Chapter LII
Thevenin finished cleaning the blood off of his hands, and the water in the bucket had turned red.
Everything was quieting now. I was now well past midnight, and a grim silence was finally beginning to fall over the house. At last, even all of this horror and pain would go to sleep for the night.
Thevenin dumped the bloody water out of the window and returned to sit silently in the chair beside it. He looked into this room and watched everything that was happening with a very thoughtful reflection in his eye. He was thinking. Everything that had happened to day came at him by surprise, hitting him suddenly and unexpectedly so that he had no time to think, he had to act on impulse, act on his feet, make decisions without considering their consequences. All day, it seemed, he had been acting without thinking, knowing the whole time that at some point or another everything that he did would come back at him, and for better or for worse, he would have to pay the consequences of his actions. First, his encounter with Enjolras in the prison, seeing how quickly he had decayed, seeing that he was no longer the same man. Second, his discussion with the young guard and learning that the boy Luc, who Enjolras had taken to be his own son, was dead. Then, his meeting with Javert, Javert's heartless and ruthless reaction to Enjolras's suffering, Javert's lack of concern for human life. And finally, what had happened this night.
Thevenin had been alone in his house. It was very late at night. The city was black, Thevenin's door was locked, the windows closed, the drapes drawn, and he was about to get ready to go to bed, when there was a clamorous pounding on his door. Utterly surprised that anyone would be knocking at this late hour, he went to the door and opened it.
A young man, a very young man, twenty years at most, who he had never seen before appeared before him. He was panting and breathless, as if he had been running for a long time. His face was desperate, and his eyes were filled with fear. When he spoke, his words were urgent but jumbled together as he tried to speak them too quickly. "Are you MonsieurThevenin?!" the boy cried at once.
Thevenin stared at him confused, but becoming anxious. Simply by the look on the young man's face, the panic in his eyes, the sound of his voice, Thevenin knew that something was terribly wrong. "Yes, I am. Who are—"
Before be could finish asking this question, he was interrupted. "My friend is dying! He needs help fast! Now! Here take this." He pushed a handful of money into Thevenin's hand. Thevenin looked down at it confused and unsure why the young man was giving it to him. "I need you to come now!"
Thevenin looked back up at the visitor and, holding out the money to give it back to him, he asked, "What is wrong with your friend? Is he sick? Have you brought him to the hospital?"
The young man pushed the money away refusing it, as a desperate look came over his face. He suddenly looked over his shoulder to quickly scan the empty streets around him, as if to make sure that no one was watching or listening. Then he suddenly turned back to Thevenin, took a step close to him, lowered his voice, and said, "It's Enjolras."
When he spoke these two words, gave this one name, Thevenin felt as if he had just taken a heavy blow to his gut. Deeper confusion and sudden fear seized his heart, and his mind began to race. Enjolras?! How was that possible? Enjolras was in jail. How did this man know Enjolras? Did he work at the prison? Of course, he did not. Why then would he have taken so much care to make sure no one was watching him. Perhaps, this was not the same Enjolras as the convict. But the boy spoke of him as if Thevenin should know who he was. There was only one Enjolras whom Thevenin had met. And he was on the verge of dying.
"Enjolras?" Thevenin echoed.
The boy stared at Thevenin with wide eyes and nodded, looking nervous and uncertain. "Yes. He says that you know him… He says that we can trust you…"
Thevenin frowned in confusion. Enjolras said these things? How could he have said this? How could this young man have even spoken to Enjolras? "Enjolras is in jail," he said, and at once, a look of guilt and fear came over the boy's face. He quickly looked over his shoulder again to make sure no one was watching—as if anyone would be out and listening to him at this late hour of the night—and then he dropped his eyes to stare at the ground.
"No he is not," he mumbled quietly.
"He is not?" Thevenin repeated skeptically. "But he is. I saw him in the prison today."
The boy, though his head was still bowed, raised his eyes to look up at Thevenin. "No," he said quietly. "He was in jail, but he is not anymore."
