‘Little present for you. I’m shutting up shop and going home.’
His gaze lights on the screen. The image shows a woman on all fours being mounted by a dog – a white Great Dane with black patches, and he’s panting, tongue hanging out. It takes Étienne’s breath away. You don’t often see that around here in Pondange.
There’s a pause in negotiations. The managers have asked to be allowed to consult each other and Amrouche and Hafed have left them alone in the boardroom. During the break in discussions they do the rounds of the offices and take stock of the occupation. Amrouche enters the room where Étienne and Karim are chortling and thumping each other, glued to the computer, shoulder to shoulder. In one corner of the screen, a man is fucking a woman doggie-style, medium-close shot of their arses moving. Amrouche, deeply shocked, mutters a few exorcisms and goes out, slamming the door behind him. The noise makes Karim jump. He emerges from his reverie and his business instincts kick in.
‘Can you make me a quick copy of the images? You’re good at mucking around with these machines, then you enlarge them, we make a nice little diskette that I can sell for a good price. I’ve got the customers, and we go fifty-fifty.’
‘Brilliant. Wait, it won’t take a minute.’
Étienne rummages in the cupboards, finds some diskettes, inserts one, starts copying. The operation takes three minutes, the time it takes to light the joint and have a few tokes with Karim who pockets the diskette and vanishes in the direction of the cafeteria.
Étienne carries on smoking and daydreaming. How much would he make on the deal? A thousand francs? More? He looks back at the screen. The images have disappeared and his gaze is drawn to the name of a file he recognises. Nourredine Hamidi. Nourredine, my friend in packaging? Beneath the name is a sort of bank statement, a series of dates scrolls past, figures listed as debits, credits, and at the bottom of the list, the total assets: a hundred thousand francs. He toggles from file to file, suddenly paying close attention. Other names appear, also with bank statements, mostly unknown, but here’s one with the name of holier-than-thou Amrouche. Not bad, a hundred and fifty thousand francs. And a little further down, Rolande Lepetit, fifty thousand francs only, poor old Rolande, always unlucky. And Maréchal, another two hundred thousand francs. Seniority has been taken into account. Initial reaction: They’ve got a stake in the company, they’ve done better than me, even Rolande with her prissy air. Second reaction: Hold on a minute, if Nourredine’s got a packet in Daewoo, why’s he going on about bonuses? He doesn’t give a shit about bonuses. Who’s side is he on? And Rolande, made redundant? I’d be surprised. Have to get to the bottom of this.
Étienne finds Nourredine asleep on a chair in the lobby and shakes him.
‘You didn’t tell us you had a packet stashed away in Daewoo, you dark horse.’
Nourredine surfaces groggily.
‘Will you stop pissing around.’
‘Come with me, let me show you your bank statement. Right now, you’ve got more than a hundred thousand francs.’
‘You’re either drunk or stoned.’ Nourredine gets to his feet heavily, shaking his throbbing head, and makes for the toilets.
Drunk or stoned. What kind of an answer is that? Shocked, Étienne runs up and down the corridors to round up the guys.
‘Nourredine, Rolande, Maréchal, and a load of others are receiving millions from the bosses of Daewoo, come and see, I’ve found the list of payments on one of the computers …’ They laugh, and nobody moves … ‘There are porn movies too.’
‘Why didn’t you say so to start with?’
Just then, two women come running in from the cafeteria.
‘Come quickly, a fire’s broken out in the main corridor.’
The offices empty. Nourredine dithers then goes into the boardroom. Silence falls at the sight of his swollen face and bloodstained clothes.
‘Hafed, you’re in charge of security. Come on, you’re needed here.’ Hafed leaves the room and the two men disappear in the direction of the factory.
Étienne is disgusted. Nobody’s interested in the things that matter. A fire’s broken out, you’ve got to be kidding. Another dustbin fire. I’ve seen one or two a month since I’ve been here. Whereas finding out whether Nourredine’s getting money from Daewoo, yes or no … Ah well, it’s their problem. Find Aisha, she’s bound to be in the cafeteria and suggest another visit to Nourredine’s prayer mat. And then, he’s going home, he is. Pissed off with all these arseholes.
Karim’s tired too, and beginning to feel bored. Rolande is standing over the cooker in the cafeteria and there’s a lovely smell of fried onions. I’ll have a bite to eat, and I’m off. Nothing more doing around here.
Dense black smoke fills a section of the central corridor. People are running in all directions looking for fire extinguishers. Many are missing, others are empty. Hafed finds one, removes his shirt and ties it around the lower part of his face like a mask, puts his jacket back on next to his bare skin and dives into the black cloud. He gropes his way to the blazing bin and douses it with foam, then knocks it over and kicks away the smouldering rubbish. Then Nourredine arrives with an extinguisher found underneath all the stocks and finishes the job. The smoke slowly disperses through the door at the end. Breathless, the two men stand a few metres back. Nourredine gazes at the blackened sheet-metal wall, the floor strewn with rubbish and mounds of foam melting into puddles seeping towards the factory floor. Is he perhaps thinking of the offices with their fitted carpets and pastel decor? He slides down on to the floor and sits cross-legged with his back against the sheet metal, his breath still rasping.
