Concrete Flowers

by Wilfried N'Sondé

  —That’s how it is, what do you think, on my mother’s life, it’s like that, there’s nothing for us, no jobs, nothing, nothing but blows to the face, that’s how it is, nothing you can do, it’s all for them!

  —Yeah, but we showed them yesterday, honestly, we really let ’em have it, bastards, sons of bitches, there were definitely some. We seriously killed it, right, Mouloud? What did you do to the one who fell to the ground, you guys didn’t catch it? Mouloud, he took him by the head, a blow with the knee, his helmet flew off. You would have thought it was a volley return, on my mother’s life, he bled so much, nose, mouth, everything, after he finished him with some kicks with his shoes in the sides, balls, and everything, yeah, awesome, bro!

  Taciturn until now, sitting with his legs open and his head hanging down to spit in peace, Mouloud raises his head when he hears his exploits being retold. The young man has a hard time hiding his smile and the little glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. This is how he gets respect in the hood, when he’s the strongest, the one who’s giving and breaking . . . Not like in that nightmarish desert, not like over there where they did things to him that really hurt and that can never be forgotten.

  He chases away the bad memories. Yesterday, it was he who won. One by one, palms go up in the air to him; he raises his own to meet theirs. Together, they laugh, congratulate each other, it’s their victory, their celebration. Mouloud takes the floor:

  —Hey, Jason, you two-bit stud, apparently you were the one who smashed the face of that nut bag with a bottle? Respect, brother!

  —Stop, Mouloud, I seriously aimed, right for the teeth!

  Jason is celebrating in the middle with the neighborhood guys and welcomes their friendly taps joyfully; he’s just improved on his image again. The young people are laughing, mimicking some dance steps and combat sport moves. Everyone’s doing what they’re good at, they’re exaggerating, getting the heart pumping . . .

  —Bare hands, one against ten—we certainly showed them!

  Suddenly, it’s all calm, everybody goes quiet. An armored vehicle from the national police force advances, tinted windows, it goes by the supermarket then slows down, progresses slowly, and comes to a halt where the young people are standing.

  —Slow down, Brigadier General, but be careful not to stop, otherwise stones could be thrown like yesterday. Good, like that, go slowly, just enough for the lieutenant to take a few shots.

  Laurence da Silva is focused on the group gathered around the bench, every single one of them has turned toward her. Armed with her digital camera, she doesn’t miss a single face.

  —OK, Captain, that’s great. I don’t think I’ve forgotten anyone. We can go now!

  —Speed up. Let’s head back to the station. It’s best not to be seen in the housing projects right now. Everything went well. Let’s head back to the station and look over the pictures I took and see if we can identify the leaders.

  The young people follow the course of the armored vehicle, their eyes injected with blood.

  —Bastards, sons of bitches, they’ve come to provoke us, and they don’t even have the balls to get out of the car and have it out man to man!

  BY THREE WEEKS later, calm has returned to project 6000. The nursery and the annex to the mayor’s office resume their responsibilities. No incidents to complain about, and the riot police have stopped pacing up and down the neighborhood streets.

  The police are waiting. The violence against law enforcement, the destruction of public buildings and of public property, and the assault of a police officer who fell to the ground will not go unpunished. The neighborhood must not be transformed into an area where the law cannot be enforced. A good number of the rioters have been identified. Captain Moussa Traoré, seconded by his colleague Lieutenant da Silva, is waiting for the right moment to take action. They are ready.

  The fall season has already arrived in the neighborhood, and there is frost on the ground and on the buildings early in the morning, making them even sadder than usual beneath the low, dark skies. The cold has kept the young people off the benches; boredom has set in from long hours sitting in front of the TV in apartments that are too small for large families, or they’re just hanging in the stairwell. The riot seems to have been forgotten. In any event, nothing has changed. Gloom, the daily routine of having no money, and idleness have all resumed their positions.

  You can see Mouloud roaming around alone in the projects or sitting on the bench spitting and smoking cigarettes.

  Behind the revamped bus shelter, there is no longer an ad, no more dreams of turquoise seas and half-naked Tahitian girls. It’s the end of the day, it’s already dark outside, and women and men returning from Paris descend from the bus in whatever which way they can.

