Everyone had stopped to watch the cortège of cars decorated with pink and white ribbons, each vehicle packed with swarthy, smiling faces that sang along with the Arab music blasting forth. Zoran followed the procession and found himself in front of the town hall, among a small crowd of passers-by who had gathered to enjoy the spectacle. When a bloke stepped backwards onto his shiny shoes, Zoran pushed him violently, but the man didn’t answer. Maybe he hadn’t done it deliberately. He spat out his chewing gum to smoke before realizing he didn’t have any cigarettes. No one was smoking around him, except for a tall brute of a man who didn’t look very approachable. He popped another piece of gum and amused himself by blowing bubbles.
A few moments later, while the well-dressed people strutted around at the foot of the municipal steps feeling very self-important, a fat blonde girl pointed to Zoran and made her mother lean down so she could whisper something in her ear. Zoran was trying to make her smile by grimacing when in the crowd he spotted the familiar face of the man he had arranged to meet half an hour earlier
‘Slim!’ he shouted.
He tried to push his way through while avoiding the girl’s eyes and saw that he wasn’t mistaken. His heart began to beat faster. He wanted to get hold of Slim, but was jostled by a bald man who had seen him coming.
‘I know to him,’ protested Zoran, pointing to the young Arab.
But the bald guy pushed him unceremoniously back into the crowd, as if he was a bodyguard. And as if he’d had a premonition of what was about to happen to him, Zoran shielded his head with his two hands and crouched down so quickly that he heard his jeans rip. One or two pairs of powerful arms lifted him off the ground and carried him through the crowd. He didn’t have time to call for help or make the slightest attempt to free himself: the bloke who’d caught him threw him in the back of a car, which sped off without making the tyres screech, so smoothly that it was easy for any witnesses to the scene to return to their business and pretend that nothing had happened.
Town Hall, 4.30 p.m.
‘Do you remember Bachir? Yes you do, Aicha’s son! Krim, come over here! Krim, do you remember Bachir? Krim, I’m talking to you!’
Aunt Rabia’s joie de vivre was a profound mystery the family no longer questioned. It magnetized her nieces, her sisters and their men, and no humiliation ever managed to dent it. The only one who’d ended up immune to it was Krim: the unbelievable flow of words from his mother inspired in him only a vague sense of fatigue. He was writing a text message when Toufik encouraged his Aunt Rabia to go on.
‘So, you have to know that Bachir miskine is banned from the casino, he’s had serious problems, I’m talking two, three years ago, poor dear he was banned from the casino of Montrondles-Bains, oh yes, yes, I swear it’s the truth, but, wait, he was spending hundreds and thousands, too. And there comes a time when it’s too much, and then he can’t find a nice little girlfriend either. Ah yes,’ she digressed, egged on by Toufik’s astonishment. ‘What kind of wife wants a husband who spends his life at the casino? Wallah, I like Bachir a lot, he has a good miskine heart’ – she joined her thumb to her other fingertips and bestowed on them a vehement kiss – ‘but on Krim’s life I’d never marry a man who’s an, what do you call it, addict, addictive? No, really: how do you feed your kids when all the cash is getting thrown into the casino, the rhla?’
‘No, really, that bad?’
‘Yup,’ bellowed Rabia. ‘Next to him Al Pacino is a choir boy!’
Everyone burst out laughing, even if no one, including Rabia, had understood the reference.
‘What was I saying? Oh, yes, so he went to see some useless shrink, and each time he spent one hundred, two hundred euros. I’m telling you it was worse than the casino, matehn, and one day the doctor, he tells him: that’s it, you’re cured. Bachir miskine he says, “thanks doctor” and he starts his little life again, his little routine, and then one day he goes to the launderette, this is true you know, he goes to the launderette, he puts a coin in the little machine to start the wash, and there, wallah, I swear on Granddad’s grave, on the life of Krim if he dies just now, he slips a coin into the little machine like that and—’
She was interrupted by some commotion a few metres behind her. They turned, as did the bride’s party, to witness Granny shouting at Dounia. Uncle Bouzid ran up and tried to calm his mother, who was thrusting her finger at Dounia, indifferent to the strangers who pretended not to notice.
