Sigli folded at the first blow. He fell onto one knee, his hand to his side, his mouth grimacing with pain. People stood up in the hall, stunned by my ‘lightning move’. Jeers rang out across the ring. Sigli staggered to his feet. What I read in his eyes was a mixture of terror and rage. He knew that he was outclassed, but was hoping he could hold out for three or four rounds. He charged at me in a desperate surge. My left caught him on the tip of his chin. He collapsed to the floor, determined to stay there to the end of the count. The fight had lasted less than a minute. The audience showed its annoyance and started leaving the hall, overturning chairs and whistling in anger. Even the Duke was disappointed. ‘You should have made their pleasure last,’ he said to me in the changing rooms. ‘When a whole lot of people take the trouble to attend a show, they want their money’s worth. Especially when the seats are so expensive. You were too quick. The latecomers didn’t even have time to sit down.’
I didn’t care.
I had won and I didn’t give a damn about the rest. There was only one thing I wanted to do: run and throw myself into Aïda’s arms.
As soon as I had done up my bag and put on my suit, I apologised to my comrades that I couldn’t celebrate my victory with them as planned, jumped into Filippi’s car and went straight to Camélia’s to give myself a well-earned bit of relaxation.
7
Place d’Armes was in jubilant mood. The trams disgorged their hordes of passengers; the carriages swayed under the weight of their occupants. The few policemen didn’t know which way to turn in the carousel of cars and pedestrians. Beneath the gigantic trees around the fountain, families in their Sunday best were taking the air, the men with their jackets over their arms, the women under their parasols, the children trailing along behind like reluctant chicks. On the steps of the theatre, a throng of spectators was waiting for the box office to open, ignoring the Arab shoeshine boys fluttering around them. Soldiers in dress uniforms were vying with eccentric young men for the attentions of the girls, each using his seductive skills with the care of someone lighting fireworks. It was a gorgeous, colourful day, as only Oran could provide, softened by the breeze coming up from the harbour and fragrant with delicate scents from the gardens of the Military Club. We were sitting at a table on the terrace of a brasserie — De Stefano, Salvo, Tobias, Gino and I — some of us drinking anisette, others iced lemonade. Gino was telling me about the party the previous evening, to which many local personalities had been invited. Salvo was praising in great detail the succulence of the dishes served at the banquet.
‘You shouldn’t have run off,’ De Stefano said reproachfully. ‘It was your victory we were celebrating. Lots of the guests were upset not to see you at the restaurant.’
‘You’re not a street pedlar any more, you’re a champion,’ Tobias said.
‘The Duke wasn’t pleased to see that you weren’t there. He gave Frédéric an earful because of you.’
‘I was tired,’ I said.
‘Tired?’ Gino said. ‘That’s no excuse. There are conventions.’
‘What conventions? I have a right to rest after a fight, don’t I?’
‘They were honouring you,’ Tobias reminded me. ‘Honours are important. The same people whose shoes you used to shine were there to shake your hand, damn it! To congratulate you. To cheer you. And you run off and throw yourself into the arms of a whore.’
‘What of it?’
‘It’s unreasonable behaviour,’ De Stefano said calmly.
‘Inadmissible,’ Tobias corrected him.
‘It’s time you learnt good manners, Turambo,’ De Stefano went on. ‘When people honour you, the least you can do is be there at the ceremony.’
‘It was just a dinner,’ I said. ‘A big one, but a dinner. Plus, there was pork and wine on the menu.’
‘Do you ever stop for two seconds and think?’ Gino said angrily. ‘Try to understand what we’re telling you instead of listening only to yourself. You’ve become someone, Turambo, a hero of the city. And honours can’t be negotiated. When an event is organised in your honour, things turn sour if you’re not there. Do you follow me? There were highly placed people who’d come specially for you; even the mayor was on time, and you were nowhere to be seen.
‘It’s not the end of the world,’ I said, anxious for them to change the subject.
‘Maybe not, but take care, it might be the end of everything for you. A champion mustn’t snub his people, especially if he depends on them. And he mustn’t do the first thing that comes into his head …’
‘Provided he even has one,’ Tobias sighed.
‘Why, do you?’ Salvo retorted.
Tobias didn’t take the bait. Since his arguments with Salvo often ended up to the latter’s advantage, Tobias wasn’t keen to make a spectacle of himself. The few jibes at me were mere diversionary tactics. The fact was, he was bored in his corner, and his expression was sombre. He kept staring at the jug in front of him, without touching it.
‘Weren’t you at the party?’ I asked him, determined to move on.
‘Oh, yes,’ he grunted, scowling so that his eyebrows met like two hairy caterpillars.
‘He’s hopping mad because Félicie refused to dance with him,’ Salvo said. ‘Was she scared he’d stick his wooden leg in her foot?’
‘Wrong. Félicie is sulking because I didn’t give her a jewel for her birthday. I gave her flowers instead. That’s more romantic, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe,’ Salvo said, ‘but it doesn’t count.’
Tobias scratched himself behind the ear. ‘Mind your own business, egghead. I don’t like your insinuations.’
The two men looked stonily at each other.
‘What have you done with your ring, you randy bastard? Did you leave it up the arse of some old bag?’
‘Watch it, Tobias, I wasn’t being vulgar.’
‘Don’t worry. It might get jammed.’
‘You’re on good form, pegleg. What did you eat this morning?’
‘You’re the one who smells bad. Your mouth’s a sewer — when you open it the whole city starts to stink. Men like you can only do it up the arse.’
De Stefano laughed, making his paunch wobble.
‘You’re lucky I don’t have my knife on me,’ Salvo muttered.
‘I’d gladly lend you mine,’ Tobias said. ‘What would you do with it? Circumcise me?’
Gino and I were convulsed with laughter.
Francis joined us, his nostrils quivering with rage and indignation. He brandished a newspaper as if it were a tomahawk. ‘Have seen today’s paper?’