“Yes, my brother there. He leave on cavale with you. He find boat and food. When you meet Cuic-Cuic, you got everything for cavale. Chinese never squeal. Any Annamite you find in bush, tell him to tell Cuic-Cuic.”
“Why’s your brother called Cuic-Cuic?” Sylvain asked.
“Don’t know. French baptized him Cuic-Cuic.” Then he added, “Be careful. When you almost Grande Terre, there’s quicksand. Never walk on quicksand; it bad, it suck you up. Wait next tide to push you in bush so you grab liana and branches. If not, you finished.”
Sylvain said, “O.K., Papillon. I’m going with you.”
“All right, then. Our rafts will be alike and weigh about the same—we shouldn’t be separated by much. But you never know. If we do get separated, we’ve got to have a way of finding each other. You can’t see Kourou from here. But when you were on Royale you must have noticed that to the right of Kourou, about twelve miles away, there are some white rocks—they stand out clearly when the sun hits them.”
“Yes.”
“They’re the only rocks on the whole coast. To the right and left, for miles and miles, there’s nothing but quicksand. The rocks are white because of bird shit. There are thousands of birds, and since no man ever goes near it, it’s a good place to catch our breath before we start into the bush. We can eat eggs and our coconuts. We mustn’t make a fire. The first one there waits for the other.”
“How many days?”
“Five. It won’t take more than five days, not possibly.”
The rafts were ready. We lined the sacks to make them stronger and then decided to take the next ten days to practice riding them. We soon realized that it would take a special effort to keep the sacks from turning over. Whenever possible, we would have to lie flat but be careful not to fall asleep. If we fell off, we might not be able to get back on. Chang made me a small waterproof bag to hold cigarettes and a lighter to hang around my neck. We would grate ten coconuts for each of us. The pulp would take care of thirst as well as hunger. Santini had some kind of skin for carrying wine. Chang, who occasionally visited the guard, was going to pinch it.
It was all set for Sunday at ten in the evening. There would be a full moon, hence a twenty-five-foot tide, and Lisette would be at full strength. Chang was going to feed the pigs alone that Sunday morning. I would sleep all of Saturday and Sunday. Departure at ten—the tide would have started to ebb two hours before.
My two sacks couldn’t possibly rip apart. They were bound together with braided hemp rope and brass wire and sewn with the heavy thread used for making sails. We had found some unusually large sacks and joined them at the neck so the coconuts couldn’t possibly work their way out.
Sylvain was forever doing exercises, and I lay in the sea for long hours for the little waves to massage my thighs. The continuous pounding and the contractions necessary to resist the pull gave me legs and thighs of iron.
I found a chain about three yards long in a dried-up well and wove it in and out of the rope that held my sacks together. Then I attached a bolt to one of the links. If I reached the point where I’d had it, I would chain myself to my sacks. That way I could sleep without falling into the water and losing my raft. If the sacks turned over, the water would automatically wake me up and I’d be able to right the raft.
“Papillon, just three more days.” We were sitting on Dreyfus’ bench watching Lisette.
“Yes, just three more days. I really believe we’re going to make it. Don’t you?”
“I’m sure of it, Papillon. Tuesday night or Wednesday morning we’ll be in the bush. Then we’re all set!”
Chang was to grate our coconuts—ten each. Besides our knives, we had two machetes we’d lifted from the tool house.
The Inini camp was east of Kourou. We must walk into the morning sun to be sure of our direction.
Chang said, “Monday morning we fool Santini. I say nothing; only Papillon and Sylvain disappear before Monday three o’clock in afternoon when guard have siesta.”
“But why can’t you say a wave swept us away while we were fishing?”
“No. Want no complications. I say, ‘Boss, Papillon and Sylvain not come work today. Me all alone feed pigs.’ No more, no less.”
THE CAVALE FROM DIABLE
It was Sunday, seven o’clock in the evening. I had just waked up. I’d been asleep since Saturday morning. The moon would be rising at nine. It was blackest night, with very few stars, and large clouds heavy with rain rushing overhead. We had just left the barracks. Since we often sneaked out to fish at night or take a walk around the island, the others thought this perfectly normal.
