‘What are we waiting for?’ I asked.
Germaine nudged me to signal me to stay calm. A flash of lightning lit up the room, and the darkness afterwards seemed more opaque. I could feel the sweat on my back grow cold; I had a fierce urge to pull my shirt away from where it clung to my skin, but the boy’s stillness persuaded me otherwise.
The sounds of the village grew less frequent. A car engine roared somewhere in the distance, then faded, and a deafening silence fell over the streets and the fields. Towards midnight, a stone rapped against the shutter. The boy ran and peered into the shadows below, then turned to Germaine and ordered her to go downstairs and open up. While she was going down, he pressed the barrel of the gun to the back of my neck and forced me to walk to the head of the stairs.
‘If you try to scream, madame, I’ll kill him.’
‘I understand,’ Germaine said simply.
She shot back the bolt and suddenly there was the sound of a scuffle downstairs. I wanted to know what was happening, but the gun kept my face pressed against the wall.
Germaine reappeared; I could just make out her shadow faltering on the staircase. ‘Turn the light on, you idiot!’ growled a hoarse voice. Germaine flicked the switch and the landing light revealed four armed men clumsily attempting to carry a body on a makeshift stretcher. I recognised Jelloul, André’s former manservant. He had a machine gun slung over one shoulder and was wearing a tattered combat uniform and muddy boots. He pushed me aside and helped the other three lug their burden up the stairs and set it down in the living room. He paid no attention to us, but told his cohorts to be careful laying the patient out on the dining table.
‘Dismissed,’ he barked. ‘Return to your units. Laoufi, you stay with me. There’s no need to come back for us. If there are any problems, I’ll manage.’
Two of the men went back downstairs and disappeared silently into the night. Not once had they acknowledged our presence. The boy took the barrel of his gun from my neck and pushed me into the living room.
‘Thanks, kid,’ Jelloul said. ‘You were great. Now get going.’
‘You want me to wait outside?’
‘No, go back to you know where.’
The boy gave a military salute and disappeared.
Jelloul winked at me.
‘How are things?’
I didn’t know how to answer this.
‘Do something useful, go lock the door.’
Germaine looked at me imploringly. She was pale, her whole face a mask of fear. I went downstairs. When I got back, Jelloul was removing a bloody commando jacket from the man on the table.
‘If he dies, you’ll be going to the next world with him.’ His voice was menacing but calm. ‘This man is more important to me than my life. He took a bullet during a clash with the police. It wasn’t around here, don’t worry. I brought him here so you can get that lump of lead out of him.’
‘What with? I’m not a surgeon.’
‘You’re a doctor, aren’t you?’
‘A pharmacist.’
‘I don’t care. Your life depends on saving his. I haven’t come all this way for him to die now.’
Germaine pulled my arm.
‘Let me examine him.’
‘That’s better . . .’
Germaine bent over the wounded man, carefully pulling aside his bloodstained shirt; the entry wound, just above his left nipple, was hidden by a thick layer of congealed blood. It was an ugly wound and would be difficult to treat.
‘He’s lost a lot of blood—’
‘Well then, let’s not waste any time.’ Jelloul cut her off. ‘Laoufi,’ he said to his colleague, ‘you help the lady. Laoufi here is our nurse. Go down to the pharmacy with him and get whatever you need to operate on the captain. Do you have everything you need to sterilise the wound and extract the bullet?’
‘I’ll deal with it,’ Germaine said. ‘Jonas wouldn’t be any help. And if you don’t mind, I won’t have guns in my living room. I need to be able to work in peace. Your nurse can stay, but you and my son . . .’
‘That’s exactly what I planned to do, madame.’
Germaine was trying to protect me; she was doing her utmost to stay calm but having me there made her anxious. I couldn’t see how she could possibly deal with this. She had never held a scalpel in her life. What was she thinking? What if the man died? She glanced at me, urging me to leave the room, wanting me as far away as possible. She was trying to tell me something, but I could not understand her. She was obviously afraid for me and trying to shield me. Later she told me she would have brought the dead back to life if it would have saved me.
