He describes how the prince and princess are cruel to the villagers. They’re like the capitalists are towards the Wretched of the Earth. And yet they’re rich, the princess and prince, why can’t they leave the poor people in peace? Fortunately there’s a young man called Jai who decides to fight back. It’s not easy for him to attack an entire kingdom. He’s a very courageous young man, besides which, he wants princess Rajshree to be his wife, which is no easy fix. The princess is too proud and she refuses to listen to all Jai’s fine words, though they’re sweet as honey. Thank God there’s a country girl who loves Jai and sacrifices herself to save him from death. This is the point where the people all clapped in the cinema and Jai gets his own back and shows that just because you’re rich doesn’t mean you can mess the poor people around.
When I hear Lounès telling the story, I feel as though he’s actually been to India and visited the palace he’s describing in such detail. Then it occurs to me that it’s a bit like what’s happened to me with Caroline, now she loves Mabélé, when she should love me. Because I’ve got lots of plastic lorries and spades and rakes, I’m a bit like the peasant boy in Mandala, daughter of India. I should go and chat up princess Caroline but I don’t want some peasant girl loving me and sacrificing herself for me and saving me from death. Mabélé is very proud, and thinks he’s the only one who reads the work of Marcel Pagnol, and can write poems for Caroline.
‘Michel, you’re talking to yourself!’
I hadn’t even noticed I was speaking out loud.
‘I don’t like Mabélé, you know,’ he says.
‘D’you know him then?’
‘No, but I often see him in the street with the boys from over on Block 55.’
‘I want to see him too, I want to know if I’m better looking than him…’
‘You are better looking than him, I’ve already told you.’
‘Really?’
‘Anyway, you’ll see him later, for real.’
‘Where?’
‘On the pitch.’
‘What? On the pitch?’
‘He’s the number 11 for the Tié-Tié Caids.’
‘But Jonas, the one they call Little Pelé, always plays number 11.’
‘Jonas is out, he got dropped for being rude to the coach. He plays for the Voungou Dragons now.’
‘You mean, Little Pelé’s going to be playing against his own old team?’
‘He’ll be playing against our Tié-Tié Caids.’
Lounès and I have always supported the Tié-Tié Caids because we like the way Jonas dribbles from the halfway line to right in front of the other team’s goalkeeper. That’s how he got the nickname Little Pelé. There’s no stopping him when he’s got the ball at his feet. He flies through the air, taking off like a rocket, and when he kicks the ball with his left foot you know for sure it’s going to hit the back of the net. The other teams often said: to win the match, someone has to break Jonas’s leg. So they’d stick a really tall, muscular defender on him, someone who looks like they must be twenty already, though in fact all the players are about Lounès’s age, never older.
I say to Lounès, ‘If Jonas isn’t playing for the Tié-Tié Caids and Mabélé’s playing instead, I’m not going to support the Tié-Tié Caids, I’m supporting the Voungou Dragons and I want them to win this match!’
Now we’re at the Tata-Luboka pitch, Lounès points out Mabélé from a distance.
‘Look, he’s over there. He’s the one doing up his bootlaces near the goalkeeper.’
The stadium’s already full. People are standing all round the pitch, which is full of holes. The smallest bring their own stools and climb up on them, otherwise they wouldn’t see anything.
While I’m still looking at Mabélé and thinking there’s nothing he’s got that I haven’t, Lounès whispers in my ear, ‘Look who’s just opposite.’
‘Caroline?’
‘Shush! Don’t look that way, she’s looking at us.’
Caroline’s wearing an orange jersey, the colour of the Tié-Tié Caids. So she’s come to support Mabélé.
‘You told me she was gong to your aunt’s, and…’
‘Yeah, she’s still staying there. Maybe Mabélé invited her.’
‘I’m going home, I don’t want to see this match any more!’
‘No, stay, I’ll take care of Mabélé, just watch what I do in front of everyone. Maître John’s already taught me some advanced katas you only learn when you’ve got your orange belt. Just you wait!’
‘No, I’m going.’
He holds me back by my shirt. I struggle, manage to break loose, but I hear my shirt rip.
I’m already two hundred metres away from Lounès and I’m running like a bullet. People yell after me when I push past them. I don’t care, I just keep on running.
I hear Lounès’s voice in the distance.
‘Michel, come back! Come back! Come back!’
I don’t go down the Rue des Plateaux, I cut through the yard of Placide’s house — he’s one of my classmates. It’s a short cut I know well, Placide’s big brother, Paul Moubembé bars my way.
‘Michel, stop, why are you running like that, have you stolen something?’
I pretend to run to the left, then duck back to the right and manage to dodge Paul Moubembé, who stands there, like a post, watching me run. I go through Godet’s parents’ yard — he’s another classmate. This is a short cut too, that brings you directly onto the Avenue of Independence. I’m sweating like Uncle René when he’s talking about Engels, Lenin, Karl Marx or the immortal Marien Ngouabi. I wipe my forehead with my right arm. My shirt is flapping where it’s torn, as though I’ve got wings on my back. I might just take off, running this fast.
I’m on the Avenue of Independence now, and at last I turn round. Lounès hasn’t followed me, he’ll watch the match even if I’m not there. I don’t know what will happen between him and Mabélé. Will they fight? Will Lounès do the karate Maître John taught him? What are these advanced katas his teacher’s shown him? Does Lounès take off like Bruce Lee when he lays into people who are bigger than him? I don’t actually want him to fight Mabélé, Caroline will only blame me.
Lounès likes me being with his sister, but when he yells at her to go and see me, Caroline screams like she’s having her throat cut. He’s told me now, it’s our business, no one else’s. He’s not going to mention it to her again. Caroline is too complicated and Lounès says that whenever she cries, Monsieur and Madame Mutombo blame him and stop his pocket money for a week.
I get back home, and bump into Maman Pauline who’s just packing a big bag. I turn my back on her so she won’t ask me why my shirt is torn. She’ll think I’ve been in a fight, though in fact I’m afraid of fights because I’ve never won one yet.
‘Is the match finished already?’
‘No, I’m hungry, and it’s too hot there.’
I’m staring at her bag. It’s a travel bag, so she must be going somewhere.
‘I’m going in two weeks’ time, but I’m preparing my bag now, otherwise I’ll forget things.’
‘I’m coming with you.’
‘Oh no you’re not. I’m going into the bush to buy bunches of bananas, then taking them to Brazzaville to sell. The bush isn’t safe for children.’