Timbuktu
The boulevard, that river of life, swarmed with people in the golden dust of the setting sun. The whole sky was a blinding red; and, behind the Madeleine, an immense blazing cloud flung along the great avenue an oblique shower of fire, quivering like the vapour above a brazier.
The gay, throbbing crowd went by under this flaming mist, and seemed transfigured. Faces were gilded, black hats and clothes took on purple gleams; the varnish on their shoes darted flames across the asphalt pavement.
In front of the cafés a throng of men were drinking gleaming, coloured beverages, which looked like precious stones melted into the crystal.
In this crowd of people with their thin and sombre clothes, sat two officers in full uniform, and the dazzling brilliance of their gold lace made every eye glance at them. They were talking gaily and aimlessly, in the midst of all this radiant vibrant life, in the glowing splendour of the evening; and they were watching the throng, the sauntering men and the hurrying women who left behind them a divine and disquieting perfume.
Suddenly an enormous Negro, dressed in black, potbellied, bedizened with trinkets on his waistcoat of ticking, his face shining as though it had been polished with blacking, passed in front of them with an air of triumph. He laughed at the passersby, he laughed at the newspaper-vendors, he laughed at the blazing sky, he laughed at the whole of Paris. He was so tall that his head overtopped all others; and, behind him, all the loungers turned round to stare at his back.
But suddenly he caught sight of the officers, and, jostling through the crowd of drinkers, he rushed up to them. As soon as he was in front of their table, he fixed his gleaming, delighted eyes upon them, and the corners of his mouth rose to his ears, disclosing his white teeth, bright as a crescent moon in a black sky. The two men, bewildered, stared at this ebony giant, unable to make head or tail of his merriment.
And he cried out, in a voice which drew a burst of laughter from every table:
“Mawnin’, Lieutenant.”
One of the officers was a battalion-commander, the other a colonel. The former said:
“I don’t know you, sir. I am quite unable to imagine what you want of me.”
The Negro replied:
“Me like you much, Lieutenant Védié, siege of Bézi, we hunt much grapes.”
The officer, quite at a loss, stared fixedly at the fellow, groping in the depths of his memory; and exclaimed abruptly:
“Timbuktu!”
The Negro, radiant, smacked his thigh, uttered a laugh of unbelievable violence, and roared:
“Ya, ya, my lieutenant, remember Timbuktu, ya, mawnin’!”
The major gave him his hand, laughing heartily himself. Then Timbuktu became serious again. He took the officer’s hand and, so swiftly that the other could not prevent him, he kissed it, according to the custom of the Negroes and the Arabs. The embarrassed officer said to him in a severe voice:
“Come, Timbuktu, we are not in Africa. Sit down there and tell me how it is that I find you here.”
Timbuktu stretched his paunch, and, speaking so fast that he stammered, announced:
“Make much money, very much, big rest’rant, good eat, Prussians, me, steal much, very much, F’ench cooking, me get hund’ed thousand f’ancs. Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!”
And he writhed with laughter, bellowing with a gleam of mad merriment in his eyes.
When the officer, who understood his strange language, had questioned him for some time, he said to him:
“Well, goodbye, Timbuktu; see you again soon.”
The Negro promptly rose, shook, this time, the outstretched hand, and, still laughing, exclaimed:
“Mawnin’, mawnin’, Lieutenant!”
And he departed, so happy that he gesticulated as he walked, and the crowd took him for a lunatic.
“Who was that brute?” inquired the colonel.
“A good lad and a good soldier,” replied the major. “I will tell you what I know about him; it is funny enough.
“You know that at the beginning of the war of 1870 I was shut up in Bézières, the place the Negro calls Bézi. We were not besieged, but blockaded. The Prussian lines surrounded us on every side, out of range of cannon-shot, and not firing on us, but gradually starving us out.
“I was a lieutenant at the time. Our garrison was composed of troops of every sort, the remnants of decimated regiments, fugitives and marauders separated from their army corps. We even had eleven Turcos, who arrived one evening, no one knows how or whence. They had turned up at the gates of the town, worn out, ragged, starving, and drunk. They were entrusted to me.