‘Go into the kitchen and get yourself something to eat. I’ll be more comfortable without you breathing down my neck.’
Jelloul nodded. I led him into the kitchen. He opened the fridge, took out a plate of boiled potatoes, cheese, slices of cured meat, some fruit and a bottle of milk and set them on the table next to his machine gun.
‘Have you got any bread?’
‘In the larder, on your right.’
He took out a large baguette and bit into it as he sank into a chair; he ate with astonishing voracity, picking at random a piece of fruit, a piece of cheese, a potato, a slice of meat . . .
‘I’m starving,’ he said, burping loudly. ‘You’ve got it easy here, haven’t you? The war doesn’t affect you; you go on living the good life while we’re out breaking our balls in the bush. Some day you’re going to have to pick a side, you know.’
‘I don’t like war.’
‘It’s not a question of liking or not liking. Our people have had enough of suffering in silence; they’ve revolted. Of course, being caught between two stools, you can do what you like, you can side with whoever suits you.’
He took a penknife from his pocket and cut a slice of cheese.
‘Do you see much of André?’
‘Not these days.’
‘They say he and his father have set up a militia.’
‘That’s true.’
‘I can’t wait to come face to face with him . . . He does know I escaped?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘Nobody in Río Salado said anything about me escaping from prison?’
‘I didn’t hear anything.’
‘It was a miracle. They sent me to the guillotine but my head grew back. Do you believe in destiny, Jonas?’
‘I don’t feel as though I have one.’
‘I do. I was being transferred from Orléansville prison when one of the tyres blew and the van went head first into a ditch. When I came to, I was lying in a bush. I got up and walked away, and when no one came after me, I kept on walking. I had to pinch myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. You don’t think that’s a sign from heaven?’
He pushed his plate away and went to see what was happening in the living room, deliberately leaving his machine gun on the table. When he came back he said:
‘He’s in a bad way, but he’s strong . . . he’ll pull through. He has to pull through, otherwise . . .’ He did not finish the sentence, but looked me up and down and changed his tone. ‘I keep the faith. After our clash with the police when my senior officer was injured, I didn’t know what to do. That’s when your name popped into my head. I swear I heard it. I even turned around, but there was no one there. I didn’t try to understand, I just set off. Two nights we spent, cutting through the woods; even the dogs didn’t bark when we went past. Isn’t that amazing?’
He pushed the machine gun to one side, pretending to be distracted.
‘I’ve run into dozens of ambushes, but they never caught me, never hit me; eventually I became fatalistic. My time will come when God decides. I’m not afraid of men or thunderbolts any more . . . But what are you afraid of? The revolution is going well, we’re winning on all fronts, even abroad; we have the support of our own people and the international community. The great day is coming soon. What are you waiting for? Why don’t you join us?’
‘Are you
going to kill us?’
‘I’m not a killer, Jonas, I’m a soldier. I am prepared to lay down my life for my country – what are you prepared to do for it?’
‘My mother doesn’t know much about surgery.’
‘Neither do I, but someone’s got to do it. You know who my commander is? It’s Sy Rachid – “the elusive Sy Rachid” they talk about in the newspapers. I’ve seen a lot of fire-brands, but no one with the personality of this man. A lot of times we’ve been cornered and he’s managed to get us out just by clicking his fingers. He’s extraordinary. I won’t let him die. The revolution needs him.’
‘Okay, but what happens if he does die? What are you going to do to us?’
‘Coward – all you can think about is saving your own skin. There’s a war on out there – hundreds, thousands of people are dying every day, but you don’t care. I’d kill you like a dog if I didn’t owe you . . . By the way, why is it that I still can’t bring myself to call you Younes?’
