Fearless Frederic

by Felice Arena

  Frederic takes off his jacket, and holds onto one of the arms of the coat. It’s difficult while holding on to a ladder. He tosses the other end of the coat towards the boy.

  ‘Grab it!’ Frederic calls out to him, but the coat smacks against the surface of the gushing murky water.

  The boy tries to reach the arm of the coat, but the torrent is just too strong and the jacket too short.

  Frederic’s heart is racing.

  ‘I’ve got an idea!’ comes a voice from above.

  Frederic is startled to see that Claire is now in the manhole shaft, standing a couple of ladder rungs above him.

  ‘Here!’ she yells, handing another coat to him. ‘It’s Thierry’s.’

  Frederic takes the coat from Claire, hooks his arm around the ladder rung and ties the two coat arms together.

  ‘This could work,’ he yells. He once again throws the coat-rope.

  The boy swipes for it. But again, the coat falls short and he misses.

  Frederic tries again, and again. But he just can’t reach him. And the boy is rapidly losing the strength to hold on. His face drops beneath the gushing water for a moment.

  ‘No! No!’ Frederic yells at him. ‘Look at me! We’ll get you out! Don’t let go. You must hold on!’

  ‘Frederic!’ Claire calls.

  Frederic looks up to see that Thierry has also climbed down the shaft and is just above Claire.

  ‘Take my braces!’ Thierry cries, unclipping them from his trousers and passing them onto Claire, who passes them onto Frederic.

  ‘Yes! Brilliant!’ Frederic says, tying the braces onto one of the arms of the coat.

  Frederic gets into position again to cast the coat-rope. ‘Here goes!’

  The boy throws out his arm and this time manages to grasp one of the braces’ straps.

  ‘Yes!’ Frederic cries, hoping that his knots will hold. ‘Hold on!’

  Frederic begins to drag the boy back, but he’s straining to pull him through the strong current and with one arm wrapped around the ladder he doesn’t have much strength.

  ‘Here! Let me help!’ Claire calls, leaning towards Frederic. ‘Remember I’m a champion when it comes to tug-of-war.’

  Frederic gives her part of the coat arm and together they tug as hard as they can.

  ‘It’s working!’ Frederic calls, as the boy is pulled closer to him.

  ‘Just a little bit more. Almost, almost . . . Yes!’

  Frederic leans forward and grabs the boy. He grabs at them too – and with Claire and Thierry’s help they manage to get him back up the ladder to safety.

  ___

  A large crowd has now surrounded the entrance of the manhole and everyone cheers loudly as the woman embraces her son and the fire brigade arrive in their horse-drawn truck.

  ‘That was amazing, mes amis!’ Claire says to Frederic as the firemen wrap them in blankets.

  ‘You’re fantastic!’ Frederic tells her. ‘Good thinking grabbing the other coat.’

  Frederic and Claire exchange smiles while Thierry takes out his notebook and scribbles: ‘And the young heroes come to the rescue again, but heaven only knows what lies ahead for Fearless Frederic and his Floodwater Friends.’

  Frederic, Thierry and Claire draw some attention back at the shelter when the firemen drop them off and they recount the story to the nuns and the evacuees.

  Thierry is doing most of the talking, as everyone shuffles in closer to listen. Thierry is the perfect storyteller, Frederic thinks. He knows when to pause and when to raise his voice during the exciting bits. And he loves the attention his story brings.

  Once the story is over and everyone else disperses, the three friends huddle together around the heating stations while the nuns dart back and forth to find food and extra blankets.

  ‘You’re thinking of your father, right?’ Claire asks Frederic.

  Frederic nods.

  ‘He would’ve been proud of you today,’ Claire adds.

  Frederic shrugs but he appreciates Claire’s kind words. No one has ever said this to him before, and he wonders if his father would be proud of him.

  Yes, he would, he thinks. He would’ve liked that we showed courage and didn’t hold back. But Frederic thinks of that night in the museum again and is hit with a wave of regret.

  ‘My father would have been proud of me,’ says Thierry, warming his hands by the fire. ‘I think he would’ve been proud of us all. I really miss him.’

  Frederic knows how that feels. Not a day passes by without him thinking of his father.

