La Vida Ante Sí - Émile Ajar

Machine Translated by Google
life before you
Emile Ajar
Translation of Ana Maria de la Fuente
two
Original title: La vie devant soi
First edition in this collection:
October 2007
Fourth edition:
January 2016
© Éditions Mercure de France, 1975 © of
the translation: Ana María de la Fuente, 1989-2007 © of this
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3
They said,
"You have gone mad because
of the One you love."
I said:
"The taste of life is only for the crazy."
YÂFI'Î
Raud al rayahin
4
Index
one.
1. Life before him
5
The first thing I can tell you is that we lived in a sixth without an elevator and that for Mrs. Rosa,
with the kilos she was carrying and only two legs, that was a source of daily life, with all the
sorrows and disappointments. That's how she reminded us when she didn't complain about
anything else, because, besides, she was Jewish. She wasn't in good health either, and another
thing I can tell you is that she was a woman who deserved a lift.
The first time I saw Mrs. Rosa, I was three years old. Before that age there is no memory and
one lives in ignorance. I stopped ignoring at the age of three or four and sometimes I miss it.
There were many other Jews, Arabs, and blacks in Belleville, but Mrs. Rosa had to climb the
six floors by herself. He said that the least expected day he would die on the stairs and all the
kids would start crying, which is what you do when someone dies. Sometimes there were six or
seven of us there and other times more.
At first, I didn't know that Mrs. Rosa was taking care of me because of a money order that I
received at the end of the month. When I found out, I was already six or seven years old, and for
me knowing that it was paid was a blow. I believed that Mrs. Rosa loved me selflessly and that
we were something for each other. I was crying all night. It was my first disappointment.
Seeing me so sad, Mrs. Rosa explained to me that family means nothing and that there are
even those who go on vacation leaving their dog tied to a tree and that every year three thousand
dogs die deprived of the love of their own. She sat me on her lap and swore to me that I was the
most valuable thing in the world to her. But then I remembered the twist that came every month
and I left crying.
I went down to Mr. Driss's cafe and sat across from Mr. Hamil, who was a traveling rug dealer
in France and had seen it all. Mr. Hamil has very pretty eyes that are nice to look at. When I met
him, he was already very old and since then he has only grown older.
"Why do you always smile, Mr. Hamil?"

—To thank God every day for my good memory, my little Momo.
6
My name is Mohamed, but everyone calls me Momo, which is more like a child.
“Sixty years ago, when I was young, I met a girl who loved me and whom I loved too. That
lasted eight months, until she moved house and now, after sixty years, I still remember. I told
him: "I will never forget you."
Years passed and he did not forget her. Sometimes I was afraid, because I still had a lot of life
ahead of me and what word could I, a poor man, give myself when it is God who has the
eraser? But now I am calm. I will not forget Djamila. I don't have much time left, I'll die sooner.
I thought of Mrs. Rosa, I hesitated a moment and asked her:

"Mr. Hamil, can you live without love?" He didn't answer and
drank some mint tea, which is good for your health. For some time now, Mr. Hamil had
always been wearing a gray djellaba so that if his time came, he wouldn't be caught in a blazer.
He looked at me and was silent. Surely he thought that I was still not suitable for minors and
there were things I should not know.
Then I would have been seven or maybe eight years old, I can't tell you exactly, because it
turns out that I don't have a date, as you will see when we get to know each other better, if you
think it's worth it.
"Mr. Hamil, why don't you answer?"
—You are very young and when you are so young it is better not to know certain things.
Hamil, can you live without love?
"Yes," he said, lowering his head as if embarrassed.
I started to cry.
For a long time, I didn't know I was an Arab because no one had insulted me yet. I didn't
find out until I went to school. But I never fought with anyone because when you hit someone
you hurt yourself.
Mrs. Rosa was born in Poland, as a Jew, but she had made a living for many years in
Morocco and Algeria and spoke Arabic like you and me.
For the same reason, he also knew Jewish and many times we spoke to each other in that
language. Most of the neighbors in the house were black. There are three black houses on
Bisson Street and two others where they live by tribes, as they do in Africa. The most abundant
are the Sarakollés and then come the Toucouleurs, who are not few. There are many other
tribes on Bisson Street, but I don't have time to name them all. The rest of
7
Belleville's street and boulevard is mainly Arab and Jewish. And so on to the Goutte d'Or, where the
French quarters begin.