He didn’t shout, he didn’t thump the table; he spoke quietly, reluctantly, scornfully. He was too tired to exert himself. But the contempt he felt for me was infinite, and it reawakened in me a fury I had not felt since Jean-Christophe rejected me.
The nurse knocked at the kitchen door before coming in; he was sweating.
‘She did it.’
‘God be praised,’ Jelloul said with an air of detachment. He nodded at me. ‘You see? Even fate is on our side.’
He ordered the nurse to guard me and hurried off to see his commander. The nurse asked if there was anything to eat. I pointed him to the fridge and the larder. He told me to move back to the window and not to try anything clever. He was a scrawny kid, still in his teens, his face pink and downy. He was wearing a thick sweater much too big for him, baggy trousers held up by a length of rope, and a pair of grotesquely large boots that made him look ridiculous. He ignored the fridge and the larder and ate what was left on the table.
Jelloul called me. The nurse nodded for me to leave the kitchen and watched me as I walked down the hall. Slumped in a chair, Germaine was trying to regain her composure. I could see her heart beating; she was bathed in sweat. The wounded man still lay on the table, his bare chest wrapped in bandages. The sound of his rasping breath filled the room. Jelloul dipped a compress in a bowl of water and mopped his commander’s face, his every movement charged with reverence.
‘We’re going to stay here for a few days while the captain builds up his strength,’ he announced. ‘Tomorrow morning you’ll open the pharmacy just like any other day. Madame will stay up here with us. If there are any messages to be done, you’ll do them. You can come and go as you please, but if I notice anything out of the ordinary – well, I don’t need to paint a picture. All we’re asking for is a little hospitality. I’m offering you the opportunity to serve your people. Try not to let me down.
‘I’ll look after the pharmacy and do the shopping,’ Germaine interrupted.
‘I’d prefer him to do it . . . is that all right, Jonas?’
‘How do I know you won’t kill us before you leave?’
‘You’re pathetic, Jonas.’
‘I trust you,’ Germaine said.
Jelloul smiled. It was the same smile he had once given me in that little douar of squalid shacks behind the marabout’s hill, a mixture of scorn and pity. He took a small revolver from the pocket of his trousers and handed it to me.
‘It’s loaded. All you have to do is press the trigger.’
The feel of cold metal made my hair stand on end.
Germaine turned pale, her hands, white-knuckled, clutching her dress.
‘You want me to tell you something, Jonas? You break my heart. What kind of pathetic loser turns away from a chance to fulfil his destiny?’
He took the gun back and slipped it into his pocket.
The wounded man groaned and began to stir. He was about my age, perhaps a year or two older. He was tall, blonde, with well-defined muscles. A reddish beard hid much of his face, he had bushy eyebrows and his nose, slightly curved, was thin and sharp as a razor blade. He stirred again, reached out and tried to turn on to his side, but the movement sent a shooting pain through him that brought him round. It was then that I recognised him, in spite of what the years had taken out of him. It was Ouari, my partner in crime years ago in Jenane Jato, the boy who had taught me the art of camouflage and how to trap goldfinches. He looked prematurely old, but the eyes were still the same: dark, metallic, impenetrable – I would never forget those eyes.
Ouari was clearly coming out of a deep coma, because, not recognising me, his first reaction was one of self-defence. He grabbed me by the throat and hauled himself to his feet.
‘It’s all right, Sy Rachid,’ Jelloul whispered. ‘You’re safe here.’
Ouari did not seem to understand. He stared vacantly at his fellow soldier and went on choking me. Germaine rushed to try and help me, but Jelloul ordered her to go back and in a soft voice tried to explain the situation to his commanding officer. The hands around my throat still did not relax. I was having trouble breathing but had to wait until the wounded man came to his senses. By the time he let me go, my face was numb. Ouari collapsed on to the table, arms hanging limply by his sides; he shuddered for a moment and then lay still.
‘Step back,’ barked the nurse, who had come back into the room to see what the noise was.
He examined the injured man, took his pulse.
‘It’s all right, he just fainted. We have to get him into bed; he needs rest.’
