Transit (13 page)

35

ALICE

WHEN A WIFE IS CROSS
with her husband or neglected by him, she goes back to her father's household and can't come back unless she's accompanied by a delegation that includes the members of his family laden with gifts. Before that, the husband has been summoned, sermonized, and returned to the straight and narrow if need be. A ram is slaughtered and the quarrel drowned in the family celebration. If, for one reason or another, the wife is not brought back at the end of a few days, she is considered divorced from her husband. At least, that's how things went in the time when the importance of a family was calculated more by the number of its neighbors than by the size of its flock. In the same way, one did not marry inside the clan but allied oneself with another clan from the great tribal family. Today, it's all going to the devil, he mumbles.

That just shows that my father-in-law has remained the only member of the family I enjoy seeing again. When he has nothing personal to tell me, he instructs me in the customs of the country; it's his way of breaking the ice and being useful.

“My dear Alice, you can't imagine how clever our Bedouins are, the very ones those travelers or researchers of yours
describe as ignorant. Believe it or not, when a baby camel happened to die, it was immediately replaced by a straw dummy so that the mother would continue to give milk. The same technique was used for a cow deprived of her calf. The dummy was made from the hide of the dead baby camel stuffed with straw; it was disposed of after five months, which is how long lactation lasts. Ingenious, isn't it? But—for there is always a but with human activities—the dummy had no effect on the she-goat and the ewe.”

I can sense that he hasn't come just to teach me these inert things marinating in oblivion. He hovers around me; I leave him to his little game, and this man, whose shreds of words are usually so parsimonious at this time of day, turns into my confidant. He knows that words spoken in a confidential tone have more impact than words proclaimed loud and clear. I throw him a line: you've never told me the meaning of your name Awaleh. “Oh, that means ‘the lucky one' or more precisely ‘He will live'; at times of great pandemics or famines it was given to newborn babies to ward off fate. You know, Alice, your six-month-old son and thus my grandson, by the grace of the Majestic One, you know that he was born on the night of destiny, the night of Miraj,
al leyl'al miraj
as Muslims say the world over.” And what does that imply—destiny? I stammer, trying to look natural. “Your husband told you nothing about this? That doesn't surprise me at all; that's the way he is—too westernized; I can see how far the son has moved away from his father. Other days, other ways. Luckily I'm here to connect the threads of spiritual and temporal things, the visible and the invisible, my dear Alice. Miraj is the night of the ascent to heaven of our prophet Mohammed, may his name be praised to all eternity! who reached the spiritual world of celestial Jerusalem by riding the winged horse Bouraq, led by the angel Djibril. The steed of the Prophet—may his name be praised by
all tiny creatures like us!—was described by the chroniclers as an animal having wings on his thighs pushing his legs forward so hard he could attain the speed of light.”

What is going to happen to my baby? I say, holding back a tear. “Nothing but good; all mothers pray to deliver their children from evil on the night of destiny. Your baby is blessed, blessed three times over. We're lucky, you know? A baby like this one at the first try, bravo, girl!”

I wanted to point out that my baby was also just as old as Independence (independence is above all the power of utopia—it is all the battles dreamt and fought, and their catastrophic future)—but he had already turned away. He left as surreptitiously as he had come.

36

BASHIR BINLADEN

THE GOVERMENT STILL
got no money. So I say we gotta start vitaminized job tomorrow. I woke up Aïdid; he was too-too floppy cause of the pills Janaleh gave out. We set up front of American embassy. Lot of poor jerks there with blankets lying down on sidewalks all the way up to the École de la Nativité. Then, we kick an punch everybody an take up position two yards away from the gate. But they still there, some of em snoring loud like inside their mama's belly. Some of em look like they already in the grave. We stamp our feet; c'mon get out of there, we here to work. We brought empty folders an files to look serious. Course we also brought our little weapons like Yemenite knives, box cutters an all for dissuasion (that military language, very correct even). After, we smoked, but real-real Camel cigarettes with camel on the pack. We like Camels cause of camel, cause that, animal of nomads, right? When sun began to get too hot, we saw lot of people coming in by bus, by taxi, an even on foot, the ones who're broke. An even good-looking girls who got lot-lot of nice perfume psst! psst! on the neck an arms. Their perfume, it smell good from French Consulate to far-far away Aïdid said, cause don't forget, real vitaminized
job is tomorrow front of French Consulate. One day it cowboy embassy, another day blue-white-an-red consulate. That way everybody happy. An then, blue-white-an-red consulate also give visa for Belgium, Holland, Sweden, etc. My idea-there real good, don't you think? Hey, that was my secret, got it now, you smarties out there? That way, people don't send out to look for us saying: where they go, those two hoods without pity?

