Savages- The Wedding

by Sabri Louatah

  ‘There you go, happy now?’ Fat Momo got up and looked around. At his feet Krim was lost in his thoughts. ‘Wesh, you all right or what?’

  ‘I really shouldn’t,’ Krim sighed to himself. ‘It’s not good for reflexes.’

  ‘Reflexes? Dude, what are you talking about?’

  Krim got up and hugged Fat Momo, who had no idea what was happening but didn’t stop him.

  ‘This is because of the girl, isn’t it? The girl from down south, eh?’

  Fat Momo’s round eyes stayed still, and Krim imagined that his entire body moved in relation to those eyes, like in a Tahitian dance. ‘Wesh, I think it’s all over with her.’

  ‘Why?’ Fat Momo was only too happy to have crossed the threshold of the sole taboo subject between them. ‘Did you guys hook up?’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ Krim lied, ‘but there’s another guy, a posh little twat called Tristan. They’re from the same world. She lives in Paris, you see.’

  Krim stopped talking, the way only he knew how: all his body stopped, and all light suddenly disappeared from his eyes.

  ‘Hey,’ ventured Fat Momo, ‘see you tomorrow. And don’t do any silly stuff, okay?’

  ‘You going to vote?’ Krim asked him before it was too late.

  ‘Vote for what?’

  Krim lifted his hand one last time to wave goodbye and watched his friend walk away, his hands in his pockets, shoulders slightly stooped, glancing like a spy from left to right as if to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Fat Momo was walking in a bubble and would walk that way until the end of his days, but Krim was grateful that he didn’t try to lock anyone else up in it.

  When his best friend had left his sight and his thoughts, Krim stretched out on the bed of twigs again, massed together a few clumps of grassy earth and remembered that day the previous summer when he and Aurélie had gone boating from Bandol to the calanques of Cassis in the South.

  They’d spent all morning walking along the pier in companionable silence, without any plans or obligations. She smoked Stuyvesant Lights, one after another, stubbing the ends out on the trunks of the palm trees after three or four puffs. Later on she’d had the idea of heading out to sea, so they’d decided to rent a Suzuki motorboat. The rental manager – who was himself taken with Aurélie – had given it to them without even asking to see their licences.

  The sun shone high in a cloudless sky and the sea was still. At the back of the boat, Aurélie looked delighted, running her fingertips along the engine’s aerodynamics, while Krim tried to concentrate on not missing any of the instructions that the young sailor reeled off in a southern accent he deliberately exaggerated for tourists.

  ‘If you hit a snag, check under there … nine times out of ten it’s a plastic bag that’s got caught in the propeller.’

  The boat was white and had six seats, but there was nothing smaller. Once the eight blue bumpers had been brought inside, they were ready to go. Krim manoeuvred the boat skilfully beyond the pier and accelerated to maximum speed, on course for La Ciotat, enjoying the purr of the engine beneath his feet. Aurélie said nothing but she seemed content. The sea was ‘oily’, as the rental guy had repeated twenty times, and there wasn’t a breath of wind to disturb the air. As they distanced themselves from the green and blue coast, the horizon shone as if caught in a rectilinear halo tinged with violet mist. Aurélie had settled in near the engine, where she was protected from the headwind, and she had put her sunglasses on to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun. They didn’t utter a word until the cliff overlooking La Ciotat came into view, but as the boat passed by Les Lecques, Aurélie raised her voice to remark on the mountain of Sainte-Baume.

  ‘What does this cliff make you think of?’ she asked, taking advantage of a deceleration to change positions.

  Krim replied without hesitation that it made him think of a fish. He cursed inwardly as soon as the words left his mouth; he’d meant to say a bird.

  Aurélie didn’t buy his slip of the tongue for a second. ‘It’s called the Eagle’s Beak,’ she explained, bursting into laughter.

  The boat was soon running along the port of La Ciotat, with its long line of abandoned rusty harbours, full of enormous cranes that had been left unused for too long and taken on the sad and stupid look of historical monuments. As they passed by, continuing onward, the Eagle’s Beak lost the face the young couple had first discovered in it. It became in turn the head of an old man, a foot covered in warts, and finally just a wart.