A queer was going into the barracks with his lover, a big, hairy Arab. They must have been making love in some dark corner. As I watched them raise the plank to go back into the room, it crossed my mind how, for the Arab, being able to screw his friend two or three times a day must be the last word in bliss. The fact that he could satisfy his erotic needs transformed prison into paradise. Same for the fairy. He must have been twenty-four or -five, but his body had lost its youthful beauty. For all that he probably spent the whole day in the shade to protect his milk-white skin, he was no longer any Adonis. But here in the bagne he had more lovers than he had ever dreamed of when he was free. In addition to the Arab, he took on others at twenty-five francs a lay, exactly like a whore on the Boulevard Rochechouart in Montmartre. So, besides the pleasure his clients gave him, he made enough dough to live a comfortable life with his “husband.” From the day they first set foot in the bagne, he and his clients had given themselves entirely to this occupation. They had only one thing on their minds: sex.
The prosecutor who had got them convicted came out the loser if he thought he was punishing them by heading them down the road of the condemned. Here they’d found their real happiness.
Once the plank had closed behind the kid’s pretty ass, we were alone—Chang, Sylvain and I.
“Let’s go!” We quickly made for the northern tip of the island.
We took the two rafts out of the cave. In no time all three of us were drenched. The wind howled with hurricane force. Sylvain and Chang helped me push my raft to the top of the rock. At the last moment I had the idea of tying my left wrist to the rope around the sack. I was suddenly frightened at the thought of losing my sack and being carried off without it. Sylvain, with Chang’s help, climbed up onto the rock opposite. The moon was already quite high. We could see clearly.
I tied a towel around my head. We had to wait out six waves. More than thirty minutes.
Chang came back to me. He hugged me around the neck and kissed my cheek. Then he stretched out flat on the rock and, wedged in a crack, prepared to hold my legs to help me resist the shock when Lisette broke.
“One more,” Sylvain called out, “and then the good one!” He was standing in front of his raft to protect it with his body from the coming deluge. I was in the same position, with the added bracing of Chang’s hands. His nails were puncturing my calves in the excitement.
She was on her way; Lisette was coming straight for us, standing up like the spire of a church. With her usual deafening roar she broke over our rocks and swept toward the cliff.
I threw myself in a fraction of a second before my buddy, but we were close together as Lisette sucked us out into the open sea with dizzying speed. In less than five minutes we were over three hundred yards from shore. Sylvain hadn’t climbed onto his raft yet, but I had been up and astride within two minutes. Chang had scampered up to Dreyfus’ bench and, holding a white rag in his hand, was waving a last good-by. Now we were a good five minutes beyond the dangerous area where the waves heading for Diable formed. The ones we were riding were much wider, almost without crests and so regular we could drift with them without bouncing and with no danger of the rafts turning over.
We rose and fell from immense heights to great depths, all the while moving smoothly out with the ebb tide into the open sea.
As I rose to the top of one of the waves, I looked back and saw th
e white cloth in Chang’s hand for the last time. Sylvain was quite near me, perhaps forty yards farther out. I caught sight of him several times waving his arm in triumphal joy.
The night went smoothly. Then we felt a powerful change in the direction of the sea. The tide which had drawn us out had turned and was now pushing us toward Grande Terre.
The sun rose; it was about six o’clock. We were too low in the water to see the coast, but I knew we were far from the islands because, even with the sun on their summits, they were barely visible. Also they looked like one continuous island. Since I could make out no details, I figured they must be at least twenty miles away.
I smiled at the thought of our triumph.
If I sat up on my raft, would the wind on my back help me go faster?
I freed my chain and wound it once around my waist. The bolt was well greased, and it was easy to screw the nut on. I held my hands in the air to dry them off. I wanted a cigarette. Done. I inhaled in long, deep puffs and let the smoke out slowly. My fear was gone. There’s no need to try to describe the agonies in my gut just before, during and after the leap. The real point is that I wasn’t afraid any longer. In fact, after I’d finished the cigarette, I decided to eat a few mouthfuls of coconut pulp. I chewed a big handful, then smoked another cigarette. Sylvain was quite far away. We caught a glimpse of each other now and then when we crested a wave at the same time. The sun was striking the top of my head with hell’s own heat; my skull was roasting. I wet the towel and wrapped it around my head. Then I took off my wool sweater. Even with the wind the heat was suffocating.
