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Updated: June 5, 2025


Third is more amusing certainly, though god-damn hot with these sardines, including myself of course. O yes of course. Poilus en permission. Very old some. Others mere kids. Once saw a planton who never saw a razor. Yet he was reforme. C'est la guerre. Several of us get off and stretch at a little tank-town-station. Engine thumping up front somewhere in the darkness. Wait.

In a moment the planton of plantons had respectfully entered. Feeling like a suit-case in the clutches of a porter, I obediently preceded my escort down two flights, first having bowed to the hippopotamus and said "Merci" to which courtesy the Hippo paid no attention. As we went along the dank hall on the ground floor, I regretted that no whispers and titters had greeted my descent.

"Mais c'est pas la" he kept repeating stupidly. The Surveillant was uh-ahing at a great rate and attempting to pacify Jean in French. I myself was somewhat fearful for Jean's sanity and highly indignant at the planton. The matter ended with the planton's being sent about his business; simultaneously with Jean's dismissal to the cour, whither I accompanied him.

The door was locked behind him and double and triple locked to judge by the sound by a planton, usually the Black Holster, who on such occasions produced a ring of enormous keys suggestive of a burlesque jailer.

Also a nightly inspection was instituted; consisting of our being counted thrice by a planton, who then divided the total by three and vanished. Soi-meme reminds me of a pleasant spirit who graced our little company with a good deal of wit and elegance.

"Why yes, they got water, and then I gave them coffee," Monsieur, or more properly Mynheer le chef, is expostulating; the planton is stupidly protesting that we are supposed to be upstairs; Afrique is busily stirring a huge black pot, winking gravely at us and singing softly "Le bon Dieu, Soul comme un cochon...."

What vast blob of wisdom would find its difficult way out of him? The bulbous lips wiggled in a pleasant smile. "Voo parlez francais." This was delightful. The planton behind me was obviously angered by the congenial demeanour of Monsieur le Gestionnaire, and rasped with his boot upon the threshold.

One evening, some days after everyone who was fit for la commission had enjoyed the privilege of examination by that inexorable and delightful body one evening very late, in fact, just before lumieres eteintes, a strange planton arrived in The Enormous Room and hurriedly read a list of five names, adding: "demain partis, a bonne heure" and shut the door behind him.

"Asseyez-vous la, tete de cochon." The pitiful Hat obeyed, clutching his derby to his head in both withered hands. "Take off your hat, you son of a bitch," the planton yelled. "I don't want to," the tragic Hat whimpered. BANG! the derby hit the floor, bounded upward and lay still.

A planton was standing in The Enormous Room, a planton roaring and cursing and crying, "Hurry, those who are going to go." The Black Holster was roaring: "Allez, nom de Dieu, l'americain!" I went down the room with B. and Pete, and shook hands with both at the door. The other partis, alias The Trick Raincoat and The Fighting Sheeney, were already on the way downstairs.

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