The rebels stayed with us for almost two weeks. I went about my daily business as though nothing had happened. Worried that someone might show up unexpectedly, Germaine phoned her family in Oran and told them she was going out into the desert, to Colo-Béchar, and would call them when she got back. Laoufi, the nurse, put the captain in my room and sat by his bed day and night. I slept on the old sofa in my uncle’s study. Jelloul constantly came in to lecture me. He was angry and disgusted at my indifference to our people’s war of independence. I knew if I said anything it would simply make him angrier, so I said nothing. One evening, having tried to engage me in conversation while I sat reading a book, he said:
‘Life is like a movie: there are actors who move the story forward and bit players who fade into the background. The bit players are part of the film, but no one cares about them. You’re a bit player, Jonas. I don’t hate you, I pity you.
My continued silence infuriated him. He roared:
‘How can you just look the other way when the whole world is right there in front of you?’
I looked up at him, then went back to my reading. He ripped the book from my hands and hurled it against the wall.
‘I’m talking to you!’
I went over, picked up the book and went back to the sofa. He tried to snatch it away again, but this time I grabbed him by the wrist and pushed him away. Surprised by my reaction, Jelloul looked at me, amazed, and muttered:
‘You’re nothing but a coward. Don’t you see that our villages are being napalmed, our heroes guillotined in the prisons, soldiers lying dead in the scrubland, rebels languishing in prison camps? Can’t you see what’s happening? What sort of madman are you, Jonas? Can’t you understand that a whole nation is fighting for your salvation?’
I didn’t say anything.
He slapped me across the face.
‘Don’t you touch me,’ I said.
‘You think I’m scared? . . . You’re a coward, nothing but a coward. I don’t know why I don’t just cut your throat.’
I set down my book, got to my feet and stood in front of him.
‘What do you know about cowardice, Jelloul? Who do you think is the coward, the man with a gun to his head or the one holding the gun?’
He looked at me in disgust.
‘I’m not a coward, Jelloul, I’m not deaf, I’m not blind and I’m not made of stone. If you really want to know, I don’t much care about anything in this world now. Not even
the gun that allows people like you to treat people like me with contempt. Wasn’t it humiliation that first led you to pick up a gun? So why do you go around humiliating other people?’
He was trembling with rage, struggling to stop himself from grabbing me by the throat. He spat on the ground and went out, slamming the door behind him.
After that, he did not bother me. If we passed each other in the hall, he stepped out of my way with distaste.
All the time they stayed with us, Jelloul forbade me from going near the captain. If I needed something from my room, I would tell the nurse where it was and he would go and get it for me. Only once, as I came out of the bathroom, did I see the patient through the open door. He was sitting on the bed, a clean bandage around his chest, his back to me. I thought back to Jenane Jato, to the time when he was my protector, my friend, I remembered his bird coop filthy with droppings, our trips into the scrubland behind the souk to catch goldfinches. Then suddenly my heart contracted as I remembered the vacant look in his eyes as he watched Daho torment me with the snake. At that moment, the burning need I had felt since he arrived to tell him who I was suddenly vanished.
On the last day, the three maquisards bathed, shaved, put their clean clothes and boots into a bag, dressed in some of my clothes and gathered in the living room. My suit was too big for the nurse, who kept looking at himself in the mirror. All three of them tried to hide their nervousness. Jelloul was wearing the suit I had bought for Simon’s wedding, and the captain one Germaine had given me some months earlier. At noon, after they’d had lunch, Jelloul told me to hang white sheets over the balcony. When it got dark, he went into the room that overlooked the vineyards and turned the light on and off three times. When he saw a light flash in the distance beyond the sea of vines, he ordered me to take the nurse into the back office and give him all the drugs and supplies he would need. We packed three boxes full and put them in the boot of the car, then went back upstairs, where the captain, still pale, was pacing up and down the hallway.
What the day owes the nigth Page 27