Christ! My raft just turned over and I almost drowned. I took in two huge gulps of sea water. Try as I could, I couldn’t right the sacks and climb back on. The chain was constricting my movements. Finally, by letting it hang from one side, I was able to tread water and take a few deep breaths. I tried to get free of the chain, but my fingers couldn’t work the nut and bolt. Furious, my nerves on edge, I didn’t have the strength to unscrew them.
Finally I did it. That was a bad moment. I had nearly gone out of my mind thinking I couldn’t get free of the damn chain.
I didn’t bother to straighten the raft. I was too exhausted. I just hoisted myself up. What difference did it make whether it was the top or the bottom? I’d never attach myself to it again, not with the chain, not with anything. What a fool I’d been to tie myself to the raft by my wrist! That experience should have taught me.
The sun seared my arms and legs. My face was on fire. And it seemed to be worse when I wet it because the water evaporated immediately and made it burn even more.
The wind died down. This made the going more comfortable but much slower. Better lots of wind and a heavy sea than this calm.
I got such a violent cramp in my right leg that I yelled out. I made crosses on the cramp with my finger, remembering how my grandmother had said that would make the cramp go away. It didn’t work. The sun was now low in the west. It must be about four in the afternoon, and there had been four tides since we started. This one seemed to be pushing me harder than the others.
Now Sylvain and I could see each other all the time. He had taken off his shirt and was making signs at me. He was over three hundred yards farther out to sea. He seemed to be rowing with his hands, because I could see little whitecaps around his raft. Was he trying to slow his raft so that I could get closer to him? I got down on my stomach, plunged my arms into the water and rowed. If he braked and I rowed, perhaps we could close the gap between us.
I’d chosen a good partner for this escape. Sylvain had certainly risen to the challenge—100 percent.
I stopped rowing; it was tiring work. I must conserve my strength. I would try to right the raft. The food bag was underneath with the leather bottle containing the fresh water. I was thirsty and hungry. The best way to turn over the raft was to hang on, facing the waves, then give it a mighty shove with my feet as it was about to take the swell.
After five tries I finally made it. The effort exhausted me and I barely made it back onto the raft.
The sun was on the horizon and would soon be gone. Six o’clock. I hoped the night wouldn’t be too rough, for I realized that the continued drenchings were sapping my strength.
I took a long drink of water from Santini’s leather bottle and downed two fistfuls of coconut pulp. Full up, my hands dry in the wind, I took out a cigarette and smoked with deep delight. Before night fell, Sylvain waved his towel and I mine to say good night. We were still about the same distance from each other. I was sitting with my legs straight out. I wrung out my sweater as hard as I could and put it on. Even wet, those sweaters held the heat, and with the sun gone, it got cold right away.
The wind picked up. Only the low clouds in the west still glowed; everywhere else it was dark and getting darker with every minute. There were no clouds in the east, where the wind was coming from, therefore no danger of rain for the moment. My one thought was to hold on tight and not to get any wetter than necessary. I wondered if it would be a good idea to tie myself to the sacks in case fatigue got the better of me. Or, in the light of my recent experience, was it too risky? Then I suddenly realized that the reason I’d had trouble maneuvering was that the chain was too short: one end was being wasted in a tangle of rope and wire. I quickly freed it, then straightened the chain and attached it to my belt. There was still plenty of grease on the bolt and it worked perfectly. I mustn’t screw it so tight, that was all. Now I felt better, for I’d been scared stiff of falling asleep and losing the raft.
Yes, the wind was building up to something, and so were the waves. It was becoming a real toboggan ride.
Now it was completely dark. A million stars flickered in the sky, the Southern Cross the brightest of them all.
