"Stay here, I'll be back. I promise," he had said to my brother and I. He had to say that. If he hadn't said that my little brother and I would have gotten worried and ran out to look for him on the streets. But there was danger in the streets. In the elephant we were safe.
We had food there. Little scraps of this and that that Gavroche found for us. We also had warmth there. A small candle that Gavroche taught me how to light and a blanket he had found in an abandoned house.
He promised he'd be back. So we waited. We sat together in the elephant. We could see French soldiers march by in lines. They had bright coats and carried guns. They frightened me a bit, but I'd never admit it. I wished Gavroche was with us. Where was he?
We heard gunshots far off in the distance. Boom! Boom! It was a thunderstorm without rain. But the guns frightened me much more than thunder. I thought of Gavroche out there where the guns were. Where was he?
It got to be night. My little brother fell asleep. I stayed up and waited. I could hear louder booms. Maybe they were cannons. But if they were cannons, wouldn't that make this a war? Gavroche didn't say anything about a war. Where was he?
I didn't know I fell asleep until I woke up on the floor of the elephant. I could see light shining through a crack on the wall. I looked out onto the street. There was smoke. Looking out down the street I could see piles of destroyed funtinure in the streets. Gavroche was no where to be seen. Where was he?
I needed to know. The fighting seemed to have stopped. There were some soldiers on the street corners, but no people. My brother was asleep on the floor. I shook him up. "Wake up! Wake up!" I said to him.
"Why?" He asked, getting up.
"We're going to go find Gavroche," I told him. We started to climb out of the elephant. My brother trailed behind me.
"But he said to stay at the elephant! He said he's coming back! He said I promise!" My brother said.
"It doesn't matter," I told him. "He's been gone for too long. We have to find him." We climbed out of the elephant. My brother was reluctant, but I was determined. "Now careful," I told him. "If we get seen by the guards who knows what they'll do to us."
We walked down the path together. I knew every alley and shortcut to get around the soldiers. "Where are we going?" My brother asked me.
"I don't know," I said. "Maybe he is at the park. Or the cafe. Or by the river." There were so many places Gavroche could have gone. He never told me anything about where he was going. All he had said was 'I'm off to fight for France'. I had no idea what that meant.
We walked past a pile of furniture that was smoking on fire. "Why's all this stuff in the street?" My brother asked me.
"They were using it for fighting," I said. We walked onto the pile. Maybe Gavroche was here. I lifted up a chair and pushed it out of the way. I saw a man lying there with blood on his face. I jumped off the pile. My brother looked over at what I saw and looked at me with a frightened look.
"Do you think 'Vroche is dead?" My brother asked me.
"No," I said, uncertaintly. "He can't be." He can't be. He can't be dead. He promised he'd return. But where was he!
We walked down the street together. We rounded a corner but I was stopped. A soldier in a uniform grabbed my shoulder. "What are you doing out on the streets at a time like this?"
"Looking for Gavroche!" My brother said. I jabbed him in the arm.
"We were just walking to the store," I said. "Our parents are sick and we need to do shopping."
"Well," The soldier said. "Get off the streets. No stores are open. Go home!"
I started to run off but my brother stayed by the soldier. "Did France win?" He asked.
"My France won," He said. "Now go!" My brother and I ran off and down another street. We ran fast by soldiers. We passed pile after pile. We saw no sign of Gavroche. Where was he?
I couldn't take it anymore. We had passed so many bodies. So many dead. I opened my lungs and shouted "Gavroche!" My voice echoed through Paris. "Gavroche!" He had to have heard me. I never yelled so loud.
It caused a man to come out of his shop. I recognized the man. We had gone into his shop many times before. "You are looking for the little boy?" He asked me. He looked so distraught.
"Have you seen him?" I asked.
"He was fighting on the barricade outside my shop," the man said. He started to cry. I never saw an adult cry so hard.
"Did he… live?" I asked.
The man weeped harder. "No one survived." He said.
My brother broke down and cried. I held him in my arms. Gavroche was dead. My brother cried and cried then and there.
As for me, I was more angry than upset. He broke his promise. He left me alone to take care of my brother. He left us. It wasn't until I was well into my adult life and had children of my own, that I truely broke down and cried. It was then when I realized the absolute corruption and horror that was entailed with Gavroche's death.