Tomorrow I'll Be Twenty (22 page)

‘So the tree of the singer with the moustache is…'

‘Yes, it's his
alter ego
. The singer wishes he hadn't left his tree like a bad person would, when the tree's his friend.'

After a moment's silence he goes on, ‘You know what the teacher told my father? Don't laugh! He told him to buy me a dictionary, then I could find the definition of every French word there is…'

A plane is just going past. Lounès says: ‘Guess where it's going to land.'

‘Iran. The capital of Iran is Teheran…'

He's amazed. I don't usually answer that fast.

‘How did you know that?'

‘The Shah… He's the ex-president of Iran, and the Ayatollah Khomeyni wants to put him on trial and he's in Egypt and he's sick. And the Iranian students want him sent back to Iran and they've taken the Americans hostage in a basement of the embassy in Teheran. It's called extradition. But if the Shah gets sent back there they might kill him!'

I stare at Lounès in silence for a while.

‘Why are you looking at me like that? Have I got a spot on my face or what?'

‘No. But those little hairs there, on your chin… Is that your beard? Have you put beer froth on your chin?'

He touches his chin. ‘Can you see from a distance, then, that I've got hair there?'

‘A bit.'

‘It's not beer froth, it's hair growing.'

‘You'd better cut it quick, or people will think you're really old.'

‘No, my father says if I cut it now then bigger hairs will grow back, and they'll be really hard.'

He closes his eyes. I know he's thinking. I can tell he's going to come out with something serious. That's perhaps why he's come to see me.

I try and think what could be serious, but I can't. I mustn't disturb him, though, I must let him concentrate.

At last he opens his eyes: ‘Michel, I've always told you everything, and now there's something really big you haven't told me, it's almost like you lied to me…'

‘Me, lied to you?'

‘I was at my aunt's house, I saw Caroline, she told me Mabélé nearly beat you up and you ran away like a coward instead of putting up a brave fight. If I don't know what's going on how can I help you? Why don't you come to Maître John's karate club with me?'

I want to tell him I don't like doing press ups because they make you sweat and afterwards it really aches. And anyway, when you get into a fight you forget your karate because the other guy you're fighting's not going to wait for you to do your advanced katas and fly through the air like Bruce Lee.

It's as if Lounès can read my thoughts, because he says, ‘If you like we can both sort out Mabélé. I'll leap into the air while you grab his arm and when I land again I'll beat him till he bleeds, and…'

‘No, he'll go and tell tales to Caroline. Your sister will go on loving him and she'll hate me.'

Lounès gets up suddenly, as though he's really surprised by my reply. ‘Hey, you're right!'

The boys fishing on the other bank throw stones at us. They think they're not catching any fish because we're talking too loud and the fish can hear us. We lower our voices, and since we've stopped talking we feel like falling asleep. We'll be there
for at least an hour, waiting for the planes to pass overhead.

I give Lounès a shake to wake him up, and tell him I have to go home because I'm worried they might be looking everywhere for me, especially since Maximilien thinks I'm having a fight with a giant. He'll probably tell them that at home and the whole family will come out to look for me.

Lounès comes with me as far as our place. Maximilien's been standing on the same spot all this time, in the middle of the lot, like a post. He runs inside the main house to call Marius.

Marius comes out to face us with a stick in his hand. Maxim-ilien's hiding behind him like a frightened dog and he screams till he's hoarse, pointing at Lounès: ‘It's him! It's him! He's the giant Tarzan that wants to beat up our Michel!'

Marius grabs Maximilien's ears and goes back inside the house where he was probably busy counting his savings so he can get to Europe one day and become an even more famous footballer than Marius Trésor or a star sapper, like Jerry the Parisian.

Lounès has just left. Maximilien's sobbing in a corner of the lot, still going on about Tarzan the giant.

He comes over to me and takes my arm and murmurs, ‘You know, I really wanted to protect you from the giant, but I'm still too little. When I'm big, I swear I'll protect you against the bad guys round here.'