I couldn’t see Sylvain. This night was very important, for if the wind kept up its strength, we would have made real progress by morning.
The wind grew stronger as the night advanced. A reddish-brown moon rose slowly out of the sea. When, round and enormous, it finally floated free, I could clearly see the lines of its face.
It was about ten o’clock. The night grew increasingly clear, and gradually, as the moon rose in the sky, the light of the lunar day became more intense. The waves were dipped in platinum and their strange reflections burned my eyes, already inflamed by the scorching sun and salt water. Even so, I couldn’t keep from looking. I knew it was foolish, but I just couldn’t resist the incredible effect.
I smoked three cigarettes, one right after the other.
The raft behaved perfectly, rising and falling gracefully on the swollen sea.
But what to do about my physical problems? For one thing, if I kept my legs stretched out too long, the terrible cramps returned. Also, most of the time I was wet to the crotch. But at least my chest was almost dry, since the wind dried my sweater and no waves came higher than my waist. My eyes were burning more and more. I kept them closed. From time to time I slept. “Don’t sleep!” Easy to say, but I was beyond caring. Oh Christ, how I fought against it! And every time I returned to reality, I felt a terrible pain in my head. Then I’d take out my lighter and burn myself on my arm or my neck. I was racked with a fearful anxiety that I couldn’t get rid of. What if I fell asleep? If I tumbled into the sea, would the cold of the water wake me up? It was a good thing I had tied myself with the chain again. I must not lose these two sacks; they were my life. Wouldn’t it be great if I toppled into the sea and didn’t wake up!
I’d been thoroughly drenched for several minutes. A freak wave, one that had run across the path of the others, had just broken against my right side. Not only had it soaked me, but it had thrown me crosswise so that the next two waves washed over me from head to foot.
It was late into the second night. What time was it, I wondered. From the position of the moon in the west, it had to be around two or three in the morning. We had been in the water through five tides, or thirty hours. The soaking turned out to be a good thing: the chill of the water w
oke me up. I was shivering, but I could keep my eyes open without effort. My legs were almost paralyzed, so I decided to draw them up under me. With both hands I pulled the first one, then the other. Finally I managed to get myself into a squatting position. My toes were frozen; maybe sitting on them would warm them up.
I sat for a long time in this Arab squat. The change helped. I looked for Sylvain across the brightly moonlit sea, but the moon was so low that it shone in my eyes and made if hard to see. I couldn’t find him. He had nothing to attach himself to his sacks. Could he have fallen off? It worried me and I kept looking for him, in vain. The wind was strong, but steady and without gusts. This was very important. I had caught the rhythm now and my body was as one with the sacks.
Staring into the night, I became obsessed with the idea of finding my partner. I dried my fingers in the wind and whistled through them with all my might. Then I listened. No answer. Did Sylvain know how to whistle through his fingers? I had no idea. I should have asked him before we left. It would have been so easy to make two whistles. Damn it, why hadn’t I thought of that? I cupped my mouth with my hands and yelled, “Yoo-hoo!” The only answer was the noise of the wind and waves.
Finally I couldn’t stand it any more so I stood up on my sacks, grasping the chain with my left hand and holding my balance through five waves. When I reached the crest of a wave, I stood straight up; when I went up or down, I squatted. Nothing to the right, nothing to the left. Could he be behind me? I didn’t dare turn around while I was standing up. The one thing I was sure of was a dark line that the moon picked out on my left. It must be the bush.
By daytime I’d be seeing trees! I rubbed my toes and stretched my legs again. Then I decided to dry my hands so that I could have another cigarette. I smoked two. What time could it be? The moon was very low. I couldn’t remember how much time there had been last night between the setting of the moon and sunrise. I closed my eyes and tried to bring back the impressions of our first night. No go. Wait a minute! Suddenly I had a picture of the sun rising in the east at the same time a sliver of moon still showed in the west. So it must be about five o’clock. But the moon was taking its time about setting. The Southern Cross had disappeared long ago, as well as the Big and Little Bear. Only Polaris was still there, outshining them all. Now that the Southern Cross was gone, Polaris was queen of the skies.