by Faïza Guène
"It's nothing, it's fine. And the big dogs, you don't know them. Don't call them bastards, you're judging them when you don't even know them!"
"Who are they? What are their names?"
"You don't know them, let it go!"
"Names, I said! Spit them out!"
"Champs, Cockroach, Poison, the Vif, Lépreux, Magnum are the bigs you don't know ... It's a family, that's the ghetto."
"They're your family, you dog? Say it to me again, you asshole!"
"Stop crying, please—"
"It's the only thing left for me to do, blubber like a fool, I'm going crazy ... But think about it a little would you? Did it ever occur to you to use what God put in your head disguised as a brain? You thought that I would never notice anything?"
"Fuck, what about me? You don't think there are times when I want to cry too? Even if I act like there's nothing wrong, it's only because I don't want you to worry about me, that's all. Just because I eat and sleep doesn't mean everything's okay. That's the street, that's how it is. I'm not the only one, and me, I'm nothing compared to the others—"
"You're not the others! I don't give a shit about the others!"
"You think I'm not tired of watching you work like a dog? Always running to scratch up some money here or there. The clothes I wear, I lied to you, no one gave them to me, the TV in my room, I didn't really borrow it, and the game console isn't Jimmy's, it's mine. All of it is mine. I bought it with my money—"
"You're not ashamed?"
"No, I'm not ashamed! You have to figure out how to make it, everyone does it here. You don't see. You think that you know everything but you don't know anything! You're just a chick, anyway, so it's not the same."
"That has nothing to do with it!"
"It's got plenty to do with it! You don't understand, it's like the jungle! It's eat or be eaten, fuck or get fucked. The ones on top, the chiefs, those are the lions and us, down here, we're the hyenas, we only get the leftovers—"
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH! IT'S NOT TRUE! STOP! Was it those big dogs who put this bullshit in your head? And you swallow all their programming like a chump! Just because they fucked up their lives they have to fuck up other kids'. They want you to believe that it's already a lost cause, the bastards! We have to fight twice as hard as others, that's the truth! I know that, so stop thinking that you're going to teach me about life! Who do you take me for? I thought you wouldn't be like the others ... And school? What's school for?"
"Stop it already, you know well enough that it's useless. Even you quit when you were sixteen, so don't try to teach me that lesson. The bigs, even the ones who went to school, they don't have jobs anyway."
"Do you want to end up in the habs or what? If you keep going and that's your goal, you're going to end up achieving it, you'll have your place in the joint, don't you worry. What do you think I'm doing all the time? Huh? I'm working my ass off, I'm making it work. Your way is too easy. You're weak. Your money is dirty. You're going to take back all this crap. You're going to give back the cash and tell the big dogs that you don't want to work like that. If you don't do it yourself, I'll go find them and tell them. You hear me? You know me and you know that I'm capable of going to see them, I've got balls, right, but it'll ride better for you if you go yourself!"
"I can't do that, I can't—"
"You're going to do it! This isn't open for negotiation!"
"It's going to cause me some trouble!"
"You're going to have bigger trouble if you don't do it. And the jimmies? What the hell's wrong with you?"
"That's something else, and it's my life. If you had a guy I wouldn't say anything to you!"
"Let me point out I'm not the same age as you. You're still a dirty little brat, nothing but a little piece of shit! You want to knock up one of your little hoochies? Is that what you're after?"
"I'm careful."
"Yeah, right ... With all the dirty bills you should have at least bought yourself a cell, so your little honeys would stop driving me crazy calling here."
"I already have one."
"Oh yeah, breaking news ... That's the best yet. Great! You really take me for a complete nucker! I'm outta here, I can't look at you anymore. I'd better go to my room. I would never have believed it, I can't even stand the sight of my own brother anymore—"
"Stop acting like you're my mother! You're not my mother!"
"SHUT YOUR MOUTH! SHUT IT!"
