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It was a constant rule in his head, a reminder that has been following him for over a decade now: Look Down!
Valjean felt a dark, familiar weight settling deep into his stomach, filling it with fear and hopelessness as the voices of hundreds of prisoners rang in his mind. A mix of water and sweat was dripping from his shoulders as he became aware of his surroundings.
The rain was lashing down on his face, dark clouds above him hiding the sun that he believed to be still up on the sky somewhere, but that never shone for people in places such as the galleys.
There was no place for light or warmth at Toulon.
Look Down, Look Down…
The chant went on and on, a constant reminder of his place, of his shame, of his despair.
His feet were covered in the water he’d been standing in for many hours or maybe even days. A concept such as time had no meaning in the bagne, were there was no day, only night and darkness.
Look Down, Look Down…
His arms and his back ached as tried to carry a burden greater than the mainmast he was currently pushing forward through the mud with all his might. The air was heavy with the grunts of men around him, their smell a permanent reminder that there was no privacy for a man such as him. High above him, he felt the presence of guards looking down on the prisoners, keeping an eye on them and inspecting their work.
Look Down, Look Down…
He knew that he wasn’t a faceless prisoner. Jean-le-Cric they called him, fellow prisoners and guards alike, a nickname that had been given to him in mock and in awe alike. He was thankful for that even so, because it reminded him that he still had a name, even if it was an unpleasant one. It was a privilege for him to be known by part of his real name, instead of a prison number that had slowly but irresistible taken over the name his mother had given to him many years ago.
My name is Jean Valjean,
he reminded himself, afraid of forgetting his own name, the only thing he’d kept for himself over the years. There was hardly anything that Toulon hadn’t already taken from him, but his mind, his thoughts, his name were treasures to him that he would never give away.
Look Down, Look Down…
Sometimes he believed he was getting mad, hearing the crying of children that weren’t there, but then it dawned to him that they were part of his story, part of his past that hardly had a place in his heart anymore. Sometimes he wondered about them. His sister, the children. Their look of horror on their faces as his younger self had been taken away, to a place full of darkness.
This image haunted him less with the years passing, and it had been one of the few times that he’d cried in prison, at night, with chains holding him down and prisoners around him sleeping soundly, as it had struck him, that the memory of his sister’s face had been slowly but permanently erased from his memory.
He’d been foolish to believe that there was a place, if only in his mind, for her warm and caring eyes at Toulon.
Look Down, Look Down…
He was glad that listening to the endless lamentation emerging from the lines of prisoners around him and the pain in his muscles kept the demons in his mind at bay.
A nameless prisoner on his right lost balance, praying loudly to God as he was nearly crushed under a wooden pole, an unheard, unanswered plea.
Valjean knew that there was no God at Toulon and as there existed a place like it on earth, there was neither a God watching over humanity at all.
Look Down, Look Down…
Over the years he’d learnt to stop feeling, stop caring at all, an inner numbness protecting him from the ever present pain that he’d locked away in a dark corner of his mind, keeping him sane. Only the always present rule was a constant reminder of his place.
Look down, Look Down, you’ll always be a slave…
But somehow, even with the whole world turned against him, deep down in his heart, he knew that he wasn’t broken. He felt it, the flame of determination burning in his chest, inflaming the numbers there that were replacing his name, enabling him to keep going, to fight back with inhuman strength, setting his body and soul on fire.
It suddenly erupted in his chest again, filling him with a hunger for another life, with forgotten hope and courage.
Ignoring the choir of his fellow inmates, rebelling against the rule known by everyone, under the sharp eyes of a young, tall guard hovering above them, prisoner 24601, formerly known by the name of Jean Valjean, did the unthinkable.
He looked up.
The scene around him changed and Valjean found himself facing a wall, the tall young guard with the cold eyes a looming presence behind him. As he felt the truncheon of the man pressed against his neck, keeping him in place, he remembered that he had tried to escape again.
As usual it had been a foolish attempt, the action of a desperate mean, running for his life, only to be hunted down and thrown into his personal hell on earth once more. It was his endless vicious circle, and he felt that, with each repetition, he was losing a piece of his remaining humanity. In addition, realising that he’d started to embrace his animalistic side, was even worse for Valjean.
He was almost grateful for the stern voice of the guard, harshly and efficiently interrupting his thoughts, “Are you capable of holding still now, 24601?”