‘It’s disgusting.’
‘Don’t complain. We had a narrow escape. The sprinklers in this place don’t work and the extinguishers are either empty or not working. We bring it up at every health and safety meeting, and it makes no difference.’
Nourredine, who recalls larking around with a bunch of guys on the waste ground squirting each other with foam from the extinguishers, looks away. Hafed walks towards the dustbin now lying on its side, and indicates a dozen or so charred remains with his foot.
‘Maybe someone added some embers to this dustbin.’ A silence. ‘I suddenly feel as if I’m sitting on a bomb.’
‘Didn’t the security guards say that they’d take care of security?’
‘Yes, you’re right. We’ll go and have a word with them at the gate.’
Outside, the night is pitch black. The overturned car is still there, but at first glance it looks as though the Korean has managed to extricate himself. The porter’s lodge is brightly lit from the inside, and the two security guards watch them approach with a little smile. Nourredine is immediately on his guard: something smells fishy.
‘Aren’t there supposed to be some of our people in here round the clock to control all the comings and goings?’
‘Yes. But I suppose in the excitement everyone went off to occupy the offices.’
‘We’re really useless.’
‘More to the point, we’re new at this. You can’t make things up as you go along. And those with the experience, who’ve done it all before and could help us, aren’t here. We’re doing our best.’
As soon as Nourredine pushes open the door, the older of the two security guards launches an attack:
‘So, you’ve let the prisoners go already? Maybe it wasn’t worth all the fuss, guys.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘The CEO has just left the factory with the entire management team.’ Nourredine feels himself deflating like a burst balloon, crumpling into himself. ‘No more than ten minutes ago.’ Sounds reach him muted and distant, Hafed and the two security guards shrink and retreat in silhouette. ‘Amrouche opened the gates for them, and they left on foot, scarpering like rabbits.’ The man laughs. ‘We didn’t lift a finger, guys. This is your affair, not ours.’
Nourredine sits down, his head aching more and more, his vision blurred. He’s suffocating. The temptation is
to drop the whole thing and go home. The women there: his mother and his sisters, his very young wife … Move to another job, the little chip stall in the market square …
‘I don’t get it, Hafed. Can you explain?’
‘What do you expect me to do? I was with you when the fire broke out, remember? When you came to get me from the boardroom, Amrouche was suggesting we let the junior executives depart. We’d just done the round of the offices, and there were only about twenty of us occupying. That seemed too few to hold so many managers. We were deciding to hold the five most senior managers. I don’t know what happened after that.’
No, I can’t drop it now, not after we forced the juggernauts back, the overturned car, the invasion of the offices, this strength, never felt it before, men among men, the friends who listen to me, the trust, I’m someone else, I talk, I act. Not now. He gets up, takes a couple of steps, grabs the day book. No mention of the managers’ departure and the opening of the gates, nothing about the dustbin fire. Only one rather terse entry: 17.15, the security patrol notifies us of cannabis dealing on the waste ground behind the factory. Given the general insecurity caused by the personnel’s occupation of the factory, and after having taken orders from our superiors, we feel it is wiser not to include the waste ground in our round. He feels a surge of anger, and suddenly his energy comes rushing back.
‘You’re not doing your job. Where were the security guards during the fire alert? Where is there any mention of the fire? The only thing you’re interested in is damaging the workers’ reputation.’
He tears the page out of the day book and holds it between two fingers, at eye level.
‘Hafed, have you got a lighter?’
He takes it and emphatically sets fire to the sheet of paper, then watches it go up in flames very quickly. A few charred remains fall to the floor. Then he gives the lighter back to Hafed, spits on the ground and leaves the porter’s lodge.
Nourredine and Hafed head towards the cafeteria, where they presume everyone will have gathered. Nourredine walks on in silence, frowning, letting out the occasional groan or odd word. Hafed watches him out of the corner of his eye, concerned to see him seething.
In the brightly-lit cafeteria, small groups are sitting around tables shouting, heatedly debating and making a great deal of racket. The two patrol guards are standing in front of the coffee machine, rummaging in their pockets for change. Amrouche is sitting alone in a corner, drinking coffee. Nourredine strides across the room, making a beeline for him. He’s cleaned the blood from his face and hands, but his nose is caked with dried blood. There are blue and green rings under his eyes and his clothes are covered with dark red and blackish stains. Some people didn’t recognise him when he came in. He is greeted with silence. He stops beside Amrouche, climbs on to a table, turns his back on him and addresses the group gathered in front of him in a loud voice.
‘You’re a traitor, Ali. We held a weapon in our hands, and you disarmed us.’ Amrouche throws away the empty cup. He looks tired but placid.
‘We took the only sensible decision that’s been taken all day. If you would just calm down …’ Nourredine pretends not to hear him.
‘There’s one option left, since you stole our boss from us. There are the chemicals stored behind the factory. First we go and get them, then we can break the warehouse door down. We remove them and store them in the packaging section, under close guard, and if the bonuses aren’t paid, we pour them into the river tomorrow at midday. Maybe tomorrow evening, but no later.’
