The next day, after the teacher had given us all a taste of the strap, he finally explained how to work out what the shopkeeper had to pay.
‘Now do you understand?’
We all answered:
‘Yes sir!’
‘Really?’
‘Really!!!’
We didn’t really understand at all, we had no idea, we’d just copied down what the teacher had written on the board. I know if he ever gives us the same problem again, only Adriano, Willy-Dibas and Jérémie will find the answer.
Lounès’s school is called Trois-Glorieuses, after the Three Glorious Days of our Revolution. It’s near the Adolphe-Cissé hospital, not far from the sea. You can’t get there on foot, you have to get a bus from the Savon quartier. But the children don’t want to pay for their tickets, they want to keep the money to spend it on doughnuts at break. So they take the Workers’ Train which leaves directly from Savon, in the centre of town. It’s the TO, an old train with four carriages, and it’s normally used by the railway workers. But they let the schoolchildren take it, because if they work hard at school then one day they might become bosses in the national railway company, the Congolese Ocean Railway.
Lounès thinks the high school kids cheat a lot on this train because they’ve seen the film Fear Over the City. There’s a white actor in it called Jean-Paul Belmondo who’s got problems because there’s a guy robbing banks in the city, and Jean-Paul Belmondo has to find him. But while he’s looking for the bank robber there’s another gangster called Minos going round killing single women. He says he’s bringing justice to the city. Isn’t that a bit weird, if someone wants to bring justice, to go round killing all the single women? So now Jean-Paul Belmondo has to go out and find Minos. He climbs on top of a moving train so he can chase the murderer, who’s already up there. Lounès swears that Jean-Paul Belmondo never falls when he’s fighting with Minos. The high school kids must have thought: If someone can climb on top of a moving train in a film without getting hurt, we can climb on top of the TO to avoid the ticket inspectors.
So when the TO arrives at Savon station, the high school kids are there, waiting to climb up. First of all they check out where the inspectors are. And as soon as the train starts up, they run and cling on to the doors. Within a few seconds there are at least a hundred of them up on top of the carriages. Lounès says it’s called train-surfing. Once they’re up there, they hang on tight and duck when they go through a tunnel, like in Fear Over the City. The inspectors can’t follow them up there because they’re scared they’ll fall and be killed. Besides, they’re already too old, and old people can’t train-surf like high school kids. The inspectors get the TO to stop, and call the police. But by the time the police arrive it’s too late, the kids have already run off and are walking the rest of the way to school. Tomorrow they’ll be back, and they’ll train-surf again.
One day I asked Lounès what makes a good train-surfer.
‘First of all — you must be fearless. Jean-Paul Belmondo was never afraid, in any of his films. In Fear Over the City it wasn’t him that was frightened, it was the city. Train-surfing’s easy; you wait till the train sets off, you run for a bit, then you run a bit faster and you grab hold of the door. Then you climb on to the ladders between the trucks and you’re up!’
~ ~ ~
Maman Pauline asked me to go and buy some sugar from Diadhou the Senegalese, who has one of the biggest shops on the Avenue of Independence.
I’ve only been walking for a few minutes, but it’s so hot this Sunday afternoon that my feet are burning. I ignored my mother when she said I should put my sandals on. When you walk barefoot on the tarmac out of the shade it’s like walking inside a wood burning stove. Sometimes I stop by the side of the road and shelter under a mango tree to cool my feet, but when I step back onto the tarmac my feet start burning again. So it’s better to stay on the tarmac, then your feet get used to the heat and you won’t even feel them. You just have to grit your teeth and try to forget you’ve got feet. It’s a bit like when you’re desperate for a pee and you’re a long way from home. If all you think about is having a pee and how good it will feel when you’ve had one, the pee is quite likely to burst out suddenly while you’re still in the street, and you’ll wet your pants. But if you try to forget it for a moment, you can hold on for another few metres.
So I’m walking along and thinking about nice things, not my poor feet. I’m thinking of Caroline. I’m thinking of the red five-seater car. I’m thinking about the little white dog. I’m thinking about the radio cassette player. I’m thinking about the book of Arthur’s poems and his angel face. And it works.
Now I’m outside Diadhou’s shop. And who do I see inside? Oh no, I don’t believe it! I want to turn round and go home. It’s Mabélé inside the shop, and he’s waiting while Diadhou butters his slice of bread. It’s the first time I’ve seen him close up. My heart falls into my stomach. I think: So when you’re frightened it’s like being in love, your heart falls into your stomach.
Mabélé turns round and sees me too. Now what do I do? I’ve no idea. I go up to the counter and stand behind him. I keep about a metre’s distance between us. If he throws a punch at me, it won’t reach me, I’ll just step back a few centimetres.
Mabélé acts like he hasn’t seen me. He watches while the Senegalese goes on buttering his bread. After a while Diadhou hands him his bread, he pays and turns round to leave the shop. He walks past me, shoulders me out of the way and says quietly, ‘Asshole, I’ll wait for you outside. Let’s see who’s tougher, you or me. And when I’ve smashed your face in, Caroline won’t even look at you again!’
He leaves the shop. I can see him outside, gobbling up his bread. I’m so frightened I forget what I’m doing here.
‘What do you want, Michel?’
I don’t answer, just look out at the road. Diadhou asks me again, ‘What do you want? Have you got a problem outside, or what?’
The Senegalese has just noticed Mabélé outside waving his fist, and can see he’s waiting to beat me up.
Diadhou shouts from behind his counter, ‘Hey, you out there! You get away from my shop. I don’t want fighting outside my shop. I don’t suppose your parents are paying for my license, are they?’
Mabélé’s gone, and I remember now that I’ve come to buy some sugar for my mother. I pay, and tiptoe towards the door. I stand there looking up and down the street. I sense Mabélé’s hiding somewhere. I can’t see anyone. Perhaps he’s behind a tree or behind the cars parked on the avenue.