Free Le Colonial by Kien Nguyen Page A

of thatched hovels. He could hear the noisy chatter from the other side of the wall as customers squabbled over a game of dice.
    While they were waiting for the food, he had told Jérôme about Paris life, his experiences as a water carrier, and the death of his father. But he omitted the story of his mother, the Hôtel Dieu, Madame Leyster, and the unfortunate incident that had expelled him from the city.
    Now, as Henri ate his supper, Jérôme’s shadow loomed near the opening of the alleyway, hovering over a dark-haired woman. The strings at the front of his breeches were unraveled, exposing part of his buttocks as he clasped his hips to hers. She was the one who had brought them their dinner. Leaning against the wall, she bared her breasts to her lover. Her red-stained lips became a gaping hole in the dark. One of her hands rested across his shoulder, sharp fingernails clutching the night. Every time he thrust himself into her, she hissed as though he were punching air out of her lungs. After a while, the rain began to smell rancid to Henri as he listened to her growls of pleasure.
    Ignoring an occasional glance from passersby, they coupled savagely, like two stray animals. With a loud grunt from Jérôme, it was all over. Henri watched his friend arch his back, then push away from her while clutching his pants. The woman lingered long enough to give him a kiss on the forehead before she retreated back to the darkness.
    The sailor drew closer to Henri, fastening his trousers. A contented smile hollowed his face, and he seemed to be possessed with a new burst of energy. Whistling a tune, he splashed through a puddle.
    “That is my wench,” he said proudly.
    “She seemed very nice, Jérôme.”
    The sailor spat in the air. “All women are whores. This one is a prostitute, but I always get it for free. Judging from the way you were gawking at her, I suspect you are still a virgin.”
    Henri looked down at his feet.
    Jérôme’s eyebrows came together, and he peered down at Henri from under them. “I thought so. We have to find you one like her—a benefactor to break you in and to take care of all your needs.”
    “I don’t want a woman to take care of me,” Henri said.
    “Then you will die! Or become a thief to stay alive. There is no job for you here. I am an experienced sailor, and I still have to struggle to find work. And while I am waiting, I have to eat. All those fat merchants, they just keep getting fatter. But someday I won’t have to persuade peasants like you to see what I am seeing. I am going to be an important person. You’ll see! And you’ll thank your friend Jérôme.” He caught Henri by the elbow for emphasis and pulled him to his feet. “Join me! I need a hand to help me. I’ll teach you how to survive.”
    He pulled his arm away from the sailor’s grip.
    Jérôme cleared his throat and spat again, this time aiming at Henri’s foot. When he spoke, his voice was filled with equal parts anger and disgust. “You have scruples now because my wench has stuffed your belly with her food. But wait till tomorrow when you are hungry again. Do you think anybody cares what happens to scum like us?”
    He started to walk away. The truth of his words struck Henri, and the boy felt utterly alone. At least when he was living in the rue de Lappe, he had his mother.
    “Please wait,” he called to Jérôme. “Don’t go!”
    The tall man stopped. His back was to Henri as he said with a slight turn of his head, “Whether you realize this or not, I am the only friend you’ve got in this town. The reason I let you eat was that I thought you understood me, and that we could be mates. If I leave now, you will soon be rats’ food on the dock.”
    “I understand you,” whispered Henri.
    Jérôme wheeled around. “That’s better,” he said. “Why else did we end up in a backstreet of Marseille together? We need each other.”
    The boy stammered, “W-what are we going to do?”
    “Aha, a smart