Papillon

by Henri Charrière

  “And that’s really what happened?”

  “Papillon, I swear it.”

  “Why didn’t you dump them in the quicksand?”

  “I told you, the quicksand gives up its dead. Sometimes a big doe falls in, and a week later she’s floating on the surface. It makes a terrible stink until the carrion-eaters have done their work. But that takes a long time and the noise and swooping of the birds attracts attention. Papillon, I swear you have nothing to fear from me. Look, will it make you feel better if I give you my shotgun?”

  I had a powerful urge to say yes, but I controlled it and said in as natural a voice as possible, “No, Cuic-Cuic. I’m here because I feel you’re my friend. But you have to start the fire up and finish cooking the mecs tomorrow. Who knows who might come by after we’re gone? I don’t want to be accused of three murders, even after I’ve gone.”

  “Yes, I’ll do it tomorrow. But don’t worry, nobody’ll ever set foot on this island. They just can’t make it over the quicksand.”

  “What about a rubber raft?”

  “I never thought of that.”

  “If they happened to send some police to have a look around the island, they could do it easily with a raft. That’s why we have to get moving as fast as possible.”

  “Right. We’ll start the pit up tomorrow. It won’t be hard because it’s not really out. All it needs is two ventilation holes.”

  “Good night, Cuic-Chic.”

  “Good night, Papillon. Sleep well, you can trust me. I mean it.”

  I pulled the blanket up to my chin, taking comfort from its warmth. I lit a cigarette. In ten minutes Cuic-Cuic was snoring, his pig breathing heavily beside him. The fire had died down, but the wood glowed when the breeze blew through the hut; it gave me a feeling of peace and calm. I savored the moment and fell asleep. But one thought preyed at the back of my mind: either I would wake up tomorrow and all would be well between the Chinese and me, or he was one hell of an actor. In the latter case I would never see the sun again, for I had too much on him and it would make him uneasy.

  The specialist in wholesale murder woke me up, handed me a mug of coffee as if nothing had happened, and wished me good morning with a big, cordial smile. The sun was already up.

  “Come, have some coffee and a rice cake. The margarine’s already on it.”

  I had my breakfast, then washed outside with water from a barrel that was always full.

  “Give me a hand, Papillon?”

  “Sure,” I said, not asking what for.

  We pulled the half-cooked corpses by the feet. I didn’t mention it, but I noticed that all three had been disemboweled. The kindly Chinese must have been rummaging around to see if they had any plans. Had they really been hunting Cuic-Cuic? Couldn’t they just as easily have been hunting butterflies or deer? Did he kill them out of self-defense or to rob them? Enough of that. They were back in the pit, well covered by layers of wood and clay. Cuic-Cuic made two ventilation holes and the pit was once again doing double duty—making charcoal and reducing three corpses to cinders.

  “Let’s go, Papillon.”

  The pig found us a passage in no time. We crossed the quicksand in tight single file. With the first step the awful dread came back to me. Was Sylvain’s fate going to be mine? Dripping cold sweat, I plunged in after Cuic-Cuic, following his exact footprints. One thing, anyway—if he got through, I would too.

  After a two-hour march we arrived where Chocolat was cutting wood.

  “Hello, Mouché.”

  “Hello, Cuic-Cuic.”

  “How are things?”

  “O.K.”

  “Show my friend the boat.”

  It was a very strong boat, a kind of launch for carrying freight. Heavy but sturdy. I dug my knife in everywhere. It never went in deeper than a quarter of an inch. The bottom was sound too. Clearly the boat was made of first-class wood.

  “How much will you sell it for?”

  “Twenty-five hundred francs.”

  “I’ll give you two thousand.”

  Sold.

  “It needs a keel. I’ll pay you another five hundred if you’ll add a keel, rudder and mast. The keel must be of hardwood, also the rudder. I want the mast to be ten feet high of a light, flexible wood. When can you have it ready?”

  “In eight days.”

