‘Of course not! It’s a dangerous place. A big-city version of Graba. Lots of fights and the occasional murder.’
He was speaking far too quickly. His words jostled in his mouth.
‘It wasn’t so bad when I arrived,’ he continued, in a sharper tone. ‘But ever since this ex-convict has been parading around with his gang of wild dogs, life’s become hell. El Moro, he’s called. With his scars, he’s the ugliest bastard you’ve ever seen. Always making trouble. If you aren’t happy, he kills you with his knife.’
Suddenly, he perked up.
‘I’ve made a name for myself. Oh, yes! Your brother’s no slouch. He has to leave his mark. He’s the Blue Jinn … What about you, what are you up to? You’re looking good. Big and strong. Do you work in a butcher’s?’
‘I do a bit of everything. Do you still hear from Ramdane and Gomri?’
‘I haven’t heard from Ramdane at all. He went back to his douar and has not been seen since. As for Gomri, I left before you did. I have no idea where he is … Do you remember his “fiancée”? He was the only one who thought she was pretty. A mouse hypnotised by a snake, was Gomri. If you’d stabbed him, he wouldn’t have woken up. Maybe he married her after all.’
After a silence, we again embraced. Tall and gaunt-faced, Sid Roho was as thin as a skeleton, and his wine-reeking breath betrayed how far he’d fallen. Although he laughed heartily, there was no laughter in his eyes. He was like a stray animal exposed to the blows of everyday life. With no family and no points of reference, he trusted his instincts and nothing else, like those wild-eyed thugs who haunted the dark alleys.
I asked him if he had plans and what he wanted to do with his life. He laughed for a moment, then said that someone like him didn’t have any more of a future than a sacrificial lamb and that, if he drifted from season to season, it was because he was a bit like a tree that loses its leaves in winter, only putting on its finery in the spring to play to the gallery instead of advancing in life.
‘You dream you’re a king,’ he said, bitterly. ‘In the morning, when you come back down to earth, the first thing you see shatters your crown to pieces. Your palace is nothing but a slum where the rats pass themselves off as fabulous animals. You ask yourself if it’s worth getting up, because the only thing waiting for you outside is what was there yesterday, but you have no choice. You can’t stay where you are. So you go out and lose yourself in all that crap.’
‘You used to be thicker-skinned than that.’
‘Maybe. As time goes on, the only person you can still deceive is yourself. The God who created me wasn’t too sure about me. He stuffed me in a cupboard and I can’t stand to be gathering dust any more.’
‘You always landed on your feet, didn’t you?’
‘Yes, but I’m not a child any more. I’ve reached the age where you have to face facts, and the facts aren’t good. I met a girl,’ he said abruptly. ‘A girl from Tlemcen, as blonde as a ray of sunshine. I was ready to settle down, I swear. Her name was Rachida. She said to her cousin, “Sid brings light into my life.” Her cousin laughed and said, “And when you switch off the lights, how do you find that Negro of yours in the dark? Especially when he closes his eyes?” … I decided never to see Rachida again.’
‘You were wrong.’
‘It’s words that ruin everything, Turambo.’
‘I thought you were stronger than that.’
‘Only beasts of burden are strong. Because they don’t know how to complain.’
He admitted that he expected nothing of the future, that the die was cast and that, if he pretended to enjoy himself as he had this evening, it was simply to make the best of a bad job.
‘Chawala used to say, “Life is nothing at all; it’s up to us to make something of it,”’ I reminded him.
‘Chawala was crazy; he didn’t even have his own life.’
His tone was full of sadness and disappointment, and he punctuated his words with sharp gestures.
A drunkard we hadn’t noticed in the darkness moved the tip of his nose into a beam of light and said to Sid in a thick voice, ‘Excuse me, son. I haven’t been eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help hearing what you said. I feel sorry for you, with your stories, except that you have an ace up your sleeve: youth. Believe me, it’s those who go through hell when they’re young who get tougher as they grow old. When I was thirty, I was rolling in money. Today, at sixty, I’m wading through shit. Nothing can be taken for granted, and no misery is insurmountable. The good life is all bluster. You laugh as you lie to yourself, you take it easy as you sink, you don’t give a damn about other people and you don’t give a damn about yourself. But poverty, now that’s serious. You take it on the chin and that keeps you alert. Whatever you say, nobody hears you. You learn to count on nobody but yourself.’
Sid Roho wasn’t convinced. ‘I’ve seen how the rich live,’ he grumbled. ‘From a distance, it’s true, but I’ve seen them stuff their pockets and have a good time. Well, with all due respect, I’d give all of my youth for a single one of their nights.’
We sat for a long time on a flagstone, hopping from one subject to another. Behind us, the group of gypsies were bringing the house down. We heard cheers and applause, but something was stopping Sid and me from enjoying the celebration.
Some time later, Gino joined us. When I hadn’t come back into the hall, he had imagined the worst. He was relieved to find me safe and sound. I introduced him to Sid. The three of us decided it was time to go home.
On the way, Sid teased a few whores before taking up the offer of a big woman with overflowing breasts. Naked under her green tulle, she merely had to flash her enormous behind for Sid to abandon us on the spot, but not before he and I had agreed to meet in the Haj Ammar café, at the entrance to the Arab market.
I saw Sid again the next day, and over the following few weeks. We spent our days wandering around different neighbourhoods or scouring flea markets. Sometimes, he would come with me to De Stefano’s gym, although he’d always be gone by the time I finished my training. Nor did he come to my match with Sollet, whose trainer was forced to throw in the towel in the fifth round. De Stefano had invited quite a lot of people to celebrate my sixth victory in a row and Sid refused to join us, claiming that he had some urgent business to deal with. In reality, he didn’t much like the fact that I was mixing with Roumis. He didn’t dare reproach me openly and waited until he was drunk one night to tell me: A man who tries to sit between two chairs ends up with a crack up his arse. I had no idea he was referring to me.
At first, Sid gave the impression he hadn’t changed a jot. He was funny, a bit scatterbrained, but engaging, even fascinating … It didn’t take me long to become disillusioned. Sid wasn’t the same as before. Oran had made him even crazier. He reminded me less and less of the kid I had loved in Graba, the famous Billy Goat who laughed about everything, even his own disappointments, who knew just what to say to cheer me up when I was down and had a head start on all of us. That was ancient history. The new Sid was randy, wild-eyed and foul-mouthed. I wasn’t sure if he’d matured or if he’d gone bad; either way, he worried me.
‘Why did you start drinking?’ I yelled at him one night as he staggered out of some shady dive, his shirt open.
‘To have the courage to look at myself in the mirror,’ he replied immediately. ‘When my head’s clear, I turn away quickly.’
I didn’t agree with what he was becoming. I reminded him he was a Muslim and that a man had to remain sober if he didn’t want to lose control.
Sid railed against me as he walked through an Arab neighbourhood, crying out, ‘God would do better to take a look at all the lousy things that happen in this world instead of spying on a failure who drowns his sorrows in a glass.’