Chapter Five: Grantaire, The Drunkard

Grantaire was seated with Joly and Bossuet at their usual table. This time, Jehan joined them. He did not seem to be paying much attention to what Enjolras was saying, and instead was scribbling away in a little notebook.

'Are you writing a poem?' He asked him, only glancing sideways, not wanting to take his eyes off Enjolras. 'The others said you were a poet.'

'It's not a poem, exactly. It's more of a message,' Jehan answered quietly.

Grantaire looked away from Enjolras and faced Jehan. 'A message? Who for?'

'It's for you.' Jehan said, and passed the notebook to Grantaire.

'Me?' Grantaire was surprised. He took the notebook and read the "message".

I do not know who you are or what you are doing here, but I think you know more than you appear to. Joly and Bossuet know something, but they will not tell me. They do not need to. I have an idea about where you're from. I think you are from the future, and you know the outcome of the rebellion. Tell me if I am right.

'You're right,' Grantaire answered Jehan. 'How could you possibly know that?'

Jehan smiled at him and avoided the question.

'I'm glad you were honest with me. I am certain I can trust you now.'

'Thank you.'

'Can you tell me about the future? I think it would make a wonderful poem.'

'Wonderful? Not terrible? Knowing about everyone's deaths?'

'But the future must be a wonderful place! If not, what are we fighting for?'

'I suppose it is. But sometimes it definitely doesn't feel like it. There is still so much war, greed and hate in the world. Even if you change the world, I don't think you can change human nature.'

'Even if a utopia is unachievable, we can never stop trying. As long as we don't give up, there will always be hope.'

'I see why you're a poet now. Alright then, I suppose I can tell you the good things about the future.'

'Wine for everyone!' Grantaire may have already had a few drinks and was feeling happy. 'Especially you two, for finding me good work,' he turned to Joly and Bossuet.

Cheers followed, accompanied by the pouring of wine and clanking together of glasses. Everyone had taken Grantaire up on his offer. Except for one person.

'Won't you have any, Enjolras? It's on me.' Grantaire looked at the leader softly.

'I appreciate the gesture, Grantaire, but we're here for a meeting.'

'Come on, the meeting's over!' Courfeyrac called out. 'Loosen up a bit, Enjolras.'

'I – I don't drink alcohol.' He looked down at the three men seated at the table disdainfully.

'Suit yourself,' said Joly, pouring himself another glass.

'Well, I'm going home. I have some work to do.' He picked up his coat and walked out of the door without looking back.

'Somehow it's much quieter now,' Grantaire reflected sombrely.

'Oh no, I know what's happening,' said Bossuet. 'You've had too much to drink and now you're going to be melancholy.'

'Now we can't have that,' Joly smiled, 'Let's go home.'

They led a slightly swaying Grantaire away, his eyes seemingly trying to focus on some point in the distance.

'Where does Enjolras live?' he asked suddenly.

'We don't know. Probably somewhere where he can get to the Musain and university quickly.' Joly answered.

'It's probably a nice place,' Bossuet added. 'He's an only son to rich parents.'

Grantaire laughed.

'Really? That is strange for the leader of a group of revolutionaries.'

'We don't know whether he is still on speaking terms with his parents or not. Honestly, we hardly know anything about him.'

'And yet you're willing to trust him with your lives, huh? Well, I can't say I blame you.' Grantaire smiled. 'Are you all students, then?'

'Most of us. Some are workers: Feuilly, for example. He is a fan maker. Don't think he isn't intelligent, though. He taught himself how to read and write. Everything he knows, he has taught himself. He specialises in other countries, specifically Poland.'

'Poland, huh,' Grantaire was reminded of someone else. 'Wait a second. It's not a proper country right now. It's partitioned by Prussia, Russia and Austria, yes?'

'Sadly,' Bossuet sighed. 'It cannot continue for long, though.'

'Until 1918'.

'Really? Maybe you shouldn't have told me that.'

'Probably not.' Grantaire made a grave face, then burst out laughing.

'What does it matter?' He continued. 'It seems like I'm stuck here with you now. I don't know if I'll ever get back to my time'.

The journey home continued in silence.

Just before they reached their building, Grantaire spoke up again.

'I don't think I want to.'

Joly and Bossuet looked at him questioningly.

'I don't think I want to go back to my time. Honestly, I'm nobody there, and I don't think I would have done anything good with my life. But here, I'm already friends with you, and I'm taking part in a revolution.'

'You want to take part? But you know nothing will come of it. You know you will die. Will you be able to put up with all the optimism?'

'I don't know. I'm not concerned with my death, but I am with yours. At some point, I may try to convince you to not take part.'

'There is no chance of that,' Joly laughed.

'I know,' Grantaire replied quietly, 'but that won't stop me from trying. In the end, you might dislike me.'

'Never!' Bossuet shouted.

'Even if you do,' Grantaire whispered, more to himself than to anyone else, 'it will be for the best.'

At that moment, he had decided on what he would do. Even if it resulted in everyone hating him, he would try to stop the rebellion.

Even if it meant that Enjolras would hate him.