So, one day it this way, next day that way. Friday rest, weekend here at home cause everything closed. Ah! two customers walking up to me with fresh face an toothpaste smile like commercials on
DRT
(that, Radio
TV
in our country, you didn't forget that, right?). The two customers, one pay one thousand francs, other pay one thousand francs. They don't cause no problems or else watch out. Anyways, they real happy. They sneak in the line-there center-forward an they think they gonna get visa for New York or Washimton right away. My job, real classy cause number one, it real easy job: you push away the little weak guys, you get in center-forward position in the long-long line, an after that you give your place to the customer who pay right away, an number two, cause there many-many customers; everybody wanna leave this shitty country. Everybody, they yell: I got a brother in Paris, I got uncle in America, I want a job in Australia, I got refugee family in Canada. Visa, money-transfer, certificate, consulate…It ten past ten, job over for today. But hey, it not illegal to pick up money somewhere else. Lessee if there French or German soldiers in town, to scrounge money. Visa, transfer, consular, tralala…Visa, transfer, tralala…

37

ABDO-JULIEN

THE PRESIDENT
, the second of that name, His Excellency El Hadji Abdoulwahid Egueh, was elected rather democratically, if we are to believe the foreign observers sent by the
OAU
, the Conseil de la Francophonie, and the
UN
. Eight experienced emissaries followed the election, in which His Excellency received over 60 percent of the vote. The main leader of the opposition got close to 26 percent. Two other parties of the disunited opposition—puppet parties, in the eyes of public opinion—shared the crumbs. The whole business was buckled up in two or three sighs, His Excellency immediately congratulated by France, the monarchies of the Persian Gulf, and finally by the rest of the international community. All the representatives of said community congratulated themselves on the return of peace and the success of the demobilization process, which returned some sixteen thousand people to civil life with the help of the
UNDP
and various
NGOS
. Not forgetting the patent failure of the coup d'état that ended, fortunately, without too much bloodshed. There were a few protests here and there, but nothing to alarm the emissaries' conscience, which a few
displayed without excessive exertion. More than the election of the president—quite predictable, after all—what still affects people is the “patriotic contribution”: up to a fourth of one's salary deducted at the source, even well after hostilities ended.

38

ALICE

I TOUCH MYSELF
; I delicately stroke the brushy tuft, the pink of my moist flesh slightly sticky, light mixing with dark. A peony. The invisible stirring is there, right next to me, a subterranean heating of my body. I feel him tight against me. I can feel him even if he's still rotting in the central police station. I'm feeling him more than ever. I slip two fingers inside the moving, half-open silk, moist and pearly, smiling to the stars. I can see my man standing behind me again, his body glued to mine, his body cutting a narrow path between desire and memories, his hands weighing my breasts. I sigh, purr like a well-fed cat. He turns me over, sucks my nipples. I'm drowning. Got to hold myself back and take a deep breath, the little voice inside me says without desire or displeasure. He catches hold of me again, lifts me up, sets me delicately on the bed, holding me by the hips. I lose myself in his arms; his lips run down my spine. He's getting ready to stick his turgescence into the very depths of my flesh. A deep song rises from the earth, floods the skies. His blood is beating and beating in his temples, in his jugular veins, his breast, his forearms. My man crushing me with his full weight, bringing back my knees before he opens them to
set, no, to plant his trunk between them and move inside them up and down, up and down, his two legs completely parallel and even squeezed together, the rectangle of his back compressing and relaxing as the breath goes in and out of his chest clinging to mine, his arms now slipped beneath the shade of my armpits. I can feel my wetness swelling until it bursts.

