Chapter Four: Settling In
Before Grantaire was even aware of it, the meeting was over and everyone was heading home. That was when he realised he had no home to go to. The building he lived in probably did not even exist yet. Fortunately, Joly noticed his predicament.
'Ah, but you must come home with us, Grantaire! I'm sure Bossuet won't mind!' He glanced meaningfully at Bossuet.
'Yes, of course. I am a guest myself.'
'You are welcome to stay with us until you can find your own accommodation.'
'After we set France free, everyone will have a home.'
Yeah. In Heaven. Grantaire was startled by this cynical thought that suddenly entered his head.
Surely he would never say something like that out loud, no matter how strongly he felt compelled to.
Joly and Bossuet's apartment was not too far from the café. Still, it was further than he would have liked, considering the ice cold wind. Joly noticed him shivering.
'Mon Dieu! My friend, dressed like that you will catch a cold! You must wear more than just your coat.'
'And your trousers are made of the strangest material I have ever seen!'
'They're – uh – jeans.' Grantaire stammered in reply.
'Jeans, you say! That is another new word you have introduced me to this evening, Grantaire.' Joly laughed but Grantaire could sense he was urging him to be more cautious. After all, Bossuet did not yet know his story and it would be better for him to find out in the comfort of his own home than on a cold street.
The three men had to climb five flights of stairs once inside the building and with the mixture of everything that had happened that day Grantaire felt ready to collapse.
'I will get the mattress ready for you straight away, my friend. You must be tired after today!' Joly seemed slightly rushed, as if wanting to tell the truth to Bossuet as quickly as possible and get it over with.
A straw-filled mattress and an old blanket had never seemed so appealing to Grantaire.
'Wait here, I will find you some nightclothes'.
But by the time Joly returned, Grantaire was fast asleep on the mattress.
Grantaire kept sleeping peacefully until ten minutes later, when he was suddenly woken up by a raucous bellow from another room.
For a moment he was terrified, but he soon realised it was Bossuet's laughter. No doubt Joly had told him Grantaire's story.
He then heard a few hurried footsteps and Joly's whisper.
'No, wait! He's asleep!'
But Bossuet had already left the room and sat on the edge of Grantaire's mattress.
He could see his eyes were brimming with curiosity, but before he had a chance to say anything, his phone made a sound.
'What was that?' Joly, who had just come into the room, asked.
Grantaire, still half-asleep, did not process information as he should have.
'Just my phone.' He checked it. 'It wants to perform an update. Good luck with that – there's no internet!'
Joly and Bossuet stared at him like he was crazy.
'Oh… Never mind.' Grantaire attempted to hide his phone under the mattress, but Bossuet was already reaching out and snatched it out of his hand.
'This is… strange. A rectangle from glass and-'
'Plastic'.
'Is this proof of you being from the future? But – how does it work?'
'Just press the button on the side,' Grantaire said, 'and don't drop it!'
Joly crouched behind Bossuet and was peeking over his shoulder to see what might make his friend drop the object.
'Why would he do that?' he asked.
Bossuet pressed the button and dropped the phone with a yelp.
Fortunately it fell on the mattress, so it was unharmed.
'It's – it's a picture! But it only shows when you press the button,' Bossuet was amazed. 'This is magic!'
'Not magic, Bossuet,' Joly replied. 'Technology. Am I correct?'
Grantaire nodded. Joly picked the phone up and examined it more closely.
'What does it do?'
'A lot of things, actually. For now, try swiping up.'
Joly did so and was stunned by how he could manipulate the picture with his touch.
Once the initial shock had worn off, he read out the text on the screen.
'Enter password. What is your password?'
'Touch the numbers 2-4-6-0-1.'
The phone was unlocked, and at the moment it was on his text messages.
'Ooh, what are these?' Joly and Bossuet said in unison.
'They're… text messages. Sort of like letters.'
'How do you send them?'
'You write them and press the send button.'
'But how do they get to the other person's – phone, was it?'
'I – I'm not sure. It would be hard to explain without using other terms you don't know. Anyway, I should turn it off to save battery. Maybe I'll have to use it to convince someone else.'
'Well, I have to say I had my doubts, but you have convinced me completely,' Bossuet said while yawning. 'You should try to sleep, because tomorrow we will find you a job.'
This time it took Grantaire much longer to fall asleep. Everything was sinking in: time travel, revolution, new friends and Enjolras. Mostly Enjolras.
