“I gave it to her because she wasn’t well. From what I can see, you’re in excellent health.”
“I won’t lie to you, Papillon. I am in good health, but I was brought up in a port and I adore fish. I come from Oran. But what troubles me is that I know you won’t sell your fish. That’s very annoying.”
Well, the long and short of it was that I agreed to bring her fish.
I was smoking a cigarette, having just given her a good seven pounds of mullet and six langoustines, when the head warden came in.
He saw me and said, “I told you, Juliette, that, except for the houseboy, no bagnard is to come into the house.”
I started to my feet, but she said, “Don’t get up. This is the man Madame Barrot recommended to me before she left. So it’s no concern of yours. I’ll allow nobody into this house but him. Besides, he’s going to bring me fish when I need it.”
“All right, then,” the warden said. “What’s your name?”
I was about to get up and answer, but Juliette put her hand on my shoulder and told me to stay seated. “This is my house,” she said. “The warden is not the warden here. He is my husband, Monsieur Prouillet.”
“Thank you, madame. My name is Papillon.”
“Ah! I’ve heard of you and your escape from the hospital in Saint-Laurent three years ago. One of the guards you knocked out happened to be my nephew—mine and your protector’s here.”
With that Juliette let out a gay, young laugh and said, “So you’re the one who knocked out Gaston! That won’t change our relationship the least bit.”
The warden, who was still standing, said, “The number of murders on the islands each year is unbelievable. Many more than on Grande Terre. How do you account for that, Papillon?”
“Sir, the men here have no hope of escape and that makes them testy. They live practically on top of each other for years on end and they naturally develop strong friendships and hatreds. Besides, less than five percent of the murderers are ever discovered, so no one’s afraid of being caught.”
“That sounds logical enough. How long have you been fishing? What work do you do that gives you the right to fish anyway?”
“I take care of the latrines. My work is over at six in the morning and then I fish.”
“All the rest of the day?” Juliette asked.
“No, I have to be back in camp at noon, but I can go out again at three and stay until six. Of course, the tides vary and sometimes I miss the best fishing.”
“You’ll give him a special permit, won’t you, darling?” Juliette said, turning to her husband. “From six in the morning until six at night, so that he can fish when he wants to.” “All right,” the head warden said.
I left the house, congratulating myself on the way I’d managed things. Those three hours from noon to three were precious. It was siesta time and almost all the guards were asleep then.
Juliette all but took over both me and my fish. It got to the point where she’d send her young houseboy to find me and claim my catch. He’d say, “Madame wants everything you’ve caught because she’s expecting company and wants to make a bouillabaisse.” In fact, she not only took all my catch, but she also began sending me in search of special fish or after langoustines. It played havoc with the menu in our gourbi, though on the other hand, what protection! She was also full of little attentions: “Papillon, isn’t it high tide at one o’clock?” “Yes, madame.” “Then why don’t you eat here so you don’t have to go back to camp?” She was not as discreet as Mme. Barrot. Sometimes she’d try to question me about my past. I avoided the subject that interested her most—my life in Montmartre—and concentrated on my childhood and youth. Meanwhile the warden was asleep in his room.
Early one morning I had great luck and caught almost sixty langoustines. It was about ten when I stopped by her house. I found her in a white dressing gown with another young woman who was setting her hair. I said good morning and offered her a dozen langoustines.
“No,” she said. “I want them all. How many are there?”
“About sixty.”
“That’s perfect. How many do you and your friends need?”
“Eight.”
“Then you take eight and give the rest to the boy. He’ll put them on ice.”
I was on the point of going when she said, “Don’t run away. Sit down and have a pastis. You must be hot.”
It made me uncomfortable to sit down with this demanding woman. I drank my pastis slowly, smoked a cigarette and watched the young woman comb out Juliette’s hair. From time to time the girl threw me a glance, and finally the warden’s wife noticed it in the mirror. She said, “Isn’t my beau handsome, Simone? You’re all jealous of me, aren’t you?” They both laughed and I didn’t know where to look.
I said clumsily, “Luckily your beau—as you call him—isn’t much of a threat. In his position he can hardly be anybody’s beau.”
“You’re not trying to tell me you don’t have a crush on me? I’m the first person who’s been able to tame you, aren’t I? And I can do anything with you I like. Isn’t that right, Simone?”
“I don’t know about that,” Simone answered. “But I do know you’re a terror to everybody but the warden’s wife, Papillon. Last week the chief guard’s wife told me you caught over forty pounds of fish and you wouldn’t even sell her two miserable ones. There was no meat at the butcher’s, and she wanted them like mad. And did you hear,” she went on, “what he said to Madame Leblond the other day? She saw him going by with some langoustines and a big moray. ‘Please sell me that moray, Papillon, or at least sell me half of it. It’s a speciality with us Bretons.’ ‘Bretons aren’t the only ones who appreciate it, madame. Lots of people, including those from Ardèche, have known it was a choice food since Roman times.’ And he went on his way without selling her a thing.”
They both laughed like mad.
I went back to camp in a rage and that evening told my gourbi the whole story.
