Rawi Hage - Carnival

Let’s go for a stroll down to the river, I said.

No rivers, Fly. The only liquid I need to see right now is in a glass in my hand. You go ahead to your river. How many chances do we get to speak to a journalist and a colonizer?

I beg your pardon, sir, said the Frenchman. I am not a colonizer.

Well, let’s talk Algeria then. Let’s talk about your culture and your celebrated writers.

At this point I told Otto I was leaving. I offered to give him a ride back to his place. But Otto stayed, drinking and talking to the French journalist.

I drove to the nearest station and filled my car with gas. I picked up a bag of peanuts. I ate it and went looking for work.

ONCE LINDA DISAPPEARED for days and she left her son alone. She was getting high in a crack house. Luckily, Otto had decided to visit Tammer that week. Aisha was in the hospital and had been asking for him. But when Otto entered the apartment he saw the boy hungry and dirty, his face full of snot and drenched in tears. The neighbour woman, hearing Otto arrive, opened her door and said, That kid has been whimpering like a puppy. He’s been asking for food. The woman stood there frowning. She looked Otto in the eye and said, I was about to call the cops. If the kid’s mother can’t take care of the child, someone should. The city has got to know about this.

Otto assured her that all was well and immediately closed the door and took Tammer in his arms. He opened a can of Chef Boyardee spaghetti that he found on an upper shelf and heated it.

Soon Tammer was shoving the food inside his mouth and looking at Otto with droopy eyes of disbelief and sadness. Otto called Fredao, shouted, and ordered him to come at once. After Tammer finished eating, Otto took him to the bathroom and gave him a bath, and then he combed his hair, put him into his pyjamas, fixed his bed, told him a story, and tucked him in to sleep. He washed the dishes and tidied the house. He picked up the clothing that was lying all over the floor and lit a cigarette and waited for Fredao.

When Fredao got there, Otto opened the door and grabbed him by the collar. He pushed him against the wall and said, You fix this mess.

Fredao pushed Otto away and went over to the neighbour’s apartment. Fredao smiled and introduced himself as the father of the child, saying that the boy’s mother had been in an accident and had been taken to the hospital, and that he had been coming to look after Tammer but got held up in a long traffic jam and his car broke down. He’d had to wait for the tow truck. . You know, Fredao said, when it rains, it pours.

The woman didn’t buy a word of it. She looked at Fredao’s flamboyant hat and flashy suit and said, The kid is skinny: he has always been skinny, ever since I’ve known him. He comes here and begs for food. I give him candy, but I ain’t his mother, I shouldn’t be giving him food. I think somebody else should take care of him. You people are not doing a good job.

Fredao smiled and said, We appreciate your concerns, ma’am. Here is something for your trouble.

Are you trying to bribe me, mister? The woman filled the hallway with her shouts. This kid is about to starve to death. Do you think I will watch a child suffering and be quiet?

Well, ma’am, like I said, it is for your trouble. You gave the kid some candy and in return I am giving you something sweet. There are two ways to taste things in life: the sweet way and the bitter way. I didn’t offer you the bitter because I like to start with the sweet, but if people don’t want my sweets I have no choice but to offer the bitter way. Now, what is it going to be, lady, this or that?

I ain’t calling this time. You can keep your stuff to yourself. And the neighbour slowly and reluctantly closed her door.

AND NOW, YEARS later, here was Tammer knocking at my door. It was morning and I had just fallen asleep after a long shift. I heard banging, and then a voice calling: It’s Tammer. Open up!

I let him in. He looked much older and skinnier than I remembered. When I asked him about his mother, he asked me if I had any coffee and doughnuts.

I can boil some coffee, but no doughnuts, I said. What’s up?

Otto wants to see you, Tammer said. It’s urgent. He said to bring him some booze, cash, and food.

Where is he?

He’s staying with us.

Your mother’s place?

No, under the bridge.

Let’s go, I said.

When we arrived, I looked at the traces of campfires and the pigeon bones, the empty booze bottles, and the hobo clothing scattered around on the ground. Otto emerged from behind a cement column that was spotted with bird droppings. He looked hungover and cold. I handed him a bag with the food and alcohol, and an envelope with a bit of cash. He broke off a piece of bread and opened the screw-top of the wine and started to gulp it down. Tammer had stayed in the taxi and I could see him fiddling with the radio dial.

You know what our problem is, Fly? Otto said. No matter how much we try, the rituals and the symbolism beat us. You’ve brought me bread and wine. He started to laugh. It must be my last supper. He laughed again and then he said, They’re coming to get me.

Who is coming to get you? I asked.

I killed a man last night, Fly.

You killed a man.

Yes. I killed that journalist.

He moved away from the dark and into an open space. The cars above us rattled and shook the metal beams of the bridge. I stood there not knowing why I was paying attention to the sounds that shook and rattled above us. And suddenly I repeated, You killed a man.

It just happened, Fly. I don’t know how. It felt feverish, I felt as if I was under a blasting sun. We were talking about Camus and I thought of Algeria and its million dead. I can’t remember pulling the trigger. I remember telling the journalist that Camus was an asshole. The journalist answered, Yes, but he was a great thinker nevertheless. I insisted: An asshole, you hear me? Anyone who supports the colonial power to deprive the indigenous of their rights and their land is an asshole. And people like you supported the Pieds-Noirs , you and your republic are assholes. And then the Frenchman turned his back on me and left to sit at another table. .

I left, Fly, and I was going to go home, but I kept on thinking of Algeria. . I waited in the alley until he came out and then I followed him to his hotel. I think I put the clown nose on my face. It was in my pocket. And I had my gun. After that I don’t remember. It was dark. We were in an alley. I made him repeat the names of places, Napoleon’s Spain, Haiti, Vietnam, Algeria. The man started to cry. My gun was up against his head, Fly. I remember him telling me, You don’t need to wear a mask. You don’t need a gun. I know who you are. We can talk like two civilized people. But then I made him repeat: My country is not civilized, my country is not civilized, I am not civilized, I am not civilized, Camus was not civilized. . and I felt something rush to my head, almost like a heat wave, and the gun went off and the man was on the ground. I don’t remember what happened next. I must have been drunk. The gun just went off, Fly. I don’t remember. Fly, I can’t remember.

And Otto ran his hand through his hair, which looked clumped and greasy. I offered him another cigarette and I pulled out my lighter, and he sheltered my hands with his hands to protect the fire.

I told him I would help him and I asked him what he wanted to do.

I will be moving around for a while, he said. I won’t let them catch me, Fly. I am not going back to that asylum.

The gun? I asked.

I am keeping it as a last resort.

Throw it in the river, I said.

I told you, Fly, I am keeping it as a last resort. Capture and submission are no longer options. But I can’t stay here. This play is almost over. And we should know when to bow and when to leave.