LITMIR.BIZ

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‘Let me shake your hand good and hearty, like a brother, for what you’ve just said to a poor guy like me. In this country, do you see, it’s not like it is where you come from, maybe. Here almost nobody’s married legally. You like one another, you make love, and if there’s a child you set up house together. You join up as easily as you leave one another. It’s very hot here, and on account of the heat the women are very full-blooded. They thirst for love and the pleasures of the flesh. They mature early. Maria’s an exception; she’s never had an affair although she’s nearly eighteen. I think your country’s morality is better than ours, because here there are any number of women who have children without a father, and that’s a very serious problem. But what can you do about it? The good Lord says you must love one another and have children. In this country the women don’t calculate when they give themselves to a man – they aren’t after a social position. They want to love and be loved, just like that, quite naturally: nothing more. They are faithful so long as they like you sexually. When that’s over, it’s another story. Yet they are wonderful mothers, willing to make any sacrifice at all for their children, even keeping them when they could work for themselves. So although I quite see you are surrounded by temptation all the time, I ask you again to stay with us. I’m glad to have a man like you in the house.’

      We were in the bar before I answered. It was a bar and at the same time a grocer’s shop. A dozen men were sitting about. We drank a few Cuba Libres, a mixture of rum and Coca-Cola. Several people came up to shake my hand and bid me welcome to their village. Each time José introduced me as a friend who was living at his house. We had a good many drinks. When I asked what they came to, José became almost annoyed. He wanted to pay for everything. Still, I did manage to persuade the barman to refuse his money and take mine.

      Someone touched me on the shoulder: it was Maria. ‘Come home. It’s lunch-time. Don’t drink any more: you promised me not to drink too much.’ She was saying ‘thee’ to me now.

      José was arguing with another man; she said nothing to him but took me by the arm and led me out.

      ‘What about your father?’

      ‘Let him be. I can never say anything to him when he’s drinking and I never come to fetch him from the café. He wouldn’t have it, anyway.’

      ‘Why did you come and fetch me, then?’

      ‘You’re different. Be good, Enrique, and come along.’ Her eyes were so brilliant and she said it so simply that I went back to the house with her.

      ‘You deserve a kiss,’ she said when we got there. And she put her lips to my cheek, too near my mouth.

      José came back after we had had lunch together at the round table. The youngest sister helped Picolino eat, giving him his food little by little.

      José sat down by himself. He was tolerably high, so he spoke without thinking. ‘Enrique is frightened of you, my girls,’ he said. ‘So frightened he wants to go away. I told him that in my opinion he could stay, and that my girls were old enough to know what they were doing.’

      Maria gazed at me. She looked astonished, perhaps disappointed. ‘If he wants to go, Papa, let him. But I don’t think he’d be better off anywhere else than he is here, where everyone likes him.’ And turning to me she added, ‘Enrique, don’t be a coward. If you like one of us and she likes you, why should you run away?’

      ‘On account of he’s married in France,’ said her father.

      ‘How long since you saw your wife?’

      ‘Thirteen years.’

      ‘The way we see it, if you love a man you don’t necessarily marry him. If you give yourself to a man, it’s to love him, nothing more. But it was quite right of you to tell our father you were married, because like that you can’t promise any of us anything at all, apart from love.’ And she asked me to stay with them without committing myself. They would look after Picolino and I would be free to work. She even said I could pay a little, as if I were a lodger, to make me feel easier in my mind. Did I agree?

      I had no time to think properly. It was all so new and so quick after thirteen years of life as a convict. I said, ‘OK, Maria. That’s fine.’

      ‘Would you like me to go with you to the gold-mine this afternoon to ask for a job? We could go at five, when the sun is lower. It’s a mile and a half from the village.’

      ‘Fine.’

      Picolino’s movements and his expression showed how pleased he was that we were going to stay. The girls’ kindness and their care had won his heart. My staying was chiefly on account of him. Because here I was pretty sure of having an affair before long: and maybe it would not suit me.

      With all that had been going on inside my head these last thirteen years, with all that had stopped me sleeping these thirteen years on end, I was not going to come to a halt as quickly as all this and settle down in a village at the far end of the world just because of a girl’s pretty face. I had a long road in front of me, and my stops must be short. Just long enough to get my wind and then full speed ahead. Because there was a reason why I had been fighting for my liberty these thirteen years and there was a reason why I had won the fight: and that reason was revenge. The prosecuting counsel, the false witness, the cop: I had a score to settle with them. And that was something I was never to forget. Never.

      I wandered out to the village square. I noticed a shop with the name Prospéri over it. He must be a Corsican or an Italian, and indeed the little shop did belong to the descendant of a Corsican. Monsieur Prospéri spoke very good French. He kindly suggested writing a letter for me to the manager of La Mocupia, the French company that worked the Caratal gold-mine. This splendid man even offered to help me with money. I thanked him for everything and went out.

      

      ‘What are you doing here, Papillon? Where the hell have you come from, man? From the moon? Dropped by parachute? Come and let me kiss you!’ A big guy, deeply sunburnt, with a huge straw hat on his head, jumped to his feet. ‘You don’t recognize me?’ And he took off his hat.

      ‘Big Chariot! Stone the crows!’ Big Chariot, the man who knocked off the safe at the Place Clichy Gaumont in Paris, and the one in the Batignolles station! We embraced like two brothers. Tears came into our eyes, we were so moved. We gazed at one another.

      ‘A far cry from the Place Blanche and the penal, mate, eh? But where the hell have you come from? You’re dressed like an English lord: and you’ve aged much less than me.’

      ‘I’m just out of El Dorado.’

      ‘How long were you there?’

      ‘A year and more.’

      ‘Why didn’t you let me know? I’d have got you out straight away, signed a paper saying I was responsible for you. Christ above! I knew there were some hard cases in El Dorado, but I never for a moment imagined you were there, you, a buddy!’

      ‘It’s a bloody miracle we should have met.’

      ‘Don’t you believe it, Papi. The whole of Venezuelan Guiana from Ciudad Bolivar to El Callao is stuffed with right hard guys or detainees making a break. And as this is the first bit of Venezuelan territory you come across when you escape, there’s no miracle in meeting anyone at all between the Gulf of Paria and here – every last son of a bitch comes this way. All those who don’t come apart on the road, I mean. Where are you staying?’

      With a decent type called José. He has four daughters.’

      ‘Yes, I know him. He’s a good chap, a pirate. Let’s go and get your things: you’re staying with me, of course.’

      ‘I’m not alone. I’ve got a paralysed friend and I have to look after him.’

      ‘That doesn’t matter. I’ll fetch an ass for him. It’s a big house and there’s a negrita [a black girl], who’ll look after him like a mother.’

      When we had found the second donkey we went to the girls’ house. Leaving

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