“I very soon realised that they detested every form of discipline; they were always getting out of the town, and were always drunk. I tried the police station, even a dose of prison; nothing did any good. My men would disappear for whole days, as though they had burrowed underground, and then would reappear so tipsy that they could not stand. They had no money. Where did they drink? And how, and by what means?
“The problem began to fascinate me, especially as these savages interested me, with their perpetual laugh and their natures of overgrown, naughty boys.
“I noticed at last that they obeyed blindly the biggest of the lot; the one you have just seen. He ruled them absolutely as he chose, and prepared their mysterious enterprises with the undisputed authority of an omnipotent chief. I made him come and see me, and questioned him. Our conversation lasted a good three hours, so much trouble it took me to comprehend his surprising rigmarole. As for him, poor devil, he made the most extraordinary efforts to be understood, invented words, gesticulated, perspired with the effort, wiped his brow, panted, stopped, and abruptly began again when he fancied he had discovered a new means of explaining himself.
“Eventually I gathered that he was the son of a great chief, a sort of Negro king in the neighbourhood of Timbuktu. I asked him his name. He answered something like ‘Chavaharibouhalikhranafotapolara.’ I thought it simpler to give him the name of his country: ‘Timbuktu.’ And a week later the entire garrison knew him by no other name.
“But we were consumed by a frantic desire to know how this African ex-prince managed to get hold of drink. I discovered it in strange fashion.
“I was on the ramparts one morning, scanning the horizon, when I saw something moving in a vineyard. It was getting near the vintage season, and the grapes were ripe, but I never thought of that. I imagined that a spy was approaching the town, and I organised an entire expedition to seize the prowler. I took command myself, after getting permission from the general.
“I had sent out, through three different gates, three little bands which were to meet near the suspected vineyard and surround it. In order to cut off the spy’s retreat, one of the detachments had to march for a good hour. A man who remained on the watch upon the walls indicated to me by signs that the fellow I had noticed had not left the field. We went on our way in complete silence, crawling, almost lying flat in the ruts. At last we reached the appointed spot; swiftly I deployed my men, who dashed into the vineyard and found … Timbuktu, going on all fours through the middle of vines, and eating the grapes, or rather lapping them up like a dog lapping soup, taking them straight off the plants in large mouthfuls, tearing down the bunches with his teeth.
“I tried to make him stand up; it was not to be dreamed of, and I realised then why he was crawling thus on his hands and knees. Set on his legs, he tottered for a few seconds, threw out his arms, and fell flat on his nose. I have never seen a man so drunk as he was.
“He was carried home on two vine-poles. He never stopped laughing all the way back, and waved his arms and legs.
“That was the whole mystery. My rascals drank from the grape itself. Then, when they were so tight that they could not move, they went to sleep where they were.
“As for Timbuktu, his love of the vine passed all belief and measure. He lived among them like the thrushes, which, by the way, he hated with the hatred of a jealous rival. He repeated constantly:
“ ‘Th’ushes eat all the g’apes, d’unkards!’
“One evening I was sent for. Something was seen approaching us across the plain. I had not brought my spyglass, and could make out very little. It was like a great serpent uncoiling, a convoy, I don’t know what.
“I sent some men forward to meet this strange caravan, which soon made its triumphal entry. Timbuktu and nine of his comrades were carrying, upon a kind of altar made of rustic chairs, eight severed heads, bleeding and grimacing. The tenth Turco was leading a horse, to whose tail a second was attached, and six more animals followed, secured in the same fashion.
“This is what I learned. Setting off to the vineyards, my Africans had suddenly noticed a Prussian detachment drawing near to a village. Instead of fleeing, they hid; then, when the officers had dismounted in front of an inn, in search of refreshments, the gallant eleven charged, put to flight the Uhlans, who thought they were seriously attacked, and killed the two sentries, in addition to the colonel and the five officers with him.
“That day I embraced Timbuktu. But I noticed that he found difficulty in walking. I thought he was wounded; he burst out laughing, and told me:
“ ‘Me, p’ovisions for count’y.’