  Sonia notices Margarine. She hadn’t recognized her before because her blond hair is hidden beneath a beautiful bright red beret, high heels, fishnet stockings, she’s wearing a fantastic black coat that falls mid thigh length.

  —Hey, Margarine, is that you? Holy shit, I can’t believe it, you look so classy. What are you doing? We don’t see you too much around here anymore.

  —Hi, Sonia, I still come every once in a while to see my father and my buddies in the neighborhood . . .

  She gives Sonia a wink and a knowing smile.

  —But I work in Paris now, in a nightclub on the Champs-Élysées. The pay’s really good!

  —Oh yeah, you look so chic.

  —Wait, you haven’t seen my dress, come here, check it out.

  They go about ten yards away from the crowd. Margarine opens her coat and shows off her gorgeous black dress, plunging neckline, refined velour, and a slit all the way up to the hips.

  —Wow, it’s so beautiful, fantastic . . . Wait, so what’s your job?

  Margarine bursts into uproarious laughter as she closes her coat:

  —You know, my dear, I think you really don’t want to know, but it’s not going to last long, so let it go! By the way, what about Rosa, how’s she doing? I heard that she’s been sick.

  —Yeah, Rosa, she must have caught a cold. What do you expect, it’s freezing outside. She’s been confined to bed for several days, but she refuses to go see a doctor . . . You know how Rosa can be, damn annoying.

  —Hey, Sonia, you think I can go see her, a quick in and out?

  Sonia hesitates:

  —You know, I don’t know with my father being so weird. I don’t think he likes you too much!

  —Mmm, not sure, you know . . . We can always try. It’s no big deal if he throws me out, plus I won’t stay too long.

  —OK, let’s go!

  Three weeks of solitude, of suffering, and at times, of dreaming for Rosa Maria. Jason is avoiding her. They claim he is dancing mainly in Paris now, he’s overbooked, and anyway, he doesn’t want to see her. Her secret love, the memory of the delicious moment spent with him, she cherishes every second of her first time, the pain that was quickly replaced by escape, two bodies giving themselves to each other taking them into an unknown splendid universe, even more intense than what she had imagined. He is her man for all eternity. What she experienced is irreplaceable. For her, it’s like they created a bubble for themselves, far from all the grime that surrounds them. He is here, everywhere, too bad if he doesn’t want to have anything to do with her . . . He will end up changing his mind, and anyway, no one can take away her treasure, not even Jason.

  Rosa Maria feels sick, exhausted, confined to her bed, her skin makes her suffer, a sudden heavy fatigue that persists, must be love pangs, she loves him so much. Hours go by, several days have gone by already, the nausea is torturing her, a whole uncontrollable and violent ruckus in her abdomen, the urge to constantly vomit, nothing comes out, a real ordeal. Maybe Jason will come by and visit her, he certainly doesn’t know that she’s sick. He’ll come by, and she’ll get well, together they’ll take off hand in hand, protected by their union, to never leave each other again.

  Her body is wounded, but hope is still al
ive. She’s waiting.

  Margarine and Sonia enter the apartment discreetly. They go by the open door of the kitchen. Angelina doesn’t notice them, she’s holding little Anna in her arms, sitting on the sofa watching a television game show.

  In the back at the window, Salvatore slowly turns around. He glances and immediately recognizes Margarine despite her hat and her long black coat. Only a few seconds and it’s always the same stirring. His legs are like cotton wool, images of flesh, sweaty palms, his heart is galloping away, heat in his head, a furnace in his body, uncontrollable desire. The crazy desire to relieve himself and dream, his head resting on her belly after the embrace, she awakens his thirst for sweetness and tenderness.

  The young ladies rush into the bedroom in the back.

  —Hey, Rosa, it’s me. How you doing?

  —Oh, Margarine, what a beautiful surprise.

  Her voice is a bit hoarse, she has difficulty getting up and, in the light, reveals a much paler face than usual. Rosa Maria has gotten even skinnier, weak, her eyes have dark circles.

  —Don’t kiss me, I’m sick, I don’t know what I have . . . but, hey, look at you, you’re looking pretty classy. Did you win the lotto or what?

