‘I slept while rats nibbled at my feet. I lived in a hell, for what? A few coppers. No one is taking that money from me.’ He spat on the earth and looked around him. Only Hadj Yahia held his gaze. Everyone else stared at their feet.
Hadj Yahia stood up and stared him down. ‘This is the way we do things. There can be no exceptions. This is what keeps us united against the French.’ He paused. He knew that nothing he could say would change Ali’s mind. After all, they had been having this same conversation for months. His mind had presented him with only one option, but his tongue was unwilling to push out the words.
Eventually he spoke. ‘You leave with me no choice.’
There were gasps from the assembly. Everyone suspected what was about to happen but no one had imagined it would actually come to this.
‘From now on each man is responsible for his own wives and children. We will meet here again in two days time and we will divide the family assets. Then you are on your own, Ali.’
Hadj Yahia’s gaze was cold, but his legs trembled with the importance of the words he was saying. ‘You, Ali, I will never forgive for splitting this family.’ He resumed his seated position and pulled a pipe from a fold in his trousers. Only the insects around them made any noise. Everyone present was robbed of the gift of speech. Mute, they could only wonder what would happen to the family now.
Ali spat again. Cursed at everyone there and walked away into the night. Arab waited for a couple of beats then, with curses that echoed his brother’s, he jumped to his feet and sped off to join him.
* * *
As dictated by Hadj Yahia, two days later the three families met to split the assets. Respected friends were called in to help them divide everything on a fair and equitable basis. All their land, livestock, tools, cloth, stored grains; anything of value was detailed and discussed.
The fathers – Hadj Yahia, Hamadache and OuHamou – sat in three camps with their sons and grandsons. Hadj Yahia’s heart ached as they worked out who should get what. He never ever thought he would be party to a decision that would split the tribe. Every now and again he looked over at Ali and Arab, trying to take a measure of their expressions. If he was feeling sick at the thought of this happening, how could Ali look so accepting? And greedy. His eyes shone with the need to possess, while he slowly stroked his moustache at every gain.
Hadj Yahia expected trouble during the debate. After all, a vulture has to obey the dictates of its nature. It was shameful that he should consider his nephew in such a way, but Ali’s actions left him with a deep sense of distrust. And he was his father’s son. Hamadache was a loud, tough man. Quick to laugh and quick to anger, he was brutal with his sons. Even now that they were grown men, he would still strike them if they displeased him. It was a known fact, but never discussed in his presence, that Hamadache had killed a man. An argument with a neighbour over who should have the right to the dung from the cattle grazing on communal land. Hamadache reacted quickly. With a shovel. The neighbour died. Hamadache was never punished by the authorities. An indigène killed another indigène, why should the French be concerned about that?
How could Arab and Ali have turned out any other way? Although his spirit quailed at the thought of the family split, in a small part of his brain he was grateful. The atmosphere in and around the home had been truly awful these last months. And he was pleased at the thought that Kaci wouldn’t be so close to his cousins. Despite his quick mind, he was still at an impressionable age, and there was a certain glamour to his older cousins. Ali had fought in a war. He also had a strength of conviction that any young man inexperienced in the ways of the world might be influenced by. And any influence that Arab, in particular, might have on anyone couldn’t be good.
His reverie was interrupted by Arab’s voice getting louder.
‘The cattle,’ he said. ‘You recently bought cattle with the money that Kaci earned. They should be included.’
‘Kaci earned that money during a period Ali has been receiving his war pension. Will you share that?’
‘You know our answer to that, Uncle.’ Arab spoke the title as if it were the worst insult he could imagine.
Hadj Yahia could feel himself reacting to Arab’s tone. He had been determined to stay calm and not rise to Arab’s baiting, but enough was enough. All the resentment he felt at his nephews’ behaviour boiled to the surface. He was on his feet before he realised.
‘Not one penny of my son’s earnings will be shared. And the last parcel of land I purchased will not be included in the split.’
Everyone started shouting at this. But Hadj Yahia was resolute. He stood with his feet planted shoulder-width apart, his arms crossed and his expression firm. At this moment he was still the head of the family and he had spoken. Most of the voices quietened when they saw how he was standing. From long experience everyone knew that once such a decision was made Hadj Yahia would not back down. The only one still talking was Arab.
His expression was full of venom as he attempted to stare his uncle down. Eventually, in a voice that was almost a whisper, Arab spoke.
‘Hadj Yahia, I swear by these moustaches,’ he tugged at his facial hair for emphasis, ‘I will get you one day. Don’t rest. Don’t sleep. For when you do, I’ll be there.’
FIVE
A New Job
Kaci blessed Allah and his good fortune. He had a good wife, a job, family and, at nineteen, his whole life was in front of him like a promise. Life was calming down after the recent family troubles and here he was in the mountains having time away from his work at the town hall. There was simply nothing he enjoyed more. He stood with his feet shoulder-width apart, fixed the rifle strap on his shoulders and filled his lungs with pine-scented air. His hunting dog, Finette, was ten yards ahead. She stood stock still, her body aimed higher up the mountain, her head swivelled to face him, eyes focused on his, waiting for the next command.
