Since Jacques Mesrine’s death, the gangsters in the Grand Marché have been copying his name and refuse to be nicknamed Angoualima like before. When you walk down the street you see the name Mesrine written on the walls of derelict houses and: I won’t give up without a fight. I don’t know what that means, why they want to have a fight, no one wants a fight with them, that’s what we’re all trying to avoid! Our gangsters want to be just like Mesrine, but they’ve got no cars, no wives to go on the run with them and get shot down by the police. So they end up getting caught alive and dragged back to the police station, and being given a good beating up before being released, because there’s not much room in our prisons which are pretty full.
What bothers me most isn’t this story about Jacques Mesrine. What really upsets me is that Roger Guy Folly also talked about a new law in France which says that you can refuse to let children be born. The child in the womb thinks it’s going to come into this world, but then they go to hospital and bang! the doctor makes it come out and chucks it in the bin. The word Roger Guy Folly uses for this is abortion. The journalist points out that in the past it used to be done in secret and lots of women used to die along with their children. The people who did the abortions were seen as murderers and were put in prison.
When Roger Guy Folly talked about abortion and explained the new law in France, which was championed by a woman called Simone Veil, Maman Pauline’s expression changed. She listened for a moment without saying anything, then she got up from the table and went into her bedroom. Papa Roger quickly searched for another radio station and happened upon Radio-Congo, where the journalists were talking about the ‘Day of the Tree’, which has just been set up by our President. From now on everyone has to plant a tree somewhere and the police are going to come and visit every neighbourhood, every household, to check that the President’s order has been obeyed. Anyone who doesn’t plant a tree will be fined, and if they’re members of the Congolese Workers’ Party they’ll have their card taken away. Poor old them, no more seats in the front row for the National Holiday processions.
~ ~ ~
My parents both ask together: ‘Michel, what present would you like?’
I’m very surprised because at Christmas they already gave me several bags of marbles and a castle you have to build, which I still haven’t managed to put together. I suspect they are hiding something from me, or have some very bad news to tell me.
Papa Roger adds: ‘We’ll go into town, just you and me! We’ll eat apples! Afterwards you can choose your present.’
‘Any present you like, whatever it costs!’ finished my mother.
‘Yes, any present you like, we just want you to be happy. Then you can come and see me at work, I’ll introduce you to my boss, Madame Ginette. And you’ll meet Monsieur Montoir too, who gave us the radio cassette.’
‘And that’s not all, Michel. One day you can come with me to the bush, and then to Brazzaville. Your first train journey!’
I don’t feel like eating now. There’s too much good news, all at once. And this is not how they usually talk to me. They’re like two different people sitting opposite me this evening. They’re smiling, but I can tell their smiles are hiding something. And when I look straight at them they lower their eyes because they know their Michel can read people’s minds. When they give me a present they never ask for my opinion, they choose it themselves. Sometimes it makes me cross, but I always end up accepting because they’re not going to go and take it back to the shop. Maman Pauline’s always said her business trips were dangerous because of the bush and the gangsters in Brazzaville. That I was too little to come with her. So she goes on her own, and every time, before she leaves, she tells me off because I say I want to come to Brazzaville with her. Am I big enough to go with her now?
In the end, what have I got to lose by accepting what they want to give me?
‘I’d really like a car like Sebastien’s!’ I tell them.
They are surprised. They look at each other and start to laugh. But I’m serious, I’m not laughing here. If I start laughing it will be like in Monsieur Mutombo’s workshop, I won’t be able to stop, I’ll have to hold my sides and fall on the floor.
My father doesn’t like this idea. ‘A car like your cousin’s! Is that really all you want? Think carefully, take your time, finish eating and then tell us what you want.’
We go on eating, though I’m only pretending, and they can tell because I’ve stopped peering at the largest piece of meat on my father’s plate. Besides, he’s just put it on my plate and I’m stalling before I eat it.
I can see they’re giving each other looks. My father’s even kicked my mother under the table, and his foot touched mine as well.
‘What are you hiding from me?’
My father replies, ‘Oh, Michel, we’re not hiding anything! We’ve never hidden anything from you, you know that. We just want to make you happy, that’s all.’
My mother asks me, ‘Would you like a bit more beans and beef?’
I shake my head, even if beef with beans is my favourite dish. I like the way she makes it. She takes her time, washes the meat carefully, starts boiling the beans first thing, and lets them sit till the end of the morning. Towards midday I begin to smell it, I’m hungry, I can’t wait, and it’s her that says, ‘Just five more minutes.’
But those five minutes are like five and a half centuries. And when it’s ready I eat like tomorrow there’s going to be a nationwide famine. So today she can’t believe I don’t want a second helping.
‘Wasn’t it nice? Did I not make it right?’
‘I’m not hungry now. I’ll eat the rest tomorrow.’
‘No, tomorrow I’ll make you something else delicious.’
My father’s impatient: ‘So, what should we give you really, Michel?’
‘A car like Sebastien’s.’
‘But what’s so special about this car?’
‘It’s the best car in the world. If you press a button it starts up all on its own. And you can make it go left or right if you press different buttons.’
My mother wants me to change my mind. ‘And what about a bike? A bike would be better, for a boy your age! You can go riding about, people will see you, they’ll like that and…’
‘I don’t know how to ride a bike. I’ll just fall off.’
‘Lounès can teach you! I was at their house earlier, I had a long chat with Madame Mutombo.’
As soon as I heard that I thought: If Maman Pauline’s been to see the Mutombo’s, Lounès must know what my parents are keeping secret.
‘I want a car like Sebastien’s, not a bike.’
‘All right then, we’ll give you two cars and some new clothes,’ says Papa Roger, getting up from the table to fetch the radio cassette from the bedroom.
…..
I can’t get to sleep. I can’t breathe properly because of the mosquito net. It stops My Sister Star and My Sister No-name from seeing my face. I’ll have to take it off this evening.
I get out of bed, push aside the mosquito net and get back in. An army of mosquitoes immediately attacks. But though they bite me all over, I feel nothing.