‘He’s polite.’
‘I don’t suppose that’s the only thing.’
‘There are others.’
‘How is he in bed?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘From what I’ve heard, their women don’t have orgasms. Not surprising, when you think their men ejaculate before they even get hard.’
‘I must go, André. I left my gas mask at home and there’s a really nasty smell coming from you tonight.’
André again seized Irène by the arm and drew her to him. She pushed him away. As he returned to the attack, I grabbed his wrist in mid-air and forced him to move back. He glanced around; much to his relief, nobody was taking any notice of us. To save face, he shrieked, ‘Never put your dirty ape hand on me, you little shit, or I swear by all that’s holy I’ll thrash you in this very square until you’re just blood and pus … I’m a police officer. You don’t want to stick around here, trust me. If you’re still here in ten minutes, you’ll spend the rest of the night at the station.’
For Irène and me, the party was over.
We set off back to the farm.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said to Irène as we passed the last orchards in the village.
‘It’s not your fault. I thought André had calmed down, but he’s got worse.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Someone I used to know. Someone who thinks he can get away with anything.’
‘He called you George. Isn’t that a man’s name?’
She burst out laughing and wagged her finger at me. ‘I see through you, Monsieur Turambo. But it’s not what you think.’
When we got to the farm, she walked with me to the outhouse. Salvo’s snores could be heard through the walls, making the window panes shake. They sounded like a faulty engine. Even the crickets seemed intimidated by his nasal thundering, which would have kept the boldest of predators at bay.
‘Are you going to be able to sleep with that din, champion?’
‘I’ll manage.’
‘Sorry about the dance,’ she said. ‘I’d have liked to teach you a few steps.’
‘Another time, I hope.’
‘People are stupid.’
‘Not all of them.’
‘You think we should have stayed?’
‘That wouldn’t have been a good idea.’
‘You’re right. That idiot would have come back. I didn’t want him to get you into any trouble.’
‘I’d have left of my own accord. The police really scare me.’
She nodded. Just as I was about to open the door of the outhouse, she put her arms round my neck and pressed her lips to my mouth. Before I had time to realise what was happening, she was gone.
She didn’t put the light on in her room.
Nor did she join us for breakfast the following morning.
I thought she had gone to seize the day, as was her habit, but her mare was in its stable.
I didn’t dare ask Ventabren where his daughter had gone. That day, I ran in a void. I didn’t see the paths or the rocks. I didn’t even feel my legs, let alone my efforts. My stride had no rhythm. The bushes fled before me. I was a wandering obsession …
Salvo, Ventabren and I had lunch in a cathedral-like silence. The table seemed to have tripled in size. The tasteless food stuck in my throat.
The only thing that kept me on earth was the gentle touch of that kiss on my lips.
Irène …
Her absence turned the farm into a gloomy enclosure where I was running around in circles. The walls were nothing but heaps of stones, the landscape an accident, the countryside a shipwreck waiting to happen.
I waited for evening. Evening came, but not Irène. The sun had gone down, but I was still up. There was no light in the window opposite.
Early the following morning, Salvo told me he was going back to Oran. He’d got out of bed on the wrong side. He didn’t know what he was doing in this godforsaken hole. ‘You don’t listen to me, you don’t take my advice, you don’t follow my programme. In the circumstances, I don’t see what use I am.’
He stuffed his clothes in a bag and began walking towards the asphalted road.
I didn’t try to stop him.
I set off to do some feverish sprints as far as the mountain. As if I was fleeing my own shadow.
I was getting my breath back in a clearing when I heard neighing behind the thicket. It was Irène. She tied her mare to a bush and sat down next to me. Her shirt was steaming in the sun, her forehead was red and her eyes glistened with a sort of wild intoxication. She picked up a branch, twisted it, then started breaking it into little pieces. Her breathing drowned out the rustling of the foliage. I waited for her to speak but she said nothing.
‘Is it because of what happened at the dance?’ I asked, to break the silence.
