Memoirs of a Worldly Guy
'You realize, I presume, that we would never have been allowed to leave that bar with any of their money last night,' I said.
'You're probably right,' he said. 'They were a sort of mean-looking bunch, actually.'
'As a matter of fact, I suddenly remembered reading somewhere that this city was the Mafia headquarters for France. I wonder what their reaction would have been if we'd said 'Lighten up, boys, it's only a game!"'
'Yeah, right!' Dick said with a chuckle. We were sitting on a bench in a small boat en route to the Chateau d'If located on the island of If, about a twenty minute boat ride from Marseilles. There are a number of islands in the Gulf of Lions with several forts dating back to the 11th century.
'So what's your big 'hard-on' for the Chateau d'If, anyway?'
'You mean to say you never saw a movie called 'The Count of Monte Cristo'?'
'Sorry, I can't say that I did.'
'Jesus, I can't believe it; I saw it when I was about twelve years old and I can still see the dungeons in my mind.'
'I knew there was something odd about your mind--so what was it about?'
'Well, it was based on a story by the French author Andre Dumas, the same guy who wrote 'The Three Musketeers' and 'The Man in the Iron Mask'. Apparently the Chateau d'If was used during the 1500's to imprison Protestants who'd made some transgression against the Roman Catholic Church and again during the Restoration of the French monarchy for accused conspirators who were supporters of Napoleon. You'll notice I said 'accused' not 'convicted'; under French law some falsely accused men spent most of their life in this dank prison without a trial or appeal because they were guilty until proven innocent. Dantes spent fourteen years in the prison before his escape.'
'Jesus, talk about locking someone up and throwing away the key!'
'Exactly, it was inhuman and Dumas spells it out in his novel. Robert Donat played the part of Edmond Dantes who was framed by his enemies and spent years in the dungeons before escaping and returning to Paris to wreak vengeance on his accusers.'
We piled off the boat with the other dozen or so curiousity-seekers and walked up the jetty and into the chateau. This 'chateau' was in no way like the grand estate castles with expansive vineyards pictured in the travel brochures. A grey, overcast sky limned the stark lines of the dark, forbidding stone building.
I don't recall there being any sort of a guide or a guided tour and we were allowed to wander about as we chose. The first floor held a few rooms which had obviously served as executive offices along with a couple of holding cells. I was anxious to see if the dungeons resembled those used in the movie so we descended a stone staircase to the dungeons below. The only change seemed to be the addition of an occasional hooded electric light bulb, otherwise the dungeons were the same dank, mouldy stone-walled enclosures as depicted in the movie long ago. In the words of Dumas: '..the bare, oozing walls seemed to be impregnated with tears..'
'Dantes managed to sort out a laborious code by tapping on the wall that separated him from the aged prisoner in the next cell. Eventually they managed to dislodge one of the large cube-like stones and communicate directly. His fellow prisoner was an ancient priest who had been told the secret location of a huge treasure before his benefactor was poisoned by the Roman Catholic pope and an accomplice. He confided to Dantes before his death and Dantes contrived to switch himself into the burial sacking enclosing the old priest and effect his escape.'
'When Dantes was dumped into the ocean by his unwitting jailers I held my breath almost to the point of suffocation while he struggled to cut himself free of his shroud. I still tend to hold my breath when I think of it.'
'I guess it would have spoiled the story if he'd forgotten to bring a knife!' Dick said slyly.
'Look!' I said, 'this could be the actual cell that was used in the movie! This is spooky.' What was additionally spooky was that during all the time we spent exploring the dungeons and discussing the story of the Count of Monte Cristo not one other person from the visitor's boatload came down to peruse the dungeons. The silence that prevailed was remarkably similar to the tomb-like ambience with which the long-dead prisoners must have been familiar. We decided to return to the upstairs section and join the rest of the party. It was deserted.
'Where the hell is everybody?' Dick queried.
'Buggered if I know,' I replied. I walked across to a window at the front of the building. 'Son of a bitch! They're leaving!'
'I don't believe it!' Dick shouted, but he must have believed it because he was already on a dead run out the front door and down the stone stairway. I wasn't far behind him.
'Hey, wait for us, you dumb son of a bitch!' Dick shouted.
The boat had actually cast off and had started to pull away from the jetty. The startled boatman cut the power, reversed the engine and backed slowly up to the jetty again. He had very little to say beyond a few unintelligible grumbles. We were somewhat more outspoken; it's probably just as well that the boatman and most of the passengers were not fluent in English.
'How difficult is it to count to twelve, you fuckhead? I roared.
'It's a brilliant way to run a railroad!' Dick said more temperately.
'Serve you right if we put you ashore to spend the night in the dungeons, you asshole!' The boatman made no reply and maintained a gloomy, resentful mien on the return journey.
'Oh, well, saved us having to give the jerk a tip!' I said with a smile after I had cooled off.
The next morning we rose early and headed out for the highway. There was a cluster of people standing at the dockside so we went over to investigate. The first fishing boats had arrived back and both men and women were haggling over the price of fresh fish. We were appalled to find that the old men in the crowd were primarily interested in the sea urchins! Sea urchins have long, sharp brittle spines projecting from their baseball-shaped bodies which can inflict viciously painful welts if accidentally stepped on. As a result the fishermen wore heavy gloves to strip off the spines before cracking them open like eggs and tipping them so that all of the orange-coloured innards were resting in one half of the shell. Then they handed them up from the boats to one of the eager geriatrics who, to our astonishment, gulped them down whole on the spot. We were told that the sea urchins were powerful aphrodisiacs but don't remember any of the old-timers rushing away with a determined look in their eyes.
We bought some more wine, bread, cheese and fruit and made our way out to the highway. Our luck was in on this day because we had barely started thumbing when a small car with a Scandinavian license plate pulled over to the side of the road. As a result we were able to share our food with a young man called Torstein Palm who was on his annual holidays and heading for--guess where--the Balearic Islands! So we travelled non-stop through Arles, Monpelier, Narbonne and Perpignan, pee stops excepted, of course.
— The End —