  It was almost 2 p.m. by the time they reached the calanques of Cassis. The cliffs’ stone, at first ochre in colour, became light grey, then totally white in places. As they approached the coast to find a suitable place to drop anchor, the cicadas’ song grew more intense. Krim chose a remote-looking creek that ran along a cliff bristling with umbrella pines; Indian summer or not, the sun at its zenith wouldn’t do them any favours. While he secured the boat, Aurélie unfolded the green awning and took a water bottle out of her handbag. Krim took a few sips and then decided to go for a swim.

  He did a few breaststroke laps around the boat, which looked majestic from the green water. He could hear the cicadas as distinctly as if he’d been on the cliff itself. After clowning around a little on the surface, he splashed Aurélie’s face and listened to her laugh. Diving down, he seemed to bring it with him underwater, as fresh and clear as the sea.

  ‘Over there,’ she said, ‘is Algeria. Crazy, right? I can almost see it from here. Can’t you?’

  Krim creased his eyes, but saw nothing.

  An hour later they decided to go back. But before lifting anchor and switching the engine back on, Aurélie put her hand on Krim’s and asked him if she could tell him a secret. Krim took a seat next to her. A premonition kept Krim from beating her to it and making a silly declaration. He was rarely that inspired.

  ‘It’s about Tristan.’

  Krim wanted to drown her, and went so far as visualizing the red safety wire encircling his pilot’s wrist as it wrapped itself around her beautiful tanned neck. He could see her pale body and inert legs floating underwater, surrounded by fleeing fish, skirted by rays and jellyfish, and her contorted face that would never again give him false hope. And it was only half an hour later, when the harbour of Bandol was back in sight, that Krim understood that this was why she’d jumped for joy on the palm-tree-lined promenade: she was in love with him, she was in love with that damned blonde-haired boy whose father was a longtime friend of her own father.

  Krim clenched his fists and looked up at the tops of the car park’s chestnut trees waving about in the wind. It was no longer the masts of invisible yachts that swayed in the distance; it was a patch of heavy, tormented sky, draped with dark clouds and blocked by the slab-concrete corner of the gym. Krim closed his eyes to see only Aurélie’s eyes, lost in the foam of the boat’s wake, in silvery hoops sparkling under the five o’clock sun. In a voice as clear and salty as the turquoise water that licked the coves, he had called her a bitch. He’d never known if she’d heard him or if the hum of the engine had saved him.

  Community Centre, 2 a.m.

  Fouad was going around the room in search of Krim. When he asked his Uncle Bouzid if he’d seen him, he found a face seized by a look of disapproval that bordered on disgust: the word irredeemable could be read on each of his changing features.

  ‘What’s wrong, Uncle?’ Fouad asked, risking offence with his tone.

  ‘It’s that guy over there,’ Bouzid replied, pointing to Mouloud Benbaraka. ‘That damned thug, I wonder who invited him.’

  Fouad shrugged and narrowly escaped a conversation with Rachida, who was wandering like a lost soul at the foot of the stage. He dodged a few other winks and returned to the car park. He didn’t have Krim’s number and couldn’t see himself sending a text to ask for it.

  As he looked around the car park, he came across Luna, who was prodding her finger into the insistent chest of a guy who was clearly older.

  ‘Hi, Luna, have you seen your
brother by any chance?’

  Luna seemed embarrassed at being seen by her cousin. She stood up on tiptoe to scan the ranks of cars. Her tiny head contrasted with her powerful neck, where two veins bulged as she pretended to look for her brother. How was such a strong neck needed to support the head of a small mouse?

  The pretty boy – Fouad suddenly remembered having seen him flirting with Luna – held his hand out to him. ‘Hi, I’m Yacine. I saw you on TV the other—’

  ‘Fouad.’ He shook the guy’s hand and spotted Krim by the gym. ‘There he is, I’ll have to leave you … and …’ Usually he would have said don’t do anything silly, but here he just stared at his little cousin. ‘I think your mum’s looking for you.’

  He jogged over to meet Krim, who was not walking in a completely straight line.

  ‘I’ve been searching for you for over an hour, where were you?’

