Alain Mabanckou - Black Bazaar

The henchmen burst out laughing and praised the presidential sense of humour which, according to them, the King of Fools always exercised. They scrupulously noted down what they referred to as “the President’s humoristic nuggets”.

After a little while, the King of Fools stopped laughing. He returned to the attack, as if suddenly bitten by a mosquito:

“Hold on, hold on, hold on, oh no, oh dearie me no, there’s something wrong with this story … You’re saying it wasn’t Moleki Nzela I just saw over there, eh? All right, but a man still got away on the other side, and if it wasn’t that bloody idiot of an opponent Moleki Nzela, then tell me who the fugitive was, eh? Isn’t that what I pay you for?”

One of the men, the shortest one who always had an answer for everything, tried to calm the King of Fools:

“Mr President, allow me to point out that there are a lot of girls on Mama Fiat 500’s plot of land …”

“So?”

“It’s their trade. And she’s their boss.”

“So?”

“Just as there are lots of girls, so there are also lots of men who come, who leave, who sneak out by the back door because they need to keep things hush-hush, it’s like that every day …”

“Yes, but there is only one Mama Fiat 500 inside! And anyway, you get up my nose, you’ve always got an answer for everything! Well then, shit, that is why you are not tall!”

“Allow me to offer my apologies, Mr President …”

“I suppose you think I’m impressed by your degree from Sciences Po?”

“Not at all, Mr President …”

“Do you realise that I fought in Indo-China?”

“Of course, Mr President, all the textbooks for our History remind us of this fact …”

“Do you realise that there are important people who study my place in the history of political ideas in this world? Do you realise that even de Gaulle and Pompidou were frightened of me, eh? Do you realise that when I cough France catches the flu, eh?”

“Quite so, Mr President …”

“Well, I’ve had enough of short men like you, tomorrow you’re fired! You will hand back your black Mercedes to the presidency, along with your villa by the river! Find me a tall man, you imbecile, and preferably one without a degree from Sciences Po! What I’m asking for right now isn’t rocket science: I want to know who that man was who just left my Mama Fiat 500’s place, do I make myself crystal clear?”

Seeing as the short man with an answer for everything had gone very quiet and teary-eyed, the tallest of the four ventured:

“Mr President, I don’t have a degree from Sciences Po, and I’m tall, one metre ninety-three centimetres as a matter of fact … With your permission I would simply like to remind you that your Mama Fiat 500 may be the boss of these girls, but she is yours, and yours alone, Mr President. She only does that thing with you, nobody else may touch her. That said, she does have to eat, to feed herself as it is written in the Constitution that you yourself drew up with wisdom and sagacity, and I quote, if I may be so bold, the sublime Article 15 of our supreme Law: “All citizens, both men and women, must find a way of getting by in life and not wait for help from the founding Father of the Nation …”

The King of Fools was startled:

“That is very badly written! Very, very badly written, that Article 15! Are you sure it’s in my Constitution by me, that?”

“Yes, it’s in your Constitution by you, Mr President. And in addition, Article 17 as modified by …”

“All right, all right, you can spare me your opinion of-no-fixed-degree! You sat the exams for all the degrees in France but didn’t get a single one, and now you dare open your mouth to talk to me about the modification of my supreme Law? Did I ask for your opinion, eh?”

“No, Mr President …”

“Well then, shit, don’t open your mouth unless what you have to say is more beautiful than silence! I know my law, because it’s my law, and because I am the law!”

“Right you are, Mr President …

“Let us return to serious matters: who was the character I saw leaving Mama Fiat 500’s place if it wasn’t Moleki Nzela, that complete fool of an opponent who criticises me on the cable channels of Europe with the tacit support of the Whites who are jealous of our diamonds and our okapi, eh?”

Another bodyguard shyly took over:

“Mr President, with your permission …”

“How tall are you, eh?

“One metre sixty-three centimetres, but I get up to one metre sixty-seven centimetres when I wear the Salamander shoes they sell in the Lebanese shops in the centre of town …”

“What have you got to say on the subject of this man who vanished on our approach?”

“As a matter of fact, Mama Fiat 500 has a little business going with the girls …”

“And what has that got to do with anything?”

“What I mean is, there are other customers who come for these other girls …”

“I still don’t see the connection!”

“These customers have to go in to Mama Fiat 500’s private sitting room …”

“What for?”

“To pay for their session, they don’t pay the girls directly, they pay the boss and …”

“Hold on, hold on, hold on a minute … You’re not as stupid as I thought, you’re the best!”

“Thank you, Mr President …”

“So you’re saying that the character who just left is a customer who came for another girl, not for my Mama Fiat 500 who’s mine?”

“Exactly so, Mr President …”

“Well, that does indeed change everything!”

“Mr President, we should be discreet and not hang about even if we are in an unmarked car, either we’ve got to leave or you’ve got to go and find your Mama Fiat 500 …”

“This is true … But how did I never notice you were so talented before?”

“Because my other colleagues are taller than me, and it’s hard to see me especially when I always walk behind them …”

“So why were you hiding how smart you were from me? Why were you letting these other idiots with their foul-smelling mouths do the talking, eh?”

“They are my bosses, Mr President …”

“Well from this minute on, you are their boss!”

“Thank you, Mr President …”

“I have to go in now.”

“Please do, Mr President, we will guarantee your cover as usual …”

A few days later, when the King of Fools returned to the premises, with the same henchmen, he witnessed the same scene being played out. It was indeed Moleki Nzela who had managed to return to the country opposite by travelling via our country. The four men were first of all dismissed for offences against national security, then eliminated without trial.

From now on four new hefty guards accompanied the King of Fools to Mama Fiat 500’s with, as their secondary mission, laying a trap for Moleki Nzela.

Just as Moleki Nzela was coming out of Mama Fiat 500’s shack, two henchmen grabbed him, immobilised him and forced him to swallow hemlock.

“At least he’ll die a philosopher’s death,” remarked one of the henchmen.

The news that did the rounds in the country opposite was clear: Moleki Nzela was dead following a long illness in a Brussels hospital. The President in his boundless generosity, the press release pointed out, would pay for his funeral and promote this worthy son of the country to the rank of Hero of the Revolution …

* * *

I switched off the telly and the light, and fell asleep thinking about how the new opponent who had just been murdered in Africa would also be promoted to the rank of Hero of the Revolution because “the dead are all brave men”, as the singer from Sète would have said …