Yasmina Khadra - The Angels Die

The mayor held a huge reception to celebrate my victory. I didn’t go. I didn’t want to display my wounds to satisfy people’s curiosity.

Irène asked me where I’d been. I told her I had waited for my face to start looking more the way it had before so that she could recognise me. Her father wasn’t well. Confined to bed in his untidy room, his skin sallow, the sheets stained with sweat, he summoned up the strength to hug me to him.

‘Jérôme the milkman told me,’ he said. ‘Quite a match, it seems. The whole village followed it on the radio, biting their nails. I’m proud of you.’

Irène went away, leaving us alone, no doubt exasperated by her father’s words.

‘Sit down next to me,’ he said. ‘I want to smell your warrior smell. Do you realise? You’re the new North African champion. I’d give anything to be in your shoes. I suppose you haven’t quite grasped your achievement yet. It’s fantastic … What about Bonnot? They say he’s hovering between life and death.’

‘Who isn’t, Monsieur Ventabren? Who isn’t?’

I went out into the courtyard. Irène was bent over the edge of the well, staring down at the bottom as if looking into a deadly mirror.

‘Do you realise what you’ve done?’ she said. ‘You’ve killed a man you didn’t even know. Do you ever think of his family, his children if he’s married?’

I didn’t feel up to challenging her.

Filippi found me lying at the foot of a tree. Irène had left on her mare, abandoning me to my thoughts. Since I’d left the clinic, the same questions had been nagging at me relentlessly. I had to make a choice and I wasn’t feeling my best.

‘We’ve been looking for you everywhere,’ Filippi cried, pulling up level with me.

‘I’ve been looking for myself too, and I can’t seem to get hold of me.’

‘The Duke wants to see you.’

‘Not today. I need to be on my own.’

He left disappointed.

Next day at the gym, I surprised everyone by announcing my decision. If a bomb had gone off in Rue Wagram, it wouldn’t have caused such a shock. De Stefano almost choked. Francis, Tobias and Salvo all looked at each other, thoroughly shaken. Frédéric, who was just coming out of the office, almost fell over backwards. As for Gino, the blood completely drained from his face.

‘What’s this all about?’ Francis cried.

‘It isn’t about you. I’m making a fresh start. I’m through with boxing.’

A crushing stupefied silence fell over the room. Nobody had expected me to give up. Wasn’t I the centre of the world now? Wasn’t my name on everyone’s lips? For a long while, they just stood there, stunned.

‘Have we done something wrong?’ Frédéric said at last, in a toneless voice.

‘No.’

‘Then why are you punishing us?’

‘It’s not about punishment, it’s my life.’

‘You’re the new North African champion, Turambo. Do you realise how happy your people are? You’re the one topic of conversation in the streets, the cafés, the houses, the factories, the prisons. You have no right to stop when things are going so well. Your life isn’t just your own any more, it’s an epic tale that belongs to everybody.’

‘Don’t try to sidetrack me, Frédéric. I’m not listening to you.’

Gino leant against the wall. Bent double, he gave a terrible groan and threw up.

The others were still speechless.

Frédéric dabbed at his temples with a handkerchief. He was as white as his shirt collar. ‘Let’s not rush things,’ he stammered. ‘You’ve worked hard in the last few months. You’ll feel better after you’ve taken a break. You certainly deserve it. It’s only natural, the pressure you’ve been under has taken a toll on your nerves.’

‘Why don’t you tell the Duke?’ Francis thundered, foaming at the mouth. ‘Why have you come to piss us off with your mood swings? It’s Monsieur Bollocq who coughs up the money for you, not us. Go and tell him to his face, if you have the balls for it.’

‘Shut up!’ De Stefano shouted, on the verge of jumping on him.

‘It’s for him to shut up,’ Francis protested. ‘Does he think he can get away with this? Monsieur here believes he’s already made it. He thinks he can cold-shoulder us, that he can just waltz in and out as he likes. He isn’t alone in the world. There are people around him, people who depend on him. He can’t just allow himself to bow out as he sees fit. What are we to him? Skittles to be knocked down? We have families, we have kids to feed. This bastard is suffocating us. It’s blackmail. He wants to bring us down, force us to kiss his dirty feet. He’s always been like this, ungrateful and narrow-minded. I swear he’s doing it deliberately.’

‘Get out of here before I tear your eyes out!’ De Stefano threatened him. ‘Go on, clear off!’

Francis straightened his jacket and stormed outside, stopping only at the door to say, ‘I knew from the start you were nothing but an out-and-out bastard. I knew you’d bite the hand that fed you one of these days. Everybody knows that if you hold out your hand to Arabs, they pull you down. The other problem is that when they get to the well, they don’t drink, they piss in it. That’s why they poison everything they touch and bring bad luck to anyone who goes near them.’

He spat in my direction and walked out.

Frédéric thought it was too soon to tell the Duke of my decision. He was playing for time. Two days later, he invited us to his villa near Choupot. The meal was served in the garden, in the shade of a scruffy palm tree. The whole team was there, except Francis. De Stefano looked as if he was at a funeral. Salvo and Tobias, who had stopped bickering, were like two orphans. Gino had lost weight overnight. Nervous, he went to the toilet every fifteen minutes.

When the maid came to clear the table, we realised that none of us had touched the food.

Frédéric lit cigarette after cigarette, his hand shaking. ‘We all need to have had a childhood,’ he said at last. ‘It gives us stability. That didn’t happen with you, Turambo. Hunger and poverty took yours away. It’s left a gap in your life. And the first woman you met has filled it. What you think is love is nothing but a return to childhood, and children don’t love with reason, they love out of instinct.’

‘Who said anything about a woman?’

‘It’s obvious.’

‘Have you been spying on me?’

‘We look out for you.’

‘You’re backing the wrong horse, my boy,’ De Stefano said. ‘You won’t win at that game. You have to push that mirage away if you don’t want to lose control. You have a career to build, rings to conquer. Only blows are capable of waking you up to reality. The day you raise your arms above your head to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd, the whole world will throw itself at your feet, and then you’ll be able to choose the woman you want without owing anything to anyone.’

‘Is it you talking to me like this, De Stefano?’

‘Yes, it’s me, it’s really me talking to you like this. How would you live without your gloves? Doing little jobs that bring in nothing, just like before?’

‘I’ve made enough money to start again from scratch.’

‘You can never make enough money for your old age, Turambo.’

‘I’ll get by. I’ll go back to the land. I’m a peasant.’

De Stefano shook his head sadly. ‘I have a wife and kids. In the evening when I go home, I find them waiting for me. The first thing they look at is what I have in my hands. If I bring something to eat, they relax and take it off me before I’ve even closed the door. If my hands are empty, I become invisible to them. I don’t want you to have to endure the same thing, Turambo. Love is made up of dreams and generosity; it can’t survive when you’re broke. You’re a champion. Your destiny lies in your fists. Make yourself a pile of money and then you can do whatever you like with your life. For the moment, you’re still scrambling about at the bottom of the ladder. Don’t waste your energy anywhere but in the ring.’