  “Here are two thousand-franc bills and a five-hundred. I’m going to cut them in two and give you the other half when you deliver the boat. You keep the three halves at your house. O.K.?”

  “O.K.”

  “I’ll need some permanganate, a barrel of water, cigarettes and matches, and enough food to last four men a month—flour, oil, coffee and sugar. I’ll pay for the supplies separately. I want the whole business delivered on the Kourou River.”

  “Mouché, I can’t go with you to the mouth of the river.”

  “I didn’t ask you to. I only said to deliver the boat to the river. We don’t want it in this creek.”

  “Here, take these flour bags with the rope, needles and thread.”

  We got back to our hideout well before nightfall, but the pig was so tired Cuic-Cuic had to carry him on his shoulders.

  I was alone again the next day, sewing the sail, when I suddenly heard voices. I walked toward the quicksand and, well hidden, I watched what was going on on the other side. There were Cuic-Cuic and Van Hue arguing fiercely, throwing their arms about. I gathered that Van Hue wanted to come to the island and Cuic-Cuic didn’t want him to. They both had their machetes out. Van Hue was the more excited. Just so long as he didn’t kill Cuic-Cuic! I decided to show myself. I gave a whistle and they turned toward me.

  “What’s going on, Cuic-Cuic?”

  Van Hue called out, “I want to talk to you, Papillon, and Cuic-Cuic won’t let me.”

  After another ten minutes of discussion in Chinese they arrived in the wake of the pig. We sat down in the hut, mugs of tea in our hands, and I waited for them to start talking.

  “Here’s the problem,” Cuic-Cuic said. “He wants to go on our cavale. I explained that it was not my affair, that you were paying for it and in full charge, but he wouldn’t believe it.”

  “Papillon,” the other man said, “he’s just got to take me with him.”

  “Why?”

  “He cut off my arm two years ago in a gambling fight and then he made me swear I wouldn’t kill him. I agreed on one condition: he would have to feed me the rest of his life, or as long as I demanded it. If he goes off now, I’ll never see him again. So either he lets you go alone or he takes me with him.”

  “That’s a weird one! Look, you can come along. The boat’s big enough and very strong—we could take even more people. It’s okay with me if it’s okay with Cuic-Cuic.”

  “Thanks,” Van Hue said.

  “What do you say, Cuic-Cuic?”

  “O.K., if that’s the way you want it.”

  “One very important thing. Can you leave the camp without being reported missing and reach the river before night?”

  “No trouble at all. I can leave any time after three in the afternoon and get to the river in less than two hours.”

  “Can you find the place at night, Cuic-Cuic, so we can get your pal on board without losing too much time?”

  “Sure, that’s no problem.”

  “Be here a week from now and we’ll tell you when we’re leaving.”

  Van Hue shook my hand warmly and left in a state of bliss. I watched them say good-by to each other on the opposite bank. They touched hands before separating. So all was well.

  When Cuic-Cuic was back in the hut, I said, “That’s an unusual arrangement you made with your pal—agreeing to feed him the rest of his life. Why did you cut off his arm?”

  “It was a fight over the deal.”

  “Wouldn’t you have done better to kill him?”

  “No. He’s a very close friend. When I was called before the tribunal, he defended me all the way. He said he attacked me first and I’d acted in self-defen
se. I agreed to the pact of my own free will and I intend to stick to it. I didn’t dare tell you about it because you were paying for the whole cavale.”

  “Let’s not discuss it any more. If God wills you to be free again someday, you can do what you think best then.”

  “I intend to stick by my word.”

  “What do you plan to do when you’re free?”

  “I want to have a restaurant. I’m a good cook and Van Hue specializes in chow mein.”

  Chocolat was as good as his word. Five days later all was ready. We went to look at the boat in a pouring rain. Everything was shipshape. The mast, rudder and keel were installed and of first-class material. The boat was tied up in a bend of the river with the barrel of water and all the supplies. All that remained was to get word to Van Hue. Chocolat took it on himself to go to the camp and alert him. To avoid the danger of having to pick him up from the riverbank, he would bring him directly to our hiding place.