The air still held the cool of the dawn and the animals he hunted would be foraging before the heat of the midday sun sent them scurrying into the dark to sleep and conserve energy. Then later on in the day their search for food would continue, all the while evading the claw of a predator. Such was life among the animals. The search for food was all. Here there was none of the complexities of life among humans.
So much for the addition of the thinking mind, he thought ruefully.
At least the family was beginning to achieve some form of routine. Kaci felt sorry that his earnings would not go to everyone. This would inevitably lead to difficulties for most of them except for Hadj Yahia’s family. What could he do? He considered giving his father less and sharing anything saved with his cousins, but his father knew what earnings Kaci consistently brought in and he would question the missing amount.
Arab regularly stopped by with a haunch of meat and some fruit for him, and they would talk. Surely Arab was sorry for his part in the family feud? Why couldn’t his father see this? All his father could do was continually warn him about his cousins. Kaci had seen him place his knife under the matting that cushioned him into sleep. His father was normally such a wise man, but he was becoming like an old woman. Arab clearly had his faults, but surely he was not about to harm any of his family.
Kaci looked in the direction Finette was lined towards. From long habit she knew the direction he headed in. Kaci sniffed at the air as if scenting the need for a change. He turned his face so that he was looking towards the south-west. It was indeed time for a different approach. Hunting had become less productive in recent weeks. He should explore new territories. So he headed for the area where they were building the new dam between Ily’thene and Imezdhourare.
* * *
After a few hours of stalking and firing his gun, the success of his strategy was evident in the catch of the day hanging around Kaci’s waist: a pair of pheasants and a large rabbit.
With a pleased smile he judged the height of the sun. It was past noon and his stomach was now growling for attention. He ignored it and contin
ued walking. He had heard that the French were constructing a dam in this area. They were apparently planning to harness the power of water and turn it into electricity. This was something he had to see.
Sometime later he heard the deep rumble of conversation and, walking through a copse of pine trees, he encountered a small group of men. They were dressed in the simple robes typical of the Morrocan. They all held a small tin cup in one hand and a chunk of bread in the other. Even these men stopped for lunch. Although the workers were all dirty from their labours, they looked well fed and content with their lot. Apart from the Moroccans he could see a couple of other men who, by their style of dress, could only be French.
Here in the heart of Algeria, in possibly the best source of income in the area, not one Algerian was on the payroll.
This grated on Kaci, but what could he do at this point? He could throw rocks at the men or throw curses at them, but what good would that achieve? They were here at the behest of his oppressors. They were as much victims of French greed as he was. Also, he was well aware that the colonialist regime would not risk employing Algerians. That would go against their attempts to turn his people into beggars. Their North African cousins had proven an easier beast to tame and were shipped into his country in great numbers to work on any project that required the sweat of many men.
Kaci offered a small smile and quick nod in the direction of the seated men. The wise man in this situation would not throw rocks or curses. Is it not true, thought Kaci, that if a man picks up a hot coal to hurl it at his enemy, that he is the first to be burned? He believed that if this was not a time to fight, then it must be a time to learn.
Aiming his voice at the two Frenchmen, Kaci said, ‘Bon appétit!’
One of the men stood, visibly surprised. Few Algerians spoke French and those that did rarely spoke with a perfect accent.
‘Welcome to the dam. Would you like to join us for lunch?’ The Frenchman took a couple of steps towards him. He was a tall, slim man. His khaki shirt looked freshly laundered, as if he had done nothing more exhausting that day than order a coffee and croissant in a café in Algiers.
‘Merci,’ said Kaci, ‘mais non.’ He pointed at the carcasses on his waist.
‘I haven’t noticed you around here before,’ said the Frenchman. ‘Do you live nearby?’ His expression was open and friendly, his curiosity driven by nothing more than a wish to engage this intriguing young man in conversation.
Kaci felt himself respond to the smile in the man’s eyes.
‘My family has a small home further up the valley. I come here to hunt. To spend some time on my own in nature.’
‘Your French is perfect,’ said the man. ‘Have you spent some time in France?’
Kaci chuckled at the very thought of it. He’d barely been any further than thirty kilometres in any given direction. A trip to France was well out of his scope, not to mention his pocket.
‘Non,’ he answered. ‘I studied with the children of some of the local colons. That is, until I was forbidden to go any further.’ This was true. He had done so well in the school for the indigènes that his teachers had fought for him to go as far in the system as it was possible to in those days. ‘I achieved le certificat, but because… you know…’ Kaci raised an eyebrow, referring silently to the treatment of his people. ‘I had to leave school before I sat the baccalauréat.’
Kaci added this last part in, not to engage the man’s sympathy, but to gauge his response. However the Frenchman reacted would give him the measure of the man.
‘Mon dieu. What a waste.’ The Frenchman examined Kaci. He did not find this probing gaze uncomfortable and was confident that whatever the man was looking for, he would find it.
‘How would you like a job?’