“This is serious,” Carbonieri said. “That broad is putting you on the spot. I’d advise you to go there as little as possible and then only when you’re sure the warden is there.” Everybody agreed, and I decided I would do just that.
I discovered a carpenter from Valence, which is almost my home country. He had killed a guard in the forest and water service. He was an inveterate gambler and always in debt. He spent his days feverishly making camelote and his nights losing what he’d earned. Often he’d make things to pay his creditors, but they took unholy advantage of him and paid him a hundred and fifty or two hundred francs for a rosewood box worth three hundred. I decided to go after him.
One day when we were in the washhouse together, I said, “I want to talk to you tonight. Let’s meet in the toilets. I’ll let you know when.”
That night, as we were talking alone, I said, “Bourset, you know we’re from the same neck of the woods?”
“How’s that?”
“Aren’t you from Valence?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m from Ardèche. So we’re neighbors.”
“So what?”
“That means I don’t like to see you taken advantage of when you’re in debt, only getting half what your things are worth. Bring them to me—I’ll give you full value. That’s all.”
“Thanks,” Bourset said.
He was forever in hot water with the people he owed, so I was constantly helping him out. Things weren’t too bad, though, until he got in debt to Vicioli, a Corsican mountain bandit and one of my good friends. Bourset told me that Vicioli was after him for the seven hundred francs he owed him. He had a small secretary that was almost finished, he said, but he wasn’t sure when he’d be through with it because he had to work on it in secret. (They were not allowed to make large pieces because it took too much wood.) I told him I’d see what I could do. With Vicioli’s consent, I put on an act—Vicioli was to put the pressure on Bourset, even threaten him, and I’d jump in as Bourset’s savior.
&n
bsp; And that’s exactly what happened. After that Bourset was my man and trusted me implicitly. For the first time in his life as a bagnard he could breathe freely. So I decided I’d take a chance.
One evening I said to him, “I’ll give you two thousand francs if you’ll do what I ask. I want a raft big enough for two men, in sections that will fit together.”
“Listen, Papillon, I wouldn’t do this for anybody else, but for you I’ll even risk two years in solitary. The only thing is, I can’t get the big pieces out of the workshop.”
“I’ve got somebody to do that.”
“Who?”
“The ‘wheelbarrow brothers,’ Narric and Quenier. Now, how do you plan to make the raft?”
“First I’ll do a drawing to scale, then I’ll make each piece tongue-and-groove so they’ll all fit tight. All the wood on the islands is hardwood, though—I may have a little trouble finding wood that’ll float.”
“When will you know if you can do it?”
“In three days.”
“Do you want to escape with me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m scared of the sharks and I don’t want to drown.”
“You promise you’ll help me until it’s finished?”
“I swear it on my children’s heads. Only it’s going to take a long time.”
“That’s all right. Now listen carefully. I’m going to copy the design for the raft on a piece of notebook paper, and underneath I’ll write, ‘Bourset, you make this raft just like this drawing or you die.’ This’ll be your alibi if something goes wrong. Later on I’ll give you orders in writing on how to make every piece. Each time you’ve finished one, I want you to leave it where I tell you. It will then be taken away. Don’t try to find out when.” This seemed to make him feel better. “This way we avoid the risk of your being tortured if you’re caught—the most you’ll get is six months.”
“What if you’re the one who’s caught?”
“Then it’ll be the other way around. I’ll admit to being the author of the notes. Naturally you’ll keep the written orders. O.K.?”
“O.K.”
“You’re not afraid?”
“No, I’m glad to have the chance to help you.”
I didn’t say a word to anyone. I was waiting for Bourset’s answer. An endless week passed before we talked again, alone in the library.
Right away Bourset put sunshine in my heart.
“The hardest part was to make sure I’d have wood that was light and dry. I solved it by designing a kind of wooden collar to fit around a bunch of dried coconuts—shells on, of course. The shells are the lightest thing there is and they’re absolutely waterproof. When the raft is finished, it will be up to you to find the coconuts to put inside. I’ll start on the first piece tomorrow. It should take me about three days. Have one of the brothers pick it up as soon as possible after Thursday. I won’t start a new piece before the finished one has left the shop. Here’s my design. You copy it and write the letter you promised. Have you talked to the brothers?”
“No, not yet. I was waiting for your answer.”
“Well, you’ve got it. It’s yes.”
“Thanks, Bourset—I don’t really know how to thank you. Here, take this five hundred francs.”
He looked me straight in the eye and said, “No, you keep the money. If you make it to Grande Terre, you’ll need it to set up your next cavale. Starting today, I’m not playing cards until you’re gone. With the things I make here, I’ll still have enough for cigarettes and steaks.”
“Why won’t you take it?”
“Because I wouldn’t do this for ten thousand francs. For all the precautions we’ve taken, the risks are too great. I can do it only for free. You helped me, you were the only person who ever gave me a hand. It scares me, but I’m glad to do it.”
As I copied the design, I began to feel very guilty. It had never even crossed Bourset’s innocent mind that I’d helped him to gain my own ends. I had to keep telling myself—to make me look better in my own eyes—that escape justified everything, even the dishonorable way I’d behaved.