  ‘Et toi, Claire? And you?’ Thierry asks.

  Frederic half expects Claire to snap at Thierry and change the subject, but she doesn’t.

  ‘I don’t have a father,’ she says honestly and directly.

  There’s silence. The three sit with their own thoughts and listen to the fire crackling in the heating drum.

  A few minutes later, Frederic’s mother runs through the door and hugs him tightly.

  ‘Whatever made you do it?’ she asks. ‘I was just told! A boy was trapped down a flooded sewer tunnel and you climbed down there? Are you hurt?’

  ‘No,’ says Frederic, squished in his mother’s embrace. ‘I’m all right, Maman.’

  ‘Thank heavens you are!’ she says, annoyed and relieved at the same time. ‘You’re all I have! Don’t you ever put your life in danger like that again. And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Your father would’ve wanted you to be safe. Got that? Now let’s go and settle in for the night.’

  ‘See you in the morning,’ Thierry says. ‘My mother will be back soon too.’ He walks to his side of the hall.

  Frederic gets up to follow his mother back to their bedding, but when he looks back over his shoulder to wave at Claire he sees the look on her face. She looks forlorn and almost teary.

  ‘Are you all right?’ he asks.

  ‘Yes,’ she answers, still seated. ‘Don’t worry about me. My mother will be here soon. Have a good night, big hero. See you in the morning.’

  ___

  In the morning, Frederic sets out early to check on their home. There’s been talk throughout the shelter that looting is on the increase across the city. Shops and abandoned homes are being robbed. He also has the job of seeing that the balcony grannies are safe and have enough food.

  ‘Hopefully that will keep you out of trouble,’ his mother tells him as she leaves for work.

  Thierry offers to come along.

  ‘Do you think we can avoid getting wet today, Frederic?’ Thierry says, following closely behind him on the passerelles. ‘The water seems to be subsiding a little so I’m hoping to stay dry. Claire must’ve gotten up really early because I was awake before dawn and I didn’t see her. Did you? Do you think she went with her mother to sell flowers?’

  ‘Thierry, please! Take a breath!’ Frederic says. ‘I don’t know and I can’t answer everything at once anyway. I guess Claire had things to do.’

  Thierry is quiet for a second. ‘Have you actually seen her mother?’ he asks.

  Frederic thinks about it. He hasn’t. He wonders how much of what Claire says is in fact true. He shakes his head. ‘No, but I’m sure we’ll meet her later at some point.’

  ‘I guess so,’ Thierry says. ‘Claire is definitely an énigme.’

  ‘A what?’ asks Frederic.

  ‘A mystery, a puzzle – hard to work out,’ Thierry explains.

  ‘Yeah, I suppose she is,’ Frederic says, spotting a young taxi driver outside a hotel. He is obviously having a hard time settling a skittish horse. It’s a big grey beautiful stallion . . .

  ‘Charlemagne!’ Frederic exclaims.

  ‘Charlemagne?’ Thierry repeats. ‘What?’

  Frederic jumps off the passerelles and splashes across in the direction of the horse.

  ‘So much for not getting wet!’ Thierry calls out, chasing after him.

  Frederic slowly approaches Charlemagne. The horse’s head is raised high and he is stepp
ing from side to side, clearly agitated. The groom is pulling on the reins trying to settle him and to make him stand in the one spot.

  ‘What a magnificent beast,’ Thierry says. ‘It has the same colouring as Marengo – Napoleon’s horse – although Marengo was a lot smaller!’

  Frederic has almost forgotten how tall the stallion stands – he towers over them.

  ‘It’s okay, boy,’ Frederic says, taking the horse’s bridle and gently stroking the side of his face.

  ‘Merci, merci!’ says the groom, hopping off the wagon and onto the street. ‘Frederic! Hello!’

  ‘Leon?’ Frederic says, happy to see him. ‘I didn’t recognise you with your driver’s cap over your face.’

  ‘It’s so good to see you,’ he cries. ‘You know our Grêler, Hail, he just won’t settle. He shouldn’t be on a single cab, but we’re so short on horses. Because of the flood we’re busier than we’ve ever been. Horses handle watery streets better than cars. Some motor cars can’t even work in the rain.’