Then I couldn't stop myself from giving him the pounding of his life, the final blow, the ultimate bolo. I slapped with all my soul, used the last of my strength. I nearly took his cap off, a little more and his head would have just flown right off.
I can't look him in the eyes anymore. I stand up and go into my room, beside myself. I lie on my bed without even bothering to put on my pajamas, hoping to fall asleep fast and for a really long time.
Then an IAM song jumps into my head, one I used to listen to on a loop maybe ten years ago:
Little brother left the playground, he's just learning to walk and wants the ogre's magic seven-league boots. Little brother wants to grow up fast, but he forgot that there's no point in running. Little brother...
Yeah, there's no point in running, "especially when you're trying to catch a cheetah...," as my dear Auntie Mariatou would say.
Tales from Below
I went to Auntie's house, beaten. I felt like a worn-out rag used for mopping the floor. I told her the whole story, crying, I was in a truly sorry state. She made me a coffee with the percolator that Papa Demba gave her for her birthday—since the acquisition of this machine she makes coffees all day long. She told me to calm down, take a minute to breathe a little, because she said I looked like a Kenyan at the end of a marathon.
Everything I told Auntie about the fight seemed to dumbfound her, she could hardly believe it. At one point I even suggested sending Foued to the bled so he could chill, but clearly this was a ridiculous idea.
"It's no good, he doesn't know that country, he shouldn't discover it for the first time as part of some punishment. Even you haven't set foot there for at least ten years, right?"
"Yeah ... You're right. I don't know what to do anymore. At the beginning I told myself all his bullshit was normal. It's not all that serious, it's just the age. But now he's already chasing after money. I don't understand it at all."
"If he keeps it up and gets caught by the police, they're not going to do him any favors, he's grown up now. You heard about the double penalties?"
"I know, Auntie. It bugs me because he doesn't get it. He doesn't see what he's diving into. He loves the take-home too much."
"He got caught in a vicious circle, that's all, what can you do? You can't let go of him. Get behind him. Talk to him."
"He's not stupid. He's a good guy, my brother, but he wants to be big, he wants to be rich. Sure, I'll talk a pretty game, but I won't be able to do anything. The more he has, the more he wants."
"As we say in Africa, 'money calls for money.'"
"I hear you..."
"Money calls money but the rich call the police."
So she managed to break me down. Just then her daughter, Wandé, came into the living room carrying her little school notebook in her arms, which she'd wrapped carefully in craft paper.
"Ahlème, can you please help me with my French homework? I'm having trouble with the calculations—"
Auntie jumped right in, I wasn't in any kind of state...
"Go do your homework by yourself in your room, and figure it out! You think we don't have enough problems out here so you should bring us some more?"
The whole rest of the evening, Auntie Mariatou tried to dissuade me from going down to the bottom of the building to talk to the big dogs. I didn't see much point in standing around with my arms crossed waiting for it to rain, but at the same time she wasn't wrong, it wouldn't be a good thing to walk into.
All calmed down, I thank dear Auntie for always being there for me and I leave. I'm like a bag lady with my
cheap flip-flops and my light robe, my pajamas torn at the thigh. I have a horrible headache. My eyes are red and swollen, I feel like I drank gallons of alcohol. I feel like a walking hangover.
Of course, instead of going back to my house, I went downstairs.
I went directly to block 30, the most high-risk spot in the neighborhood, the place where people are usually afraid to go out, the place where even the special anticrime brigade dreads going when they have to train someone.
I take a hesitant step into the poorly lit hall. There are three guys leaning their backs against the wall. I stand petrified for a few seconds in front of them, not knowing what to say to them or at least not knowing how to begin. The slight odor of shit is already starting to suffocate me and, mixed with the open Dumpsters, I'm afraid it's going to make me puke. The first gentleman, the one whose head is just below the inscription fuck sarko, speaks to me:
"What are you looking for? What are you doing here?"
"I'm looking for some people."
"What do you want?"