‘Don’t be silly.’
‘I thought you were giving me the cold shoulder because of the incident with the policeman.’
‘If only that was all.’
‘Where did you go yesterday?’
‘I stayed in my room.’
‘All day?’
‘Yes.’
‘Didn’t you put the light on?’
‘No.’
‘Were you sick?’
‘In a way.’ At last she turned to me and looked me straight in the eye. ‘I spent the whole day and night thinking.’
‘Thinking about what?’
‘About that moment. I kept asking myself if it was a good idea or if I should hold back. A really difficult exercise, weighing the pros and cons. In the end, I told myself nothing ventured nothing gained.’
She grabbed me by the back of the neck and pulled me to her. Her mouth devoured mine. And it was in that clearing, where the chirping of the cicadas had conspired to silence the uproar in my chest, that Irène gave herself to me, between a bush and a praying tree, right there amid the profusion of gold coins scattered by the sun on the ground like a generous prince. No ecstasy could have equalled the thrill that went through me when our bodies became one.
4
Filippi had received strict orders. If you have to tie him up, tie him up and bring him to me before midday. Filippi didn’t want any problems with the Duke. Pale and stammering, he begged me to get my things together and follow him. It was as if his fate depended on the mission that had been entrusted to him. I looked at Irène; she stood by the well, hands on hips, smiling. Out of pity for Filippi, she nodded to me to pack my bags.
‘Thank you, Madame,’ Filippi stammered. ‘You’re really helping me out.’
‘I won’t be so lenient next time,’ she warned him.
As soon as I took my seat in the car, Filippi set off at top speed, doubtless afraid I might change my mind. I turned to wave at Irène, but she was already walking back to the stable.
Gino stopped me at the entrance to the Bollocq offices. While waiting for us to be seen by the Duke, he showed me his office on the second floor with a view of the courtyard.
‘You haven’t wasted any time,’ I said.
‘Best to strike while the iron is hot.’
‘What do you actually do?’
‘A bit of everything. I negotiate contracts, explore deals, check the accounts … The Duke is training me. He has plans for me.’
He was looking better, more handsome, as he got older. He just had to flash one of his smiles and he’d be forgiven any rudeness. His hair, now light chestnut, was starting to darken at the temples, adding a hint of manliness to his charm that was in marked contrast to his angelic air. I understood why nobody could resist him, why the girls sighed over him and the Duke was so generous. I think I was jealous of him. Gino didn’t need to make much effort. He could have had the moon on a silver platter if he’d asked for it.
He motioned me to a chair and poured me a glass of lemonade.
‘How’s it going with Louise?’ I asked.
He frowned. ‘Who told you about that?’
‘I saw you flirti
ng with her.’
‘Nothing definite for the moment,’ he said, annoyed by my indiscretion.
He flopped into the chair behind his desk, every inch the young nabob. He couldn’t yet put his feet up on the desk, as was appropriate for those who climb the social ladder on a flying carpet, but he took his ease with a certain detachment. His suit was impeccable, and he wore gold cufflinks and a chain bracelet on his wrist.
‘Does the Duke know what you’re up to?’
‘What’s your problem?’
‘You know the Berber proverb: the hen lays an egg and the cockerel gets a pain in the arse.’
‘Don’t worry about me.’
‘No, I don’t suppose I need to.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Did the Duke talk to you about the plane tree?’
‘What plane tree?’
‘The one down in the courtyard.’
‘Why should he talk to me about the plane tree?’
‘Forget it,’ I said, aware that I was distracted. ‘So, how’s the fight with Cargo coming along?’
Gino stared at me for a moment or two, bewildered by the mystery of the plane tree, then, making himself even more comfortable in his padded armchair, said, ‘It’s coming along fine. If you win, the North African champion won’t be able to wriggle out of it. He’ll be forced to meet you. We’re going to work twice as hard,’ he said with sudden enthusiasm. ‘That title belongs to us. The Duke wants it at any cost. For the city, and for all of us. You can’t imagine the trouble he’s going to for you, the money he’s spending to make you king of the world.’
