Henri Charrière - Banco - the Further Adventures of Papillon

"Not true."

"Yes, it is, and I'll tell you why. For fourteen years I was stuffed into a cupboard. So I didn't live those fourteen years then. I have to live them now. And since fourteen from forty-one makes twenty-seven, I'm twenty-seven years old."

"Don't follow."

"It doesn't matter."

Yet it was true enough: my heart was that of a boy of twenty. I had to live those fourteen years that had been stolen from me; I needed them and I had to get them back. I had to burn them up, not giving a damn for anything at all, the way you do when you are twenty and your heart is filled with a crazy love for life.

One day, just before dawn, a scream jerked us all awake. As he was hanging up the hurricane lamp he had lit before making the coffee, the men's cook had been struck by two arrows-one in his side, the other in his buttock. He had to be taken straight back to Maracaibo. Four men carried him as far as the canoe on a kind of litter; the canoe took him down to the jeep, the jeep to the truck, and the truck to Maracaibo.

The day went by in a heavy, brooding atmosphere. We could sense the Indians all around us in the bush, though we never heard or saw them. The farther we went, the more we had the feeling we were right in their hunting grounds. There was a fair amount of game, and as all the men had a rifle, every now and then they shot a bird or a kind of hare. Everyone was serious, nobody sang; and after they had fired a shot they stupidly talked very low, as though they were afraid someone might hear them.

Gradually a general fear came over the men. They wanted to cut the expedition short and go back to Maracaibo. Our leader, Crichet, kept on up the river. The union man, Carlos, was a brave guy, but he, too, felt uneasy. He took me aside.

"Enrique, what do you say to turning back?"

"What for, Carlos?"

"The Indians."

"True enough, there are Indians; but they might just as easily attack us on the way back as if we go on."

"I'm not so sure about that, Enrique. Maybe we're close to their village. Look at that stone there: they've been crushing grain."

"There's something in what you say, Carlos. Let's see Crichet."

The American had been through the Normandy landings; it took a lot to shake him, and he was completely in love with his job. When all the men were gathered together, he said we were in one of the richest districts for geological information. He lost his temper, and in his anger he said the one thing he never should have said-"If you're afraid, all right, go back. I'm staying."

They all went off, except for Carlos, Lapp and me. But I stayed only on the condition that when we left we'd bury the equipment, because I did not want to carry anything heavy. Ever since I had broken both my feet during one of my unsuccessful breaks from Barranquilla, walking with a load made me tire very quickly. Carlos would see to the samples.

Crichet, Lapp, Carlos and I went on for five days without anyone else at all. Nothing happened, but I've never had a more thrilling and stirring time than those five days, when we knew we were being watched twenty-four hours a day by God knows how many pairs of unseen eyes. We gave up when Crichet, who had gone down to the edge of the river to relieve himself, saw the reeds move and then two hands gently parting them. That wrecked his urge; but with his usual calmness he turned his back on the reeds as though nothing had occurred and came back to the camp.

He said to Lapp, "I believe the moment has come for us to return to Maracaibo. We've got enough samples of rocks, and I'm not sure it's scientifically necessary to leave the Indians four interesting samples of the white race."

We reached Burra, a hamlet of some fifteen houses, without trouble. We were having a drink, waiting for the truck to come pick us up, when a drunken half-caste Indian of those parts took me aside and said, "You're French, aren't you? Well, it's not worth being French if you're as ignorant as all that."

"Ah? How come?"

"I'll tell you. You make your way into Motilón country, and what do you do? You blaze away right and left at everything that flies or runs or swims. All the men carry guns. It's not a scientific exploration; it's an enormous great hunting party."

"What are you getting at?"

"If you carry on that way, you'll destroy what the Indians look upon as their food reserve. They haven't got much. They just kill what they need for a day or two. Not more. Then again, their arrows kill with no noise-they don't make the other animals run away. Whereas you kill everything and you frighten away all the game with your shooting."

It was not so foolish, what this guy said. I was interested. "What'll you drink? It's on me."

"A double rum, Frenchman. Thanks." And he went on, "It's because of this that the Motilón Indians shoot arrows at you. They say that because of you it's going to be hard for them to eat."

"So we are robbing their larder?"

"You're dead right, Frenchman. Then again, when you go up a stream, have you ever noticed that, where it's narrow or where there's so little water you have to get out of the canoe and shove, you destroy a kind of dam made of branches and bamboos?"

"Yes, I have. Often."

"Well, the things you destroy like that, never thinking twice, are fish traps built by the Motilón Indians; so there again you do them harm. Because there's a great deal of work in these traps. They are a kind of maze, and the fish that are running up the stream pass through zigzag afterzigzag until they reach a big trap at the end, and then they can't escape. There's a wall of bamboos in front, and they can't find the entrance again, because it's made of little creepers that the fish pushed aside to get in. The current pushes them back against the gate once the fish has passed. I've seen traps more than fifty yards long from one end to the other, Beautiful work."

"You're right, absolutely right. You have to be vandals like us to smash work of that kind."

As we traveled back, I thought about what the rum-soaked halfbreed had told me, and I made up my mind to try something. As soon as we reached Maracaibo, even before I went home for my week's leave, I left a letter for Monsieur Blanchet, the personnel manager, asking him to see me next day.

He called me in, and there with him I saw the top geologist. I told them there would be no more killed or wounded in the expeditions if they would leave the management to me. Crichet would still be the official boss, of course, but I would be the one who saw to the discipline. They decided to have a try; Crichet had put in a report saying that if they could get higher up than the last expedition, that is to say into an even more dangerous region, they would find a real treasure-house of information. As to the pay for my new job, which would be in addition to being cook (I was still to be the geologists' chef), that would be settled when I came back. Of course I said nothing about the reasons that I could guarantee the expedition's safety, and since the Yankees are practical people, they asked me no questions either- it was the result that mattered.

Crichet was the only one who knew about the arrangement. It suited him, so he fell in with the scheme and relied on me. He was sure I had found some certain way of avoiding trouble; and the fact that I had been one of the three who stayed when all the others left had made a good impression.

I went to see the governor of the province and explained my business. He was friendly and understanding, and thanks to his letter of recommendation, I got the National Guard to give orders that the last post before Motilón territory should take all the weapons carried by the men on my list before letting the expedition through. They would think up some likely, comforting excuse. Because if the men knew back in Maracaibo that they were going into Motilón country unarmed, they wouldn't even start. I'd have to catch them short and con them on the spot.