Papillon (44 page)

T
HE
I
LES
DU
S
ALUT
(C
ONTINUED
)

I
N FIVE MONTHS
I’
D COME
to know every inch of the island. It seemed to me that the garden near the cemetery, where my friend Carbonieri had worked before he became a cook, was the safest place to assemble a raft. I asked Carbonieri to go to work there again. He was willing. Thanks to Dega, he got the job back.

This morning, as I was passing by the new warden’s house with a catch of mullet, I heard the young con who was working as their houseboy say to a young woman standing next to him, “That’s him, madame. He’s the one who brought Madame Barrot her fish every day.” Then I heard the handsome woman—she was an Algerian type with bronze skin and dark hair—say to him, “So that’s Papillon?” Then she spoke to me:

“Madame Barrot gave me some wonderful
langoustines
she said you’d caught. Won’t you come in? Have a glass of wine? I’d like you to taste some of the goat cheese I just received from France.”

“No, thank you, madame, I can’t.”

“Why not? You did when Madame Barrot was here.”

“That was because her husband gave me permission to enter his house.”

“Papillon, my husband is in charge of his camp, I’m in charge of my house. Don’t be afraid to come in.”

I had the feeling that this pretty woman would be useful, but dangerous too. I went in. She placed a plate of ham and cheese on the dining-room table and, without ceremony, sat down opposite me. She gave me wine, then some coffee with a delicious Jamaican rum.

While she was pouring, she said, “Papillon, when Madame Barrot was leaving, she took time out from the bustle of their departure and our arrival to tell me about you. I know she was the only woman on the island you gave fish to. I hope you will do me the same favor.”

“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.

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?”