There are three girls arguing in Yaya Gaston's studio. Geneviève takes me by the hand and says, ‘That's not for your ears, come on, let's take a walk outside.'

I've been hoping she'd say that ever since she walked in and sat down in a corner.

It's dark outside. In the street we pass old ladies selling fritters and saltfish and maize. You can hear music coming from the bar called Joli Soir, and the noise of people drinking and dancing inside. Sometimes I'd like to go inside and see how they drink and dance in there. I'm not very tall yet, I might get trampled on, they might not realise I was there. And also, if I get beer froth on my chin, I'll have little hairs like Lounès and they'll think I'm an old man, when it's not actually true.

We get to a street lamp in the Avenue Félix-Eboué. There are some people sitting about there, and I even see a man and a woman kissing each other on the mouth and touching each other, you'd think they'd no bedroom at home to do it in. If I was them I'd feel embarrassed for a year, or more.

Geneviève stops, opens her bag, rummages inside and pulls something out.

‘I know you're going back to your maman's in Trois-Cents tomorrow. I've got a little present for you.'

She holds out a packet to me. It's not every day I get given something that isn't a lorry, a rake and a plastic spade for playing farming with.

I open the wrapping and there, inside, is my present.

‘Is it a book?'

‘Yes,
The Little Prince
. It's the first book my father gave me when I got my primary school certificate and I know you're going to get yours soon.'

We go into the shop and I choose two boiled sweets. I offer her one, she says no. I keep it in my pocket for Maximilien, who'll be very happy when I give it to him.

On the way back home, we go past the streetlamps again. The man and woman who were kissing have moved on now. They're a little bit further down the street, where there's less light. They're so stupid, what if a snake comes and bites them in the night, what will they do then?

Geneviève talks to me quietly. As though she hopes I'll keep what she says a secret, just between us two.

‘I love your big brother, he doesn't realise, he's blind. He's strong and handsome, he can have any woman in the
quartier
. I'm nothing next to him, but in fact I'm everything, because I love him with all my heart. Besides, he's the only man I've ever known, and I'll never go with another man, unless he throws me out so he can live with one of those girls who come to his house to argue. I'll wait a hundred years for him if I have to, love knows no limits. But I'm hurt, really hurt, and I lick my wounds in silence. When I talk to you I'm talking to him as well. Am I wrong? Am I right? Oh, Michel, I don't know. Yaya Gaston's not a child like you any more. He's spoiled his innocence with pride and flirting.'

We find Yaya Gaston all alone in his studio. He tells us he's kicked out all the girls because he was sick of them fighting. Now this was not what I wanted to hear. I hoped he would say
he'd kicked them out so as to be alone with Geneviève. This was probably what Geneviève was hoping he'd say too, because we glanced at each other and then she lowered her eyes and went to tidy up the mess the girls had left. She put a mattress down on the ground for me and took out the sheet and pillow hidden under my brother's bed. She put out the storm lantern and lit a candle, just by my head and then got into bed with Yaya Gaston. I'm not tired yet. I lie with my back against the wall and start reading the little book she gave me. And I start murmuring the first few lines as though it's a prayer:

I lived alone, with no one really to talk to, until one day six years ago, when my plane broke down in the Sahara desert. A part of the engine was broken, and since I had no mechanic and no passengers I decided I must carry out the repair myself. It was a question of life or death…