Kaci was so surprised he took a step back. ‘Excuse me?’ This wasn’t what he expected. The Frenchman’s smile was full of warmth and respect, which was almost as surprising as the job offer. These were qualities that were missing from most interchanges between the two races.
‘My name is Samson.’ He stepped forward with his arm outstretched. ‘I would like you to come and work for me.’
‘Thank you, Monsieur Samson, but I already have a job. I work for the town hall.’ As he said this, Kaci’s mind was processing the information. Although he performed his current position to the best of his abilities, he didn’t really enjoy it. How much better it would be to work up here in the mountains, in the fresh air. And this man. There was something that Kaci immediately warmed to.
‘Call me Samson. And I can offer you more money than you get at the town hall.’
‘And I am Mohand Kaci Saoudi. How much more? And what job must I do to earn all of this money?’
Samson gave a sum that was double his current earnings and went on to describe the job he had in mind. He needed an assistant. Someone who was good with figures. Someone who knew the people and the area. Someone who spoke perfect French.
Kaci fought to keep his emotions under control. He would be able to spend time hunting, he would earn more money for the family and he would be working for a man he could respect.
He smiled and took hold of the hand that had been offered to him.
‘Samson,’ he smiled. ‘You have a new employee.’
* * *
Kaci returned to Maillot, barely able to contain his excitement. Soon everyone knew of Kaci’s good fortune and how it would benefit the family. Even Arab and Ali were quick to celebrate with him despite the fact that this new development would not be worth anything for them.
Hadj Yahia, who continued to sleep with a knife by his side, warned Kaci that they might have ulterior motives, but Kaci was so pleased with developments that he refused to take notice of his father’s words. Perhaps with the money he earned he could do something about the rift in the family. His improved earning ability may make his father heed his opinion more. He would give it some time. He would use his relationship with the Frenchman to better the lot of his family and then his father couldn’t help but listen to him. Soon the family would be together again.
* * *
Like young men the world over, he turned up for work on the first day wearing his best work clothes and carrying lunch lovingly provided by his surrogate mother. Under the soft heat of an autumn sunrise he stepped into the administration offices of the North African Hydro-Electric Company. These offices were located by the side of the main road that crossed the Djurdjura mountains, about three kilometres from his home. The actual construction of the dam was further south, about six kilometres away. His main duties were to assist with the accounts and manage the logistics of the workers’ main canteen. This meant his time was split between the office and the dam. Which in his mind made the job perfect. On the way up the mountain he could use the journey wisely to practise his skills as a hunter.
* * *
Monsieur Samson turned out to be the main accountant for the project and in no time his judgement was vindicated. The young Algerian was bright, eager to learn and conscientious. He also opened his eyes to the possibilities of the locals. His countrymen were, in his view, too quick to discount the indigenous population and he would prove it to them. He would take Kaci under his wing and prove that the French were wrong to treat Algeria so cruelly. As victors they had a responsibility to the local people. If they were to continue only to rob them of their livelihood then they were storing up terrible problems for the future.
The time he spent on horseback climbing the mountain between the offices and the dam were some of the best times he’d had since coming to the country. He and Kaci developed a routine on certain days. On occasion, he even allowed himself to go hunting and found he enjoyed the thrill of the hunt, although he doubted he could ever match the shooting skills of his young friend. In fact, most days that they went up the mountain together they managed to get in a little shooting, and his wife began to enjoy cooking the spoils of the hunt. The only day that they couldn’t do that was on a Friday. This was the day t
hey carried the wages up to the men working at the dam. It wouldn’t do to delay their movement up the mountain road. There never had been a moment while carrying the gold down to the dam that he felt threatened, but he didn’t like to tempt fate.
As for his latest employee, he quickly came to admire his quick mind and generous spirit. Most men put in that position would see what was happening and resent the possibilities that had been stolen from their families. Kaci seemed to be above all that, willing to experience everything that life presented to him. This was a huge relief to Samson. For too long he’d had to put up with the sullen attitude of the men below him. Kaci’s behaviour was completely contrary to the popular view that Algerians should be not allowed to think for themselves and not receive an education. To have someone with an intellect that matched his own in these lonely hills was, quite literally, like a breath of fresh, mountain air.
Nor had he realised the enforced silence he’d been under since he started with the company. Now that he had a willing listener he found himself detailing the facts of his life. The solitude of the mountain, the silence – save for the footfall of the horses – served almost as a confessional. He talked about the broad tree-lined avenues of his childhood in Paris, his wish to enter the priesthood and his father’s refusal. He talked of his decision to marry, his children and his hopes for an integrated Algeria.
He often found himself regarding Kaci as he went about his duties and hoping that his own sons would grow into such a man. Whenever he could he would press a packet of something into his hand along with his wages; goods like coffee, sugar, butter, marmalade and many other things from the French canteen. He invited him back to his home on many occasions and introduced him to his wife, Yvette, and his two sons, Nicolas and François. There he tried to demonstrate that the French had many virtues, knowing that no matter how much he tried, how much he gave, it could never be enough.
The Guillotine Choice Page 4
