Banco: The Further Adventures of Papillon. Henri Charriere

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СКАЧАТЬ years by three hundred and sixty-five days and then by twenty-four hours and each hour by sixty minutes and you still won’t have the number of times I’ve sworn to make them pay for what I went through. So when I saw that heap of gold in such a place, why true enough, I did think of working out a job.’

      ‘What then?’ said Simon.

      ‘Then I looked at the position from every side and I was ashamed. I was running the risk of destroying the happiness of you all. I came to see that this happiness of yours – a happiness I hope to have myself one day – was worth much more than being rich. So the temptation of knocking off the gold quite disappeared. You can take it for a certainty, and I give you my word: I shan’t do anything here.’

      ‘There you are, then,’ said Chariot, grinning all over his face. ‘So now we can sleep easy. It’s not one of our crooks that would ever give way to temptation. Long live Papillon! Long live Maria! Long live love and freedom! And long live decency ! Hard guys we were, hard guys we are still, but only towards the pigs. Now we’re all of the same mind, including Papillon.’

      

      Six months I’d been here. Chariot was right. On the day of the party I had won the first battle against my longing to pull something off. I had been drifting away from the ‘road down the drain’ ever since I had escaped. Now thanks to my friends’ example I had gained an important victory over myself: I had given up the idea of grabbing that million dollars. One thing was sure: for the future it would not be easy for any job to tempt me. Once I’d given up a fortune like that, it would be very hard for anything else to make me change my ideas. Yet I wasn’t entirely at peace with myself. I had to make my money some other way than stealing it, fair enough; but still I had to get enough together to be able to go to Paris and hand in my bill. And that was going to cost me a packet.

      Boom-bom, boom-bom, boom-bom: all the time my pumps sucked up the water that flowed into the galleries. It was hotter than ever. Every day I spent eight hours down there in the bowels of the mine. At this time I was on duty from four in the morning until noon. When I knocked off I’d have to go to Maria’s house in El Callao. Picolino had been there this last month, because in El Callao the doctor could see him every day. He was being given a course of treatment and Maria and her sisters looked after him wonderfully. So I was going to see him and to make love to Maria: it was a week since I’d seen her, and I wanted her, physically and mentally.

      I found a lorry that gave me a lift. The rain was pouring down when I opened the door at about one o’clock. They were all sitting round the table, apart from Maria, who seemed to be waiting near the door. “Why didn’t you come before? A week’s a long, long time. You’re all wet. Come and change right away.’

      She pulled me into the bedroom, took my clothes off and dried me with a big towel. ‘Lie down on the bed,’ she said. And there we made love, not minding about the others who were waiting for us the other side of the door, nor about their impatience. We dropped off to sleep, and it was Esmeralda, the green-eyed sister, who gently woke us up late that afternoon, when night was already coming on.

      When we had all had dinner together, José the Pirate suggested going for a stroll.

      “Enrique, you wrote to the chief administrator asking him to get Caracas to put an end to your confinamiento [compulsory residence]: is that right?’

      ‘Yes, José.’

      ‘He’s had the reply from Caracas.’

      ‘Good or bad?’

      ‘Good. Your confinamiento is over.’

      ‘Does Maria know?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘What did she say?’

      ‘That you’d always said you wouldn’t stay in El Callao.’ After a short pause he asked me, ‘When do you think you’ll leave?’

      Although I was bowled over by this news, I thought and then answered straight away, ‘Tomorrow. The truck-driver who brought me said he was going on to Ciudad Bolivar tomorrow.’ José bowed his head. ‘Amigo mio, are you sore at me?’

      ‘No, Enrique. You’ve always said you’d never stay. But it’s sad for Maria – and for me, too.’

      ‘I’ll go and talk to the driver if I can find him.’

      I did find him: we were to leave tomorrow at nine. As he already had one passenger, Picolino would travel in the cab and myself on the empty iron barrels behind. I hurried to the chief administrator; he handed over my papers and, like the good man he was, he gave me some advice: and he wished me good luck. Then I went round seeing everybody who had given me their friendship and their help.

      First to Caratal, where I picked up the few things I possessed. Chariot and I embraced one another, deeply moved. His black girl wept. I thanked them both for their wonderful hospitality.

      ‘It’s nothing, mate. You would have done the same for me. Good luck. And if you go to Paris, say hello to Montmartre from me.’

      ‘I’ll write.’

      Then the ex-cons, Simon, Alexandre, Marcel, André. I hurried back to El Callao and there I said good-bye to all the miners and the gold- and diamond-prospectors and my workmates. All of them, men and women, said something from the heart to wish me good luck. It touched me a great deal and I saw even more clearly that if I had set up with Maria I should have been like Chariot and the others – I should never have been able to tear myself away from this paradise.

      The hardest of all my farewells was to Maria. Our last night, a mixture of love and tears, was more violent than anything we had ever known. Even our caresses broke our hearts. The horrible thing was that I had to make her understand there would be no hope of my coming back. Who could tell what my fate would be when I carried out my plans?

      A shaft of sunlight woke me. My watch said eight o’clock already. I hadn’t the heart to stay in the big room, not even the few moments for a cup of coffee. Picolino was sitting in a chair, tears running down his face. Esmeralda had washed and dressed him. I looked for Maria’s sisters, but I couldn’t find them. They’d hidden so as not to see me go. There was only José standing there in the doorway. He grasped me in the Venezuelan abrazo (one hand holds yours and the other is round your shoulders), as moved as I was myself. I couldn’t speak, and he said only this one thing: ‘Don’t forget us; we’ll never, never forget you. Goodbye: God go with you.’

      With all his clean things carefully made up into a bundle, Picolino wept bitterly, and his movements and the hoarse sounds he uttered conveyed his wretchedness at not being able to bring out the millions of thanks he had in his heart. I led him away.

      Carrying our baggage, we reached the driver’s place. A splendid exit from the town, all right: his truck had broken down; no leaving today. We had to wait for a new carburettor. There was no way out of it – I returned to Maria’s with Picolino. You can imagine the shrieks when they saw us coming back.

      ‘God was kind to have broken the truck, Enrique! Leave Picolino here and walk around the village while I get the meal ready. It’s an odd thing,’ Maria added, ‘but it could be you’re not fated to go to Caracas.’

      While I was strolling about I thought over this remark of Maria’s. It worried me. I did not know Caracas, a big city, but people had talked about it and I could imagine what it was like. The idea certainly attracted me; but once СКАЧАТЬ