"He never smiles, does he?" said Valjean.
Javert was walking up and down the lines of prisoners, stiff and impeccable as ever in his clean uniform, its silver buttons gleaming in the sun.
"Don't think our dear warden has ever smiled in his life," snorted 35987. "Always looks like he's been sucking a mouthful of lemons."
The two prisoners sat side by side in the shade of an outcrop, still in chains. Valjean held a flat, hard slab of bread in both hands; a loaf not so different from the one which had landed him in this hellhole. They had fifteen minutes to eat and rest, and then it was back to work. Back to the never-ending toil under the lash.
Valjean tore off another bite of leather-hard bread and chewed, grimacing. Javert's shadow fell over him, and he looked up, boldly meeting the warden's eyes. "Enjoying your lunch, 24601?"
Valjean swallowed the gluey lump. "Delicious. Give my compliments to the chef. Only, ask him if he could possibly make it a bit harder next time; I still have a few teeth intact."
Javert placed the end of his whip-handle beneath Valjean's chin, tilting his head back. "Why do you goad me?"
"You're the one who started this conversation. If anyone's goading anyone here, I think it's you." He held the warden's gaze. "Why have you singled me out, Javert?"
"Because you persist in defying me." The smooth, blunt wooden handle pressed harder against his windpipe, making him grimace with pain. "You will learn to respect the law. In time, I will see you humbled and begging God for forgiveness."
"You will never break me," Valjean said, his voice cool and level.
"You're a fool, 24601." He withdrew the whip-handle. "Even you can't defy me forever." Turning, he walked away.
"Pleasant fellow," muttered 35987.
Valjean didn't reply. He watched Javert's retreating back, and found himself wondering, for some reason, if the tall, grim warden had any friends. He didn't seem friendly with anyone, not even the other guards. Valjean was fairly sure he didn't have a wife, either, and a mistress would have been out of the question for a man with such rigid morals. *If that's the case, then he's a virgin,* thought Valjean. He didn't know why that realization should seem important to him, but it did.
He chewed his bread slowly, thoughtfully, as he put the pieces together in his mind. Javert had no wife and seemingly no friends. He was hated and feared by the prisoners...even by the other guards. His chilly disposition set people on edge immediately; it had probably been a long time since anyone had spoken a kind word to him. The logical conclusion? Javert was lonely, even if he didn't realize it. Perhaps he'd made Valjean his scapegoat simply because he hungered for human contact, wanted to talk to someone, even if it was just to exchange insults.
Valjean swallowed the last bite of bread and licked a few dry crumbs from his fingers, wondering how he could use this newfound insight. If he could somehow befriend Javert, it would make escape that much easier.
But that was impossible. Valjean had watched other guards trying to strike up a conversation with the head warden; their attempts had been rebuffed with scowls and curt replies. Rather than attempt to scale the glassy, frozen steps to Javert's heart, they'd left him alone.
35987 elbowed him, jolting him from his thoughts. "What you thinkin' about, Jean?" he whispered. "Not going to try to escape again, are you? You try that, you'll wind up spending the rest of your life in this place."
"I have to escape, Iven. If I have to spend another year here, I'll go mad. But not yet. I can't bungle another attempt; I've got to be more careful this time." He'd almost gotten away last time, though. Stupid as it had been, he'd come maddeningly close to escape. Even with a bullet in his shoulder, he might have made it...but then Javert had tackled him, brought him down.
Valjean leaned back, closing his eyes. He appeared to be dozing, but his brain was still wide awake and alert.
"All right, you lot, back to work!" a supervisor bellowed.
Ignoring the complaints of his aching muscles, Valjean rose stiffly to his feet.
They worked for hours, breaking apart massive chunks of stone with hammers and pick-axes, carrying the pieces to the ever-growing pile.
That night, Valjean lay in bed, staring out through the window-bars. A hazy half-moon glowed outside. His muscles ached like fire, but he reveled in the ache, knowing he was growing stronger, knowing he'd need every ounce of strength if he was ever to escape. He closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep.
"24601, I have called you here to..."
"I know why I'm here," Valjean said. His voice had grown deeper and hoarser over his nineteen years in Toulon, and his beard was long enough to reach his stomach. He looked out of place in the immaculate office of Inspector Javert. "I've served my sentence. I'm a free man."
"No. You're here because your parole has begun. You will always be a thief, Valjean; nothing can change that."
Valjean stared at him.
"What?" Javert said sharply. "Why do you look at me so?"
Valjean offered a lopsided grin. "Just wondering if you'll miss me, Inspector."
Javert's eyes narrowed. "Do not mock me." He slid something across the desk. "Your yellow ticket of leave. You must display it at all times, or you will be considered a parole-breaker and brought back to Toulon. Now remove yourself from my office."
Valjean was escorted roughly away by the guards.
Javert sat stiffly, looking over his papers. His eyes blurred with tears, and he blinked rapidly until they cleared again. "Yes, you sardonic, irreverent bastard," he muttered. "I'll miss you."