  The mouth of the Kourou was marked by two beacons. If it rained, we could safely drift down the middle of the river without running the risk of hoisting sail. Chocolat gave us some black paint and a brush. We were to paint a big K and the number 21 on the sail. This designation belonged to a fishing boat that sometimes went out at night. If anyone happened to see us raising our sail as we hit the sea, they’d think we were the fishing boat.

  Departure was scheduled for seven o’clock—one hour after nightfall. Cuic-Cuic assured me that he’d be able to find the path to the hiding place. We’d leave the island at five in order to have one hour of daylight for the march.

  We returned to our hut in high spirits. Cuic-Cuic walked in front of me, carrying the pig on his shoulders. He never stopped talking.

  “I’m leaving the bagne. Thanks to you and my brother, I’m going to be free at last. Maybe if the French ever leave Indochina, I’ll even be able to return to my own country.”

  He seemed to trust me, and the fact that I liked the boat made him as happy as a bird. I felt pretty good too. I was spending my last night on the little island—my last night, I hoped, in Guiana.

  If I could get to the open sea, I’d be free. No question about that. The only danger then would be shipwreck. The war had been good for one thing: since it had begun, no convict had been returned to the country he’d escaped from. Of course, if we messed up the cavale and were caught, we’d be sentenced to death. I thought of Sylvain. He would have been here with me if he hadn’t pulled that half-assed stunt. I fell asleep composing a cable, “Prosecutor Pradel: I’ve finally definitely escaped the hellhole you sent me to. It took nine years …”

  The sun was quite high when Cuic-Cuic woke me. We had tea and rice cakes. There were tin cans all over the place. Then I noticed two wicker cages.

  “What are you doing with those?”

  “They’re for my chickens. We can eat them on the cavale.”

  “You’re out of your mind, Cuic-Cuic! We’re not taking any chickens with us.”

  “But I want to.”

  “Are you crazy? You realize what’ll happen at daybreak? Your chickens and roosters will be crowing and clucking like mad.”

  “I won’t leave without my chickens.”

  “All right then. Cook them now and pack them in oil. That’ll help preserve them. We’ll eat them our first three days out.”

  He was finally convinced and went off in search of his hens. But the shrieks of the first four he caught must have been a warning to the others. They disappeared into the brush and he wasn’t able to catch any more. It’s always been a mystery to me how animals smell out danger.

  Loaded down like pack mules, we crossed the quicksand behind the pig. Cuic-Cuic begged me to let the pig go with us.

  “You swear he won’t make a sound?”

  “I swear it. He shuts up when I tell him to. Even the couple of times we were chased by a tiger, his hair stood straight up with fear, but he didn’t make a sound.”

  Cuic-Cuic convinced me, so I agreed to take his cherished friend. It was night by the time we reached the place where the boat was hidden. Chocolat was there with Van Hue. With two flashlights I checked to make sure that everything was in order. Nothing missing. The sail rings were around the mast and the jib was in place, ready to be hoisted. I had Cuic-Cuic try the maneuver two or three times. He got it right away. I paid off the black—he’d done a remarkably thorough job. He was so trusting he’d brought gummed tape and the other halves of the bills and asked me to stick them together. It never occurred to him I might take off with all the money. Those who trust others are trustworthy themselves. Chocolat was a good guy. He had seen how convicts were treated, and he felt no guilt about helping three men escape that hell.

  “Good-by, Chocolat. Good luck to you and your family.”

  “Thank you. Thank you very much.”

  ELEVENTH NOTEBOOK

  GOODBYE TO THE BAGNE

  THE CAVALE WITH THE CHINESE

  I WAS THE LAST ONE into the boat. Chocolat gave it a shove, and we moved off into the river. We had oars instead of paddles, one for Cuic-Cuic up front, the other for me in the stern.

  It was raining. Each of us had a painted flour sack for a slicker.