At first, I didn't know that I didn't have a mother and I didn't know that I needed to have one. Senora
Rosa avoided talking to me about it so as not to make me think. I don't know why I was born or what
exactly happened. My friend Mahoute, who is a few years older, told me that this is due to hygiene
conditions. He was born in the Alcazaba of Algiers and did not come to France until later. In the
Alcazaba there was no hygiene and he was born because they had no bidet, no drinking water,
nothing. The Mahoute found out later, when his father tried to justify himself and swore to him that
there had been no ill will on anyone's part. The Mahoute says that now women who seek life have a
hygiene pill, but that he was born too soon.
Many mothers went home once or twice a week, but it was always to see the others. In Mrs. Rosa's
house almost all of us were sons of whores and every time one of us went to the provinces to make a
living for a few months, she went to see the kid before and after. And that's why I started hanging out
with my mother. It seemed to me that everyone had a mother except me. And I started having
stomach cramps and seizures to make her come. Across the street there was a boy who had a ball,
who had told me that every time his belly ached his mother would go to see him. I had stomach pain,
but nothing. Then, I had seizures and neither. I even started shitting all over the floor to get attention.
Any. My mother didn't come and Mrs. Rosa called me a shitty Moor for the first time, because she
wasn't French. I yelled at him that I wanted to see my mom and kept shitting all over the house for a
few weeks to get back at him. Mrs. Rosa ended up telling me that if I didn't stop she would take me to
Public Assistance and there I was afraid, because Public Assistance is the first thing that is taught to
children. I kept shitting on principle, but it wasn't life. Then there were seven of us pensioner sons of
bitches at Mrs. Rosa's house, and they all started shitting which one better, because there is no one
more conformist than a kid, and soon there was so much poop everywhere that mine didn't show.
Mrs. Rosa was already very old and tired even without this and she took it very badly, because
she had already been persecuted for being a Jew. Every day he had to climb the six floors several
times, with his ninety-five kilos and his two poor legs, and when he entered the house and smelled
the poop he would fall into a chair with all the packages and start crying. And you have to understand
it. The French are fifty million inhabitants and
8
She said that if everyone had done like us, not even the Germans would have resisted it and
would have left. Mrs. Rosa knew Germany well during the war, but she had returned. He would
go in, smell the poop and start yelling: “This is Auschwitz! This is Auschwitz!” because she had
been deported to Auschwitz, because of the Jews. Anyway, when it came to racism, she was
always very correct. A certain Moises lived with us whom she sometimes called a dirty Moor,
but never me. I had not yet realized that, despite her weight, this woman had finesse. In the
end I left him, because I couldn't get anything either and my mother didn't come. But I kept
having cramps and convulsions for a long time and even now my belly hurts sometimes. Then
I tried to attract attention in another way. I began to grab from the window of the stores, here a
tomato and there a melon. He always waited for someone to look. When the owner came out
and slapped me, I started to bawl, but at least someone noticed me.
One day I stole an egg from a store. The owner saw me. I preferred to steal where there
was a woman, because the only thing I could be sure of was that my mother was a woman,
since it cannot be otherwise. I took the egg and put it in my pocket. The store owner approached
me. I was waiting for the slap to make me notice.
But she reached down and patted my head. And he even told
me: —What a handsome boy!
At first, I thought that he wanted to recover the egg through sentimental means and I pressed
it with my hand in the bottom of my pocket. He just had to slap me, which is what mothers do
when they take care of you. But she got up, went to the counter and gave me another egg.
Then he kissed me. I had a moment of hope that I cannot explain to you because it is not
possible. I stayed all morning in front of the store, waiting. I don't know what I expected. From
time to time, the woman smiled at me and I was still there with the egg in my hand. I was then
about six years old and I imagined that this was for life, when in reality it was nothing more
than an egg. I came home and had a stomach ache all day. Mrs. Rosa had gone to the police
station to give false testimony that Mrs. Lola had requested. Mrs. Lola was a transvestite from
the fourth floor, a former Senegalese boxing champion before going over to the other side; who
was now working in the Bois de Boulogne and had knocked out a sadistic client who couldn't
figure out who he'd hit. Mrs. Rosa had to declare that that night she had been at the cinema
with Mrs. Lola and that afterwards the two of them had been
9
watching TV. Later I will talk about Mrs. Lola, who, of course, was a different person from the
others, because there are others too. That's why I loved her.