I go on reading the book, and as I read a word echoes round in my head:
desert
. I try to picture what a desert looks like, because we've got loads of forest here. I love the word
Sahara
, too. Even saying it is really hard, you have to remember to say the ‘h'. It feels like it's far far away, as though the people there don't know that the rest of us exist, that someone in this house is reading a story that takes place where they live. How can I imagine a place I've never seen? So now I think of the Sahara just as desert, nothing else. And I wonder why the funny little man in the book went there, instead of coming here where there's lots to see, and plenty of people to meet. He could have lived with me. We could have walked together down the streets and the avenues in all the different neighbourhoods, or along the banks of the river Tchinouka with Lounès. In the Trois-Cents
quartier
the little man would have been surprised to see us all playing,
running about, sometimes getting into trouble. But maybe the desert is a wonderful, magical place. Maybe there the people have a forest in their imagination. An evergreen forest. Maybe in the desert there's more room to live and maybe it makes you realise you're lucky to be born in a country where there are lots of trees and rivers and streams, and even an ocean, like here. Even so, I'm a bit worried the desert's where all the dead people gather and wait for the day when God says: ‘You're going to heaven, you're going to hell'. I don't want to go to the Sahara. All I care about is, tomorrow I'll see Maman Pauline again.

My parents are having yet another row. And as usual I can hear them from my bedroom. Maman Pauline's sobbing, she thinks the white doctor they've seen is no good because she's still not pregnant. My father is calm, he says they must be patient, babies can't be made to order, that they always take their time and come along if you don't think about them every day.

My mother's talking very loud, she wants to give up her business. She brings up the question of Maman Martine's children and the Mutombos' children again.

My father raises his voice. ‘I'm sick of you always bringing up the other children! It's not Martine's fault you and I don't have children! Michel's a child isn't he? His sisters and brothers love him, they've never once said the kid isn't their brother. Why do you go and say things like that, when we're trying to find a way out of this situation?'

‘I'm giving up the business! I don't care! Why should I spend my whole life working when I haven't any children? Who am I working for?'

‘Great! Ok, then, you give up your business, and let's hear no more about it! Maybe then we'll have some children!'

Maman Pauline hated him saying that. I can hear her breaking things in the bedroom. I think to myself: If Arthur's listening to this and watching this performance, I hope he's not disappointed by it.

I sit on the bed for a few minutes. I must do something. I can't let them go on rowing all night.

I get up and draw the mosquito net aside and go towards the living room. They've heard me. Papa Roger half opens the door of their bedroom. ‘You go and sleep now, little one, it's all ok, your mother and I are just having a bit of a talk, nothing serious, she's just telling me how things are going with her business.'

I go back to my room and hide under the sheets. I don't want to see my surroundings. My room's like a coffin that's too big for my little body, I think. I'm suffocating in it. If that happens I'll go back to the planet I came from. I'll be in peace, then, in my own world, I'll grow roses. I'll water them every morning with water as green as the river that flows in Geneviève's eyes. The drops of water on my roses will be diamonds, sparkling in the sun. I will be a happy gardener because whatever I plant, even in the desert, will just grow. I'll walk about my field of roses, and even the butterflies will be rose-coloured. I will live in a world full of laughing, playing children, children with no mother, no father. We'll all be children because that's what God made us, and God is our Father. He'll say to us: ‘Now children, you be quiet, I'm having a sleep'. And we'll be quiet because when he's sleeping, God always dreams up nice surprises for children. But He'll never have to raise his voice to tell us. He'll never have to whip us, because He can't whip what He's created in his own image. And we'll live happily, far from adults with their problems which have nothing to do with us. I will be the big brother of all the children. I'll walk ahead, to protect them. And if anyone attacks us, my muscles will swell up, and my chest too, I'll grow taller than two metres, and my fist will be bigger than a mountain.

.....

My father's calmed down and my mother's listening to him. I come out from under my sheets again and creep towards the wall. I want to know what they're saying to each other because when adults are saying mean things about someone they often lower their voices. I think: Perhaps if they're talking quietly they're plotting something against me.

‘We'll try a different solution.'

‘What?' my mother replies.

‘There's a fetisher come to work in the Voungou district, just across the Tchinouka. Everyone say's he's very good. The wife of the local chief was sterile and he cured her. He even got a ten-year-old child who'd never spoken a single word to talk.'