‘No joy is complete if it isn’t shared.’
Gino gave a start, increasingly intrigued by my insinuations. ‘I don’t follow you, Turambo. What are you getting at?’
‘Nothing.’
‘You seem bitter.’
‘I felt good at the farm.’
‘It was the Duke who decided to bring you back.’
‘Don’t you think I should have a say in the matter? I’m the one who’s doing the work, aren’t I?’
‘Yes, but I’m the one who’s spending the money,’ the Duke growled, coming into Gino’s office.
He was in his shirtsleeves, with big patches of sweat under his armpits, and he was frowning. Gino stood to attention. The Duke motioned him to sit down again.
‘Do you think I don’t know?’ he yelled at me, waving his cigar under my nose. ‘I sent you to the farm to work, not to fall for that prick-teaser. You have no excuse.’
Gino started wiping his forehead with a handkerchief.
‘You’re behaving like a spoilt child, Turambo,’ the Duke went on, ‘and I’m not used to indulging spoilt children. When are you going to get it into your head that you have obligations? Do you know where Marcel Cargo is right now? In Marseilles. In a camp cut off from the world. Preparing for his fight with you. Even the press can’t get to him. He’s working like a dog day and night. No booze, no girls, no films.’
He threw his cigar out of the window and came back to me, his mouth quivering with rage.
‘As of today, as of now, as of this moment, I don’t want to hear any more about your escapades. You’re going to get back to work, and every evening I want to see a carafe filled to the brim with your sweat. Marcel Cargo also wants the title. For your information, Olivier, the manager of the French champion, has said he wouldn’t like to see his boy fight Cargo. That shows you the level he’s at. I haven’t slept since I heard that.’
The Duke had settled on a drastic programme. For the next ten days, I didn’t have a minute to myself. It was one training session after another, at a frantic pace. In the morning, I would run on the beach. In the afternoon, I trained constantly at the gym. At night, Gino and Frédéric watched over my sleep, double-locking me in my room. I needed their permission to go to the toilet. Once I was in bed, the lights were switched off as if we were in a barracks. But in the dark, there was nothing to stop me thinking about Irène.
One Sunday, I claimed a family emergency and took a bus to Lourmel. I’d had enough of waiting. Fatma had gone home to give birth and there was nobody to take care of Ventabren. So I was hoping to find Irène at the farm, and there she was.
She asked me to stay for lunch. Afterwards, we retired to the outhouse and made love.
The next day, after training, I refused to follow Gino and Frédéric to Boulevard Mascara. Gino protested, tried to reason with me, but I wouldn’t give in. I needed them to back off. Without Irène, the night was a deadly abyss. Filippi agreed to drop me outside Larbi the fruit seller’s hut, provided he didn’t go back without me. Nor would he drive all the way to the farm. He didn’t want to be seen there, because he might be fired. I accepted his offer.
The following nights, with or without Filippi, I saw Irène. Much to Gino’s dismay. But by six in the morning, I was back in Oran, right as rain. I would train intensively to make up for having ‘deserted my post’ the previous night.
‘If the Duke hears about our little outings,’ Filippi grumbled, ‘he’ll hang us on his coat rack.’
I didn’t care.
My nights with Irène were worth the risk.
Gino told me he was going on ahead to Bône with Frédéric and De Stefano. The Duke needed a team on the spot to supervise the preparations for the fight with Marcel Cargo. I went with them to the station to make sure it wasn’t a diversion. Once the train had left, I took a taxi to join Irène. We kept Ventabren company for much of the evening, then put him to bed. There was a fair in Saint-Eugène. Irène agreed to go with me.