The next day he was woken up by Joly slamming the door as he entered the house, possibly on purpose. From a bundle in his hands there carried the smell of freshly baked bread. He laid it down on the table, tore it in three and tossed Grantaire his share. It was still warm, with a crispy crust and a soft inside.
'Thank you. Are you sure you don't mind supporting me until I can support myself?'
Joly looked at him in disbelief.
'Of course we don't. We would never turn our backs on a friend in need.'
Grantaire was touched by being referred to as a friend. Either Les Amis de l'ABC were especially amiable, or the times were much simpler. It was easy to become lifelong friends after having just met. Love at first sight was possible.
He had never thought of himself as cynical until he had travelled back in time. Perhaps the world had lost something as years passed.
Bossuet came into the room, tore off a giant piece of bread with his teeth and put his coat on.
'Come on Grantaire,' he said with bread in his mouth, 'our lectures start in an hour. Before that, we will find you a job'.
Grantaire was amazed by his optimism.
'Do you have a job in the future?' Joly asked as they walked down a street.
'Yes. I work at a printing shop.'
'There are plenty here in Paris. I'm sure we can find you work there'.
'Only – it's very different now. I don't think I'd be qualified.'
'Indeed, that may be a problem.'
'Do you know any other languages?' Bossuet interjected.
'English and Hebrew'.
'Hebrew, you say! Our friend, Jehan, understands it! However, he has not put it to good use: only for reading. If he found a job that made use of it, I am sure he would earn himself a tidy sum of money. Do you know anywhere like that, Joly?'
'I am sure the archives have a great amount of Hebrew scrolls that need translating. There are not many people with the skills and the will to do it.'
And so they went to the archives. He started work straight away. The owner, Monsieur Dubois, who had a face wrinkled with traces of laughter, was delighted to finally have someone help him out. Most people who were educated enough to work there were usually from the upper class, so they had no need of work.
It was more difficult than he had anticipated, but Monsieur Dubois, as he soon found out, was a very good-humoured man and was willing to help out Grantaire if there were any words he did not understand.
Before he knew it, Joly and Bossuet were back, this time with another. His clothes looked expensive but did not match; he had a gentle face that was either looking down at his feet or up at the ceiling. He had the appearance of a dreamer.
'Good evening, Monsieur Dubois! Grantaire!'
'How did our translator do?' Bossuet ruffled Grantaire's hair, to the latter's great embarrassment.
'I was very impressed with his work. This is a real treasure you've found for me this time, Messieurs. Speaking of treasures… Monsieur Prouvaire?' Dubois was looking at the stranger hopefully.
'Thank you for your kind request Monsieur, but sadly I have to decline. I am afraid using languages for work would spoil the magic I see in them through poetry.' Prouvaire spoke softly with a timid voice, avoiding making eye contact.
'As I thought. It's a shame. If you ever change your mind, my offer still stands.'
'Thank you, Monsieur.'
Prouvaire went up to Grantaire and handed him some sort of scarf.
'It's raining outside, I thought you might use this.' He smiled shyly.
'Boys,' the old man called out to them as they were leaving, 'I am proud of your work. Send my best regards to your friends and Enjolras.'
They hurried outside and looked questioningly at Grantaire.
'Oh, I told him about it,' he explained himself. 'Was I not meant to?' He asked gingerly.
'Um, best not tell Enjolras about it. I think we can trust him, but that may not have been the case.'
'Sorry. But I was sure we could trust him: he was complaining about poverty and how what the government is doing is disgraceful and they are probably causing the outbreak of cholera and-'
'It's ok, Grantaire,' Bossuet was proud of himself for using the word, 'we trust your judgement, but in the future remember that our meetings are secret.'
'More to the point, how did he know about Enjolras?' Joly interrupted teasingly. 'You've barely met him and old Dubois already seems to consider him worthy of praise.'
Grantaire flushed.
'Anyway, this is the friend we mentioned earlier, Jean Prouvaire, or Jehan, as he prefers to be called. This is our linguistic genius.'
Jehan joined Grantaire in blushing. He wondered whether Joly and Bossuet were doing this on purpose: they must have known how bashful he was.
'Thank you for the scarf. It was very thoughtful of you.' It was indeed pouring down and Grantaire was grateful to be able to keep his head dry. 'Where are we going now?'
'The meeting. We have one every evening.'
'Wow, that's dedication.'
'We are planning a revolution, you know?' Bossuet seemed to love making fun of people.