"It's for my little brother."
"Who's your little brother?"
"His name's Foued."
"Oh yeah, the little Orphan Arab?"
"His name is Foued."
"Who do you want to see?"
"Magnum, Lépreux, Cockroach, and I don't know who else..."
He's bizarre, this guy, he seems high and he looks me up and down in a funny way. I don't know what made me rush down here at this late hour, they're going to think that I came looking for something shady.
Then one of the guys at the pulls back his hood and comes toward me. The moment he gets into the nasty neon light, I recognize Didier, the ice cream maker's son, a boy I grew up with, I cheated at school with, who stole with me at the supermarket, who slipped me my first tongue kiss, even. I'm dumbstruck. He seems stunned too.
"No way! Back from the past! Ahlème, the Bomb! What the hell are you doing here?"
"And you, what the hell are you doing here? I haven't seen you for years and years."
"I was doing some time..."
What happened to me out there was a like a bad scene from a TV movie, but it went down exactly like that. So then he slipped me a kiss full of fraternity and good memories. It all got so sweet that I didn't know how to bring up the problem anymore.
"You know this djouf, Cockroach?"
"Yeah yeah, I know her, don't worry."
As if it wasn't obvious. And I hate it when people talk about me in the third person when I'm standing right there.
"So you're the one they call Cockroach?"
"Yeah."
He lowers his head, a little embarrassed.
"Crazy ... and when people call you Cockroach you respond?"
"Well yeah ... I don't know."
"Where does that nickname come from?"
He starts laughing and the other guys crack up too. One of them asks for some rolling papers from Didier. He gets them out of his pocket and gives them to the guy, a little ashamed in front of me.
"Cockroach, it's a trip you know, they've been calling me that for a long time ... Because these bastards here, one day, they were giving me shit and there was a little cockroach that crawled out of my jacket, right. It's like that in the apartments around here ... ever since they stopped sending the guys who do their thing with the spray, they're all over. And afterward, there you go, it just kept on from there ... But that doesn't mean that I have bugs in my pockets, and I'm not dirty either, it's just a joke ... They've got ghetto names too: he's Stray Dog and that one over there, that's Escobar."
"Escobar? After Pablo Escobar?"
"Yeah, that's right, like that ... His real name's Alain, the great myth!" he says, laughing. "You know that fucker is a legend! Alain my brother!"
"Fuck you, asshole, you're nothing but a dirty dog, and your name is Didier!" answers the other guy straight off.
"Yeah but Alain is worse! And your mother's name is Bertha!"
"Shut your mouth, I didn't say anything about your mother, let it be—"
"He's right, it's worse! It's true!"
The other guy who was quiet up until then can't resist his turn.
"Don't even talk, Mouloud, Moulud the Grinder, with your grocery-store name."
"I'm going to fuck you up."
"No, I'm going to fuck you up—"
"Uh ... excuse me, Didier, can I speak to you about something?"
We stepped outside so we could get away. I didn't have a jacket, I shivered a little.
"You don't have to be scared, what is it?"
"I'm not scared."
Tonight it's not Cockroach I'm talking to but Didier. In simple words I explain the situation that's got me angry and indignant. I tell him all my worries and fears, I tell him how my brother and me, we keep hopping from one foot to the other in this bled, because we have to be careful, we weren't born here. He must have heard talk about people getting expelled. What I was telling him was the real story, no legend. If Foued didn't keep quiet from now on the cops would be merciless with him. And my big speech, it wasn't just for my brother. I asked Didier and his boys to stop ruining the kids' lives like they ruined their own. I know that I'm not going to change the system, it's bizness and everything, but Foued's only sixteen. Shit.