‘What’s happening, Bouz?’ Rabia asked.
‘There’s a problem. Fouad’s train’s going to be late.’
‘How late?’
‘I don’t know, an hour, maybe even more. He’s Slim’s witness but the bride’s family is saying they can’t wait for him.’
‘Where is Dounia?’
Rabia wanted to take things into her own hands but Granny was blocking the way. She took her daughter by the wrist and drew her aside, saying in Kabyle, ‘Ah no, no, come on, enough with the scandals, we can’t have everyone always barging in to take care of everything. Go, go, let her sort things out herself.’
‘Yeum, yeum, let her come here, what are you doing, l’archouma …’
‘Dounia, Krim’s the other witness, right?’
‘Where is he?’ asked Dounia, standing on tiptoe.
While the women were looking around for Krim, Slim showed up. He hadn’t stopped grinning all day. In fact, his whole appearance was smiling – his white teeth, his white suit, his beautiful and slender white hands. He was wearing a fat, puffy tie and soft loafers, which allowed him to flutter from group to group and speak to everyone in the same light-hearted, easy going tone. He had the same large, black, feminine eyes as his brothers: astonishingly long lashes, their perimeter stark as if marked by pencil, and huge irises that reduced the whites of his eyes to a corner that was hardly any lighter.
Leaning against a lamppost, Krim watched the whole tribe arrive in single file. He edged backwards, which made him drop the cigarette he’d just lit.
‘What, me?’ he replied when asked to step in to replace Fouad.
‘Come on, please, don’t make any trouble.’
‘You’re getting on my nerves, I didn’t ask for anything! Fuck, I was sure this would …’
Slim arrived behind his aunt. He took Krim aside and explained the situation. After a few seconds, Slim managed to sit down, with his back to the town hall. He and Krim were now looking in the same direction, except that Krim, unlike the little prince of the day, didn’t keep on crossing and uncrossing his legs.
Slim suddenly changed the subject and looked away. ‘Anyway, Mum told me about the job centre. You’re in deep shit, you know that?’
Krim raised his eyebrows. He lit another cigarette and began to fondle his tie, wondering if he didn’t look like an American actor.
‘Do you know what you’ll do now?’
‘Yeah, we’ll see.’
‘You’re completely stoned again, Krim. When on earth are you going to grow up?’
Krim took his cigarette filter between his thumb and index finger and silently observed its burning end. ‘And what about you?’ he asked in an impassive tone. ‘You still in college?’
‘No, I’ll have to work, if only to … Well, I’ve got something for you, Krim, but …’
Krim kept silent, so silent that Slim felt obliged to say something startling to attract his attention.
‘I’ve told no one, not even my mum, but … I’m worried I won’t make it with her, you see.’
‘With who?’
‘Kenza. But you mustn’t repeat this, it’s too weird, but I feel like I’ll never be able to … you know …’
In a daze Krim stared at the horizon. The world’s ramparts were on fire and no one but he could hear them burning.
‘Why aren’t you saying anything?’
‘Well, uh, I don’t know,’ Krim replied, in a blind panic. ‘Don’t know.’
‘I feel like I’ll never manage to make her happy,’ Slim persisted. ‘I
do what I can, you know, but … You’re not listening.’
Slim stood up and looked at the treetops on the square, anxious to escape the silence weighing upon their neatly coiffed little heads. To his surprise, Krim took the first step.
‘Hey, seriously, you shouldn’t worry. You’re a nice guy, you know, it’ll definitely work out.’
‘Thanks, Krim.’ Slim stepped in front of him. ‘Thanks.’
Krim hated that earnest, whiny tone. If that was what it meant to be an adult, if it meant taking things with that kind of stupid solemnity, then he wanted to remain a child to the end of his days.
‘Anyway, I’ve heard about all the shit you’ve been getting into. Is that why Nazir is slipping an envelope to you?’
Krim was stunned. He cut the conversation short. ‘No, it’s fine, let’s not talk about that stuff, you know, it’s your wedding day.’
Slim put his arms around his cousin and Krim gave him the clumsiest pair of kisses he’d ever received.
