Banco: The Further Adventures of Papillon by Henri Charrière Read Free Book Online

hurry, and I climbed fast to the house. Conchita was waiting for me, as black and cheerful as ever.
    “Well, Papillon, and how are you doing? Charlot told me to pour you out a stiff anisette before dinner. He said you looked as though you had problems. What’s wrong, Papi? You can tell me, your friend’s wife, Would you like me to fetch Graciela for you, or maybe Mercedes if you like her better? Don’t you think that would be a good idea?”
    “Conchita, you’re my little black pearl of El Callao, you’re wonderful, and I see why Charlot worships you. Maybe you’re right: maybe to set me up I need a girl beside me.”
    “That’s for sure. Unless it’s Charlot who was right.”
    “How do you mean?”
    “Well, I was saying what you needed was to love and be loved. And he told me to hold on before I put a girl in your bed--perhaps it was something else.”
    “How do you mean, something else?”
    She hesitated for a moment and then blurted, “I don’t care if you do tell Charlot; but he’ll box my ears.”
    “I won’t tell him anything. I promise.”
    “Well, Charlot says you aren’t built for the same kind of life as he and the other Frenchmen here.”
    “What else? Come on, Conchita, tell me the lot.”
    “And he said you must be thinking that there’s too much useless gold lying about at the mine and that you’d find something better to do with it. There! And he went on that you aren’t the sort that can live without spending a lot; and that you had a revenge you couldn’t give up and for that you wanted a great deal of money.”
    I looked her straight in the eye. “Well, Conchita, your Charlot got it wrong, wrong, wrong. You’re the one who was right. As for my future--no problem at all. You guessed it: what I want is a woman to love. I didn’t like to say so, on account of I’m rather shy.”
    “That I don’t believe, Papillon.”
    “Okay. Go and fetch the blonde, and just you see if I’m not happy when I have a girl of my own.”
    “I’m on my way,” she said, going into the bedroom to change her dress. “Oh, that Mercedes, how happy she will be!” she called. Before she had time to come back there was a knock at the door. “Come in,” Conchita said. The door opened and there was Maria, looking a trifle confused.
    “You, Maria, at this time of night? What a marvelous surprise! Conchita, this is Maria, the girl who took me in when Picolino and I first landed up in El Callao.”
    “Let me kiss you,” Conchita said. “You’re as pretty as Papillon said you were.”
    “Who’s Papillon?”
    “That’s me. Enrique or Papillon, it’s all one. Sit down by me on the divan and tell me everything.”
    Conchita gave a knowing laugh. “I don’t think it’s worth my while going out now,” she said.
    Maria stayed all night. As a lover she was shy, but she reacted to the slightest caress. I was her first man. Now she was sleeping. The two candles I had lit instead of the raw electric light were guttering. Their faint glow showed the beauty of her young body even better, and her breasts still marked by our embrace. Gently I got up to make myself some coffee and to see what time it was. Four o’clock. I knocked over a saucepan and woke Conchita. She came out of her room, wearing a dressing gown.
    “You want some coffee?”
    “Yes.”
    “Only for you, I’m sure. Because she must be sleeping with those angels you’ve introduced her to.”
    “You know all about it, Conchita.”
    “My people have fire in their veins. You must have noticed it tonight. Maria has one touch of Negro, two touches of Indian and the rest Spanish. If you’re not happy with a mixture like that, go hang yourself,” she said, laughing.
    The splendid sun was high in the sky when it saw Maria wake up. I brought her coffee in bed. There was a question already on my lips. “Aren’t they going to worry, not finding you at home?”
    “My sisters knew I was coming here, so my father must have known an hour later.