Eat Him If You Like by Jean Teulé Read Free Book Online Page A

more? We’ll give you more!’
    Nobody noticed Thibassou, dragged by Anna to the feeding trough. Alain overheard his protectors whispering nearby.
    ‘How can we get them to leave the alley long enough for us to help him escape?’
    Dubois had an idea and elbowed his way through the crowd to Alain.
    ‘Wouldn’t you rather be shot than beaten even more?’ he asked, crouching down.
    ‘Oh yes, let them shoot me …’
    ‘Do you hear that, everyone? Go and get your guns! Quick, go home and fetch your guns!’ said Dubois, straightening up.
    ‘No, no guns!’ sang Mazière and the others. ‘He must suffer.’
    Alain found himself in the narrow street once more. He knew the place but it was no comfort to him now. He was subjected to ever more violent threats and gruesome propositions. He also received more deadly blows. They all – how many were there? – blackened his name further, calling him a coward. Oh, the irony! Everyone was venting their worst excessess on him. The flag flying from the mayor’s house witnessed the horror with disgust. Alain was not the only person deserving of pity.
    A man with glasses and beady eyes – Sarlat, the tailor from Nontronneau – yelled at Alain and tore at his yellow nankeen suit.
    ‘Filthy Prussian!’
    ‘Why do you say that? You know him. You dressed him! And now you’re ripping clothes that you made!’ yelled Antony.
    ‘I did not make this suit!’
    ‘Strewth!’ exploded Antony. ‘Look, there, in the lining, that’s your label sewn in there. Your name is on it, Sarlat!’
    ‘Oh, the filthy Prussian!’ exclaimed the tailor, yanking off a sleeve. ‘He’s been stealing our clothes as well!’
    They clawed at his suit and his shirt. Bare-chested, Alain was at the mercy of the rabble. They dragged him to the end of the street. Alain could see the open door of the church opposite. A flaking crucifix hung behind the altar. Christ’shair looked too long and it seemed as if he had only been put there so he could gaze down wrathfully at the barbarians.
    The priest continued to drink to the Emperor in order to distract as many of the angry mob as possible. But people had been praying for a while for a miracle to happen and had seen no results. So he was now less sure of success. Alain fell to his knees in front of the church, which had become a tavern where the wine would eventually run out.
    ‘Tell them that if they let me go, I’ll pay for drinks as well. Crack open a barrel,’ he begged. Mazerat was appalled.
    ‘We won’t drink wine from a Prussian!’ shouted one of his persecutors, who had overheard.
    ‘Oh, my friends, my friends …’
    ‘Are you still talking?’ asked a man, surprised. ‘Here!’ He smashed an iron bar down on Alain’s mouth. Alain choked and spat out blood and broken teeth.
    The church clock struck three. Alain heard the bells chime, tolling out his pain. He was seized by the mob, who raised him above their heads and engulfed him. The procession set off up the town’s main street. Alain lay flat on his back under the mocking sun, gasping for breath. He felt like a carnival statue, rather like the Black Virgin of Rocamadour or St Léonard of Limousin. Insults continued to rain down on him and the pain in his head was unbearable. He howled as he was passed from person to person. He felt something inside him die, destroyed by the mob’s madness.
    Head lolling back, Alain was surprised to see the upside-down faces of his helpless protectors. He had thought he would never see them again, certainly not on the way to his grisley end! The whole affair was tragic. No one butthe devil would delight in such a vicious game. Lord have pity on those men. They flung him to the ground. Alain glimpsed whips, batons and hooks in their hands, and felt the thwack of sticks.
    ‘Knock him out! Knock him out!’
    People jostled to get at him, vying to deal the hardest blow. Thibaud Devras, a pig merchant from Lussac, raised his stick and waited for Alain to