  ‘I was walking around. Honestly, that music gives me a headache.’

  ‘Yes, it’s getting worse. And they’ve turned up the volume. Granny’ll be losing her temper soon.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  ‘Yeah, they’ve been playing only Arab songs for the past hour, and each time someone from the family asks when they’re going to put on a Kabyle song, the DJ says “Yes, yes it’s on the playlist, two or three songs from now” … Anyway, have you eaten?’

  ‘Uh, a few little things at the start.’

  ‘But have you had a plate of chicken?’

  ‘No. It’s all right, though, I’m not hungry.’

  ‘Okay.’ Fouad cut to the heart of the matter. ‘I told you earlier that I wanted us to have a little conversation. It’s very serious, Krim, come with me.’

  He found a bench at the far side of the gym. Two slats were missing so Fouad sat on the back, imitated by Krim, who stopped just short of mimicking his older cousin’s entire posture, crossing his hands and dropping his head down.

  Fouad was about to speak when Kamelia and Luna made a spectacular entrance, bringing with them all the energy of the party – strident bagpipes, inaudible conversations, marathons of elated dancing, bursts of laughter and fragments of harsh, shrill voices.

  ‘Come on, what the hell are you guys doing there?’ Kamelia railed. ‘Come on, come and dance! You’ve got to come now, it’s not going to last forever!’

  Fouad broke into his winning smile.

  ‘By the way, honestly, I wanted to tell you, Fouad’ – Kamelia stuck her hair clip between her teeth to reset her sophisticated chignon – ‘I don’t know how to thank you but honestly, wallah, thanks.’

  As she thanked him for having set her up in Paris and putting her in touch with people from the hip-hop scene, Fouad let his eyes roam over the bruises on her beautiful arms, hardened by freezes and pirouettes.

  ‘That’s what family’s about,’ Luna chimed in, kissing her cousin.

  ‘Oh yeah, and you’ll also thank you know who,’ Kamelia added with a wink.

  Fouad’s open secret was buried beneath a small heap of laughter. Except for Krim who hadn’t taken his eyes off his older cousin.

  When the two girls had gone their way, Fouad cleared his throat and continued as if nothing had happened. ‘Well, I’m not going to beat around the bush.’

  ‘Come on, I swear I won’t say anything.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That you’re going out with Chaouch’s daughter. That’s what you wanted to talk to me about, isn’t it?’

  ‘Ah, um, no. But … but hold on, how do you know?’

  ‘It’s no problem,’ Krim replied, smiling feebly. ‘Bsartek, cousin.’

  ‘No, but it’s not that. It’s … Fuck, so everyone knows.’ Fouad suppressed his annoyance and continued, ‘Slim told me he received a letter from Nazir, with instructions to pass it on to you without opening it.’ As Krim didn’t reply, he added, ‘I don’t want to piss you off, Krim, and I’m going to tell you … you’ve always been my favourite little cousin, even though I’m sad you stopped playing the piano and all, but … you can trust me. What’s in the envelope?’

  Krim got up and cracked his joints. If he rubbed hard he could feel the back of his knee through the fabric of his trousers, that bizarre area in the human body that made him think of a snake’s throat. ‘Honestly, Fouad, I don’t think I can tell you.’

  ‘Of course you can! Have I ever betrayed you?’

  ‘But he told me not to talk about it, to anyone.’

  ‘Listen, I’m going to tell you something. It’s no secret that Nazir and I don’t get on, but it’s not just a little fight between brothers. Believe me. Slim told me you often speak on the phone, that he sends you texts, that he’s even given you money …’

  Krim was furious. ‘You think that’s all right, I tell Slim something, and he repeats it to everyone?’

  ‘It’s not the same, here, you’ve got to understand, Krim. Nazir isn’t just strange, he’s … he’s mad, he’s evil. I’m not joking, he’s mad and even worse than that, he’s dangerous, he’s a dangerous madman. He’s filled with hate and …’ – he hesitated at the next word, figuring Krim most likely didn’t know it – ‘resentment. There are people like that, evil people, and you shouldn’t let yourself …’ It was the one phrase he’d sworn he wouldn’t pronounce in the course of this conversation. The words be influenced were surrounded by red warning lights and, when he dropped them, Krim indeed started to get annoyed; he seethed, and stopped listening.