Thevenin's stomach seemed to tighten and twist into a knot, as a grim understanding began to fall over him. He stared at the boy for a long moment, suspecting the truth. That this boy had somehow managed to get Enjolras out of jail, that he had broken the law to do so, that this boy was a criminal, that if Thevenin tried to save Enjolras, he would be considered a criminal also, a traitor, and a liar, and he would pay for it. "He is not in jail anymore," Thevenin repeated, his voice calm and even to hide his dread. "How so?
The boy raised his face and looked Thevenin directly in the eye. Without even speaking a word, he told Thevenin everything. Thevenin understood. "Monsieur, please, help us," he whispered, pleading, begging. "Enjolras is going to die. He might be dead already. Please, help us, monsieur! He asked us to get you. He said that we could trust you…"
Thevenin stared at this young boy for a long moment, utterly torn of what to do. Of course, Thevenin wanted to help Enjolras. He had always wanted to help Enjolras. Enjolras was one of the few people in his life that he truly cared for. This man, this convict, who he barely knew was a man who had changed his life.
All of his years working as a doctor and treating prisoners in the jail, Thevenin had never understood any of it. He could never see the truth behind the "mask of righteousness," as Grantaire had put it, that "Justice" hid behind. He thought that the law, the jail, the court, the inspectors and their judgment were justice. He saw prisoners locked up, beaten, and executed, and he had never looked down to question it. They deserved it, after all. This was justice. They were prisoners, convicts, liars, thieves, murders, and traitors. He never tried to see things any differently. Until he met Enjolras.
When he met Enjolras, he saw something in him that he had not seen in anyone else, prisoner, citizen, guard, or police officer. It was love like he had never seen. Love, courage, strength, will, and sacrifice. Everything that God wanted a man to be. This prisoner, who according to Justice deserved torture and death, was willing to surrender everything that he had for a child. He remembered how desperate Enjolras was to find the child, to see that he was alright, to hold him and to comfort him.
When Thevenin had seen this, he suddenly realized that Enjolras was a good man. He had broken the law, yes. He was a sinner. But were not they all? Christ did not come to save the righteous, but the sinners. If not for mercy and redemption, all men would be condemned. How then could someone condemn a fellow man without also condemning himself? Thevenin then realized that the world could not be based on justice, but on mercy. On repentance and redemption. Otherwise, no one could be free.
God used Enjolras to open his blinded eyes and let him see things for what they were. Let him see the truth. Enjolras made him realize that Justice was not just. No man had the right to torture another the way that they had tortured Enjolras. No man had the right to punish another in this way. Not because the wretched race of man does not deserve condemnation and damnation, but because the Lord over all creation and the King over all men has shown His people mercy.
Thevenin's heart began to race in his chest, and he was torn. He wanted to help Enjolras, but doing so would be surrendering his own purity. By helping Enjolras, by going with this young boy, he would be allying himself with criminals and so be considered a criminal himself. Then, he thought of Enjolras. Enjolras was a good man. He thought of how ready Enjolras was to sacrifice his own life for the child. Then, he thought of God. He thought of how ready the ChristJesus was to sacrifice his own life for sinners.
Lost and desperate, Thevenin stared at the boy and whispered, "Who are you?"
"My name is MariusPontmercy," he answered honestly, at once. "Enjolras is one of the only friends that I have left. All of my other friends are dead. I do not want Enjolras to die to. Monsieur, please! Help me!"
Thevenin, without thinking or considering what he was doing, turned and went into his house, grabbed his case of tools, and returned to the door, where Marius was anxiously waiting. He met Marius's eyes and said, "Show me the way."
Everything of this day happened so fast, and Thevenin had no time to consider any of it. He could only act on what, at the moment, seemed to be the right course of action. He did not have time to think anything through or fully evaluate anything. But now, everything with finally over. The house had fallen silent, and Thevenin sat alone in the corner of the room. Now, he could think, consider everything that had happened, and make whatever decisions that he must.