From the steps where she continued to babble on, Rabia saw the fancy groom hand an envelope to Krim. The latter seemed surprised and kissed his cousin on both cheeks before putting his hand on his heart.
‘What was that envelope, Krim?’ she asked when he’d returned.
‘None of your business.’
‘Zarma. “None of your business”? Why are you being like that? What have I done to deserve being treated like a dog in front of everyone?’
‘Here we go again …’
She ran her hand over her son’s head. And then her eyes lit up, gleaming with a purely adolescent excitement. ‘Come on, why can’t you tell me, sweetie?’
‘It’s just my present for yesterday, it’s nothing. Great, and now you’re going to tell everyone … I swear, you’re like a little kid.’
‘Yes, and you know what, I’m proud of it! Everyone thinks you’re my little brother. You should thank God you’ve got such a young mother! While we’re at it, what’s this story about Luna on Facebook?’
‘What,’ Krim suddenly said in a rage, ‘your daughter’s exposing herself to millions of people and you don’t care?’
‘Words of an ayatollah …’
‘Yeah, okay, whatever.’
‘That’s just how girls are these days. She’s just being flirtatious …’
‘Yeah, flirtatious all right. You’ll see the day she gets raped.’
‘How dare you!’ screamed Rabia. ‘What’s wrong with you?’
Her anger subsided as fast as it had appeared: she had to greet one of Dounia’s French friends. After a few polite words she returned to her son and buttoned his shirt right up to the top, but Krim began to choke.
‘It’s too tight, I feel like throwing up.’
‘No, no, leave it, that’s how it’s supposed to be worn. Leave it, trust me! What do you think, that the billions of people who wear ties all feel like throwing up? You’ll get over it, don’t worry.’
While he got used to having a compressed glottis, Rabia looked at him with pride: her big boy (in a suit and tie). But as soon as he turned around to join Slim, her pride turned to sadness, so suddenly that she had to wipe a little tear from her eye before it threatened her mascara.
The bride’s clan had colonized the steps of the town hall even before Slim’s family had arrived, but the sun now crushed the square with a zeal worthy of a heatwave, to the point that they eventually all resigned themselves to cramming into the measly shadow of the hackberry and sycamore trees.
‘There aren’t that many of them in the end,’ Dounia whispered in Bouzid’s ear.
‘You’ll see later on. This is just the town hall, and they already outnumber us three to one. But don’t worry, it’ll be okay.’
A woman from the other side came towards Dounia and bowed to congratulate her. She wore an empire-line dress of printed silk, and her black hair had been stiffened with a smoothing iron and highlighted with random blonde, auburn and chocolate extensions. She turned to Rabia, who introduced her son.
‘Come on, Krim, say hello, don’t be anti-social!’
Krim couldn’t stand his mother when she used what he called her French accent. She lingered on her a’s, softened her r’s, lengthened the diphthongs, and even went as far as to change her laugh.
‘My son, Hicham,’ said the woman, pointing to a well-built boy proudly fitted into a tight grey satin shirt.
Hicham turned round, his face cut in two by a playboy smile. A mobile phone was glued to his right ear, so he stretched out his left hand to Rabia, who took it to bring him towards her for a kiss – or rather an avalanche of kisses.
‘Ah, with us it’s four!’
The woman explained that Hicham was studying law with Kenza. Noticing some uncertainty in Rabia’s eyes, she added, ‘Kenza, the bride.’
‘Yes, yes, of course I know. Besides … Krikri, you’re going to see her soon, no?’ Then, ostensibly whispering to the woman: ‘Abdelkrim is the groom’s best man.’
‘Ah, well, bravo, congratulations!’ the woman exclaimed, casting her smiling made-up eyes on the best man’s motionless silhouette.
Disgusted by the hypocrisy of it all, Krim abruptly slipped away. He wanted to take out his mobile to make people think there was an emergency, but he’d already begun his retreat, now fully delighting in the deviance of his behaviour and the air that his movement created around him.
The bustle was growing on the steps. Bouzid asked his sisters where Ferhat and Zoulikha, the Elders, were. A nephew had stayed back at the community centre to keep them company. Bouzid slapped his forehead with the back of his hand: he’d completely forgotten that some had wanted to stay behind. He went to update Granny, whose stubborn yet energetic figure blocked the way for a whole column of guests on the steps.