  —Yeah, a million! No, I have a new job for one more week, after that I’ll be back, it pays well, that’s all . . . Oh my God, Rosa, you don’t look too good at all, you need to see a doctor, this isn’t good!

  —Maybe Monday, if I’m still sick, we’ll have to see. Have you seen Jason in Paris?

  —No, I don’t know where he hangs out there. Why? You still have it bad for him? Forget it, he’s a player that’s all, he sleeps with anything that moves! The guys around here are all lame, gotta forget him.

  —No, he’s a good guy . . . So, Margarine, you still going down to the basement?. . .

  Sonia interrupts her:

  —Leave her alone, Rosa, it’s none of your business! Well, come on, you gotta go, my parents are starting to go at each other’s throats!

  —OK, and don’t worry, Rosa, I don’t go down to the basement anymore, only to see my buddies and not for too long. Very soon, I’m going to get out of here. OK, ciao.

  A dispute bursts out in the living room. Salvatore is upset and starts hurling insults at his wife, making big gestures and pointing an accusing index finger, threatening. Incredulous, surprised, she defends herself as best she can. She has no idea what he’s talking about, until she catches a glimpse of her daughter Sonia opening the door to the one who looks to her like the neighborhood whore who used to go to Rosa’s school.

  SNUGGLED UNDER HER comforter in the depth of her bed, Rosa Maria is unable to fall back to sleep. The secret has robbed her of sleep for three nights already. Sometimes joyful, she stifles the giggles in her mouth; other times, seriously concerned, cold sweats, fear like a noose around her neck. Now she understands why she had the fainting spells that made her go twice to the school infirmary. The nausea that has been torturing her for ten days now is also clear. Her body is changing, her chest has become a little bigger, she’s proud and feels like a woman for the first time. Rosa Maria is shaking, she’s having a hard time finding the courage to tell Sonia, who is sleeping above her. She hasn’t had her period, the test that she bought at the pharmacy was positive. Rosa Maria is expecting a baby, her and Jason’s child. She hesitates, massages the corners of her lips with her thumb and index finger, and she dares to lean her head toward her sister, then in a low voice:

  —Sonia, Sonia, wake up. I’ve got something to tell you, it’s important, I’m scared, Sonia!

  —Rosa, shit, you’re annoying, let me sleep!

  —It’s really important, Sonia, you have to help me, I don’t know how to get out of it. I’m afraid I’ll do something really stupid!

  Annoyed, Sonia suddenly gets up, rubbing her eyes, heads toward the table, and turns on the little bedside lamp before telling Rosa to come down and join her.

  —What is it now, Rosa? Shit, now that you’re not sick anymore, what is it? You’re wearing me out!

  Rosa Maria bends her legs and brings her knees under her childhood nightgown beneath her chin. She’s gently rocking back and forth while passing her hands along her tibiae and whispering, her eyes lowered:

  —I think I’m pregnant, Sonia . . . I took a test three days ago.

  —Oh shit! Pregnant? Are you sure? You don’t even have a guy . . . I thought you were a virgin, holy shit, Rosa, that’s all we need!

  Panicked, Sonia tries desperately not to raise her voice. She murmurs while carefully articulating each word, especially so as not to wake anyone, the walls of the apartment are very thin. Embarrassed, Rosa Maria has nothing more to add. She holds herself back from expressing her joy and the bursts of laughter when she imagines herself playing with a baby, chubby-cheeked with curly hair, chocolate colored, as sweet as can be, cute enough to eat and with a huge magnificent smile, the same as Jason when his thick lips separate slightly and light up his entire face. The embryo in her belly allows her to escape from the repeated dramas, the omnipresent violence, and especially the absence of Antonio, as well as the boredom. Thanks to the baby, she forgets and dreams again. Rosa Maria sees herself radiant, walking to the market on Saturday mornings among the other mothers, proud behind her stroller. Too bad that at their last meeting two days ago, Jason told her:

  —What, what’s all this mess about? You’re pregnant, maybe I’m not even the father, go on, cut it out, that’s enough! Figure out all this mess on your own, you should have paid attention, shit, birth control pills are not made for cows!

  Then he went and joined another girl at the bus stop. Despite the contempt he shows her, she will always love him.

  Sonia sits down, she takes her head in her hands and shakes it from left to right.

