Read Online Eat Him If You Like by Jean Teulé - Free Book Online Page A

‘He’s blocking the road. Take him somewhere else.’
    Antony sighed in despair.
    â€˜What shall we do with him somewhere else?’ enquired Buisson and Mazière.
    â€˜Whatever you want!’ replied the mayor, completely out of his depth. ‘Eat him if you like.’

14
THE WHEELBARROW
    Well, to think that Alain was deemed to have a weak constitution by the medical board! He did not know why he was still alive, but his heart continued to flutter in his chest. The people towing him turned to the right, towards whatever fate awaited him.
    ‘Burn him! Roast him!’
    ‘Burn him! If not, the Prussians will come and set us alight!’ urged the villagers, hoping to ward off the spectre of a fire.
    ‘After shoeing him like an ox, we’ll cook him like a pig!’
    ‘He needs to be plucked before we cook him!’ proposed a raucous female voice that sounded familiar.
    The mob paused to think. A large group went in search ofwood – branches, planks and broken furniture. They tossed it onto Alain’s chest with needless brutality. He had become a wheelbarrow – his legs the shaft and his head the wheel.
    ‘Take the Prussian over there, where the firewood is!’
    They also needed some straw and a means of lighting the fire.
    ‘Hey, Thibassou, here’s one sou. Run and fetch some matches from Mousnier’s inn and bring some newspaper as well. The Dordogne Echo will do fine!’
    Chambort arrived with a bale of straw, followed by a villager yelling at him for stealing his fodder.
    ‘That’s worth thirteen sous, you know!’
    ‘Never fear. Napoleon III will pay you back for your straw bale because we’re using it to save France!’
    ‘I know the mayor’s a coward but where’s the priest?’ cried Mazerat from afar.
    ‘Passed out in the church from drinking in an attempt to avert this disaster. He’s snoring at Christ’s feet,’ boomed Bouteaudon’s voice.
    Mazière and Buisson dragged Alain along by his legs. Bumping on the ground, his head oozed a long trail of brains and blood. The tragic carnival was reaching its climax. The villagers had destroyed his body and now they were going to burn it. Alain was going to the theatre of hell. He was nothing more than a rag doll, and burning him would mark the end of the festivities. He was driven out of the village on a tidal wave of abuse.
    Menacing river banks closed in on him, echoing with baying voices. Memories of profoundly happy, peaceful occasions from his comfortable former existence came rushing back.Alain had fallen from grace and was now being dragged by his ankles towards the fairground. The murder that the crowd was about to commit was a declaration of love for France. People hurled chestnut branches onto Alain’s chest, onto the man they saw as a human wheelbarrow, all the while shouting ‘Long live the Emperor!’ Alain endured their blows without much struggle. They hauled him along the path to a place that seemed to be a rubbish tip. They had arrived at the dried-up lake, where each year a bonfire was lit on midsummer’s night.

15
THE DRIED-UP LAKE
    Mazière, Buisson and the younger Campot brother came to help the other men, and they dumped Alain’s body on the dried-up lake bed. The water had evaporated after months of searing heat. Alain lay on his back on the parched, cracked earth, his head turned slightly to one side. He was still breathing slightly.
    ‘Hooray! He’s not dead! He’s not dead! We’re going to burn him alive!’
    Alain had been dreaming of a quick and easy death. Or rather, he had been praying for it. He heard the voice of his childhood friend Chambort – now a blacksmith in Pouvrières – organising the construction of the funeral pyre. Alain had known him so well; how could his old friendhave turned against him so suddenly?
    ‘Bring more wood; bring vine shoots and cartwheels, and pull up the fence posts!’
    They had now reached the fringes of the livestock fair. Chambort spread straw over his former