Enemy Force by John-Antoine Nau

Author:John-Antoine Nau
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Black Coat Press
Published: 2011-12-11T00:00:00+00:00

There was a steel blue glow in the cell from a small window. Slowly, slowly it whitened. I thought about absurd and confused things: about La Place de la Roquette, about Russian penal colonies, about pontoons anchored in polar harbors, about the guillotine, about people who came into a cell around this time in the cold early morning: “your appeal has been denied!” about hapless men forgotten in a mine after a cave in and who see the light of day only through a faraway crack, about igloos buried under the snow, about melancholy brass music in the courtyard of barracks, about the rattling of arms, about the dull thunder of crosses shaking the ground, about a parade of soldiers, about a demotion in rank. The horrible voice of an alcoholic roughneck stuttered stupid, angry words…

But what I heard was the alarming clang of armor-plated doors, the cry of iron bars, and Bid’homme’s guttural, booming baritone coming closer.

“Where is he, the barbalot, the flastergast, the grustymuck, he’s going to dance this time, the salampuff, the vandabond, the dammastledspijingloomer!”

(And Bid’homme was from Doubs! You’d have thought he was from Saint-Flour!39)

Ah! I could tell that I would not see the dwarf this morning playing the young, thoughtful doctor for the pictures, his favorite role of late! It was the Bid’homme in the holy water font who was going to buck me! He was already kicking the door and must have snatched the keys from a guard because an epileptic grip forced open the lock and the iron door was—definitely—thrown against the wall.

The friendly psychiatrist jumped on me like a tiger cat and nailed his huge hairy fingers into my neck while his boots hammered my shins. He bellowed, “Blankard! Blastard!” at least ten times in a row. I could not resist dealing him two phenomenal blows to his skull and I was sweetly satisfied to hear him hoot in rage. He let go of me and sat down hard on the tile floor.

The thrill of triumph did not last long. Bid’homme sprung back on his feet, pushed two oversized guards in front of him and ordered them to grab me by my back and my ankles. Thus I was carried away, head down, without dreaming of any resistance for the moment, just like the day before under similar circumstances.

What surprised me was that, despite my hatred for the quack and the terrible grudge I held against him, I knew, at the time, in some way, he was right to punish me as if I was a slave or an animal and he was my master or trainer. My little revolt in the cell was enough for me and yet I still felt guilty. This alone proved that my mental state was not improving.

Of course, all these feelings were vague.

Bid’homme let out an Apache war cry and tried to kick me with his spurs. My porters had to get between us! One of them even grumbled aloud, “I won’t let go of the patient fer nuthin’ and f… the doc in the shower.

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