“For Timbuktu had no idea of going to war for glory; he did it for profit. Everything he found, everything which appeared to him to have any value, everything, especially, which sparkled, he thrust into his pocket. And what a pocket! It was a gulf which began at his hip and ended at his ankle. He had picked up a piece of army slang, and called it his ‘deep,’ and deep it was, in very truth!
“He had consequently stripped off the gilt from the Prussian uniforms, the brass from their helmets, the buttons, etc., and thrown the whole collection into his ‘deep,’ which was full to overflowing.
“Every day he cast into it every shining object which caught his eye, pieces of tin or silver coins; the outline of his figure became remarkably quaint.
“He was determined to carry it all back to the land of ostriches, whose brother this king’s son seemed to be in his devouring passion for acquiring glittering articles. If he had not had his ‘deep,’ what would he have done? Doubtless he would have swallowed them.
“Every morning his pocket was empty. He must have had a central dump where his riches were heaped together. But where was it? I was never able to find out.
“The general, informed of Timbuktu’s great feat, ordered the bodies which had been left in the neighbouring village to be buried at once, so that it might not be discovered that they had been decapitated. The Prussians returned thither the next day. The mayor and seven prominent residents were shot on the spot by way of reprisals, for having given away the presence of the Germans.
“Winter had come. We were worn out and desperate. We fought now every day. The famished men could no longer march. Only the eight Turcos (three had been killed) remained fat and glossy, vigorous and always ready for a fight.
“Timbuktu was positively growing fatter. One day he said to me:
“ ‘You, much hung’y, me good meat.’
“And, as a matter of fact, he did bring me an excellent steak. But of what? We had no more cows, sheep, goats, donkeys, or pigs. It was impossible to get horseflesh. I thought of all this after I had eaten the meat. It was then that a horrible thought came to me. These Negroes had been born very near the district where men are eaten! And every day so many soldiers were slain in the town. I questioned Timbuktu. He refused to answer. I did not insist, but from that time onward I refused his presents.
“He adored me. One night we were caught in a snowstorm out at the advanced pickets. We were sitting on the ground. I cast looks of pity on the poor Negroes shivering under the white, frozen dust. As I was very cold myself, I began to cough. I instantly felt something fall on me, like a large, warm covering. It was Timbuktu’s coat which he was throwing over my shoulders.
“I rose and, giving him back his garment, said:
“ ‘Keep that, my lad; you need it more than I do.’
“ ‘No,’ he replied, ‘for you, Lieutenant; me not need, me warm, warm.’
“And he looked at me with entreaty in his eyes.
“ ‘Come now, obey me,’ I went on. ‘Keep your coat; I wish you to.’
“Thereupon the Negro rose, drew his sabre, which he knew how to make as sharp as a scythe, and holding in his other hand the wide cloak which I would not take, declared:
“ ‘If you not keep coat, me cut; nobody have coat.’
“He would have done it. I gave in.
“Eight days later we had capitulated. Some of us had been able to escape. The rest were about to march out of the town and surrender to the victors.
“I directed my steps towards the Place d’Armes, where we were to muster, when I stopped, bewildered with amazement, in front of a gigantic Negro clad in white duck, and wearing a straw hat. It was Timbuktu. He looked radiant, and was walking to and fro with his hands in his pockets, in front of a small shop in whose window were displayed two plates and two glasses.
“ ‘What are you doing?’ I said to him.
“ ‘Me not gone,’ he replied. ‘Me good cook, me make eat colonel, Alge’ia; me eat P’ussians, steal much, much.’
“There were ten degrees of frost. I shivered at sight of this duck-clad Negro. Then he took my arm and made me go inside. I noticed an enormous sign, which he was going to hang up at his door as soon as we were gone, for he had some traces of shame.
“And I read, traced by the hand of some accomplice, the following announcement:
M. Timbuktu’s Military Kitchen
Late Cook to H.M. The Emperor
Parisian Artist—Moderate Prices
“In spite of the despair gnawing at my heart, I could not help laughing, and I left my Negro to his new profession.
“Was it not better than having him taken prisoner?
“You have just seen that the rascal has succeeded.
“Today Bézières belongs to Germany. The Restaurant Timbuktu is the beginning of our revenge.”