Papillon Read Online Free PDF Page B

seen me because he was too busy with Julot. He let out a terrible scream. I’d really got him. He rolled around on the floor trying to peel off his three woolen sweaters. When he got to the third, his skin came off with it. The neck of the sweater was tight, and in his effort to get it over his head, the skin of his chest, his cheeks and part of his neck came too, stuck to the wool. His only eye was scalded, so he was blind as well. He finally got to his feet, hideous, bloodied, his flesh raw, and Julot took the opportunity to give him a violent kick in the groin. The giant collapsed and started to vomit and froth at the mouth. He had got his. As for us, we didn’t have long to wait.
    The two guards who had watched the scene were too cowed to attack. They called for help. It came from all sides and the clubs rained down on us like hail. I was lucky enough to be struck unconscious at the start so I didn’t feel the blows.
    When I came to, I was two floors below, completely naked in a dungeon flooded with water. I slowly came to my senses and felt my bruises. They hurt. There were at least a dozen bumps on my head. What time was it? I couldn’t tell. In this place there was neither day nor night. Then I heard a knocking on the wall. It came from far away.
    Pang, pang, pang, pang, pang, pang. The knocks were the ringing of the “telephone.” I had to knock twice if I wanted to get on the line. Knock, yes, but with what? In the dark I couldn’t see a thing. Fists weren’t enough; the sound wouldn’t get through. I moved closer to where I thought the door must be; it was a little lighter there. I banged into the grill. Feeling around, I figured that the door to the dungeon must be about three feet beyond and that the grill prevented me from reaching it. This was designed so that if anyone entered a dangerous prisoner’s cell, the prisoner couldn’t get at him because he was in fact in a cage. You could talk to him, throw water on him, throw food at him, insult him, all with impunity. On the other hand, you couldn’t strike him without exposing yourself to danger, for to get at him, you had to open the grill.
    The knocking resumed. Who was trying to get in touch with me? The guy certainly deserved a reply—he was taking a big chance. As I walked around in the dark, my foot slipped on something round and hard, and I almost fell flat on my face. It was a wooden spoon. I grabbed it and got ready to reply. Ear to the wall, I waited. Pang, pang, pang, pang, pang. Stop. Pang, pang. I answered: pang, pang. Those two taps meant, “Go ahead, I’m listening.” The taps began: pang, pang, pang—the letters of the alphabet rolled by quickly— a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p , stop. It stopped at the letter p . I tapped a hard pang. This was to tell him I had registered the letter p , then came an a , a p , an i , etc. He was saying: “Papi, how’s it going? You really got it. I have a broken arm.” It was Julot.
    We telephoned for over two hours, oblivious to the danger. We were carried away. I told him that I had broken nothing, that my head was covered with bumps, but that I had no open wounds.
    He had seen me being pulled down the stairs by the foot and told me that at each step my head had banged against the one above. He had never lost consciousness. He thought that Tribouillard had been badly burned and because of the wool was in serious condition. He was through for a while, at least.
    Three quick taps warned me that there was trouble coming. I stopped. A few moments later the door opened. I heard someone shout:
    “Get back, you bastard! Get to the back of the cell and come to attention!” It was the new trusty. “My name is Batton and my name suits my profession.” He trained a big ship’s lantern on the dungeon and my naked body.
    “Here’s something to put on. But don’t you move. Here’s bread and water. Don’t eat it all at once; it’s all you’ll get for the next twenty-four hours.”
    He let out a