Amrouche gets to his feet and plants himself in front of Nourredine, at the front of the tight group surrounding him.
‘Nobody will do that in this factory. Over my dead body, do you hear? How many of us are there here, have you counted? Eighty at the most. How many should we be? Three hundred and sixty to three hundred and eighty. Where are the others? At home. Your strikers are already in a minority. We wanted Rolande to be given her job back, and now all the talk is of bonuses. We’re not capable of occupying the factory properly. The workers are wandering about all over the place and getting up to all sorts of stupid things. Anyone can just walk right in, there’s no proper security. When we heard that a fire had broken out, I decided to have the managers evacuated. Do you think you’re capable of preventing a nutter from setting fire to the place? You know damn well you’re not. Each time you run into difficulties, you become more violent and fewer and fewer people follow you. Your idea of pouring chemicals into the river is a terrorist tactic. Pour a barrel of acid into the river and we all go straight to jail, and for as long as they like. You also know as well as I do that no one – no one, do you hear? – in Pondange will lift a finger to defend us. Because we’re Arabs, because this factory is seen as a mere annex of the unemployment office. There’s no real work here, we’re being kept off the streets, and we’re paid out of taxes. You know very well what the people of Pondange say. What’s more, to them Arab and terrorist are one and the same thing.’ He turns to the audience in silence. ‘To be slung into jail like terrorists, is that what you want?’
Nourredine goes pale and gasps for breath. He stutters: ‘Terrorist, terrorist, I’m no terrorist.’ Hafed puts his arm around his shoulders and makes him come down from the table and sit down, then he speaks.
‘What’s done is done. We can’t undo it and we must stay united. As long as we’re in occupation, we hold on to the stock and that’s our bargaining tool. Tomorrow, we resume negotiations. Now, the most important thing is to get organised. Organised,’ he repeats. ‘All day, we’ve rushed around non-stop. Now it’s time to stop and get organised. We need a team in the porter’s lodge coordinating everything. A team in the offices, to restore some order, find out where the records are kept, sort out the documents we seized from the car. Tomorrow we’ll examine them to find out why they wanted to smuggle them out. And two teams to patrol the building all night, to completely empty the factory, gather all the people hanging around here, in the cafeteria, and take care of security. Those who are not on the first watch stay here and sleep, and take over at three a.m. Tomorrow at seven a.m., general meeting here to decide on the next step.’
Hafed and Amrouche are standing side by side: ‘Let’s vote. Those against?’ Only five hands are raised in opposition to Hafed’s proposal. Proposal accepted.
Nourredine, who is so choked he can no longer speak, leaps to his feet and punches Amrouche in the stomach. Hafed steps in, touches his arm and steers him outside to the car park. They walk in silence. As he gets his breath back, Nourredine slowly becomes aware of the moonless night, the pungent smell of damp earth, trees and mushrooms, the abnormal silence filled with furtive sounds, birds most likely, or animals, on the river banks. A light wind has risen, blowing down from the plateau. A night filled with stories of another life. He starts to breathe again, slowly, painfully, feels his broken nose.
‘I’m knackered, Hafed. I want to lie down and sleep here for a bit.’
‘No way. We’ve decided to get everyone together and you’re not going to set a bad example. If you’ve calmed down, we’re going back in, you’re going to have a wash, eat something and then sleep. I’ll take the first guard duty. You’ll take the second. Tomorrow, think about tomorrow. We’ll win.’
Nourredine is sleeping on a table in the canteen covered by tablecloths with a pile of napkins under his head while Amrouche goes to supervise the restoration of order to the offices. In the porter’s lodge Hafed is collecting reports from the various patrols and writing them up in the day book, when Étienne bursts in yelling:
‘Fire behind the warehouse … It’s spreading everywhere … Help …’
By car, bicycle, on foot, the entire valley has turned out to watch the factory blaze. The police and the fire brigade have erected a safety barrier and onlookers are gathering on the roundabout, having abandoned their cars wherever they happened to be. It is a spectacular sight. The warehouse, the entire left section of the factory, is on fire. Brilliant yellow flames
light up the dark wooded slopes of the valley. The fire roars majestically, punctuated by explosions of varying degrees of intensity, sometimes a whole series of them, and plumes of black smoke drift on the wind towards the bottom of the valley. Suddenly part of the roof caves in giving off a huge shower of sparks which momentarily illuminates the shaft and gaping mouth of a disused iron mine halfway up the hillside, a ghostly silhouette which is again soon engulfed in blackness. The crowd lets out a sigh of wonder and fear.
Among the front rows of spectators are the striking Daewoo workers. They are in trauma. Aisha has found Rolande and is sobbing in her arms in uncontrolled, wordless despair. All sorts of things must have happened in the course of the day, thinks Rolande, who does not attempt to console her but just tries to envelop her in a little human warmth, without being able to take her eyes off the blaze. We are lost souls. Close by, Nourredine and Hafed face the fire, its flames are reflected on their distraught faces as they clutch each other’s hands, their knuckles white from the force of their grip. ‘Our strength is going up in smoke,’ murmurs Hafed, his voice crushed. ‘It’s us burning in there, we’ve been murdered.’
Lorraine Connection Page 5