Seymour recalled that he had left his tea abandoned and unpaid for and returned to the cafe. He invited de Grassac to join him. He also invited Chantale but she declined.
‘I have to get back to relieve my mother,’ she said. ‘Besides, I’ve caused enough trouble for one day.’
De Grassac watched her go.
‘I’ve known her since she was a child,’ he said. ‘And sometimes I don’t think she’s changed a bit.’
‘You knew her father, I think you said?’
‘De Lissac. We came out to Africa in the same year. We served together. A good man to have beside you. We were very close.’
‘You obviously know the family well.’
‘Yes. I was the first person he told. When he got married. I warned him. I said, “There will be problems, Marcel!” “So?” he said. “You will help me solve them.” And, of course, I said I would. We were comrades. I was the best man at the wedding. Actually, the only other man at the wedding.’
He laughed.
‘Of course,’ he said, ‘they tried to break it up. They posted him all over the place, usually to places she couldn’t come to. But, then, to be fair, we were all being posted all over the place, often to places no one had ever heard of, places deep in the Sahara without a name. And I was often posted with him.’
He sipped his tea, and stroked his moustaches.
‘In those early years we were always fighting. You really get to know a man when you’re under fire together. Especially in tight situations. He saved my life, I saved his. Once we were out on patrol and my horse was hit. It went down and my leg was caught underneath. They were coming in on me and I thought I was done for. But then he came riding back, alone, and pulled me out and up on to his horse, and we rode away together. And once I did the same for him.
‘That’s when you really get to know a man. And not just then. There were times when we were together at some lonely outpost where nothing happened for weeks, months. You were thrown on each other. It is important then to have good comrades because otherwise you go mad. As some did. You talk, you talk — that is all you can do. And de Lissac and I talked. We put the world right together. For me especially it was an education. I came from a family which didn’t talk much, an old army family, you understand? His was like that, too, but he had a grandfather he talked with. About the great things, you know: life, death. And now he talked with me. I had never talked like that before. It was a revelation. So there were these things to life? I had never understood that before.
‘And then they had the baby, and we talked about that. Uncomprehending, on my part. I couldn’t see why he was so excited. A baby, just a baby, I thought. But now I come to see — I was the godfather. “You ought to get one for yourself,” he said, laughing. But I never did. We were always moving, you understand? At the places we were posted to there were never any women of the right sort. So, well, no wife, no baby. The only child I ever held in my arms was his.’
He stroked his moustaches again.
‘And then we were posted to Morocco. We even spent some time in Tangier. He was very happy because he could spend time with his wife.’
He looked at Seymour.
‘You know Marie? No? A remarkable woman. Stayed with him through thick and thin. And so — so aware of things! At first I was — well, you know, I had my doubts. About her being a Moroccan, you know. But I could see — see she made him happy. And in time I got to know her too. So easy to talk to, so understanding. I forgot she was Moroccan. What did I care about that sort of thing? What did it matter if she was brown, black, pink or whatever? She was the wife of a brother officer. That was enough.’
He stopped.
‘And then we were sent to Casablanca.’
He hesitated.
‘You know about Casablanca.’
‘A little.’
‘Yes. Well. There you are.’
He studied his cup, and was silent for quite some time. Then he looked up.
‘It made a difference. Everything in Morocco today, you know, goes back to Casablanca. For good or bad. And I’m not saying it was all for the bad. But it changed everything. And it changed everything for him, too.
‘We were sent to Casablanca. It was just another place, one of the many we had been sent to. But for de Lissac it was not just another place. It was different because of what we had to do there.
‘And perhaps de Lissac himself had become different by this time. Perhaps it was the child, I don’t know. Or perhaps it was that we were now in Morocco and his wife was Moroccan. He began to think, and to think differently from the rest of us. He had always thought differently. I realize that now, but now his thinking was taking him apart from us.
‘After his first day in Casablanca he said, “This is not right.” And after his second he said, “I am not going to do this.”
‘Well, it was a bad time to make his stand. They had began to fight back and we ourselves were under fire. At such times, you understand, you stand together. So, many were angry with him. I was angry with him. Our Commandant pulled him out. “We’ll sort this out later,” he said. “This is not the time.”
‘But for de Lissac it was the time. If no one does anything now, he said, no one ever will! So he began to show himself and speak and people began to notice him. “You see?” said the Moroccans. “Even the army is beginning to question!”
‘And the townspeople, the interests, the big interests, yes? became angry. What are you doing? they said. Whose side are you on? He’s stirring up trouble. He’s making things worse.
‘Our Commandant didn’t know what to do. He told Marcel to shut up. But Marcel said it was a matter of principle and that he wouldn’t shut up. In that case, said the Commandant, you’d better resign. Very well, then, said Marcel. I will resign. And he did.
‘But then he still didn’t shut up. He went on protesting. “You’ve got to do something about this!” the townspeople said. “What can I do?” said the Commandant. “He’s not in the army now.” “That’s not stopping you doing things to everyone else,” they said. “Get rid of him!” And in the end he had to. We hustled him away. Locked him up. It was the sort of thing you could do then. No one was asking any questions. Certainly not in Casablanca. And not in Tangier, either.
‘Well, we afterwards lost touch. The regiment was posted. And then we heard that he had died. Well, of course, I wrote to Marie. But we were a long way away. I did wonder how they were getting on, but…
‘Then, one day, we were posted back to Tangier, and I went to see them. And what I found made me go straight to the General. “General,” I said, “we’ve got to do something! He was a good man, a good officer, too. And one of us. We can’t just leave them. And there’s his daughter, too. Damn it, she’s half French. You can’t just leave her in this sort of state.” I told the others, too, and in the mess things got quite heated. They sent a deputation in support of me. “You’ve got to do something,” they told the General. And, to be fair, he did.
‘But, you know, when things happen like what happened just now, I wonder if we got it right. But perhaps you can never get these things right…’
‘My thoughts,’ confessed Mustapha, behind him, ‘are not always godly.’
‘No?’
‘Sometimes I think about food.’
‘Well, Mustapha, that is understandable. Especially at Ramadan time.’
‘Ramadan will soon be over, God be praised. No, I don’t mean that! I mean, Ramadan will soon be over.’
‘That is so, Mustapha. And then we will be able to return to ungodly things.’
‘That will be needful, Idris. For by then the money will have run out.’
Mustapha was silent for a moment. Then he said: ‘Idris?’
‘Yes, Mustapha?’
‘Do you think God sees into the heart?’
‘He does, Mustapha.’
‘He will know, then, that instead of thinking holy thoughts, I think about food?’
‘I am afraid so, Mustapha.’
‘And that I said I was looking forward to the end of Ramadan?’