Didier's not a bad guy. He's done some low-down shit, that's for sure, but the really bad guys don't hang out in the hall at number 30. The real villains, sitting in their comfortable armchairs, decide who is going to troll the halls at number 30. They're the ones who can decide to chuck a guy like Foued out of France for any little thing. Didier, he can understand that. He had wishes, dreams, those kinds of things ... He probably doesn't even remember having told me, but he wanted to have a boat, one with white sails, ever since the time when his father gave us Italian ices behind the backs of all the other kids. Only Didier, he thought he could never sail a boat because in Ivry there's no ocean.
When we start to break it down, I notice that he is in all the schemes that my brother was mixed up with. He apologizes, swears on his mother's head that he's sorry, promises me that he didn't know that Foued was my brother. I wonder if he isn't just talking out of his ass, maybe it's just the spliff that he's smoking that's making him say all that. But I believe at heart, he's sincere.
"We'll keep him at a distance, your little brother, you're right. I guarantee it, and I'll be paying attention. Everyone around here knows who I am, and don't worry, they'll listen. Cockroach, he's not just anybody. And if you need me, I'll be there. I'll watch over him, I swear to you on the life of my race, I give you my word, Ahlème. No one will give him shit, no one will mix him up in the business. Sorry. I didn't know that you were the little Orphan's sister—"
"And stop calling him the little Orphan, he has a name."
"All right, that's out of bounds ... Okay. Sorry."
I leave, dying of cold. We agreed that I'd come back tomorrow at the same time and bring Didier the money and all the shit that was lying around my house. I thank him warmly and I thank God too, I thank him for having to do business with Didier rather than the other shady rat who calls himself Escobar, because that guy, he was liable to ask me to give him a favor in return, something disgusting in exchange for letting Foued safely out of the business. I was ready to do anything for my brother, even the worst, so I'm happy not to have to face that.
The Breathless One
The telephone rang. I picked it up and right away I recognized Tonislav's voice. His simple "hello" seemed like a spell to me, or even better, a blessing. He asked to meet for a date at Châtelet—Les Halles at the foot of the fountain, at Carrée square. For the first time in my life, I understood what it could mean to "need someone." Why him in particular? I have no idea at all. I am completely turned upside down, my heart beats ten thousand times an hour just at the thought of seeing him. My knees wobble, I feel like I'm a clueless teenager going on her first date. I must be a pitiful thing to see.
On my way to meet him, si
tting in my RER, I tell myself that I'll be bold when I see him.
I give myself the goal of greeting him with a kiss and asking him the favor of holding me hard in his arms, even at the risk of traumatizing him and having him not call me ever again. Today, without really understanding why, I just want to abandon myself to the sort of thing that I usually think is too sappy. I will let him discover all the weaknesses that I kill myself to hide from the whole world, and from myself most of all. And too bad if he freaks. That would just tell me that he's a jerk like all the others and he's not worth the trouble in the end. This time I'm not all tricked out. I'm just me and I don't give a shit about the rest.
At Carrée square I sit down on the steps near the fountain, I'm on time but I don't see him.
There's a crowd here. It feels funny to be here in the middle of all this activity that I can watch as if I'm not even there. I look at the people passing by, running, just hanging around. I have the strange feeling that they're all happy except me. You could say that they live, thrive, dangle their joy in front of me on their faces without a lick of shame. Of course I know it's wrong but at this exact moment I'm having trouble convincing myself. It's like all these people had piles of dreams that I was denied. There they are strolling around, taunting me. I know what they're trying to do, they want to make me crazy with rage. And, well, they succeeded.
At this moment I feel like I've lost a game of dice. You throw the dice on the rug dozens of times believing so strongly in each toss. You imagine yourself already stopped at the glorious number six, but it's no good, the score is always low. One, two, or three at the most, never more. You shake them well in the small of your hands, blow on them, close your eyes and whisper a prayer, always nothing. I think at the end of enough setbacks, you have the right to be discouraged.
I feel like a little kid being punished. I am in the corner of Carrée square and I'm hoping for just one thing: to see a stranger arrive and to huddle myself into his arms. I am in a complete fever, it's really some kind of crazy shit.
