Papillon. Анри Шарьер

killed a guy – he was being held while that charge was investigated. Clousiot and I wondered whether we ought to put it up to him, and if so, when. While we were talking about this in an undertone an eighteen-year-old fairy came towards us, as pretty as a girl. Maturette was his name, and he had been condemned to death but reprieved because of his youth – seventeen when he murdered this taxi-driver. There were these two kids of sixteen and seventeen in the dock at the assizes, and instead of the one laying the blame on the other, each claimed that he had killed the man. But the taxi-driver had only one bullet in him. The kids’ attitude at the time of the trial had won them the convicts’ esteem.

      Very much the young lady, Maturette came up to us and speaking in a girlish voice he asked us for a light. We gave him one; and more than that, I made him a present of four cigarettes and a box of matches. He thanked me with a languishing, come-on smile and we let him go. All at once Clousiot said, ‘Papi, we’re saved. The Arab’s going to come in as often as we like and when we like. It’s in the bag.’

      ‘How come?’

      ‘It’s simple. We’ll tell this little Maturette to make the Arab fall for him. Arabs love boys – everyone knows that. Once that’s done, there’s no great difficulty in getting him to come by night to have a swig at the boy. All the kid has to do is to go coy and say he’s afraid of being seen, for the Arab to come just when it suits us.’

      ‘Leave it to me.’

      I went over to Maturette, who welcomed me with a winning smile. He thought he had aroused me with his first simper. Straight away I said, ‘You’ve got it wrong. Go to the lavatory.’ He went, and when we were there I said, ‘If you repeat a word of what I’m going to say. I’ll kill you. Listen: will you do so-and-so and so-and-so and so-and-so for money? How much? As a paid job for us, or do you want to go with us?’

      ‘I’d like to go with you. OK?’ Done. We shook hands.

      He went to bed, and after a few words with Clousiot I went too. At eight o’clock that evening Maturette went and sat at the window. He didn’t have to call the Arab: he came all by himself, and they fell into a murmured conversation. At ten Maturette went to bed. We had been lying down, one eye open, since nine. The Arab came in, went his rounds and found a dead man. He knocked on the door and a little while later two stretcher-bearers came and took the corpse away. This dead man was going to be useful to us, because he would make the Arab’s inspections at any time of the night seem quite reasonable. The next day, advised by us, Maturette fixed to see the Arab at eleven. When the time came round the turnkey appeared, passed in front of the kid’s bed, pulled his foot to wake him up, and went off towards the lavatory. Maturette followed him. A quarter of an hour later the turnkey came out, went straight to the door and out through it. Just after that Maturette returned to his bed without speaking to us. To cut it short, the next day was the same, only at midnight. Everything was set up: the Arab would come exactly when the kid said.

      On 27 November 1933 there were two bed-legs ready to be removed and used as clubs, and at four o’clock in the afternoon I was waiting for a note from Sierra. Chatal, the attendant, appeared: he had nothing in writing: he just said to me, ‘Francois Sierra told me to say Jesus is waiting for you at the place you know. Good luck.’

      At eight that night Maturette said to the Arab, ‘Come after midnight, because that way we can stay longer together.’

      The Arab said he’d come after midnight. Dead on midnight we were ready. The Arab came in at about a quarter past twelve; he went straight to Maturette’s bed, tweaked his foot and went on to the lavatory. Maturette went in after him. I wrenched the leg off my bed: it made a little noise as it lurched over. No sound from Clousiot’s. I was to stand behind the lavatory door and Clousiot was to walk towards it to attract the Arab’s attention. There was a twenty-minutes’ wait and then everything moved very fast. The Arab came out of the lavatory and, surprised at seeing Clousiot, said, ‘What are you doing here in the middle of the ward at this time of night? Get back to bed.’

      At that moment I hit him on the back of the neck and he dropped without a sound. Quickly I put on his clothes and shoes: we dragged him under a bed, and before shoving him completely out of sight I gave him another crack on the nape. That put paid to him.

      Not a single one of the eighty men in the ward had stirred. I went quickly towards the door, followed by Clousiot and Maturette, both of them in their shirts. I knocked. The warder opened. I brought my iron down on his head. The other, opposite him, dropped his rifle: he’d certainly been asleep. Before he could move I knocked him out. My two never uttered: Clousiot’s went ‘Ah!’ before he dropped. My two stayed there in their chairs, stunned. The third was stretched out on the floor. We held our breath. It seemed to us that everybody must have heard that ‘Ah!’ It had indeed been pretty loud; and yet nobody moved.

      We didn’t heave them into the ward: we went straight off with the three rifles. Clousiot first, then the kid, then me: down the stairs, half-lit by a lantern. Clousiot had dropped his iron; I still had mine in my left hand, and in my right the rifle. At the bottom of the stairs, nothing. Ink-black night all round us. We had to look hard to make out the wall over on the river side. We hurried towards it. Once we were there, I bent down. Clousiot climbed up, straddled the top, hauled Maturette up and then me. We let ourselves drop into the darkness on the far side. Clousiot fell badly into a hole, twisting his foot. Maturette and I landed properly. We two got up: we had left the rifles before we went over. Clousiot tried to get to his feet but couldn’t: he said his leg was broken. I left Maturette with Clousiot and ran towards the corner of the wall, feeling it all the way with my hand. It was so dark that when I got to the end of the wall I didn’t know it, and with my hand reaching out into emptiness I fell flat on my face. Over on the river side I heard a voice saying, ‘Is that you?’

      ‘Yes. That Jesus?’

      ‘Yes.’ He flicked a match for half a second. I fixed his position, plunged in and swam to him. There were two of them in the boat.

      ‘You in first. Which are you?’

      ‘Papillon.’

      ‘Good.’

      ‘Jesus, we must pull upstream. My friend’s broken his leg jumping off the wall.’

      ‘Take this paddle, then, and shove.’

      The three paddles dug into the water and the light boat shot across the hundred yards between us and the place where I supposed the others were – you could see nothing. I called, ‘Clousiot!’

      ‘For Christ’s sake shut up! Fatgut, flick your lighter.’ Sparks flashed: they saw it. Clousiot whistled between his teeth the way they do in Lyons; it’s a whistle that makes no noise at all but that you hear very clearly. You’d say it was a snake hissing. He kept up this whistling all the time, and it led us to him. Fatgut got out, took Clousiot in his arms and put him into the boat. Then Maturette got in and then Fatgut. There were five of us and the water came to within two inches of the gunwale.

      ‘Don’t anyone move without saying,’ said Jesus. ‘Papillon, stop paddling. Put the paddle across your knees. Fatgut, shove!’ And quickly, helped by the current, the boat plunged into the night.

      Half a mile lower down, when we passed the prison, ill-lit by the current from a third-rate dynamo, we were in the middle of the river and the tide was tearing us along at an unbelievable rate. Fatgut had stopped paddling. Only Jesus had his out, with its handle tight against his thigh, just to keep the boat steady. He was not rowing at all, only steering.

      Jesus said, ‘Now we can talk and have a smoke. I think we’ve brought it off. Are you certain you didn’t kill anyone?’

      ‘I don’t think so.’

      ‘Christ, Jesus, you’ve double-crossed me!’ said Fatgut. ‘You told me it was a harmless little break and no fuss, and now it turns out to be an internees’ break, from what I can gather.’

      ‘Yes, they’re internees. I didn’t feel like telling you, Fatgut, or you wouldn’t have helped me: and I needed someone. But