Rawi Hage - De Niro's Game

I stood up to leave. She shouted, Please, tell me. Please.

I kept silent and walked out of her house.

Bassam! Dis-moi, Bassam. Dis-moi quelque chose, putain , she shouted after me.

I walked toward the river. I sat on a bench and looked at the passing water and the returning clouds. Then I made a decision. I stood up and walked back to Rhea’s place.

I buzzed the doorbell, but Rhea did not answer. I went across the street and called her name, but she did not answer. I waited, and ten thousand cars passed, and I watched and inhaled their fumes until one of them stopped on the street. I recognized Roland sitting inside it, along with the man I had beat with the pipe. I walked back behind a wall and watched Roland get out of the car. He leaned through the window; the two exchanged a few words. The man in the car nodded like an employee, and Roland walked away and buzzed Rhea’s bell.

NOW I WAITED on the streets of Paris with the impatience of a hungry lion for night to come. It rained, and still I waited and watched every fading light, every single ray that left and disappeared to the other side of the earth. And when night ascended from beneath the rivers, I rushed to the bridge where I had thrown away my gun. I saw a small fire flickering and a couple of old men around it, nursing a bottle of wine with their miserable palms and their toothless lips. I walked straight to the rope I had left there, and pulled it, but a weight held the gun from coming back to me. I fought the ten thousand devils who held on to the other side of the rope. Like the steady motion of the waves, they all counted to three and pulled away from me at the same time. I wrapped the rope around my arm and pulled it back toward me with all my strength, but the devils mocked me with their hairy, hunched backs, their featherless wings, their thick, meek, spiteful chanting voices. They rejoiced as they watched me clinging to the river stones and the metal beams, shifting from side to side and hovering above the unlit waters.

I walked into the river, and my feet plunged into the reflection of the old men’s fire that danced on its surface. I waded into the river and pulled the rope from under the weight of sand and wicked litter. I advanced toward the ten thousand creatures underneath the banks of the river, and the water magnified my feet and made me seem like a giant warrior on a fearless path to hell. Slowly, I liberated the rope from the weight of open cans that clinked like metal crosses, and chased the demons away. I plunged beneath the water, and the men behind me watched me sink. They shouted and called me back; they asked me to change my mind and not to listen to the current and its diabolic sirens.

But I, with my bare hands, dug into the soil beneath the river and pulled out the bundle of nylon, and I felt the weight of my gun again. I held it under my arm. I rushed to the edge of the polished stones, and I scrubbed the rope around the nylon until it broke, and my gun was freed.

I walked above the wet streets and into the city gates with an arm in my hand.

THERE WAS WATER UNDERNEATH ME, AND WATER WITHIN me, and water from above me fell from the clouds.

I covered my gun with my jacket and walked back to my hotel. Before the concierge had a chance to squeeze out a comment about my wetness, I took the stairs to my room. I pushed a chair against the door. I took off the dead man’s clothes I had been wearing and left them dripping on a chair. Then I took a warm shower, put on my old clothes, stole the soap in the bathroom, packed my belongings, and slipped down the stairs to the basement and out of the hotel through the kitchen to the little alley outside.

The rain had stopped.

All night, I rode the trains to nowhere. I watched doors open and close, swallowing humans, moving them from one place to another. I sat in the corner of the train, just as George always had. Always sit with your back to the wall, he used to say, and let your gun hang loose.

After midnight, the trains stopped, and I got off nowhere. I contemplated staying at the station, but there were police officers on a regular beat there. So I walked, and when I got tired, I sat in back alleys behind restaurant doors. I smoked and counted the little drops of rain that tumbled through the walls and whirled against the city’s lamps.

IN THE MORNING, I called my hotel. I had decided to give Linda her tip and apologize for my devouring, lusty looks, and for chasing her with my eyes. Is Linda working today? I asked.

Linda?

Yes, the cleaning girl.

The voice paused, then said, No, it is her uncle’s turn today.

What time does he finish work?

At noon.

AT NOON, I WAITED on the street outside the hotel.

When I saw the old man, I followed him. He had a bag under his arm and walked with his head down, close to the walls, counting cobblestones.

I followed him, and from behind, I shouted, Señor! Señor!

The old man turned and stopped. He did not recognize me.

I said, Señor, I am the man in room 201.

He turned and walked away. I trotted beside him like a dog, dipping my head and searching for his eyes.

Señor, I want to talk to you.

He was silent.

Señor, I just wanted to tell you that I regret what I said to Linda.

Now he stopped, looked me in the eye, and said, You people think that you can take advantage of poor working girls.

No, señor. I have respect, señor.

Respect. He paused, then said, She was afraid. She has to see men like you all the time. This old man, the night before, was playing with his thing. He knew she would enter, so when she knocked at the door, he did not answer. She is a good girl, and you people. . He said something I could not understand in Portuguese and walked away.

Señor, I said. Please give Linda my regards, my respects. Tell her I am sorry and that she is a beautiful girl.

No.

Please, señor! I said and trotted beside him some more.

Young man, you come to this country, and you do nothing. I left Portugal at your age. I took Linda after her father was killed by Salazar. I worked to raise my niece and she is a good girl. You are not worthy of her hair! He waved his hands in the air around his chest.

Yes, señor. Yes, I am. I am worthy.

No, you are a man in trouble.

Why do you say that, señor?

The police came yesterday to the hotel and searched your room.

Police?

Yes, two policemen.

Are you sure they were police, señor?

Go away now, stop following me, he said.

Did one of them have a bandage, señor?

Go away.

Did he have a bandage on his head? Please, señor, tell me.

Yes! Now go away.

Señor, thank you, and tell Linda that I will always remember the way she flips the bedsheets, and her round, beautiful eyes. Tell her that I will wear black that matches her long lashes.

Conyo , he cursed me, with his fist in the air, and he walked on, counting the cobblestones, mumbling to the walls, descending to the trains, and cursing, echoing, spitting at the ground.

I CALLED RHEA.

Do not call me any more, she said. Or maybe call when you are ready to tell me something worthy. I am tired of your clinging and your secrets.

I have a meeting with Roland at his house before I get on that plane to Canada, but I lost his address, I lied.

35 rue Fouchons, she said. She hung up immediately.

I took the train, and then walked to Roland’s place. From across the street I watched the entrance to his house. Soon, I saw the man I had beaten with the pipe, driving his big car. I waited until he dropped Roland off and left, and then I rushed to the door and entered the house behind Roland. I pulled out my gun and stuck it near his liver.