Read Online Papillon by Henri Charrière - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Henri Charrière
Ads: Link
written: “Pénitencier, Saint-Laurent-du-Maroni. Capacité, 3000 hommes.” The gate opened and we entered in rows of ten. “One, two, one, two, march!” A number of cons were watching us arrive. They leaned out of windows and stood on rocks.
When we reached the center of the yard, a guard shouted, “Stop! Put your packs down in front of you. You over there, pass out the hats!” Each of us was given a straw hat. We needed it, all right; two or three men had already fainted from sunstroke. A guard with stripes held a list in his hands. Dega and I looked at each other; we were thinking of what Julot had said. They called to Le Guittou: “This way!” Two guards flanked him and they left. Same thing with Santini. Girasole, ditto.
“Jules Pignard!”
“Jules Pignard [that was Julot] was hurt. He’s in the hospital.”
“O.K. Now listen carefully. When I call your name, step out of ranks with your pack on your shoulder and go stand in front of the yellow barracks. It’s Number One.”
So and so, present, etc. Dega, Carrier and I found ourselves among those lined up in front of the barracks. The door opened and we entered a hall about seventy feet long. Down the middle, a passage seven feet wide; to the right and left, iron bars that ran the length of the hall. Canvas hammocks stretched from the bars to the wall, and each hammock had a blanket. You could go where you liked. Dega, Pierrot le Fou, Santori, Grandet and I moved in next to each other and immediately set up housekeeping. I walked to the end of the hall: showers to the right, toilets to the left; no running water. We clung to the bars of the windows and watched the next arrivals. Our relief was intense; obviously we weren’t going to be interned because we were here together in a barracks. If we were, we’d already be in cells, as Julot had said.
In the tropics there is no dusk or dawn. You pass from day to night just like that, at the same time, during the whole year. Night falls abruptly at six-thirty. And at six-thirty two old cons brought in two oil lamps which they hung from a hook in the ceiling. They gave only the faintest light. Three-fourths of the barracks was in total darkness. By nine o’clock everyone was asleep. The excitement of arrival had passed and we were overcome with the heat. There was not a breath of air; everyone was down to his undershirt. I was between Dega and Pierrot le Fou. We whispered for a while, then fell asleep.
The next morning it was still dark when reveille sounded. Everybody got up, washed and dressed. We were given some coffee and a piece of bread. A plank attached to the wall served as a table for our food and a shelf for the rest of our belongings. At nine o’clock two guards entered together with a young con dressed in white without stripes. The two guards were Corsicans and talked Corsican with their countrymen.
While this was going on, the infirmary orderly made a tour of the hall. When he reached me, he said, “How goes it, Papi? You don’t recognize me?”
“No.”
“I’m Sierra, the Algerian; I knew you at Dante’s in Paris.”
“Ah, yes, now I recognize you. But you came over in ’twenty-nine. This is ’thirty-three and you’re still here?”
“Yes, it’s not all that easy to get out of this place. Why don’t you report sick? What about him? Who is he?”
“Dega. He’s a friend of mine.”
“I’ll put him down for a visit too. You, Papi, have dysentery. And you, old man, you have attacks of asthma. I’ll see you at eleven. I want to talk to you.” He continued on his rounds, calling out in a loud voice, “Anyone sick here?” If a man raised a finger, he went over and put him on his list. The next time he passed us, he was accompanied by a very old and weathered guard.
“Papillon, I want you to meet my boss, Bartiloni, the infirmary guard. Mr. Bartiloni, this man and that one there are the friends I told you about.”
“O.K., Sierra. We can fix it up during the visit. You
When we reached the center of the yard, a guard shouted, “Stop! Put your packs down in front of you. You over there, pass out the hats!” Each of us was given a straw hat. We needed it, all right; two or three men had already fainted from sunstroke. A guard with stripes held a list in his hands. Dega and I looked at each other; we were thinking of what Julot had said. They called to Le Guittou: “This way!” Two guards flanked him and they left. Same thing with Santini. Girasole, ditto.
“Jules Pignard!”
“Jules Pignard [that was Julot] was hurt. He’s in the hospital.”
“O.K. Now listen carefully. When I call your name, step out of ranks with your pack on your shoulder and go stand in front of the yellow barracks. It’s Number One.”
So and so, present, etc. Dega, Carrier and I found ourselves among those lined up in front of the barracks. The door opened and we entered a hall about seventy feet long. Down the middle, a passage seven feet wide; to the right and left, iron bars that ran the length of the hall. Canvas hammocks stretched from the bars to the wall, and each hammock had a blanket. You could go where you liked. Dega, Pierrot le Fou, Santori, Grandet and I moved in next to each other and immediately set up housekeeping. I walked to the end of the hall: showers to the right, toilets to the left; no running water. We clung to the bars of the windows and watched the next arrivals. Our relief was intense; obviously we weren’t going to be interned because we were here together in a barracks. If we were, we’d already be in cells, as Julot had said.
In the tropics there is no dusk or dawn. You pass from day to night just like that, at the same time, during the whole year. Night falls abruptly at six-thirty. And at six-thirty two old cons brought in two oil lamps which they hung from a hook in the ceiling. They gave only the faintest light. Three-fourths of the barracks was in total darkness. By nine o’clock everyone was asleep. The excitement of arrival had passed and we were overcome with the heat. There was not a breath of air; everyone was down to his undershirt. I was between Dega and Pierrot le Fou. We whispered for a while, then fell asleep.
The next morning it was still dark when reveille sounded. Everybody got up, washed and dressed. We were given some coffee and a piece of bread. A plank attached to the wall served as a table for our food and a shelf for the rest of our belongings. At nine o’clock two guards entered together with a young con dressed in white without stripes. The two guards were Corsicans and talked Corsican with their countrymen.
While this was going on, the infirmary orderly made a tour of the hall. When he reached me, he said, “How goes it, Papi? You don’t recognize me?”
“No.”
“I’m Sierra, the Algerian; I knew you at Dante’s in Paris.”
“Ah, yes, now I recognize you. But you came over in ’twenty-nine. This is ’thirty-three and you’re still here?”
“Yes, it’s not all that easy to get out of this place. Why don’t you report sick? What about him? Who is he?”
“Dega. He’s a friend of mine.”
“I’ll put him down for a visit too. You, Papi, have dysentery. And you, old man, you have attacks of asthma. I’ll see you at eleven. I want to talk to you.” He continued on his rounds, calling out in a loud voice, “Anyone sick here?” If a man raised a finger, he went over and put him on his list. The next time he passed us, he was accompanied by a very old and weathered guard.
“Papillon, I want you to meet my boss, Bartiloni, the infirmary guard. Mr. Bartiloni, this man and that one there are the friends I told you about.”
“O.K., Sierra. We can fix it up during the visit. You
Similar Books