  —Shit, Rosa, tell me this isn’t true, you’re all gonna make me go crazy in this family, it’s just not true . . . I can’t believe it! It just can’t be, honestly, it’s not true, this isn’t going to end well!

  She gets up and looks closely at her sister with an insistent gaze:

  —The father, Rosa? First of all, who’s the father?

  Rosa Maria lies down and places her hands on her heart, her throat knotted up in shame, feeling helpless, she recognizes the tense and nervous face her sister takes on when things go badly. The last time it was the death of their brother. There is no hope in Sonia’s eyes, before which parade a squadron of catastrophic scenarios. Rosa doesn’t recognize an ounce of approval, let alone compassion. She stutters:

  —It was with Jason . . . you know, the one I like . . .

  —What? That good-looking black guy, the one from the supermarket, the playboy who always hangs out in the building hallways and sleeps with all those sluts in the basement? My poor girl, you’ve got to be out of your mind. And a black guy, at that . . . No, but can you imagine us here with a black guy? Mom and Dad, the family in Sicily, can you see us showing up with some black guy? You’ve completely lost it, Rosa! They’re great to have fun with, yeah, but, Rosa, not to have kids with, you’ve completely lost it, they’re not like us, you know that yourself. Holy shit, you’re completely nuts. That said, still glad it wasn’t that other wacko, the Arab, Maboul or I don’t know what you call him!

  —Mouloud, his name is Mouloud, he’s a friend, that’s all, we talk, but Jason . . . I love him . . . plus, it wasn’t in the basement . . . it was really amazing.

  —Oh yeah, OK, you’re not the only one he likes very much, that I can assure you . . . whatever! Shit, Rosa, this guy has nothing in his head, he thinks with his dick . . . Oh just shut it, Rosa!

  On the brink of a nervous breakdown, Sonia suddenly sighs deeply; she has to think about it quickly and, well, first calm down. That kid, no way, there’s no question of keeping it, shit! The older sister concentrates for a moment, no one must hear them. Her eyes are rolling every which way, fear mixed with anger. Disaster has hit its high point. Aside from the unemployment and all the other calamities that have com
e down on the family, they’re going to have to live with the shame of having black people in their home?

  —Rosa, you’re completely crazy. Why do you think that I’m killing myself working as a cashier in some supermarket at the other end of the world? To feed black kids you’re making with some loser? I left high school to help out the family, especially because of Anna and you, for God’s sake, you completely screwed up . . . You don’t realize, Dad’s going to kill you, and as for Mom, the poor woman, with all the problems she already has, they’re going to massacre you, cut you up into little pieces! You can’t even begin to imagine, seriously, Rosa, this is the last thing we needed.

  ROSA MARIA IS pale, nausea of another kind is now rising in her torso, this time it’s coming from her chest and grinding everything from the inside, damaging the heart, a groan. Words are stuck in her throat, the young girl is sad, not a single sound manages to get out, not a single complaint. A grave and heavy silence comes between the two sisters during the night, a wall of silence. They can hear Anna breathing in her bed, an innocent breath, light. Rosa Maria has confided in her big sister. She closes her eyes, gently caresses her belly. Communing once again with her treasure. She imagines the tiny fingers of a newborn enveloping her index finger.

  Exhausted, resigned, Sonia sighs and takes the hands of her younger sister in hers to tell her in a calm and relaxed voice:

  —You know Rosa, there’s nothing we can do, there’s only one solution. You’re going to have an abortion as soon as possible, I’m sorry!

  —An abortion? Sonia, I can’t do that, we don’t have the right . . . and God . . . and the Virgin Mary, how can we do that? We can’t do that, Sonia! Let me keep it, please, I’m sure he’ll be sweet. I’ll look for a job too, so much for Sicily, I’ll go somewhere else, please Sonia, let me keep it!

  Tears pour down from Rosa Maria’s eyelids, a river, a torrent, a deluge of distress; her face comes undone, expresses horrific pain. Rosa Maria, abandoned again. She wasn’t expecting jumps for joy but was at least hoping for some understanding, a little bit of compassion and the chance to share her happiness with someone. Sonia, irritated, frightened as well, puts a hand to her mouth: