A/N More authorial changes "groans from readers" tsk tsk, it for your benefit! A couple of people have mentioned that they find the accent confusing. It didn't occur to me that people would simply because I know people who do talk quite like this. However, if even the redoubtable AmZ can be thrown off the scent then something needs to be changed!
So, I'm going to make the accent an optional extra. For the puposes of with I present ARGENTINE'S PATENTED MOCKNEY PRONOUNCIATION MASTERCLASS!!
The rules are thus;
Miss the 'h' off the beginning of words, except where a liason is necessary for fluid pronounciation (French speakers will know what I mean.)
'th' is hardly ever pronounced as such – It can be 'f' (as in 'nuffing'), 'v' (as in 'wevver') or sometime 'd' but that is largely due to Carribean influence
The dipthong 'ow' is pronounced 'ah' (think Eliza Doolittle)
A 't' or double t in the middle of a word is not usually pronounced. Thus 'butter' becomes 'bu'er'
Feel free to miss the last letter off words ending in 'ing' or 'nt' if you really can't be bothered to pronounce them.
Right. Montparnasse is asleep so I'm off. He hates it when I do that but what do I care? What do I want to stay for? It's the same ev'ry time – if I've got somewhere else to sleep I go. Soon as he's snoring I pick up my minging bloody shoes and creep downstairs. I hate these shoes – so bloody big I can't even walk downstairs in 'em cos they make so much noise! In the doorway I tie the shit-squashers on and step out into the snow. I hate snow – Pantin is nasty in a white shirt – and if there's one thing I hate more than snow it's rain. It's raining now. Y'know the soft, misty kinda rain that still manages to soak ya through? That kinda rain. Brumaire? Phah! Ev'ry fucking month's Brumaire# far as I can tell!
I'm hungry too. 'Course, there's nothing unusual in that, but it's that certain kind of hunger. The 'munchies' if you see what I mean. 'Parnasse really wears me out and I just weren't in the mood tonight. I keep thinking bout – well, lest's just say my mind's elsewhere.
Cha, girl! You must be touched. Boy like 'Parnasse and you're still not happy! Dont' get me wrong – Montparnasse is a nice lad. He's handsome, wears nice clothes (even if he did half inch 'em). Only one thing wrong with him – he's not Marius. There's no-one like Marius . . .
You're dreamig girl. Not gonna happen, not a con's chance in Rochefort, I'll tell ya that for nothing. 'Specially now he's seen that fancy bird that came round today – she was well fit. Whereas you, my dear 'Ponine, are butters, feral, ugly.
Oh for fuck's sake! I hate these fucking shoes! Take my mind off where I'm putting my feet for one minutes and next thing I know I'm sprawled face down in the mud. I take the shoes off and chuck 'em as far down the road as I can. Something yowls – maybe I hit a cat.
After all, if dad's plan came off tonight then we'll be loaded. So minted I'll have a room full of shoes – fur lined boots was what he said.
IF it works, that is. On second thoughts, think I'll go and find the shoes.
I'm back at Gobelins and it's totally silent and there's no light in the window. If it had come off then surely ma and pa would be celebrating . But no, nothing, the boulevard's empty – no cops but also no Patron-Minette and no ma and pa.
I have a nasty, sick feeling in my stomach – I really think the fuzz have got 'em. Or maybe I worry too much. I probably feel giddy cos I'm hungry.
I've got the key round my neck so I let myself in. It's pitch fucking dark and quiet as the grave. The floorboards creak behind me as I go up the stairs and, even though I know I'm being thick, I'm scared. I walk along the corridor to our room and as I get to the door I think I hear someone step on the loose board.
"Mum? Dad? 'Zelma?"
No reply. I step into the room – there's definitely someone here. For a moment I fink that 'Parnasse has come to get me but there's no way he coulda got here first
"Is that you, Gavroche?"
It's probably not very bright to go into a pitch dark room when y'know there's a total random lurking inside, but I'm buggered if I'm gonna sit outside me own home for their convenience! Anyway, what do I care what happens to me?
I hear the boards creak again as I feel my way to where we've got some candles and matches stashed, keeping guessing at names as I do.
"M'sieur Marius?"
I hear another couple of steps then the sound of someone tripping up and landing flat out on the floor.
"Fuck! Ouch!"
I get the candle lit, take a step back and trip over something – no, someone. I drop the candle an' it goes out.
I scrabble about for the candle and try to get up and get it lit again as quick as possible. I'm really scared now, on the edge of pissing myself. Pull yerself together, girl!
Meanwhile the bloke on the floor is cursing and complaining. He's got a deep voice, one I don't recognise.
"Oh shit! Devil take this for a game of soldiers! What the hell are you doing creeping around in the dark anyway, missy?"
The bloody cheek! I've got the candle lit now and I round on him.
"What am I doin? What the bloody 'ell are you doin' more like! Skulkin' rahnd my room – though you was a bloody ghost! Nah tell me who the 'ell you are an' what the 'ell you're doin' or I'll scream an' call the pigs. Got it?"
"Save yourself the trouble, my dear – the 'pigs' are already here."
I look at the geezer properly and, to my horror, I recognise him.
Sitting in the middle of my floor rubbing his head, plain as day, is none other than Inspector Javert! Now the mere mention of Javert is enough to make most folk piss themselves round here – and I've just gone and shot my mouth off to him! Oh, and sat on him! I don't know whether to laugh or cry. You're for it now, 'Ponine!
But he don't do nothing. Just sits there with his arms wrapped round his knees looking at me.
I sit down and look at him. Nothing happens – it's well odd. Some people say old Javert is a bit touched in the head. "Brilliant," they say, "but not normal." Well, I'm of that view and tonight I'm startig' to think that he's finally lost his remaining marbles.
He looks at me a bit more then says, "What are you doing here?"
"I live 'ere."
"So you do – Eponine, isn't it?"
I nod. He's got a very strong southern accent that I've not noticed before. Southern accents normally make me think of the sun – dunno why. But there's nothing sunny 'bout Javert. Odd thing is though, there's nothing frightening neither. He just looks tired and he's still rubbing his head. I must have sat on it.
"Are you alright, M'sieur L'Inspecteur?"
He don't answer but all of a sudden he stands up and I can really see how tall he is. Tall, and built like a brick shithouse. Now I'm for it. But instead of grabbing my wrist or pulling my hair or any on the other painful way I've seen folks get arrested, he just takes my hand and says. "Come with me"
Ah, now I get it! Virtuous ad' untouchable you may seem, M'sieur Javert, but you're just like other men in the end. And y'know what? In a funny way I'm glad of it. Lord knows I've had worse and the thought of spending the night alone in this deserted hole isn't that great. I know how men like him live too – clean sheets, a warm fire and breakfast in the morning
We go downstairs and I decide to play along with the game so I press against him. He pushes me away and looks genuinely surprised.
"What the devil are you doing? Get off me, you tart!"
"But I thought – "
"Ah," he says, raising an eyebrow, "Ah, I see."
He laughs, silently in the back of his throat. It would be a nice laugh if he wasn't so blatently ripping the mick outta me.
"Well now, that will teach me to finish my sentences! Flattered as I am, ma Dulcinee, what I meant to say was, "Come with me to the Madelonettes" I think that's better all round. I get to stay free from fleas and venereal and you get a warm cell and regular meals."
"Madelonettes? But I 'avent don nuffink!"
"I'm not a man to take such things on trust. I'm not convinced you've committed any culpable act but, until I'm completely sure, I want you where I can find you"
He looks around, puts his fingers to his lips and whistles. All of a sudden two grey horses trot out of the night like ghosts, with a fiacre clattering behind 'em, making me jump. Javert put me in the cab, calls 'Madelonettes' to the driver and gets in himself. I still feel a bit faint so I stare out the window, I think about ma and pa – a bit – and M'sieur Marius, but mostly I think about a warm cell and regular meals.
#Brumaire is the second month of the revolutionary calender. 'Brume' means mist and 'brumal# means bad, wintry weather.