he wondered. A guard would just walk in. A fellow convict would hail him from the door.

  A fist rapped at the door again. It’s knocking almost polite. He stood up and opened it. A man he recognised as a fellow convict was pointing a finger at him.

  ‘This is the convict, Saoudi,’ he said to someone at his side.

  Beside him was the couple he had last seen on the beach holding on to their daughter. Up close, Mohand could see that they were people who might be considered to be of some value by the society that had shunned him. They were tall, slim, clearly in rude health and dressed in expensive clothes.

  Clinging on to her father’s hand was the girl whose life he had saved. Mohand judged that she was about thirteen. She was smiling shyly at him from behind a long fringe of blonde hair.

  ‘We don’t know how to thank you for saving our daughter,’ the man said. He held out a hand.

  Mohand held his out and allowed the man to shake it.

  ‘Don’t mention it. It’s nothing.’

  The woman took a step forward and hugged him. Then, as if she was remembering herself, she stepped back beside her husband.

  ‘Please. This is not nothing,’ she said. ‘Without you, our daughter would be dead.’ At the thought of this she was suddenly overcome. She sniffed back her tears as her daughter tried to reassure her.

  ‘Mama, don’t cry. I’m here. I’m alive.’

  The woman half-sobbed, half-laughed. ‘Of course you are, darling.’ She turned to Mohand. ‘I don’t know how to thank you, sir.’

  Mohand stared at her, confused at the word ‘sir’. Did she not realise he was a convict?

  The man was studying Mohand’s reaction.

  ‘When everyone else was standing and staring’, judging by the shadow of guilt that passed over his face he clearly included himself in this, ‘you dived in to the sea and risked your own life. For someone you don’t even know.’

  Mohand looked him in the eye, feeling as if he had been noticed for the first time in a long time.

  ‘Sir, I did not risk my life, since I am already dead,’ he answered honestly. ‘As to why I saved someone, I don’t know,’ he shrugged. ‘I saw a human in need of my help and I offered it. Allah says that all lives are sacred.’

  The man was stunned at Mohand’s matter-of-fact attitude.

  ‘Why did you not wait to be thanked?’

  ‘I did not save the life of your daughter to be thanked, sir.’

  The man narrowed his eyes and asked, ‘Are you ashamed for what you did, or is your shame to do with your status as a convict?’

  Mohand felt a brief flaring of irritation that the man had read him so well. ‘Your daughter was safe, sir. That was thanks enough for me.’

  The man bowed, as if he was impressed by Mohand’s honesty and his dignity.

  ‘Can we offer you anything as a gesture of thanks?’

  Mohand opened his mouth to speak, but before he could answer, the man who brought them to his room asked, ‘Do you know who these people are?’

  ‘Forgive me.’ Mohand nodded at the couple and decided to err on the side of caution. ‘But should I?’

  ‘This is Monsieur Lefevre. He is the prefect of Paris.’

  At this, the man looked almost humbled. Mohand got the impression that normally such an introduction was a matter of course for him, but on this occasion it was almost as if he was desperately keen that Mohand was impressed by this title.

  The convict who introduced him continued, this time turning to the mother of the child, ‘His wife, Madame Lefevre, is the sister of the mayor of St Laurent’s wife. They are visiting the colony on their holidays.’

  Mohand blinked back his surprise at this news. Surely Allah had put these people in his path to help ease his time in this hellhole? His mind went wild with the possibilities. Maybe they could make his life in prison a little easier? Perhaps they could even have his sentence reduced. Who knew what influence this man might have?

  Before Mohand could say anything, Monsieur Lefevre said, ‘We would like you to come with us, as our guest, if you don’t mind, please?’

  ‘No problem,’ answered Mohand with a shrug, while still mentally trying to come to terms with this development. ‘I have nothing better to do.’

  At this, the little girl jumped up and down and clapped her hands with delight. The adults all burst out laughing.

  ‘My name is Valerie,’ she said with a huge smile. ‘What is yours?’

  ‘My name is Mohand,’ he answered and held out his hand as if in a grand gesture. ‘Enchante.’ The girl took her hand in his and shook it. Her bones felt as delicate as eggshell against the work-scarred skin of his hands. And for the first time, Mohand was struck fully with the enormity of what he had achieved. He felt tears sting his eyes. If it weren’t for him, this little girl would surely be dead instead of brightening the world with such a beautiful smile.

  The girl sensed his emotion and moved closer. With no reservations or judgement whatsoever she hugged him.

  ‘Thank you, Mohand,’ she whispered. ‘Thank you.’

  It was all Mohand could do not to give in the emotion that churned in his gut. For that brief moment, he was more than a number. He had value and this little girl could see that.

  Outside his cell, Mohand could see that another couple was standing waiting. The woman was a darker, slightly younger version of the girl’s mother and the man was dressed in the kind of white cotton suit favoured by the local civilian
s.

  ‘Monsieur Le Maire and his wife,’ said the convict by way of introduction.

  Both of them stepped forward and shook Mohand’s hand.

  The mayor’s handshake was robust and heartily grateful. His wife leaned forward and kissed both of his cheeks.

  ‘You saved my favourite girl, Monsieur. How can I ever thank you?’

  Mohand was fast becoming uncomfortable with all this attention. He mumbled something and waited to find out what was going to happen next.

  ‘D’accord, everyone. Let’s go,’ said the mayor and they walked in procession from the barracks.

  * * *

  They must have made a strange parade as they walked through St Laurent on their way to the mayor’s house. In front were Valerie and Mohand, with the two most important couples in the town just behind them. As they walked, Valerie issued a constant stream of chatter and, in his discomfort, Mohand couldn’t have been more grateful for it. The little girl had claimed his company as he was her saviour. Now that she was completely safe, she wanted to do nothing else but talk about how close she was to death.

  ‘And how scared were you, Mohand?’

  ‘I could hardly breathe when those waves kept crashing over me.’

  ‘Did you never feel like giving up and just going to sleep?’

  Mohand laughed. ‘I don’t recommend you fall asleep in the ocean. You might find breathing a little too difficult. Not to mention the fact that your teddy bear would get soaked.’

  Valerie giggled. ‘I’m too old for a teddy bear, silly.’

  At this point the parents lengthened their stride and stepped ahead of Mohand and Valerie, guiding them towards a shop. Somewhat mystified, Mohand followed them into what appeared to be a tailor’s. Racks of suits and shirts and ties filled the walls. A large mirror stood in the far corner, reflecting back to him his own image. He looked away quickly. He didn’t want to address the fact of his appearance at this moment. The washed-out cotton pyjamas he was wearing only encouraged thoughts of his unworthiness. Looking around himself in awe, Mohand thought that he must be the only prisoner in the history of the colony to have walked in here and been surrounded with all of these beautiful rich colours and cloths.