Michael Pearce - A dead man in Tangier

‘It will do no good,’ said Renaud.

‘Of course not! But sometimes it is desirable to let feelings be expressed.’

Renaud was silent. Then he said:

‘As long as it doesn’t get out of hand.’

‘A few students?’

‘It could spread. I’ve seen this sort of thing before. A few people. You think it is nothing. But then suddenly other people are drawn in, and the next moment it is spreading like wildfire. And the moment after that the whole town is ablaze. I’ve seen it, Monsieur Seymour, I’ve seen it. You don’t know these people. Volatile. Excitable. You’ve got to stop it before it catches fire.’

‘Let them shout their heads off for a bit,’ advised Seymour. ‘And then have a word with them. Tell them to go home.’

‘But while they’re shouting, others will be hearing.’

‘Make sure they stay in the building. And then it doesn’t matter if anyone does hear them.’

‘But suppose they run out? I only have a few policemen-’

‘Go in and talk to them, then. Tell them they’ve made their point. You’ve let them do that. Now it’s time to go home.’

‘But will they listen to me? Suppose they don’t?’

‘They’ll listen to you if you talk to them in the right way.’

‘They’d listen a lot more if I had a few soldiers here!’ said Renaud, glancing around nervously.

The students had occupied a large block of the college and festooned it with banners. Students were leaning out of windows and shouting slogans. As Seymour listened, a chant began. Soon they were all joining in. Seymour didn’t need to understand the words. Something like ‘French out!’ presumably.

Renaud left him and went to talk to some of his policemen.

Awad appeared at a door.

‘This is a free zone,’ he declared. ‘A free Moroccan zone!’

‘Now, lads-’ began Renaud.

He was greeted with a chorus of jeers.

‘Come on, lads, this won’t do! You’ve got to stop it. You’ve got to go home.’

More jeers.

‘Never!’ said Awad. ‘We shall not go home until Morocco is free!’

Now there were cheers as well as jeers.

‘You see?’ said Renaud, retreating.

Seymour saw Chantale standing at a door down the side of the building. She was surrounded by students and was writing furiously.

He walked round to her.

‘How’s the occupation going?’

‘It’s making its point, don’t you think?’ asked Chantale.

‘That rather depends on what’s said in the newspapers.’

‘Alas,’ said Chantale, ‘I’m the only newspaper.’

‘I thought there were dozens of you? Spanish, French, English-’

‘That’s what I told them,’ said Chantale. ‘It looked as if they were going to try beating up the students otherwise.’

‘Are they going to go home when it gets dark?’

‘This is the last day of Ramadan. Tonight everyone will break their fast. Usually they have a splendid feast. I don’t think the students will want to miss that.’

Some more students came up and buttonholed her.

Sadiq came out of the door, saw Seymour and went up to him.

‘Brilliant, isn’t it?’

‘Fantastic! I congratulate you.’

Sadiq looked around.

‘I rather expected Benchennouf to be here,’ he said. ‘We told him what we were going to do and he was very pleased. “The revolution starts here!” he said. So we rather expected him to come. But I don’t see him, do you?’

Awad joined them.

‘I expected more people to be here!’ he said, vexed. ‘I expected ordinary people to rise up and join us!’

A small group of Moroccan officials had appeared at the end of the street.

‘Ah! There’s my father!’ said Awad, and ran back inside.

A moment later he thrust his head through an open upper window and began shouting. Others joined him.

Renaud was talking to Suleiman Fazi.

‘It’s getting out of hand,’ he said. ‘We ought to act now.’

‘Well, go on: act!’ said Suleiman Fazi.

Renaud looked around.

‘I’ve not got enough men,’ he said. ‘I need some soldiers.’

‘Not soldiers!’ said Suleiman Fazi.

‘Soldiers,’ muttered Renaud, preoccupied, and hurried away.

‘Don’t let him!’ said Seymour.

Suleiman Fazi shrugged.

‘I can’t stop him,’ he said. ‘Can’t do anything. I’m just the Minister.’

Chantale had been listening.

‘Tell him to stop!’ she said urgently. ‘They’re not really doing anything. Just shouting.’

‘He won’t listen to me. Nor will the French.’

‘They’ll listen to me!’ said Chantale and hurried away.

Seymour walked over to the students.

‘Can I talk to Awad?’ he said.

‘Why are you carrying that lance?’

‘It’s a souvenir. To remind me of Morocco.’

Someone went to fetch Awad.

‘Congratulations!’ said Seymour. ‘You’ve done very well. Brilliantly. As good an occupation as I’ve seen! And, believe me, I’ve seen some.’

‘In England?’ said Awad, pleased.

‘And in Istanbul,’ said Seymour, stretching a point.

‘Well!’ said Awad, beaming. ‘Well!’

‘You won’t mind if I suggest something? The trouble is with demonstrations that they usually fizzle out and the whole point is lost. People drift away. Don’t let them. End by triumphantly marching off. You’ve made your point. You’ve made it brilliantly. Now disappear and leave them gaping!’

Awad looked thoughtful.

‘Do you know,’ he said, ‘the mosque is saying something rather like that, too. They say this is Ramadan and we ought to behave ourselves. This is a holy festival and we ought not to have arranged our demonstration for during it.’

‘Well, look,’ said Seymour, ‘you can put that right, can’t you? Take yourselves off and say that you are doing it to ensure that Ramadan ends in the right way.’

‘I went in to see him,’ complained Renaud indignantly, ‘and he turned me away! “Do your own dirty work!” he said. Well! It wasn’t like this in the old days, I can tell you! “Do your own dirty work.” I’m doing his dirty work. What can I do with a handful of policemen in a city of this size? When there is an emergency on this scale.’

‘Nothing, cher collegue! Nothing.’

‘I’ve a good mind to wash my hands of the whole affair.’

‘Why not?’

‘Well, one feels… one feels…’

‘Responsible?’ suggested Seymour.

‘Exactly. Responsible. Somehow.’

‘ Collegue, they are talking of withdrawing by this evening.’

‘They are?’

‘It appears so.’

‘Well… Well, that puts a different complexion on things.’

‘If I were you,’ said Seymour, ‘I’d pull back your men to the end of the street. Or even into the next street. Where they’d be ready if needed but not too conspicuous. So as not to be too provocative. It would be foolish at this stage to provoke an incident, wouldn’t it?’

‘It certainly would!’ said Renaud, much relieved. He went off to give the necessary orders.

‘What can I do?’ asked Suleiman Fazi.

‘Congratulate Awad on the sense of responsibility he’s shown and on his zeal to stand up for freedom. And then ask him if he’s coming home to share the Ramadan meal with you.’

‘I will,’ said the Vizier. ‘I will!’ and he walked forward to speak to the insurgents.

‘All right?’ Seymour asked Chantale, as she appeared round the corner.

‘All right,’ said Chantale. ‘Lambert said the army was not to be used for every little incident. Besides, he doesn’t like Renaud.’

‘Why did he let them get away with the raid on the hotel?’ asked Seymour.

Chantale looked at him, surprised.

‘He was new in the job,’ she said, ‘and hadn’t yet picked up the pieces.’