‘Well, don’t just stand there,’ she fumed. ‘Go and fetch them, you bloody arioul!’
‘Wallah, you’re so rude, can’t believe it—’
‘Go ask Toufik, come on, don’t just stand there!’
Bouzid forced his way, running and mopping his brow, through the dense crowd where he recognized no one.
A short distance away he noticed Krim strolling about looking at his shoes. He made a detour to reprimand him. ‘What the hell are you doing? You’re supposed to go up there!’
‘But there’re too many people, I can’t get through.’
‘What are you talking about, even if you can’t you have to go up there! Haven’t they given you the rings yet?’
‘No.’
‘Where’s Toufik?’ Bouzid scoured around, his hand shielding his eyebrows. ‘Wait for me here,’ he shouted to Krim while he went to give instructions to Toufik the Helpful: ‘We have to go back to the community centre. Hey, take my car and bring Uncle Ferhat and Auntie Zoulikha to Granny’s.’
His mouth agape, Toufik looked at the keys he’d just received in his palm. Bouzid the Terrible frowned. ‘Do you understand what I just said?’
‘Yes, yes, but why Granny’s?’
‘Get on with it. After the town hall we’ll all go to Granny’s, you take them back there, okay?’
Toufik nodded. He was by far the oldest of the cousins, older than some of the husbands of his aunts, so he should have been called uncle, but there was something too juvenile about him: round, smooth and shiny cheeks, a worried look that tirelessly sought approval, and the hurried movements of a man used to doing what people asked him to do, rarely less and never anything else.
He went off towards the lines of double-parked cars as Bouzid cut through the crowd like a bodyguard to escort Krim to his destination.
A young girl was crouching in front of Bouzid’s 307. All Toufik could look at were her endless blonde locks, which took in all the light from the sky. He cleared his throat, not knowing how to speak to her and unable to imagine saying something as ridiculous as ‘mademoiselle’ out loud.
‘Is this your car? My cat doesn’t want to budge from underneath,’ she explained without getting up.
‘Puss puss,’ hummed Toufik, stretching his hand underneath the car.
‘He’s not called Puss,’ she said, corking her head back to face him.
‘How should I know what his name is?’
The girl’s mood changed for no apparent reason. She had almond-shaped eyes and the domed forehead of youth, but you couldn’t say she was beautiful, perhaps because of the way her face and neck were contorted in an uncomfortable twist.
‘He’s called Barrabas.’
‘Barrabas isn’t a cat’s name.’
‘Really, and what’s a cat’s name, then?’
‘I don’t know …’ He searched his brain unsuccessfully. The girl was not only being unhelpful; she was now giving him a hard stare. ‘Don’t know.’
‘What about Beethoven, you think that’s a dog’s name?’
Toufik couldn’t understand what he’d done to deserve this hostility. What did they all have against him today?
‘Beethoven, yes, that works for a dog.’
‘And if you had a parrot, what would you call him?’
‘Uh, I don’t know, maybe Polly.’
The girl burst out laughing, a sharp, dry cackle in which her eyes took no part. Toufik wondered if she might be mad.
He gave up on crouching down again and waited for what she’d say next. Fortunately, the cat ran out the other side. But not before Toufik had noticed that it was black. The poor bloke wouldn’t stop thinking about this bad omen until the day was over.
The bells of Saint-Charles Cathedral struck 5 p.m. The little groups that had been pushed back down to the town hall square waited patiently while the photographer meticulously set up his equipment. He wore glasses with big lenses and blinked frenetically, sometimes opening his mouth wide to crease his nose and push the frames back up.
Suddenly the bride’s mother appeared on the steps and shouted to the photographer, ‘What are you doing? Come and film over here!’
Flustered, the photographer looked around. He couldn’t leave his high-tech equipment unguarded. He ran up to the bride’s mother with his camera under his arm. The crowd parted to let them through and they joined the party at the head of the group, which was beginning to enter the hall.
Savages- The Wedding Page 5