  ‘Hail?’

  ‘That’s what my uncle’s named the horse.’

  Frederic introduces Thierry to Leon – and makes a mental note to ask Thierry more about Marengo at another time.

  ‘How’s your home?’ asks Leon. ‘We were able to move the horses to the Fayette Stables up in the tenth arrondissement. The water is starting to go down at our stables, so hopefully it won’t be too long before we’ll be able to return – and then you can come back to work.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m glad to hear that,’ says Frederic. ‘My home is still underwater. That’s where I’m heading now, to check on it.’

  Frederic pats Charlemagne before he and Thierry leave Leon.

  ‘How long have you worked with horses?’ Thierry asks, pulling his notebook out of his pocket. ‘What other hidden secrets do you have?’

  ‘More for your book?’ Frederic grins.

  Before Thierry can answer, the two almost collide with a boy madly waving a newspaper in front of their faces. It’s Journal.

  ‘Frederic!’ he yells. ‘You won’t believe it! Thieves have stolen a rare pink diamond. It once belonged to Louis, Prince of Condé and it’s worth twenty thousand francs!’

  ‘Imagine having that much money,’ says Frederic.

  ‘I can’t,’ says Thierry. ‘You could live on that for your entire life. Two lives! And have everything you want.’

  Frederic and Thierry edge slowly past Journal on the narrow passerelles.

  ‘See you round, Journal,’ Frederic calls.

  When the boys reach Frederic’s home they are greeted by the balcony grannies still in their second floor apartment.

  ‘There you are, boy!’ one calls out, wrapped in a bundle of jackets and blankets and huddling under a large umbrella. ‘We were wondering when you’d return.’

  ‘And look! He has a friend!’

  ‘Good lord, nothing says mischief like two boys!’

  ‘Who are they?’ Thierry whispers as they enter Frederic’s apartment.

  ‘The neighbourhood guards – nothing gets past them,’ Frederic explains, before turning back to them and calling out: ‘Do you need some food? I can bring some from the shelter for you!’

  ‘Boys are always thinking with their stomachs!’

  ‘That they are!’

  ‘I’ll take that as a no,’ Frederic says to Thierry, laughing, as he pushes open the front door of the apartment. It takes a bit of effort against the force of the water – it has subsided a bit, but Frederic knows that he and his mother have a huge task ahead of them to make it liveable again when the water goes down.

  ‘I miss my place,’ says Thierry, looking around. He looks sad. ‘I hope it’s not completely underwater.’

  ‘Do you want to go check on it?’ Frederic suggests.

  ‘Sure,’ says Thierry. ‘But Maman wants me to look in on her at work. After she heard about our sewer rescue yesterday, I think she wants to keep an eye on me.’

  The boys lock the door behind them and head off to meet Thierry’s mother.

  On their way they pass a group of men, women and children gathered under an archway. They’re obviously homeless, wearing tattered clothing, with old soggy blankets draped over their shoulders.

  Frederic feels sorry for them. He’s never really thought about the beggars in Paris before. They’ve always been there, but until the floods came they were kind of invisible, just like the pigeons. Everywhere, but part of the background.

  Being homeless must be hard, he thinks. But being homeless in the winter in the middle of a flood would be brutal.

  Then a girl standing at the edge of the group catches Frederic’s eye. She turns and Frederic can’t believe it.

  It’s Claire.

  Frederic chases after Thierry who is already on his way over to Claire.

  ‘Out rescuing without us, eh?’ Thierry says.

  Claire looks startled and unhappy to see them.

  ‘What are you doing? Following me?’ she snaps, stepping away from the group and marching off.

  The boys have to jog to keep up with her.

  ‘No! Why would we be following you?’ asks Frederic. ‘We’re on our way to meet Thierry’s mother. Who were those people? Do you know them?’

  ‘No! Sort of. Not really,’ Claire says. ‘Actually, I’m just helping those in need. Handing out some bread to the hungry. You know . . . that’s what we do, right?’

  It’s obvious to Frederic that Claire is covering something up. He looks at Thierry, but he hasn’t made the connection yet. She’s either homeless or she knows someone who is, thinks Frederic.

  He doesn’t want to blow her cover. He knows what it’s like to want to avoid talking about your miseries.

  So he says nothing. She certainly looks flustered.

  ‘Well, you should have taken us with you,’ says Thierry. ‘We can’t be Fearless Frederic and the Floodwater Friends if one of us wants to go solo. D’accord? Anyway, do you want to come with us now?’

  Claire shrugs.

  When the three turn into the rue de la Bûcherie Frederic recognises it as the street his father took him to last summer to buy his kite.

  And just a few moments later, as they approach the toy store, Frederic spots Monsieur Bertrand, the store owner.

  He’s with two men. As they get closer it’s clear they’re not friends. One steps forward and shoves Monsieur Bertrand. Despite his size, he stumbles.

  ‘That doesn’t look good!’ says Claire.

  ‘I think we should go another way and get the police,’ says Thierry. ‘These guys look as if they mean business and someone could get seriously hurt . . .’

  But before Thierry can finish his sentence, Frederic bolts towards the shop.

  When he splashes up alongside Monsieur Bertrand, the store-owner recognises him – the last time they saw each other was at Frederic’s father’s funeral.

  ‘I could use your father right now, kid,’ he says. ‘Run and tell the police there are looters. You can’t stay here. You’ll get hurt. Go!’

  But Frederic ignores Monsieur Bertrand and raises his clenched fists, ready to take on the robbers. He won’t leave his side.

  Two of the men laugh mockingly, as if Frederic’s defiant stance is a joke to them. But then they lunge for Monsieur Bertrand and Frederic.

  Frederic sidesteps a swing from one of the would-be robbers, thrusts his knee deep into the man’s gut, and drives his elbow hard into his neck. The man is caught off guard and runs away, leaving his partner-in-crime to take on Monsieur Bertrand and Frederic alone.

  But before the remaining robber can decide on his next move, his partner returns – this time with company. Three young thugs have joined him. Frederic recognises one of them – it’s the pickpocket who stole the gentleman’s watch! The one who threatened to make him pay.

  The boy also seems to remember Frederic. He smirks.

  Monsieur Bertrand and Frederic take a few wobbly steps back as the gang of robbers splash-wal
k through the water towards them.

  ‘Police!’ Monsieur Bertrand cries, his voice cracking with panic. ‘Anyone! Help!’

  Frederic turns to see that Claire is already running down the street to get help. Thierry, on the other hand, is standing a few steps away petrified.

  Frederic knows he can defend himself with a punch or two and possibly even get a couple of bone-crunching kicks in, but with five against two the odds are against him and Monsieur Bertrand. No matter how skilled they are, there’s no way they’ll be able to overpower all five.

  But suddenly, miraculously, another two figures turn into the street. Frederic can’t believe his eyes! It’s Monsieur Dupuis and the champion fighter Joseph.

  It doesn’t take them long to assess the situation, and they immediately rush to help.

  Monsieur Dupuis starts swinging his walking stick with so much force that the sound of the cracks hitting the looters’ backs reverberate down the street.

  Within moments fists and feet are flying.

  The pickpocket is the first to dive for Frederic, but Frederic ducks and fires a one-two punch to the groin, swings around him and shoves him to the ground. The pickpocket falls head-first into the flooded street.

  Frederic looks around him to check for more danger and sees Monsieur Bertrand grabbing one of the looters in an arm-hold. But with one swing he is knocked to the ground.

  Monsieur Dupuis steps in to fend off the looter, and Joseph strikes two of the thugs at the same time with a double coup de pied de figure kick.

  The pickpocket scrambles to his feet and clutches onto Frederic’s coat – Frederic grabs the boy’s hands. The two wrestle and sway from side to side, until Frederic headbutts the pickpocket on the chin.

  The pickpocket releases his hold on Frederic and groans in pain, cupping his jaw. Frederic winds up his right arm ready to let loose with a direct punch, but he suddenly catches the pickpocket’s expression.

  He looks desperate and scared. And very young. In that moment Frederic realises that the pickpocket is probably homeless. Life for him is probably one long game of survival.

  Frederic pulls back his punch. He lowers his fist as he hears the sound of police whistles approaching.