Enjolras was asleep. Everyone was relieved when he had lost consciousness and no longer had to feel the pain. The relief was even greater for everyone when Thevenin finished tending to his wounds, bandaged them up, and they we able to cleaning up all of the blood on Enjolras, on Thevenin's tools, on the table, on the floor, on their hands, on their bodies. Now, all of Enjolras's worst wounds were covered by bandages, and the bleeding had lessoned significantly. They cleaned the blood off of him, and he was not so repulsive to look upon. Now, he was asleep. He lied still upon the table, his head turned to the side, his eyes closed, breathing slowly and steadily. Sometimes they could hear his lungs rattle or he coughed in his sleep, but this was nothing compared to the other horrors that they had seen him suffering already. His fever had finally broken sometime after he had lot consciousness. He stopped shivering and sweat broke out all over his body as his temperature began to go down. A wave of relief fell over everyone in the house at once, like a wave rolling in onto a beach and hitting everyone would stood in its way, and they clung to the hope that Enjolras would survive the night.
Grantaire had not left Enjolras's side once. He now sat silently in a wooden chair beside the table where Enjolras lay, gently dabbing a wet cloth to Enjolras's forehead to cool his temperature and to wipe away the sweat. Grantaire looked exhausted. Fear and grief had drained him of all of his energy and strength. He was now tired, sickly, and weak. He did not look at all well. Several times, MonsieurFauchelevant and Marius had urged him to rest, to lie down and sleep for a few hours, but every time he had refused. He refused to leave Enjolras even for a moment.
Marius and the girl, whose name Thevenin did not know, were now sitting together in the far corner of the room. Enjolras no longer making those terrible sounds, his wounds covered, and most of the blood cleaned away, her father had permitted her to come in the room to stay with Marius. By this point, it was apparent to Thevenin that these to young children were in love. They sat close to each other, their chairs pushed together to form one large one, their hands locked tightly together, and clinging to one another for comfort and protection. It was more than obvious that they loved each other very much.
Thevenin did not know who MonsieurFauchelevant was. He only knew that he was the girl's father, because he had heard her call him "Papa" several times. It was obvious that he loved his daughter very much, one could tell simply by watching his eyes when he looked at her. It was obvious that he deeply cared for the younger men as well, Enjolras and Grantaire but especially Marius. There was a certain air about him that made one believe that this man was willing to make great sacrifices for the people that he cared about. Just from seeing him, hearing his voice, watching his actions, Thevenin felt that this Fauchelevant was a very strong, brave, and wise man. Somehow, without know why himself, Thevenin felt a sort of deep, unexplainable respect for him. Why? He could not say for certain, but he believed in his heart that when he looked upon MonsieurFauchelevant, he was looking upon a very great man.
Thevenin tried to think. He was now in this room with all of these people who cared so deeply for each other. He had scarcely seen anyone in his life show so much love and so much gentleness, yet so much strength and so much courage at the same time as the people whom he was with now. They all loved each other so much. The reason that Thevenin had ever began to care for Enjolras was because he had seen love in him, where he had not seen it in anyone else in that prison. Thevenin felt a deep respect for all of these people, knowing how much they loved one another, how much they were willing to risk for one another, and how much they were willing to sacrifice for one another. But at the same time, he could not help but feel a sort of regret to be in this room with them. Good men though they might be, they were also criminals against the law.
Grantaire was still wearing the same uniform—the front of which was still covered in Enjolras's blood—that he had taken from the inspector at the prison. Thevenin knew this uniform did not belong to Grantaire. He knew that Grantaire was not an inspector. Or a guard at the prison. Or in the National Guard. Or at all in authority over Enjolras. He knew that Grantaire had stolen this uniform. He knew that Grantaire had broken into the prison and that he had broken Enjolras out. He knew that Grantaire was a criminal.
He knew that Marius was a criminal, too. He knew that he had taken part in the scheme to rescue Enjolras from prison. He could also guess the truth that these two men had, in fact, taken part in the very uprising for which Enjolras was arrested. He did not know who MonsieurFauchelevant was, but it was safe to assume that he knew about the plan of the two younger men, perhaps even helped them accomplish it.