  ‘But no one influences me! On the contrary, I have my own ideas, I’m not there to … to … believe just anybody, anything—’

  ‘Hold on, hold on. Believe just anybody? I’m telling you, whatever happens … I don’t know how to explain this. Look me in the eyes.’

  Krim sulked like a little boy.

  ‘Life is suspenseful. People put you into little pigeonholes, and you think it’s definitive, that it’ll be a prison, a nightmare till the end of your days, but that’s not true. Whatever people might say, no one, I mean no one knows what’s going to happen next. No one. And believe me, things usually sort themselves out, you just have to learn to free yourself … from the present … from … It’s as if you’d been programmed to be someone, and your duty, your duty towards yourself is to deprogram yourself, to escape from the fatality of … And then when you lack the energy, tell yourself it’s the situation that creates the energy, and not the other way round.’

  Fouad knew, from the way his words sparkled and burst like bubbles around him, that he’d assumed, despite the precautions, his most beautiful and warm actor’s voice, the one that coloured every last molecule of space and which had earned him so much success in good society. But Krim always heard too much and too well, and what he heard in his cousin’s speech were notes that were harmonious but wrong. Another tune for the Pied Piper.

  ‘You understand what I’m saying?’

  ‘Yes, yes, but it’s all right, there’s no need to say all that, I’m not a victim either—’

  ‘For example, the piano,’ Fouad interrupted. ‘You’ve got talent, more than that, a true gift, don’t you agree?’

  ‘But what’s the point of that?’

  ‘You hear the world! It’s an exceptional stroke of luck! You hear the whole world! I don’t hear anything, I forget a melody as soon as I hear it, but you remember all the notes! And hey, listen, a gift brings on responsibility. Like in Spider-Man: with great power comes great responsibility. If you don’t exert that power, it’s as if you’d never had it.’

  Fouad had begun to look away as he developed his speech. The volume of his voice had dropped imperceptibly, as if at some point while he was talking he’d noticed the ineffectiveness of his coaching.

  ‘Life is suspense,’ he continued despite everything telling him not to. ‘Think about that when you’re depressed. Don’t let yourself be pushed around, Krim, don’t let yourself be manipulated by guys who want to make you believe everything is written down ahead of time. You’ve got a mother who adores you, a father, God r
est his soul, who adored you as well. No, mektoub is for the Bedouins, it’s our ancestors who believed in mektoub and look where that got them.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Don’t even look at the old folk, just take Kamelia. Thirty-two, a stewardess, she lives at the airport, she spends her evenings in Paris and Hong Kong and she thinks a bad spell’s been cast on her and her sisters! For fuck’s sake. They’ve been cursed and all of a sudden they’ll never find husbands. And they believe it! Why didn’t Ines and Dalia come? Why do you think they never go to weddings?’

  ‘But that’s not mektoub.’

  ‘Yes it is, look …’

  But Krim was now only looking at one thing in the midst of Fouad’s umpteenth tirade: the vague silhouette of someone who was checking something in the boot of a car less than twenty metres from their bench. Krim struggled to undo his tie and stuffed it into his pocket, still staring at the silhouette.

  No longer paying attention to Fouad, he walked towards the man until he was sure it was their upstairs neighbour. On seeing him arrive, Belkacem held out his arms, smiling in that slanted way of his, both seductive and sly.

  ‘Krim! I hadn’t yet—’

  He didn’t have the time to finish his sentence: Krim had jumped on him and was grabbing him by the throat. Before Belkacem could get his wits back, Fouad tore Krim away, who was stuck to his target like an oyster to its rock.

  ‘Are you crazy?! What’s wrong with you?’

  Krim tried several times to charge back, but Fouad got in the way. Suddenly Krim pretended to tear out his hair and put his head between his knees. He took the silver lighter out of his pocket, the one he’d stolen from Belkacem two weeks earlier, annoyed at seeing him roaming around his father’s house.

  ‘Leave her alone!’ he screamed at the intruder.

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Fouad whispered to calm him down.