39

BASHIR BINLADEN

I'M DEAD
, I'm almost dead. You think that a bunch of lies, well then me, Binladen, I'm gonna tell you everything. Demobilization money never got into our hands. Right away I knew it was too rotten, that business-there. Government said I don't wanna pay nothing, don't have a franc in the till. Us, we got the message, we attacked headquarters not too-too hard, just to scare, to get the money, see. The president, he don't find this funny, chiefsa staff neither. They went an brought tanks right away from military camp Sheikh-Osman an even from Nagadh military training center. And no warning bang-bang-bang they fire at everybody. Like the last time on the demobilized with no legs no arms an no money. Lot of people killed on the spot not just demobilized, like my good buddy Aïdid (may his soul rest in peace,
Allah arhamu,*
an vengeance some day I swear it). Even old civilians, handicapped, retired, old mamas who sell cigarettes on street-there, they shelled everybody. Operation Dead Town. Worse than the other asshole's screwed-up coup. I swear to God, me, Binladen the terriblific, my body move all by itself cause of great fear-there. All the people alive—not that many, really—they were running all over. I dunno how I
got back to the neighborhood of ambassadors. I saw the scared people an I follow, that's all. This time you've had it, I told myself; it's the end of my poor little life that's all, everybody gotta right to die some day, right, even Binladen, so what?

I say that to myself when I saw thousands of police in front of embassies. Then, I dunno why, I found myself inside French consulate with four other men. I think I fell into coma,
OK
not big coma, no, little coma for a couple minutes or a few hours, little coma like goalie
KO
cause his head hit the goalpost hard an then stretcher an substitution. So, I was in little coma cause something hit my head-there. Little coma, still danger a little.
OK
, so there I am in front of ambassador of France, the fat genleman in shirt with red-white-an-blue flowers, you didn't forget, did you? Ambassador, today he wearing white shirt an red tie like the blood of sheep with throat slit for Aïd feast. Ouch ouch my head-there, it hurt too much. Wire snapped inside or what? So, the four men, they argue loud with ambassador. I didn't understand everything in their big an rich French. Cept a genleman was saying: he can't escape in that crazy city with those drugged policemen and all. The ambassador, he answered: I don't give a shit about that mess, then he calmed down a little, but the man didn't let it drop. Then, another man said: France has to protect him with his son, an there he pointed to me with his intellectual's finger, clean an all. Yes, his nice wife killed by the soldiers an drugged policemen was French, so they must begin investigation right away, must send him right away to France with his son, an there he points to me, Binladen the terriblific now sort ofbroken. Me, I don't have the strength to open my mouth. I look an look an I don't say nothing. Ambassador, he said:
OK
your wife she's French but she lived with you; she never came by to say hello at the embassy even on July 14, the national holiday. She took too many risks; there's nothing I can do, you understand. The intellectual genleman he got real-real
mad, he hit bang on the flowerpots like enraged striker going for goal. Outside we could hear bullets and bombs whistling an singing a lot. The argument with ambassador, it lasted all afternoon. Then, the ambassador left to take care of his black dog. The four men, they go crazy like Italian fans who lost World Cup final. Me, Binladen, I got a head-there heavy like military truck; I watch everything an I don't say nothing. Almost night now. We slept like that outside on the ground in the courtyard, each one in his corner like little scared dog. We didn't swallow nothing but cigarette smoke to drive away fear.

Next morning the ambassador came back with another shirt but same tie. He said like a boss to the three other men: you, you can leave, I have received assurance from the authorities. The others, they didn't stand up; they were too
KO
. Then, it our turn. You and your son, I can at a
pinch
—he repeated that pinch-there three times—get you on tonight's flight. I'm going to sign a permit for urgent repatriation; you'll try to handle your administrative formalities once you're in Paris. No residency visa; don't count on it. That's all I can do for you. As for the investigation, that will wait until your country regains its sanity. And he left without saying good-bye.