Yasmina Khadra - The Angels Die

‘Maybe. As time goes on, the only person you can still deceive is yourself. The God who created me wasn’t too sure about me. He stuffed me in a cupboard and I can’t stand to be gathering dust any more.’

‘You always landed on your feet, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, but I’m not a child any more. I’ve reached the age where you have to face facts, and the facts aren’t good. I met a girl,’ he said abruptly. ‘A girl from Tlemcen, as blonde as a ray of sunshine. I was ready to settle down, I swear. Her name was Rachida. She said to her cousin, “Sid brings light into my life.” Her cousin laughed and said, “And when you switch off the lights, how do you find that Negro of yours in the dark? Especially when he closes his eyes?” … I decided never to see Rachida again.’

‘You were wrong.’

‘It’s words that ruin everything, Turambo.’

‘I thought you were stronger than that.’

‘Only beasts of burden are strong. Because they don’t know how to complain.’

He admitted that he expected nothing of the future, that the die was cast and that, if he pretended to enjoy himself as he had this evening, it was simply to make the best of a bad job.

‘Chawala used to say, “Life is nothing at all; it’s up to us to make something of it,”’ I reminded him.

‘Chawala was crazy; he didn’t even have his own life.’

His tone was full of sadness and disappointment, and he punctuated his words with sharp gestures.

A drunkard we hadn’t noticed in the darkness moved the tip of his nose into a beam of light and said to Sid in a thick voice, ‘Excuse me, son. I haven’t been eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help hearing what you said. I feel sorry for you, with your stories, except that you have an ace up your sleeve: youth. Believe me, it’s those who go through hell when they’re young who get tougher as they grow old. When I was thirty, I was rolling in money. Today, at sixty, I’m wading through shit. Nothing can be taken for granted, and no misery is insurmountable. The good life is all bluster. You laugh as you lie to yourself, you take it easy as you sink, you don’t give a damn about other people and you don’t give a damn about yourself. But poverty, now that’s serious. You take it on the chin and that keeps you alert. Whatever you say, nobody hears you. You learn to count on nobody but yourself.’

Sid Roho wasn’t convinced. ‘I’ve seen how the rich live,’ he grumbled. ‘From a distance, it’s true, but I’ve seen them stuff their pockets and have a good time. Well, with all due respect, I’d give all of my youth for a single one of their nights.’

We sat for a long time on a flagstone, hopping from one subject to another. Behind us, the group of gypsies were bringing the house down. We heard cheers and applause, but something was stopping Sid and me from enjoying the celebration.

Some time later, Gino joined us. When I hadn’t come back into the hall, he had imagined the worst. He was relieved to find me safe and sound. I introduced him to Sid. The three of us decided it was time to go home.

On the way, Sid teased a few whores before taking up the offer of a big woman with overflowing breasts. Naked under her green tulle, she merely had to flash her enormous behind for Sid to abandon us on the spot, but not before he and I had agreed to meet in the Haj Ammar café, at the entrance to the Arab market.

I saw Sid again the next day, and over the following few weeks. We spent our days wandering around different neighbourhoods or scouring flea markets. Sometimes, he would come with me to De Stefano’s gym, although he’d always be gone by the time I finished my training. Nor did he come to my match with Sollet, whose trainer was forced to throw in the towel in the fifth round. De Stefano had invited quite a lot of people to celebrate my sixth victory in a row and Sid refused to join us, claiming that he had some urgent business to deal with. In reality, he didn’t much like the fact that I was mixing with Roumis. He didn’t dare reproach me openly and waited until he was drunk one night to tell me: A man who tries to sit between two chairs ends up with a crack up his arse. I had no idea he was referring to me.

At first, Sid gave the impression he hadn’t changed a jot. He was funny, a bit scatterbrained, but engaging, even fascinating … It didn’t take me long to become disillusioned. Sid wasn’t the same as before. Oran had made him even crazier. He reminded me less and less of the kid I had loved in Graba, the famous Billy Goat who laughed about everything, even his own disappointments, who knew just what to say to cheer me up when I was down and had a head start on all of us. That was ancient history. The new Sid was randy, wild-eyed and foul-mouthed. I wasn’t sure if he’d matured or if he’d gone bad; either way, he worried me.

‘Why did you start drinking?’ I yelled at him one night as he staggered out of some shady dive, his shirt open.

‘To have the courage to look at myself in the mirror,’ he replied immediately. ‘When my head’s clear, I turn away quickly.’

I didn’t agree with what he was becoming. I reminded him he was a Muslim and that a man had to remain sober if he didn’t want to lose control.

Sid railed against me as he walked through an Arab neighbourhood, crying out, ‘God would do better to take a look at all the lousy things that happen in this world instead of spying on a failure who drowns his sorrows in a glass.’

I had to put both hands over his mouth to muzzle him, because words like that were capable of starting a riot in our neighbourhoods. Sid bit me to break free and continued blaspheming at the top of his voice, while passers-by looked at him menacingly. I really thought we were going to be lynched on the spot.

I pushed him up against a wall and said, ‘Find a job and get on the right path in life.’

‘You think I haven’t tried? The last time, I applied to a wholesaler. You know how that son of a bitch greeted me? Do you have the slightest idea how that fat, red-faced pig greeted me? He made the sign of the cross! He made the sign of the cross like an old woman who sees a black cat run across her path at night! Can you imagine, Turambo? Before I’d even come into his shop, he made the sign of the cross. And when I offered my services, he dismissed them with a wave of his hand and told me I was lucky not to have chains on my feet and a bone through my nose. Can you imagine? I told him I was the son of an imam and a child of my country. He laughed and said, “What does your black father know how to do apart from knocking up your mother and wiping the arses of his masters’ dogs?” He added he had no maids to marry off and no dogs in his house. He was proud of his words. The find of the century! Where does he know my father from, eh? My father would have dropped dead on the spot if he’d heard that, he was so pious and had such respect for my mother. You see, Turambo? We aren’t worth anything these days. They insult us and then they’re surprised that we’re hurt, as if we didn’t have the right to an ounce of pride. Rather than put up with insults like that, I prefer to keep my distance. There’s nothing for me, Turambo. Not on earth and not in heaven. So I take what belongs to other people.’

‘Some of our people have succeeded. Doctors, lawyers, businessmen …’

‘Oh, my God, why don’t you take off your blinkers, boy? Look at the masses begging around you. Your heroes aren’t even allowed to be citizens. This is our country, the land of our ancestors, and we’re treated like foreigners, like slaves from the savannahs. You can’t even go to a beach without them sticking a notice in your face telling you Arabs aren’t allowed. I saw a kaïd revered in his tribe called a lousy Arab by a mere white ticket seller. You have to think about these things, Turambo. The facts are there in front of you. You might try to disguise them, but the truth shines through … I refuse to be nothing but suffering. An Arab doesn’t work, he gets fucked up the arse, and I don’t have an arse that’s big enough. Since nobody’s handing me anything on a plate, I grab a good time for myself where I can. Hunger and deprivation have instilled this philosophy in me: live life as it comes, and if it doesn’t come, go looking for it!’