A donnade was just a duel, with the fist taking the place of the sword, but obeying the same ceremonial rules, at least in spirit. Its aim was to settle a quarrel where the honor of one of the adversaries was at stake, either because someone had insulted his parents or his ancestors, or had belittled his nationality or his race, or had been informed on or had accused another of informing, had stolen or been accused of it, or else for the more obscure reasons that come up every day in a society of children. When a pupil reckoned, or especially when others reckoned for him (and he was aware of it), that he had been insulted in such a way that the offense must be compensated, the ritual statement was: “Four o’clock, at the green field.” Once the declaration had been made, provocation ceased and all discussion ended. The two adversaries withdrew, followed by their friends.
During the classes that followed, the news sped from bench to bench with the names of the principals, whom their classmates would watch out of the corner of their eyes and who therefore affected the calm and resolution appropriate to manliness. Inside it was another story, and even the most courageous were distracted from their work by the dread of seeing the moment approach when they would have to face violence. But the members of the enemy camp must not be given cause to snicker and to accuse the protagonist, according to the time-honored expression, of being “scared shitless.”
Jacques, having done his duty as a man by challenging Munoz, was certainly scared enough, as he was every time he put himself in a situation where he had to face violence and to deal it out. But he had made his decision, and in his mind there was never for an instant any question of backing out. This was the nature of things, and he knew also that the touch of nausea that would grip his heart beforehand would vanish at the moment of combat, swept away by his own violence, which in any event would hurt him tactically as much as it helped him … and had earned him at6
On the afternoon of the fight with Munoz everything took place according to ritual. The fighters were the first to arrive at the green field, followed by their supporters turned into seconds and already carrying the principals’ satchels, and they in turn were followed by all those attracted to the fight, who closed a circle around the adversaries on the battlefield. The principals took off their short capes and jackets and handed them to their seconds.
This time Jacques’s impetuousness worked to his advantage. He attacked first, not very confidently, forcing Munoz to retreat; Munoz backed up in confusion, clumsily parrying his antagonist’s fists, then landed a painful blow on Jacques’s cheek that aroused a blind rage in him intensified by the shouts, the laughter, the encouragement of the crowd. He hurled himself at Munoz, rained blows on him with his fists, bewildering him, and was lucky enough to land a furious hook on the right eye of his unfortunate opponent, who, completely off balance, fell pitifully on his back, one eye weeping and the other immediately swelling.
The black eye, a crowning blow much sought after because for several days it would visibly confirm the winner’s triumph, brought a roar from the audience worthy of the Sioux. Munoz did not get to his feet immediately, and Pierre, Jacques’s closest friend, quickly stepped in and authoritatively declared Jacques the winner, then helped him on with his jacket and put his cape on his shoulders, and led him away surrounded by a retinue of admirers, while Munoz got up, still crying, and dressed in his small circle of dismayed supporters. Jacques, dizzy with the rapidity of a victory he had not even hoped would be so complete, could hardly hear the congratulations around him and the already embellished accounts of the fight. He wanted to be glad, and he was glad, somewhere in the vanity of his ego, and yet, when he looked back at Munoz as he was leaving the green field, a bleak sadness suddenly seized his heart at the sight of the crestfallen face of the boy he had struck. And then he knew that war is no good, because vanquishing a man is as bitter as being vanquished.
To round out his education, he was taught without delay that the Tarpeian Rock is near the Capitol.7 The next day, in fact, he thought he should swagger and show off in response to the backslapping admiration of his classmates. When, at the beginning of class, Munoz did not answer to his name, Jacques’s neighbors commented on his absence with ironic snickers and winks to the victor, and Jacques gave in to temptation, puffed out his cheeks, and showed the others a half-closed eye; without realizing that M. Bernard was watching him, he was indulging in a grotesque mimicry that vanished in the blink of an eyelid when the master’s voice resounded in the suddenly still classroom: “My poor teacher’s pet,” he said, deadpan, “you have as much right as the others to the ‘sugar cane.’ ” The conqueror had to stand up, fetch the instrument of torture, and, amidst the fresh smell of cologne that surrounded M. Bernard, assume the ignominious position to be punished.
The Munoz affair was not to end on this lesson in applied philosophy. The boy’s absence lasted two days, and Jacques was vaguely worried despite his swaggering air when, on the third day, an older student came in the room to inform M. Bernard that the principal was asking for the pupil Cormery. They were only summoned to the principal’s office in serious cases, and the teacher, raising his bushy eyebrows, simply said: “Hurry up, kiddo. I hope you haven’t done anything foolish.” Jacques, his legs unsteady under him, followed the older pupil down the length of the corridor over the cement courtyard with its ornamental peppertrees that the dappled shade did not protect from the torrid heat, to the principal’s office at the other end of the corridor. The first thing he saw as he entered, in front of the principal’s desk, was Munoz flanked by a scowling woman and man. Although his classmate was disfigured by an eye that was swollen and completely shut, Jacques was relieved to find him still alive. But he did not have time to enjoy that relief.
“Was it you who hit your classmate?” asked the principal, a small bald man with a pink face and an energetic voice.
“Yes,” Jacques said in a toneless voice.
“I told you so, Monsieur,” said the woman. “André is no hooligan.”
“We had a fight,” said Jacques.
“I don’t need to know about it,” said the principal. “You know I forbid all fighting, even outside school. You injured your classmate and could have injured him even more severely. By way of a first warning, you will stand in the corner at every recess for a week. If you do it again, you will be expelled. I will inform your parents of your punishment. You may return to your class.” Jacques, thunderstruck, did not move. “Go on.”
“Well, Fantomâs?” said M. Bernard when Jacques returned to his class.8 Jacques was weeping. “Go ahead, I’m listening.” With a catch in his voice, the child first announced the punishment, then that Munoz’s parents had complained and he had told about the fight. “Why did you fight?”
“He called me ‘teacher’s pet’.”
“Again?”
“No, here, during class.”
“Ah! He was the one. And you thought I hadn’t sufficiently defended you.”
Jacques gave M. Bernard a heartfelt look. “Oh no, oh no! You …” And he burst out in real sobs.
“Go sit down,” said M. Bernard.
“It’s not fair,” said the child through his tears.
“Yes, it is,” gently told him9
The next day, at recess, Jacques took his place in the corner at the end of the playground, his back turned to the yard and to the happy cries of his classmates. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other;g he was dying to run around with them. From time to time he glanced back and saw M. Bernard strolling in a corner of the yard with his colleagues and not looking at Jacques. But, the second day, he did not see M. Bernard come up behind him and tap him lightly on the back of his neck: “Why such a long face, shrimp? Munoz is in the corner too.
Here, I give you permission to look.” Munoz was indeed on the other side of the playground, alone and morose. “Your accomplices refuse to play with him for the whole week you’re in the corner.” M. Bernard laughed. “So you see, you’re both being punished. That’s the way it should be.” And he leaned over the child to say to him, with an affectionate laugh that caused the heart of the convict to overflow with love: “You know, moustique, to look at you, you wouldn’t think you could throw such a punch!”
This man who today was talking to his