And as for Enjolras, Thevenin knew that he was not supposed to be here. He knew that he was still supposed to be in prison. Javert, himself, had made that clear when he had refused to let Enjolras go to a hospital earlier that day.
He would be dead now, Thevenin thought to himself. If he was still in that prison, he would not have survived tonight. And, of this moment, he was sure that he had made the right decision.
Thevenin tried to think. He had done everything that he could to help Enjolras. As of tonight, Enjolras was still alive. Thevenin had saved him. But what was he to do now? Now, that he knew that he was in a room surrounded by criminals of the law? Was he to turn them all in? Save his own skins and continue to live righteously in the eyes of the law?
No! Of course, not! He quickly dismissed the idea, scolding himself for ever letting it cross his mind. If Enjolras entered that prison again, Thevenin knew that he would never come out. He would suffer and be tortured all over again, and after much pain and anguish, he would die. Thevenin could not let that happen. He could not be silent in the midst of such injustice.
And what of the others? Of Enjolras friends Marius and Grantaire, MonsieurFauchelevant, and the girl? Surely, they would be punished, as well. Perhaps, even tortured. Thevenin could not let that happen. He could not condemn them to such a fate, while he, himself, would go free. That was not justice. That was not what God would have wanted. Perhaps, these people had broken the law. Perhaps, they were criminals. Perhaps, they were sinners. But whose sin was greater? The sin of breaking the law to save their dying friend, or the sin of the "righteous" that were killing him?
Thevenin made up his mind. He would not turn them in. He would not speak a word of this to anyone. He was a part of this conspiracy now. He would act hidden from the eyes of the law, but in the plain sight of the eyes of God. He was going to do whatever he could to save Enjolras and to keep Enjolras's friends safe, as well.
"Grantaire."
Thevenin turned his eye to the entrance and watched as MonsieurFauchelevant, who had temporarily left the room, reentered.
"Yes?" Grantaire answered softly. His voice was weak, tired, and exhausted.
"Here," MonsieurFauchelevant said as he crossed the room and held a clean set of folded clothes out to Grantaire. "I thought you might want to put on something clean."
"Thank you, monsieur," Grantaire said, gratefully accepting the clothes. He had not uttered a word of complaint, but he was desperate to get this filthy, blood-covered uniform off of him. It stuck to his skin, reeked of blood, and reminded him of Enjolras, sick, scared, and alone, lying in a pool of his own blood on the cold stone floor of his torturing chamber.
MonsieurFauchelevant then turned to Thevenin and offered him clean clothes, as well. This surprised him. This man, who he did not even know, who did not know him, at all, who did not even know for sure if he could trust him, was already treating him like a friend. Thevenin's immediate impulse was to politely refuse. But there was so much blood on him. He reluctantly accepted this offer, gratefully thanking MonsieurFauchelevant.
MonsieurFauchelevant nodded and turned to Marius, who, of all of the men, had the least amount of blood on him. Only a few places on sleeves of his shirt were stained red. At the sight of his friend, sick, wounded, bleeding, and dying, Marius could not bear it, and he stayed away as much as he could. But even he gratefully accepted a clean shirt, because at the sight of the red stains on his shirt, horrible memories of the barricade, of his dying friends, of Enjolras, came flooding back into his tormented mind.
All of the men went to separate rooms to change their clothes, aside from Grantaire, who did not seem to mind stripping down to his undergarments in front of everybody in the room. After he had changed his trousers, he took a moment to use a rag and wipe the blood off of his chest and his stomach, which was entirely painted red. But not all of this blood belonged to Enjolras.
"Grantaire, you're bleeding," Marius said, fear coming into his voice as he noticed the blood seeping out of Grantaire's wound. He released Cosette's hand and abruptly got to his feet.
"I'm fine," Grantaire immediately assured him, and he quickly pulled on the shirt to cover his wound. But too late. Now, everyone in the room had their eyes fixed on him. Pretending not to notice, Grantaire sat back down in the chair beside Enjolras, wet a clean cloth with cool water, and gently pressed it to his forehead again.
