had a heart. Maybe it hardened, but it still had some sensitive corners. At the station he saw a train destined for Paris. It was as if a spring had been triggered off inside him. He jumped in double quick, and there he was in Paris. It was raining when he walked out of the station. He stood under a shelter, working out how he would get to La Villette. Under this same shelter there was a girl; she too was keeping out of the rain. She gave him a pleasant sort of a look. All he knew about women was the chief warder’s fat wife at Esse and what the bigger boys at the reformatory had told him – more or less true. No one had ever looked at him like this girl: they began to talk.
‘“Where do you come from?”'
‘“The country.”'
‘“I like you, boy. Why don’t we go to a hotel? I’ll be nice to you and we’ll be in the warm.”'
‘Jojo was all stirred up. To him this chick seemed something wonderful – and what’s more her gentle hand touched his. Discovering love was a fantastic, shattering experience for him. The girl was young and very amorous. When they had made love until they could no more, they sat on the bed to smoke, and the chick said to him, “Is this the first time you’ve been to bed with a girl?”
‘“Yes,” he confessed.
‘“Why did you wait so long?”
‘“I was in a reformatory.”
‘“A long time?”
‘“Very long.”
‘“I was in one too. I escaped.”
‘“How old are you?” asked Jojo.
‘“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