Uncle René still doesn’t look at him.
‘No, sir, I’ve never set eyes on him in my life …’
‘You’re not looking at me, sir!’
‘That’s because I’m thinking …’
Judge Oko-Bankala puts the two pens down on the table, and addresses Deputy Director Donatien Mabiala:
‘We had cases like this before … I wouldn’t be surprised if Madame Pauline Kengué turned out to be a compulsive liar, suffering from a delusional and obsessive compulsion to claim relatedness to someone she has never known and never met …’
Papa Roger doesn’t like this.
‘I won’t have Pauline called a compulsive liar and all those other things you said, and what’s more I—’
‘Roger!’ interrupts Uncle René.
And I’m thinking: Why doesn’t Judge Oko-Bankala ask me if Captain Kimbouala-Nkaya was my uncle? Because I’ll tell him the truth, I’ll tell him a thousand times over what I’ve already said here: that Captain Kimbouala-Nkaya is definitely my uncle, that we went to his house and we ate so well there that I told my mother I’d like to stay in Brazzaville for the rest of my life so I can always eat pig when my uncle has guests in his fine, brick-built house. Yes, if he asks me I’ll tell Judge Oko-Bankala how kind my Uncle Kimbouala-Nkaya was, that he didn’t talk much, but he let me try his military beret on in front of the mirror in the living room, striking military poses and shouting, ‘Atten-shun!’ I would also say that Uncle Kimbouala-Nkaya being so kind didn’t mean you took advantage of his kindness, and his children and I all knew that you weren’t allowed to touch the gun he kept hidden in his office. I’ll tell Judge Oko-Bankala, too, that the first time I watched television was at Uncle Kimbouala-Nkaya’s house, when Muhammad Ali and George Foreman had their fight in Kinshasa at the 20th May Stadium, and we jumped for joy and yelled: ‘Ali, boma yé! Ali, boma yé! Ali, boma yé!’ And if Judge Oka-Bankala still doesn’t believe I’m telling the truth, if he thinks I’m a compulsive liar too, or whatever else he says I am, I’ll just tell him some more about my uncle’s house, how fine it was, even if it wasn’t finished, and how everyone in the Plateau des Quinze-Ans neighbourhood envied it. I’ll tell him how before you get to the inner courtyard you have to go down a long corridor and every so often along this corridor there are rooms that any member of the family who turns up in Brazzaville can stay in. Once you’ve gone down the corridor and reached the circular courtyard the light comes in from above because there’s no roof. And there, too, all the way round the circular courtyard, Uncle Kimbouala-Nkaya built four apartments and the one he lives in with his wife is the one facing you, the biggest and brightest of all. From outside you might think it’s a little room, but inside there’s a big dining room, a shower, like in the Victory Palace Hotel, and toilets, like in the Victory Palace Hotel, and you have to watch out because once you’ve finished what you have to do, you pull on a chain so the water will flush out what comes out of your belly, and I’m not going to describe that to Judge Oko-Bankala or he’ll say I exaggerate and sometimes I say rude things without meaning to. I’ll tell him all that, because when I think about everything that’s happened—
‘Hello? Are you listening to me or are you daydreaming, boy?’
Judge Oko-Bankala’s speaking to me! He’s speaking to me, Michel!
‘Come on, boy, I’ve just asked you the same question three times, but your mind’s somewhere else. I’ll ask you again: was Captain Kimbouala-Nkaya your uncle?’
I look at Uncle René’s face, then over at my father, who suddenly lowers his gaze. Papa Roger has never lowered his gaze like that with me. I usually look down first.
The judge plays with the black Biro and I remember that means he can send Maman Pauline to prison for many, many years, because he works for the Military Committee of the Party.
I think of Uncle Kimbouala-Nkaya: if I betray him he’ll think I’m a coward, and the poor captain will not sleep easy up there, because of me.
But then I think of Maman Pauline, and I ask myself: If she was me, Michel, and I was Maman Pauline, how would she answer Judge Oko-Bankala? I’m sure that if she was me, Michel, she would say to herself: Michel, this is your chance to show you’re a man, to choose to express what’s in your heart, what’s good and true. That’s the voice you need to listen to.
‘Come on, boy, this is the last time I’ll ask you the question, I’ve got better things to do: was Captain Kimbouala-Nkaya the brother of your mother – that is to say, your uncle?’
I let the little voice inside me speak up and I say:
‘Captain Kimbouala-Nkaya was not my uncle, but he’s a white crane now, and white cranes never die …’
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The Death of Comrade President Page 19