During the night I talked to Narric, who was to pass the word to his brother-in-law.
Right away he said, “You can count on me to carry the pieces out of the shop. Just don’t be in too much of a hurry. We’ll only be able to move them when there’s big stuff going out for a masonry job. We won’t miss a chance, though, I promise you that.”
So far so good. Now I had only to talk to Matthieu Carbonieri, for he was the one I wanted to go with me on the cavale. He was for it 100 percent.
“Matthieu, I’ve found someone to make the raft and I’ve found someone to carry the pieces out of the shop. Now it’s up to you to find a place in your garden where we can bury the raft.”
“No, the garden’s no good. The guards come at night to steal vegetables and they’re likely to notice something. I’ll fix up a hiding place in the retaining wall by taking out a big stone and digging out a space behind it. That way, when I get a piece, I’ll only have to remove the rock and then put it back after I’ve stowed the piece inside.”
“Should they carry the pieces straight to your garden?”
“No, that’s too dangerous. The brothers don’t have any good reason for going there. The best thing would be to have them leave the piece in a new place each time.”
“Right.”
Everything seemed to be working. The only thing lacking was the coconuts. I must try to figure out how to collect enough of them without attracting attention.
I felt myself coming back to life. The only thing left was to talk to Galgani and Grandet. I had no right to keep silent, for they might be accused of complicity at some point. To avoid this, I decided to leave our gourbi and live alone, but when I told them my plans they really bawled me out. “Get going on your cavale as soon as you can! We’ll make out. But while you’re waiting, stay with us. We’ve been through cavales before.”
The cavale had now been in preparation for over a month. I had already received seven pieces, two of them quite big. I went to have a look at the retaining wall where Matthieu had dug his hiding place. He had taken the precaution of sticking moss around it so the rock didn’t look as if it had ever been moved. The place was perfect, but the cavity looked too small to hold the whole raft. Still, there was room enough for the moment.
Having a cavale in the works was wonderful for my morale. I ate better than ever and the fishing kept me in good physical shape. In addition, I spent over two hours every morning doing exercises among the rocks. I concentrated on my legs, for the fishing took care of my arms. I discovered a good trick for the legs. If I fished further out where the waves broke against my thighs, the struggle to keep my balance was very good for the muscles.
Juliette, the warden’s wife, was still very nice to me, but she noticed that I came in only when her husband was there. She said so right out, and to put me at ease, she explained that she had been joking the day she was having her hair done. And the young woman who had done her hair stopped me often on the way up from fishing to ask how I was, etc. So everything was all right in that department.
Bourset never wasted a moment. It was now two and a half months since we’d begun and, as I’d foreseen, the hiding place was full. We lacked only two pieces, but these were the longest—six and a half feet long and five feet. They would never fit into the hole in the retaining wall.
Looking around in the cemetery, I noticed a freshly dug grave with an ugly bouquet of faded flowers on it. It was probably the grave of the guard’s wife who had died the week before. The cemetery guard, an ancient, half-blind con nicknamed Papa, usually spent the whole day sitting in the shade of a coconut palm on the far side; from there he couldn’t see the grave or anyone coming near it. What if I used the grave for the raft after it was assembled, and to store as many coconuts as possible? But it would hold only about thirty-five—far fewer than I’d be needing. So I scattered
over fifty in various other places—there were a dozen in Juliette’s garden alone. The houseboy thought I’d left them there to make oil out of someday.
When I learned that the dead woman’s husband had left for Grande Terre, I decided to dig the earth away from the grave.
Matthieu sat on the wall and acted as lookout. On his head he wore a white handkerchief, knotted at the four corners. Next to him he kept a red handkerchief, also knotted at the corners. He wore the white as long as there was no danger. If anyone came into view, he put on the red.
This risky work took me one whole afternoon and night. I didn’t remove the earth as far down as the coffin because I had to enlarge the hole to make it big enough for the raft—another four feet plus a little room for maneuvering. The hours seemed endless, and the red handkerchief on Matthieu’s head forced me to stop several times. Finally it was morning and I was finished. The hole was covered with woven palm leaves which made a fairly firm platform. On top of that I put a layer of earth with a small border. You could barely see it. By the time I was through, my nerves were on the point of snapping.
The preparations for the cavale had now been going on for three months. The labeled pieces had been taken out of their hiding place and laid above the poor woman’s coffin, hidden by the earth that covered the matting. In the wall cavity we stored three bags of flour, a seven-foot rope for the sail, a bottleful of matches, a tinder box and a dozen cans of milk.
Bourset was getting more and more excited. You’d have thought it was his own cavale. Now Narric was sorry he hadn’t said yes in the beginning. We could have made a raft for three people instead of two.
The rainy season began. It rained every day, which made it easier for me to visit the grave. Now only two side pieces for the frame were missing. Little by little I’d brought the coconuts nearer the garden, where they could be stored without danger in the buffaloes’ open stable. My friends never questioned me. From time to time they simply asked, “How’s it going?” “O.K.” “It’s taking a long time, isn’t it?” “You can’t do it faster without running a big risk.” That was all.
Papillon Page 33