Marius did not back down. "Grantaire," he came over to stand beside his chair. "You should go rest for a while. The rest of us will watch Enjolras."
Grantaire shook his head. "I want to stay here. I'm fine."
"Are you hurt?" Thevenin, who had been silently watching this conversation, quietly asked from the corner of the room.
"Yes, he is," Marius answered, before Grantaire could speak. "He was shot."
"Over a month ago," Grantaire added dully. "I'm fine, Marius. It's Enjolras who we need to worry about."
"He was shot?" Thevenin repeated, sounding concerned. "By a gun?"
"Yes," Marius said. He looked at MonsieurFauchelevant with gratitude, admiration, respect, love, in his eyes, the way a young child would look up at his father. In a soft voice he added, "MonsieurFauchelevant saved his life."
Grantaire's body tensed. What?! MonsieurFauchelevant had saved his life? Marius had not told him that! Grantaire did not know that! If he had known… Suddenly feeling very ignorant and ungrateful, he wanted to thank MonsieurFauchelevant somehow. But how? How can anyone thank the man to whom he owes his life? Grantaire looked across the room, and found himself staring straight into the eyes of MonsieurFauchelevant. For a long moment, their eyes remained together, Grantaire, wishing that he could somehow thank him, somehow repay him, but knowing that he would never be able to. However, just by looking into his eyes, it almost seemed that MonsieurFauchelevant could see all of these thoughts that were passing through Grantaire's mind. He gave a small, barely noticeable nod, and Grantaire knew that he understood. He nodded back, and that was enough.
"I can examine the wound, if you would like me to, MonsieurGrantaire," Thevenin offered.
Grantaire turned back to Thevenin, but before he could answer, Marius answered for him. "Please, do, monsieur. He is finally recovering now, but just to make sure that he is alright…"
Grantaire frowned and looked down at Enjolras, who was unconscious on the table beside him, so hurt, so sick, so weak, in so much suffering. He felt guilty that they would spare even a moment for him when Enjolras was in so much more pain than what would compare to his own. "I'm really alright," he protested one more time, not taking his eyes off of Enjolras.
"It's for the best, Grantaire," MonsieurFauchelevant said quietly. Grantaire stopped arguing. How could he argue with MonsieurFauchelevant, the man who had saved both his life as well as Enjolras's life? He could not. He sighed and nodded.
Thevenin came over and kneeled down beside Grantaire, who lifted his shirt to display the wound. It was still bleeding but not very badly, and it was still inflamed, but the infection had gone down a great deal, to Marius's great relief. It was more swollen and more painful to touch now, after climbing over the wall, being hit by the inspector, and running around so much, but that was not to worry about. Thevenin carefully cleaned the wound using water and alcohol. This burned painfully. Grantaire's body tensed and he tightly gripped the arms of the chair, but after all of the so much greater suffering that Enjolras had been forced to endure, Grantaire refused to let any sigh of pain show on his face. When he had finished, Thevenin told Grantaire that he would be alright.
"Thank you," Grantaire muttered, as he pulled his shirt back down to cover the wound.
Thevenin nodded. "You are welcome, monsieur."
Grantaire met Thevenin's eyes and said, "Thank you, for helping Enjolras, MonsieurThevenin. We could never repay you."
Thevenin sighed and looked down at Enjolras, who was sleeping on the table beside Grantaire. Following his gaze, everybody in the room, including Cosette, did the same thing. At this moment, they all seemed to be thinking with one mind.
Enjolras was still alive. Together, Grantaire, Marius, MonsieurFauchelevant, and Thevenin had managed to keep him alive. As of tonight, he was still breathing, struggling to do so. That could change any moment. He was wounded, he was sick, he was weak, and he was on the verge of dying.
After everything that he had been through, it would be a miracle if he did not die. His survival was nearly impossible. If Enjolras was going to survive, it would not be Grantaire, or Marius, or MonsieurFauchelevant, or Thevenin that would have to save him. It would take more than a friend, a doctor, or a mortal man. Enjolras would have to be saved by God.
