homme du midi

The telephone rang for the first time in months this evening. It was the gas company. Or it might have been the electricity company. I don’t know. I don’t remember. They told me my bill was overdue. I told them I hadn’t any money (but that was a lie), and even if I did I wouldn’t give it to them. The told me they would shut off my power (or gas – I don’t remember). I told them I didn’t care (another lie. Sort of). As I spoke I stood and picked the mortar off the flaking walls. These apartments seem to have sprung up over night, only to be forgotten by the builders in the morning.

I sat out on the balcony, smoking a cigarette. I watched people coming and going. I saw a couple exiting the theatre across the street. She was pretty, wearing a red and white striped dress. He was a Frenchman, and altogether unremarkable, except I did recognize him – he often sat on his own balcony, smoking his own cigarettes, on his own side of the street. I don’t know why, but I felt like calling out to them. But the setting sun was now level with my eyes. I went inside to escape the glare.

***

My paramour visited this afternoon. She wore a blue skirt and matching jacket, with a red and white spotted headscarf. The fashion of Algiers always seemed to be one or two seasons behind that of Paris. She still had her crucifix around her neck, and I crinkled my nose. She noticed, and grimaced with disapproval. She asked me if I believed in God. I said I didn’t. She asked me if I’d read the bible. I lied and said I had, but didn’t remember any of it. I told her it didn’t matter anyway. The sun was pouring through the window, so I half-drew the curtains. As I did I saw a group of Arab men gathering in the street below.

***

I went down to the ocean at around midday today. The sun glimmered off the surface of the water like a ballerina, but assaulted my eyes like a charging bull. I saw the woman in the red and white dress swimming in the surf (she was no longer wearing her red and white dress). Her French consort was nowhere to be seen. She exited the water and patted herself with a white and pink towel on the beach. I walked towards her and introduced myself. I told her I was an acquaintance of her Frenchman. She asked where we met. I said I didn’t remember. She invited me to join them for coffee that afternoon. I declined, citing a prior engagement (a lie), but I would call tomorrow.

I never did call, and I didn’t see the Frenchman smoking cigarettes on his balcony after that either.

***

My mother called this morning. She asked if I wanted to visit her. I told her I didn’t care. She asked why I hadn’t come last week. I told her I forgot.

My paramour visited again. She wore a yellow dress I had given to her, once vibrant, now faded by the sun. She asked me if I had read the newspaper today. I told her I hadn’t (the truth). She said a Frenchman had murdered an Arab. Shot him five times in cold blood. I joked that it couldn’t have been in cold blood; nothing in Algiers is ever cold. She didn’t laugh, only gave a cold half-smile.

***

I went to an execution at dawn today. The man under the guillotine was a murderer. The crowd screamed with rage, but the condemned man showed no emotion. It occurred to me that it wasn’t that he was hiding his emotion – he just had none to show. My paramour asked if I approved of the death penalty. I told her I didn’t care (a lie).