Kaya Days
Page 8
And even if he didn’t find them, if they’d fled with the others through a rear door, although he hasn’t seen any other doors, the one thing he’d definitely find would be the abandoned sleigh bed with rumpled sheets burned by the first sparks and them nowhere and some people, the last ones, pushing and shoving with their arms full of Valentine’s Day teddy bears and plastic Christmas trees, Get out of the way you idiot, beat it, I swear to you, and one of them would slap him so he’d get a move on, There’s no time to explain, or just because he’s not Creole, but that can’t be what happens, What are they up to in there, Where’d they come from, Where’d the other one go who ended up here with the Black guy in the huge bed that everybody wanted, getting so hot and heavy with that two-faced bastard that they forget about him sitting outside, reigning over the empty parking lot from his armchair throne on the table while everybody’s running and yelling, they’ve all smelled smoke and where there’s smoke…everybody knows, what’s the point of explaining in these days when there’s nothing to do but run, there’s only one door, the front entrance, she’ll be with Ronaldo Milanac, he wouldn’t have left her to protect the big bed all by herself after completing the first two labors. All by herself. No, he wouldn’t have abandoned her. Ram hasn’t seen Ronaldo come out. Even from within the armchair’s clutches, Ram would have seen, Ram would have known. Maybe they cleared out, maybe they haven’t even turned back to look for him or warn him, it’s hard for him to be sure, but deep down he’s sure, he’s absolutely sure, he has to accept it, but he’ll never be able to say it to the police who’ll never come or will come too late, he doesn’t have the words to describe these wild days with so much fire, so he’ll say whatever to anyone who asks, investigation after investigation, he’ll parrot back whatever they say.
As for Ma, he won’t tell her a thing either. He won’t have the time to, because she’ll leave straightaway, she won’t even ask him, Where’s your sister? She’s never asked him that. She’s always asking Santee about him, and he resents her for that. But both of the women are gone now, and he’s stuck in the armchair atop the table, everyone can see he’s all alone. He has a feeling the policemen are going to lock him up with the others, they have to be up to something, No, of course this kiddo doesn’t have to be thrown in with the others, Sure he does, doesn’t matter how young they are, when they’re raised in the cité, even the littlest ones know how to steal and start fires and throw stones or Molotov cocktails, Can’t you see he’s not even Creole, Creole or not, who knows how many nights he’s been out, listening to the older guys brag about fires, break-ins, looting, they have to be up to something, Ram is sure of it, he’ll play along, but why haven’t Santee and Ma come to find him yet, nobody’s coming.
CARL DE SOUZA is a writer born and living in Mauritius. He graduated with degrees in biology and math from the University of London before pursuing a career in education at various levels. He has led an intense sports life, mainly in badminton, which is the background of one of his novels. He has published short stories and six novels in France, of which Kaya Days is his first to be translated into English.
JEFFREY ZUCKERMAN lives and works in New York City. After a degree in English from Yale University, he became a translator from French of authors ranging from Ananda Devi and Shenaz Patel to Jean Genet and Hervé Guibert. He has been a finalist for the TA First Translation Prize and the French-American Foundation Translation Prize, and has been awarded a PEN/Heim translation grant and the French Voices Grand Prize.
TRANSLATOR’S NOTE
My thanks to Ariel Saramandi and Khatleen Minerve, without whose bagaz ek duser this translation would not have had half its kouler.
And to Carl de Souza—for his amiability, his open welcome to Mauritius, and this liv etonan.