Javert was walking up and down the lines of prisoners, stiff and impeccable as ever in his clean uniform, its silver buttons gleaming in the sun.
"Don't think our dear warden has ever smiled in his life," snorted 35987. "Always looks like he's been sucking a mouthful of lemons."
The two prisoners sat side by side in the shade of an outcrop, still in chains. Valjean held a flat, hard slab of bread in both hands; a loaf not so different from the one which had landed him in this hellhole. They had fifteen minutes to eat and rest, and then it was back to work. Back to the never-ending toil under the lash.
Valjean tore off another bite of leather-hard bread and chewed, grimacing. Javert's shadow fell over him, and he looked up, boldly meeting the warden's eyes. "Enjoying your lunch, 24601?"
Valjean swallowed the gluey lump. "Delicious. Give my compliments to the chef. Only, ask him if he could possibly make it a bit harder next time; I still have a few teeth intact."
Javert placed the end of his whip-handle beneath Valjean's chin, tilting his head back. "Why do you goad me?"
"You're the one who started this conversation. If anyone's goading anyone here, I think it's you." He held the warden's gaze. "Why have you singled me out, Javert?"
"Because you persist in defying me." The smooth, blunt wooden handle pressed harder against his windpipe, making him grimace with pain. "You will learn to respect the law. In time, I will see you humbled and begging God for forgiveness."
"You will never break me," Valjean said, his voice cool and level.
"You're a fool, 24601." He withdrew the whip-handle. "Even you can't defy me forever." Turning, he walked away.
"Pleasant fellow," muttered 35987.
Valjean didn't reply. He watched Javert's retreating back, and found himself wondering, for some reason, if the tall, grim warden had any friends. He didn't seem friendly with anyone, not even the other guards. Valjean was fairly sure he didn't have a wife, either, and a mistress would have been out of the question for a man with such rigid morals. *If that's the case, then he's a virgin,* thought Valjean. He didn't know why that realization should seem important to him, but it did.
He chewed his bread slowly, thoughtfully, as he put the pieces together in his mind. Javert had no wife and seemingly no friends. He was hated and feared by the prisoners...even by the other guards. His chilly disposition set people on edge immediately; it had probably been a long time since anyone had spoken a kind word to him. The logical conclusion? Javert was lonely, even if he didn't realize it. Perhaps he'd made Valjean his scapegoat simply because he hungered for human contact, wanted to talk to someone, even if it was just to exchange insults.
Valjean swallowed the last bite of bread and licked a few dry crumbs from his fingers, wondering how he could use this newfound insight. If he could somehow befriend Javert, it would make escape that much easier.
But that was impossible. Valjean had watched other guards trying to strike up a conversation with the head warden; their attempts had been rebuffed with scowls and curt replies. Rather than attempt to scale the glassy, frozen steps to Javert's heart, they'd left him alone.
35987 elbowed him, jolting him from his thoughts. "What you thinkin' about, Jean?" he whispered. "Not going to try to escape again, are you? You try that, you'll wind up spending the rest of your life in this place."
"I have to escape, Iven. If I have to spend another year here, I'll go mad. But not yet. I can't bungle another attempt; I've got to be more careful this time." He'd almost gotten away last time, though. Stupid as it had been, he'd come maddeningly close to escape. Even with a bullet in his shoulder, he might have made it...but then Javert had tackled him, brought him down.
Valjean leaned back, closing his eyes. He appeared to be dozing, but his brain was still wide awake and alert.
"All right, you lot, back to work!" a supervisor bellowed.
Ignoring the complaints of his aching muscles, Valjean rose stiffly to his feet.
They worked for hours, breaking apart massive chunks of stone with hammers and pick-axes, carrying the pieces to the ever-growing pile.
That night, Valjean lay in bed, staring out through the window-bars. A hazy half-moon glowed outside. His muscles ached like fire, but he reveled in the ache, knowing he was growing stronger, knowing he'd need every ounce of strength if he was ever to escape. He closed his eyes and fell into a restless sleep.
"24601, I have called you here to..."
"I know why I'm here," Valjean said. His voice had grown deeper and hoarser over his nineteen years in Toulon, and his beard was long enough to reach his stomach. He looked out of place in the immaculate office of Inspector Javert. "I've served my sentence. I'm a free man."
"No. You're here because your parole has begun. You will always be a thief, Valjean; nothing can change that."
Valjean stared at him.
"What?" Javert said sharply. "Why do you look at me so?"
Valjean offered a lopsided grin. "Just wondering if you'll miss me, Inspector."
Javert's eyes narrowed. "Do not mock me." He slid something across the desk. "Your yellow ticket of leave. You must display it at all times, or you will be considered a parole-breaker and brought back to Toulon. Now remove yourself from my office."
Valjean was escorted roughly away by the guards.
Javert sat stiffly, looking over his papers. His eyes blurred with tears, and he blinked rapidly until they cleared again. "Yes, you sardonic, irreverent bastard," he muttered. "I'll miss you."