  The current was fast and full of eddies, but in spite of that we made it to the middle in less than an hour. With the help of the ebb tide we passed the beacons three hours later. I knew the sea must be near because the lights were at the mouth of the river. We hoisted sail and were out of the Kourou in a flash. The wind took us on the beam with such force that I had to let out the sail. We hit the sea with a bang, passing through the narrows like an arrow, and were soon far offshore. Twenty-five miles ahead, the lighthouse on Royale gave us our position.

  Thirteen days before I had been standing on the far side of that lighthouse, on Diable. For all that our exit to the sea had gone undetected and Grande Terre was soon far behind us, it seemed to bring little joy to my Chinese buddies. Unlike me, these Celestials keep their feelings to themselves. Once we were on the open sea, Cuic-Cuic said in a mild tone of voice, “That was a good start.” Van Hue added, “Yes. We made it with little trouble.”

  “Cuic-Cuic, I’m thirsty. Pour me a shot of rum.”

  They served me, then had a good slug themselves.

  I didn’t have a compass, but during my first cavale I had learned to navigate by the sun, moon, stars and wind. So, without hesitation, I took a bearing on Polaris and headed straight out to sea. The boat behaved well—it took each wave smoothly with almost no roll. The wind was strong, and by morning we were a long way from the coast and the lies du Salut. I was tempted to backtrack to Diable to get a good look at it from the sea, but it would have been taking too much of a chance.

  For six days we had rough weather but no rain or storms. A strong wind kept us heading in a westerly direction. Cuic-Cuic and Hue were first-rate companions: they never complained, not about the weather, the sun, or the cold at night. The only drawback was that neither would take the tiller to give me a few hours’ rest. Three or four times a day they cooked. We had eaten all the hens and roosters. One day I said to Cuic as a joke, “When do we eat the pig?”

  He almost had a fit.

  “That animal is my friend. Before you kill it, you have to kill me.”

  My friends were busy all the time. There was always hot tea ready, and they did everything before you had to tell them. They even gave up smoking so I could have all the tobacco.

  We had now been gone seven days. I was on the point of collapse. The sun was so hot that even the Chinese were cooked like a pair of lobsters. I just had to get some sleep. I made the tiller fast and left only a small bit of sail up. The boat would go wherever the wind pushed us. I slept like the dead for four hours.

  I was awakened by a sudden thump, harder than usual, that almost made me jump out of my skin. I wet my face and in the process made the pleasant discovery that I had been shaved while 1 slept. Cuic-Cuic had done it and I hadn’t felt a thing. And he had oiled my face into the
bargain.

  Since last night I’d been heading west by southwest, for I thought I had gone too far north. This was because, in addition to being very steady, the boat had the advantage of resisting drift. I hadn’t realized this when I made my calculations, so we got some-what off course.

  Suddenly, up in the sky, I saw a dirigible, the first I’d ever seen. It didn’t seem to be coming in our direction and it was too far away to estimate its size. The reflection of the sun on the aluminum was so brilliant it hurt to look at it. Now it seemed to be changing its course and coming straight for us. It was growing bigger and bigger, and in less than twenty minutes it was right over us. Cuic and his pal were so impressed by the machine that they kept up an endless babble in Chinese.

  “For Christ’s sake, talk French so I can understand you!”

  “It’s an English sausage,” said Cuic.

  “No, it’s not exactly a sausage. It’s a dirigible.”

  Now we could make out every detail. It was losing altitude, turning and turning above us in ever tightening circles. Signal flags were let down. But since we didn’t know the first thing about flag language, we couldn’t reply. The dirigible wouldn’t give up though, and came even closer, so close we could see the people in the cabin. Then they headed straight for land, and less than an hour later a plane appeared and made several passes overhead.

  The wind suddenly picked up, and the sea began to get rough. But the horizon was clear on all sides so there was no danger of rain.

  “Look!” said Van Hue.

  “Where?”

  “Over there. That dot between us and where land should be. That black dot is a boat.”