Banco: The Further Adventures of Papillon

‘“Sixteen.”

‘“Where are you from?”

‘“La Villette.”

‘“What street?”

‘“Rue de Rouen.”

‘So was Jojo. He was afraid to understand. “What’s your name?” he cried.

‘“Ginette Dubois.”

‘It was his sister. They were completely overwhelmed and they both began to cry with shame and wretchedness. Then each told the road they had travelled. Ginette and her other sisters had had the same kind of life as Jojo – homes and reformatories. Their mother had just come out of a sanatorium. The eldest sister was working in a brothel for North Africans in La Villette – sweated labour. They decided to go and see her.

‘They had scarcely left the hotel before a pig in uniform called out to the chick. “Now you little tart, didn’t I tell you not to come soliciting on my beat?” And he came towards them. “This time I’ll run you in, you dirty little whore.”

‘It was too much for Jojo. After everything that had just happened, he no longer really knew what he was doing. He brought out a many-bladed pocket-knife he had bought for the army and shoved it into the pig’s chest. He was arrested and twelve “qualified” jurymen condemned him to death: he was reprieved by the President of the Republic and sent to the penal settlement.

‘Well now, Papillon, he escaped and at present he’s living at Cumana, a fair-sized port. He’s a shoemaker, he’s married, and he has nine children, all well cared for and all going to school. Indeed, one of the elder children has been at the university this last year. Every time I’m in Cumana I go and see them. That’s a pretty good example, eh? Yet believe you me, he too had a long bill to present to society. You’re no exception, Papillon, you see. Plenty of us have reasons for revenge. But as far as I know, not one of us has left this country to take it. I trust you, Papillon. Since you like the idea of Caracas, go there: but I hope you’ll have the sense to live the city life without falling into any of its traps.’

Bougrat left very late that afternoon. My ideas were in a turmoil by having seen him. Why had he made such an impression on me? Easy to see why. During these first days of freedom I had met convicts who were happy and readjusted; but even so, there was nothing extraordinary about the lives they led. It was more a prudent, very small-time kind of living. Their position was way down – workmen or peasants. Bougrat was different. For the first time I had seen an ex-con who was now a monsieur, a gentleman. That was what had made my heart thump. Would I be a monsieur too? Could I become one? For him, as a doctor, it had been comparatively easy. It would be harder for me, maybe; but even if I didn’t yet know how to set about it, I was sure that one day I was going to be a monsieur too.

Sitting on my bench at the bottom of the second gallery I watched my pumps: today they had run without a hitch. Keeping time with the engine I repeated Bougrat’s words, ‘I trust you, Papillon! Watch out for the pitfalls of the city.’ There must be some, for sure; and it wouldn’t be so easy to change my outlook either. I had had proof of that: only yesterday the sight of the gold store-house had knocked me absolutely flat. I had been out only a fortnight, and already, as I climbed up the path, dazzled by that fortune within hand’s reach, I was working out the details of how to get hold of it. And I’d certainly not yet completely made up my mind to leave those ingots lying there in peace.

The thoughts ran pell-mell through my head. ‘Papillon, I trust you.’ But could I put up with living like my companions? I didn’t think so. After all, there were plenty of other ways of getting enough money honestly. I was not forced to accept a life that was too small for me. I could carry on as an adventurer – I could prospect for gold or diamonds, vanish into the bush and come out some day with enough to set me up in the kind of position I was after.

It wouldn’t be easy to give up running risks and taking chances. But I thought, in spite of the temptation of that heap of gold, you mustn’t do it; you can’t do it; you haven’t the right to do it. A million dollars…You get that, Papi? Especially, since the job’s already in the bag. You don’t even have to work it out – it can’t miss. Tempting, by God, tempting. Lord above, they had no right to shove a mountain of gold right under a crook’s nose and then say to him ‘You mustn’t touch.’ The tenth part of that gold would be enough for me to carry out everything, revenge included – to carry out everything I’d dreamt of during those thousands of hours when I was buried alive.

At eight o’clock the hoist brought me up to the surface. I took the long way round so as not to go by the store-house. The less I saw of it, the better. I passed quickly through the village, greeting people and saying sorry to the ones who wanted me to stop – I was in a hurry; and I climbed fast to the house. Conchita was waiting for me, as black and cheerful as ever.