Valjean braced his arms against the wall and looked down, steady breath warm on cold skin, as the guard took a few steps back.
He wasn’t able to look around, but he was going to make sure that he was to face what was about to come with his usual composed mentality.
His body betrayed him however and he flinched as the guard returned to his place behind him, having exchanged the truncheon with something else in his hand.
Valjean tried to hold still, to focus on his body against the wall, but his mind was filled with the expectation of pain on his back, that was surely about to come any second.
“Bend down, 24601,” the voice behind him said.
Valjean wanted to disobey the order, he wanted to fight back, but he wasn’t even able to open his mouth.
“I said, bend down, 24601,” the guard commanded again, in a voice that he somehow recognized from somewhere. Maybe it was the familiar tone in which the man spoke, his newly found courage, or the white light that slowly blinded his vision, but this time Valjean was able to open his mouth and protest.
“My name is Jean Valjean,” he screamed as he opened his eyes and sat up, looking at his wrists and expecting chains to hold him down. “My name is Jean Valjean,” he said once more, barely a whisper this time, and turned his head as he heard a voice beside him.
“I know Jean, I know,” said a lean figure clinging onto his side, the same figure as the one in his dream, the one standing behind him, the one holding the whip…
Out of reflex Valjean lunged sideways and pushed against Javert’s chest, causing his partner to nearly fall out of their bed onto the floor. He wanted to apologize instantly, but Javert looked as though he’d expected that and shook his head, giving him time to fully wake up.
As Valjean remembered his dream and the feeling of his back being on fire, he leaned forward to touch his skin there, sighing in relief as he felt cold and old scars under his fingertips and confirmed to his troubled mind that there was no fresh blood dripping down his spine.
As soon as his breath slowed down Valjean fell back into the sheets, opening his arms to his partner, who slowly leaned into his side again.
“I am so sorry,” Valjean whispered, hiding his face in Javert’s hair while speaking. “You know that there is nothing that I blame you for.”
“Then you should know that there is nothing to be sorry for, mon Jean,” Javert answered and slowly traced the numbers on his partner’s chest with his fingertips, an intimate gesture that brought tears to Valjean’s eyes. It had taken him time to allow Javert to touch him there, and an equal amount of time for the former inspector to feel confident enough to caress the skin and to believe that it caused exclusively positive feelings to him.
“I just wished that I could be … stronger,” he confessed in a shaking voice and closed his eyes, only to open them again as images of his dream flashed in front of his mind as soon as darkness surrounded him. “I don’t think I can go back to sleep, I’ll get something to read, you should try to get some rest,” he whispered and attempted to get up. “I don’t want to bother you.”
“Valjean,” Javert answered in a harsh tone and grabbed his arm. “Valjean listen to me. You are the strongest man that I have ever known, and you are foolish to think otherwise. I have dreams of the past as well, but I can’t possibly imagine your pain and the suffering you went through all these years. And yet you are incredibly humble, selfless, loving and caring.”
Valjean pressed his lips together and looked at his significant other. Javert wasn’t a man of many words, but sometimes, in those special moments, there was nothing more comforting than that dark baritone telling him that he was enough. So he listened.
“You are a wonderful father to Cosette, and an even better partner to someone like me. And believe me, I know how frustrating it was to keep up with me at the beginning.”
He smiled one of his rare, true smiles that he exclusively used in Valjean’s, and sometimes his grandchildren’s, presence.
“How you managed that after years of being part of the chain gang, I can’t imagine. You know how long it took me to believe that people could change, and you are the biggest wonder in that case that I have the fortune to wake up to everyday. So don’t ever say that you are not strong enough.”
Valjean smiled at that, “I thank God for saving my soul and changing my life everyday.”
“You should take the credit for yourself, you know, just for once,” Javert answered gently and stood up, holding his hand out to Valjean. “As we’re both most likely not to fall asleep anymore, I suggest we go outside. I can show you one of my favourite activities once it’s dark outside, ever since being a kid.”
Realising that he couldn’t refuse Javert in this state anything, Valjean took his hand and stared at him, ignoring how he had the urge to pay attention to his bad leg, which had started to ache, thanks to the presence of Toulon in his mind, again.
“We are going stargazing,” Javert explained and leaded Valjean into their little garden, a great benefit of their lodgings in Rue Plumet.
