Black Diamond

seem to be thinking of counterinsurgency theory in the middle of the French countryside, Bruno knew it was his duty to defend the victims, to allay their fears and to bring the intimidators to justice. Another thought struck him, the irony that Hercule’s war had started in Vietnam, and these Vietnamesewere now French citizens and Bruno’s neighbors. He had been to their homes, eaten their food, and their safety was his responsibility.
    “Bruno!” he heard. There was urgency and alarm in the call. Jolted out of his thoughts he turned to see Juliette waving at him frantically and a small knot of children gathered around the plastic-covered manure pit. He jogged across.
    “It’s young Mathieu,” Juliette cried. “He’s fallen in.”
    As he approached, Bruno could see a corner of the black plastic sheeting had been loosened from its restraining pegs, and one whole side had sunk down into the reeking pit. He looked over the edge and saw a pitiful young face, the boy’s body half submerged in the great pool of cow dung.
    “I can’t feel the bottom, Bruno,” the boy wailed. He was clinging to a fold of plastic, but his grip was visibly slipping.
    Bruno pulled off his greatcoat and jacket. Looking quickly around, he saw no other adult in sight. Filling his lungs he used his parade-ground voice.
    “
Au secours
. Alphonse, Bill,” he roared and turned to the aghast children, looking for the most sensible of the boys he knew.
    “Laurent, run to the nearest tents and bring back the salesman and any other men in there. Tell them it’s me, and it’s urgent. Michel, you run to the restaurant and do the same. Tell people I need rope, rope and men.”
    He turned back to Juliette and gave her his greatcoat.
    “Here, hold the collar of the coat tight and dig your feet hard into the ground,” he told her. “Keep shouting for help.”
    He tugged off his shoes and with one hand on the hem of his coat he slid himself over the edge toward the boy.
    “Mathieu, can you touch my foot?” he called. He turned, trying to see the boy, but he was out of his vision.
    “It’s too far,” came the piping voice. “I’m sinking.”
    Bruno edged down farther, trying to get a grip with his stockinged feet on the side of the pit but slipping on the plastic.
    “Lie down full length, Juliette,” he called. “I need more length from the coat. Tell the children to hold on to you.”
    “I’m here, Bruno,” came Alphonse’s voice. “I’ll hold the coat with Juliette.”
    Bruno let himself slide down to the limit of the coat’s length and felt a small hand clutch at his ankle.
    “I’ve got you, Bruno,” called Mathieu.
    “Hold on with both hands, Mathieu,” Bruno told him. “Just hold tight, and we’ll have you out in a moment.” He looked up to the faces of Alphonse and Juliette peering over the rim. “Can you start to pull me up?”
    “You’re too heavy,” said Alphonse. “We can hardly hold you as it is. But there are more people coming.”
    Bruno began lifting his right leg and Mathieu with it, feeling the strain in his knee and thigh. Gingerly, he took one hand from his coat and lowered it until he could feel the boy’s hand on his ankle and then felt the sleeve of the boy’s jacket. Despite the fumes, he took a deep breath, gripped and hauled the dripping boy up with a great heave until the two little arms were around his neck, the stinking slime smearing on his chin and collar.
    “Climb up me, Mathieu, until you can stand on my shoulders, and they’ll lift you out.”
    He felt Mathieu’s shoes digging into his hip and his waist and then into his ribs as the boy clambered up Bruno’s body. A dirty hand slid into his mouth, trying to get some leverage, and Bruno set his jaw firm to help the boy. Bruno felt his greatcoat collar start to tear, and he slid down a few inches.His feet and lower legs were now in the slime, and he was surprised by its warmth. Then a knee was on his shoulder, the hand left his mouth and was in his hair, and the weight suddenly lifted as Mathieu was scooped out of the pit by eager hands.
    “We’ve got him,” called a woman’s voice. Pamela’s voice.
    “Hold on, Bruno,” called Alphonse. “Bill has a rope.”
    The collar of his greatcoat tore some more, and Bruno slid down up to his waist into the slime that was releasing an even worse stench as he broke more and more of the surface crust. But a rope was dangling beside his face, and he took hold of it.
    “Take the