‘Well, Papillon, and how are you doing? Chariot told me to pour you out a stiff pastis before dinner. He said you looked as though you had problems. What’s wrong, Papi? You can tell me, your friend’s wife. Would you like me to fetch Graciela for you, or maybe Mercedes if you like her better? Don’t you think that would be a good idea?’

‘Conchita, you’re my little black pearl of El Callao, you’re wonderful, and I see why Chariot worships you. Maybe you’re right: maybe to set me up I need a girl beside me.’

‘That’s for sure. Unless it’s Chariot who was right.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, there was me saying that what you needed was to love and be loved. And he told me to hold on before I put a girl in your bed – perhaps it was something else.’

‘How do you mean, something else?’

She hesitated for a moment and then all at once she said, ‘I don’t care if you do tell Chariot; but he’ll box my ears.’

‘I shan’t tell him anything. I promise.’

‘Well, Chariot says you aren’t built for the same kind of life as he and the other Frenchmen here.’

‘What else? Come on, Conchita; tell me the lot.’

‘And he said you must be thinking that there’s too much useless gold lying about at the mine and that you’d find something better to do with it. There! And he went on that you aren’t a type that can live without spending a lot; and that you had a revenge you couldn’t give up and for that you wanted a great deal of money.’

I looked her straight in the eye. ‘Well, Conchita, your Char-lot got it wrong, wrong, wrong. You’re the one who was right. As for my future – no problem at all. You guessed it: what I want is a woman to love. I didn’t like to say so, on account of I’m rather shy.’

‘That I don’t believe, Papillon.’

‘OK. Go and fetch the blonde, and just you see if I’m not happy when I have a girl of my own.’

‘I’m on my way,’ she said, going into the bedroom to change her dress. ‘Oh that Mercedes, how happy she will be!’ she called. Before she had time to come back there was a knock at the door. ‘Come in,’ said Conchita. The door opened and there was Maria, looking a trifle confused.

‘You, Maria, at this time of night? What a marvellous surprise ! Conchita, this is Maria, the girl who took me in when Picolino and I first landed up in El Callao.’

‘Let me kiss you,’ said Conchita. ‘You’re as pretty as Papillon said you were.’

‘Who’s Papillon?’

‘That’s me. Enrique or Papillon, it’s all one. Sit down by me on the divan and tell me everything.’

Conchita gave a knowing laugh. ‘I don’t think it’s worth my while going out now,’ she said.

Maria stayed all night. As a lover she was shy, but she reacted to the slightest caress. I was her first man. Now she was sleeping. The two candles I had lit instead of the raw electric light were guttering. Their faint glow showed the beauty of her young body even better, and her breasts still marked by our embrace. Gently I got up to make myself some coffee and to see what time it was. Four o’clock. I knocked over a saucepan and woke Conchita. She came out of her room wearing a dressing-gown.

‘You want some coffee?’

‘Yes.’

‘Only for you, I’m sure. Because she must be sleeping with those angels you’ve introduced her to.’

‘You know all about it, Conchita.’

‘My people have fire in their veins. You must have noticed it tonight. Maria has one touch of Negro, two touches of Indian and the rest Spanish. If you’re not happy with a mixture like that, go and hang yourself,’ she said, laughing.

The splendid sun was high in the sky when it saw Maria wake up. I brought her coffee in bed. There was a question already on my lips. ‘Aren’t they going to worry, not finding you at home?’

‘My sisters knew I was coming here, so my father must have known an hour later. You aren’t going to send me away today?’

‘No, sweetie. I told you I didn’t want to set up house, but between that and sending you away is a long chalk, if you can stay without any trouble. Stay as long as you like.’

It was close on twelve and I had to leave for the mine. Maria decided to go home, hitching a lift in a truck, and to come back in the evening.

Hey there,’ said Chariot. He was standing in the door of his room, wearing pyjamas; and he spoke to me in French. ‘So you’ve found the chick you needed all by yourself. A luscious piece, too: I congratulate you, cock.’ He added that as it was Sunday tomorrow we might drink to the marriage.

‘Maria, tell your father and sisters to come and spend Sunday with us to celebrate this. And you come back whenever you like – the house is yours. Have a good day, Papi; watch out for the number three pump. And when you quit work, you don’t have to drop in on Simon. If you don’t see the stuff he is looking after so badly, you’ll feel it less.’

‘You dirty old crook No, I shan’t go and see Simon. Don’t you worry, mate. Ciao.’

Maria and I walked through the village arm in arm, tight together, to show the girls she was my woman.