Sitting down in the grass and pulling his partner next to him, Javert rested his head against one of his favourite trees and looked at the night sky.
Valjean had to force himself to look at the stars as well, because he was busy starring at Javert’s face. His partner, illuminated by starlight, was a rare view to his eyes. He looked younger, happier. And Valjean wanted to remember this image for eternity.
“Look at the stars, filling the darkness in their multitudes,” Javert spoke and took Valjean’s hand once more. “How they brighten the sky with order and light, knowing their place, holding their course and their aim.”
Valjean looked up at the cloudless sky, dark like black velvet and sprinkled with countless stars that sparkled like diamonds in the summer night, keeping the darkness at bay.
“I used to admire the stars as long as I can remember. They were my hope in the darkness, my guide on lonely nights patrolling the streets of Montreuil-sur-Mer and Paris,” he continued to explain, his gaze never leaving the stars that reflected the light in his eyes.
“I even swore to them that I would find you…”
Valjan smiled warmly at that. “You did though.”
Javert chuckled. “Not in the way I expected back then, but I guess technically you are right. The stars were my guide over the years. I admire how they’re always the same.”
Valjean entwined their fingers. “I believe it’s a way of perspective. I look at the sky, and I see stars that change constantly, that escape daylight only to return by night, beautiful in each own, but only capable of lightening up the sky when combined.”
Javert seemed to think about his partner’s words, before smiling. “You bring a whole new perspective in my life, Valjean.” He let go of his hand to point at the sky, “Do you see the star up there, the one shining brighter than the others?”
He continued as Valjean nodded. “That’s Polaris, also known as the north star. It stands almost motionless in the sky, with every other star rotating around it. I feel comfort in looking at something as constant as the northern star. To follow it is also a way of keeping orientation, as it works as a natural compass, showing us the nothern direction with its brightness.”
Valjean hummed gently, shifting behind Javert to get the taller man into his arms, who proceeded to speak once Valjean had settled his head on his partner’s shoulder.
“My favourite constellation, Sagittarius, is visible to the naked eye, because it is formed by some of the brightest stars in the night sky. It was discovered by a Greek astronomer in the second century.”
Javert lowered his hand and traced the pattern he was talking about, drawing a shape in the sky that looked like a teapot to Valjean.
“The Sagittarius is not only my favourite star constellation, but also my favourite figure in the Greek mythology. It is a horse-human hybrid, with the body of a man on top of the legs of a horse, aiming his arrow at his neighbour scorpio. The Babylonians associated it with a winged God having two heads, one human, the other one the head of a panther,” Javert explained, his gaze never leaving the stars.
“Ever since being a kid I saw myself in the Sagittarius, a creature between the worlds, never belonging to the gods, not quite human, not quite an animal. I admired its dedication, following orders and doing its duty, a perfect warrior in my eyes, who did everything to maintain the peace of a world he never belonged in. I believed it to be the best option that I had, as a child born in jail to a father I never knew and a mother who…”
It hurt Valjean to see Javert with such a painful expression, his lips pressed together in a thin line, and to recognise it as the face his partner usually made when talking about his mother. No matter how Javert had changed and opened up to Valjean ever since starting their relationship, he still wasn’t able to talk about her.
As Valjean sensed his discomfort, he gently started to massage his partner’s shoulders and whispered in his ear, “And do you think you belong to this world now?”
Javert thought for a moment before answering, “I don’t know. But I also don’t care.” He smiled and turned his head to look at Valjean. “I don’t care about fitting into the world anymore, because the only thing that matters to me is the certainty that I belong to you.”
Valjean leaned forward to kiss Javert, who complied but looked at him with a stern expression afterwards. “Now don’t get sentimental, there was enough of it on my behalf tonight,” he said, which only caused Valjean to smile even wider.
As he closed his arms around Javert again and breathed in the scent of his partner’s hair, Valjean thought about how much he felt at home after years on the run, and how strange it was to find happiness in the embrace of the man who’d been chasing him, his dream nothing more than a faint memory of the past.
As for Javert, he found comfort in Valjean’s presence and he remembered the day a year ago as he’d decided to part from this world, and how he had believed the stars to be black and cold and himself to be lost in space.
It was at this moment, embraced by his partner’s arms on a warm summer night, that he realised how the stars had never left him, and that the guiding star that he haad been following his entire life, his personal Polaris, was no other than the soul of Jean Valjean.