Rawi Hage - Cockroach

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Cockroach: краткое содержание, описание и аннотация

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Cockroach
De Niro's Game
The novel takes place during one month of a bitterly cold winter in Montreal's restless immigrant community, where a self-described thief has just tried but failed to commit suicide. Rescued against his will, the narrator is obliged to attend sessions with a well-intentioned but naive therapist. This sets the story in motion, leading us back to the narrator's violent childhood in a war-torn country, forward into his current life in the smoky emigre cafes where everyone has a tale, and out into the frozen night-time streets of Montreal, where the thief survives on the edge, imagining himself to be a cockroach invading the lives of the privileged, but wilfully blind, citizens who surround him.
In 2008,
was a finalist for the Scotiabank Giller Prize, the Governor General's Literary Award, and the Rogers Writers' Trust Fiction Prize. It won the Paragraphe Hugh MacLennan Prize for Fiction, presented by the Quebec Writers' Federation.

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I walked back to Abou-Roro’s alley that same night. I turned up the volume on his radio. And I said in his ear, Tomorrow at noon. How much should we stiff him for?

A thousand dollars is good.

Do you have it?

I will get it tomorrow morning, he said.

The next morning, Abou-Roro whistled from below my balcony. I put on my shoes and walked downtairs. He handed me a big bundle of lira.

At noon, come to the falafel store, I told him. The girl sitting with me will be the one doing the transaction. When I give you the sign, rush back to the corner and wait for the Armenian’s son.

At noon I met Rima. I paid for lunch. She was self-conscious and wore heavy makeup that day.

Abou-Roro came in and sat at the table behind me.

I talked to Rima and told her that I was leaving on a trip to Cyprus for a few days. And I needed to exchange some money with the Armenian. But, I said, he and I have had a quarrel. I explained to Rima that the Armenian’s rate was better than the bank’s. I could ask my sister to do the exchange, I said, but the Armenian knew her, and he would know that I had sent her. I asked Rima if she could do the exchange for me. She agreed; she was very willing. I pulled out the bundle and said, Just tell him that you need a thousand U.S. But Rima, I added as I laid my hand over her hand, with the money between our palms, please do not give him the money before you make sure you see the dollars in his hand first.

She agreed.

I gave Abou-Roro the signal and he zoomed away.

I waited. I smoked. Fifteen minutes passed, and Rima came back. She was agitated and confused, and told me that someone had mugged the Armenian’s son. The kid had come back bleeding from his nose. She pulled out the bundle of lira from her purse and gave it back to me, apologizing.

I assured her that it was okay, and I apologized for putting her in such a situation. I walked her back to the store. She pushed open the door, smiled at me, and thanked me for the lunch.

When I came to this point in my story, I looked at Genevieve. She had a completely blank expression on her face.

Doctor, I said, is our time up yet?

She thought a little before she answered me. And then she said: No, we still have time. I have no other appointments until four. Why don’t you finish the story for me?

It might take a while, I said.

Yes, that’s okay. I want you to finish it for me.

I can see that you’re thinking, doctor. I am curious to know what you are thinking. You are probably thinking about how I used that innocent girl, right, doctor?

Go on with the story for now.

No, I want to know what you are thinking.

It is not important.

Yes, it is. It seems like you are judging me.

What I think is not important.

Then why are we having this conversation, doctor?

I will tell you what I am thinking after you tell me the whole story.

I am not sure I want to, I said, stubbornly.

Fine, Genevieve replied. You can leave, then.

But I stayed. No, I said. I will tell you the whole story. And if you have nothing to say about it I will never come back here.

Finish the story, and we’ll see.

Fine, I will show you who I really am. And it is not pretty, doctor. It is not.

And who do you think you are?

You tell me, doctor. But first, here is the rest of the story, since you insist.

Genevieve. You can still call me by my name.

Two weeks passed, doctor, and then one day when I came into my parents’ home, I heard the cries of my sister’s baby. My sister saw me and quickly went into the bedroom and shut the door. But I had seen her clothes on the sofa. I pushed at the bedroom door and she tried to stop me from coming in, telling me that she was not decent, telling me not to come in. But I pushed open the door, and then I saw her bruised face. I pulled out my gun from under the mattress. She screamed and stood at the door, blocking my way. She screamed and followed me in her nightgown down the stairs, barefoot, begging behind me all the way down our street. Wailing, calling people to stop me. But I left her behind and I walked with the purposeful walk of an executioner, the walk of the vengeful. I walked, doctor, like a prince going to battle.

The first place I went to was the gambling joint. But Tony was not there. I walked to his home. I knocked at the door, but no one answered. For hours I paced up and down at the entrance to his building. Finally I went up to the roof to scout for his droopy moustache and his Jeep. Then I went back to the gambling joint. There I walked back and forth again. I smoked and held on to my gun in the empty hallway between the dirty stairs. Then I left and banged on Abou-Roro’s door. I told him, I want you to find him.

Calm down, Abou-Roro said. Calm down. That is not the way to do it. I will find out where he is for you. But do not do anything today. Just promise me. We’ll do him and get something out of it. Let’s go back to our plan, he said.

I walked back to my parents’ home. When my sister saw me she attacked me with her fists and nails, she shouted and cried, she called me crazy, murderer. She took the baby and walked back to her home.

The next morning, Abou-Roro whistled below my balcony and I went down to meet him. The man is at the gambling joint, he told me.

When I tried to rush back up to get my gun, he grabbed me. Stop and listen to me. You kill him in front of everyone, his men will never forgive you. They will hunt you down like a dog. Think. He held my shoulders and shook me. Think. Just be calm. And be smart, like I always taught you. We can get some money. You can do what you have to do and go away.

Go where?

The world is big. You can’t just leave without money. I will get you a ticket and a fake visa, and then you can split. Just be smart. Is your sister working today?

She is.

Good. I will go to the joint and tell Tony that your girl at the store told me that she saw your sister with the old man. Just go quickly and get a car. Where is the baby?

She left Mona this morning with my mother. My sister won’t go anywhere with us without her baby.

Can you get it?

Yes, I will tell my mother I am taking it for a stroll.

Do that. I will wait for you to come down, and then I will leave. Take a taxi from here to the store to get your sister. I will walk back to the gambling joint to talk to Tony.

I went upstairs. My mother insisted on dressing Mona first. I did not protest because I did not want to seem like I was in too much of a hurry. But I managed to get the baby, and then I took the taxi. I asked the driver to wait. I went inside the store. Joseph Khoury was there, but when I asked Rima where my sister was, she told me my sister had had to go back home. Her husband had called her. I handed Rima the baby and ran through the streets. I went up the stairs to my sister’s home. The door to the apartment was open. When I entered, the first thing I saw was the broken mirror, then the brute’s eyes, red, and then I heard him breathing heavily, his hand on the dining table, his eyes looking at the floor. I recognized the shoes, then the open palm, then the exposed thighs.

She is dead, he said.

I pulled out my gun and stretched out my arm.

Do it, he said, calmly breathing.

I couldn’t pull the trigger. I couldn’t.

I stopped speaking. At first Genevieve said nothing. Then she said, Did you regret it?

Not pulling the trigger?

Yes, she said.

Not anymore.

Do you regret anything?

My greed. Greed, doctor. It is my greed that I regret. Humans are creatures of greed.

Aren’t all creatures greedy? she said gently.

No, doctor. Other creatures only take what they need. That is not greed.

I stood up. I did not and could not cry. I walked out of Genevieve’s office without looking at her.

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