The fair was in full swing. Families in their Sunday best bustled around the stands, some fishing for bottles, others shooting at cardboard targets. Loud old men, their sleeves rolled up to reveal withered biceps, attempted the high striker, much to the joy of the children. Mysterious fortune tellers looked for prey in the crowds. A garishly made-up clown juggled, surrounded by a flock of laughing kids. Everyone made merry, but I only had eyes for Irène, who looked wonderful in her guipure skirt. In that crowd, she was like the Pole Star in the Milky Way. She was wearing a pretty blouse decorated with fleur-de-lys, open at the neck; her black hair, hanging loose over her shoulders, emphasised her fine features. Young men turned to look at her as she passed, wolf whistles following in her wake. Irène burst out laughing, rather flattered. A squad of tipsy Zouaves started gravitating around us. I said a few words in Arabic and immediately we were left alone. I fired at rabbits for Irène without hitting a single one. Probably because of my over-excitement. I was so happy, and so proud when she put her arm round my waist. I’ll never forget that night. The lanterns and the stars in the sky all shone for us. I was rediscovering a lost world, feelings that were far from original, of course, but they were very intense. With Irène beside me, I was having the time of my life. She marvelled at everything, cheered the entertainers, happily lost at games, laughed when I too failed. It was magical. We had a snack at a stall, standing amid the throng, biting into our burning-hot sandwiches; we rode wooden horses on a merry-go-round packed with children. I don’t think I’d ever laughed so much in my life. I was laughing for nothing, laughing without reason, laughing because Irène was laughing. On the dodgems, where the vehicles mercilessly crashed into each other, parents were encouraging their kids to hit harder. Irène was game for a ride. There were no women on the track, but I didn’t care. Not for anything in the world could I have refused her her fun. There was a long queue in front of the ticket office. We waited our turn, jostled by soldiers who were the worse for drink and attempted to grope the women. A hand tried to touch Irène’s skirt; I showed my fist and the lout beat a retreat. We got in the cars and set off to attack the other drivers. The collisions lifted us out of our seats and we laughed uproariously. Irène was enjoying herself like a schoolgirl. The lights flooded her face with contrasting colours. She was happy; just watching her, I felt more content than I had ever thought I would be.
Intoxicated with ourselves, we lef
t Saint-Eugène towards midnight, our heads buzzing with excitement, breathless but delighted.
It was late and there were no buses for Lourmel, and no taxis either.
‘I’ll have to learn to drive,’ I said. ‘That way, when I buy a car, we won’t have to keep checking the time.’
To tell the truth, I hadn’t looked for a taxi. I was hoping to force Irène to spend the night with me on Boulevard Mascara. Much to my delight, she didn’t see anything wrong with that.
‘Is this your place?’ she asked when she saw the flat.
‘It’s my friend Gino’s. He’s gone to Bône.’
‘I see,’ she said, giving me a knowing wink. ‘Could you run me a bath?’
‘Right away. I’ll heat the water.’
When she had finished washing, I brought her a big beach towel. She was standing in the bath, naked, hair plastered to her face. My hand shook as I wiped her back.
‘You have a mark on your buttock,’ I said.
‘It’s a birthmark.’
‘It looks like a red fruit.’
‘It’s a strawberry.’
She got out of the bath, took the towel from me, dropped it on the floor, took me by the hand, laid me down on the bed and covered me with her body.
Day was breaking; we hadn’t slept a wink. We wanted to savour every moment, we wanted the night to belong to us. We were monarchs in a room that was too small to contain our lovemaking; we no longer had to be quick about it, to make love on the sly. It was the first time in my life I had loved without constraint or anxiety, without a maid coming and knocking at the door or a client waiting impatiently in the corridor.
I would have liked the day to forget us, the minutes to reinvent themselves so that time could take its time. But time can’t be tamed. Day was breaking, and we had to leave a little of our dream for the future.
‘I leave for Bône on Tuesday,’ I said with regret.
‘What for?’
‘For my match with Marcel Cargo.’
‘Oh …’
‘It’s a very important match.’
The Angels Die Page 26