10
That of the children is very contagious. Where there is one, more follow. In Mrs. Rosa's
house there were seven of us then, only two during the day, which Mr. Moussa, the
garbage man, brought at the time of the garbage, six in the morning, because he was
missing his wife, who had died of not I know what, and he would pick them up in the
afternoon to take care of them. There was Moses, smaller than me; Banania, who always
laughed because he was born in a good mood, and Michel, the son of Vietnamese
parents, whom Mrs. Rosa was not going to put up with for a day because he hadn't been
paid for more than a year. The Jewess was a good person, but she had her limits. What
happened is that the women who made a living had to go far away, to places where they
paid well and there was more demand, and they left the child with Mrs. Rosa, never to
return. They left and there it is. They are stories of children who had not been able to abort
in time and who were not necessary. Mrs. Rosa placed some in families that felt lonely
and needed them, but it was difficult because there are laws. When a woman is forced to
seek life, she does not have the right to parental authority, that is what prostitution
demands. So she is afraid of being dispossessed and hides the child so that Public
Assistance does not take him away and gives him to a known person, with guaranteed
discretion. I couldn't tell you how many sons of bitches I saw pass by Mrs. Rosa's house, but there wer
The ones who stayed the longest, after me, were Moises, Banania and the Vietnamese
man, who was finally picked up by the owner of a restaurant on Rue de Monsieur le Prince
and whom I would not recognize if I saw him again, from the time that does.
When I started complaining about my mother, Mrs. Rosa called me a bully and said
that all Arabs were like that, that you shake their hands and they want your arm. But Mrs.
Rosa wasn't like that either, she only said it out of prejudice, and I knew very well that it
was her favorite. When I started to bawl, everyone else bawled with me and Mrs. Rosa
would find seven kids who were screaming for their mother. Then he would have fits of
hysteria, pull out the few hairs he had left and cry for our ingratitude. She cried with her
face in her hands, but at our age you don't have
eleven
compassion. Even the plaster was falling off the wall, but not because Mrs. Rosa was crying.
They were just material damage.
Mrs. Rosa had gray hair, which was also falling out, probably from exhaustion. She was very
afraid of going bald, it's a terrible thing for a woman who hardly has anything else. He had, yes,
more buttocks and more chest than anyone, and when he looked in the mirror he smiled as if
he were trying to like himself. On Sunday she dressed from head to toe, put on her red wig,
and went to sit in the Place Beaulieu, where she spent a few hours in elegance. She put on
makeup several times a day, but what can you do? With the wig and makeup it was less
noticeable and she always had flowers at home, to brighten things up a bit.
When she had calmed down, Mrs. Rosa took me to the toilet and called me ringleader and
told me that ringleaders were taken to jail. He explained that my mother saw everything I did
and that if I wanted to meet her one day I had to live a clean and honest life, no juvenile
delinquency. The toilet was very small and Mrs. Rosa couldn't all fit in there because of her
fatness and it even seemed strange that there was room for a single person. I think she had to
feel even more alone in there.
When the money orders stopped coming for one of us, Mrs. Rosa did not put the guilty party
on the street. This was the case of little Banania. His father was unknown and could not be
blamed for anything; the mother sent a little money every six months and still.
Mrs. Rosa put Banania like a rag, but he was so cool because he was only three years old and
had a smile. I think that if it hadn't been for her smile, Mrs. Rosa would have given it to the
Assistance, but since you couldn't give one without the other, she had to keep both. I was the
one to take Banania to the African homes on Bisson Street to see blacks. Mrs. Rosa insisted
on it.
"You have to see blacks." Otherwise, you won't be able to relate later.
I would pick up Banania and take him to the next house. He was very well received there,
because they were all people who had families in Africa and a child always makes one think of
other children. Mrs. Rosa did not know if Banania, whose name was Turé, was Malian,
Senegalese, Guinean or what. His mother worked on Rue Saint Denis before moving to a house
in Abidjan. In the trade there is no way to know these things.
Moisés was also a very poor payer, but here Mrs. Rosa had nowhere to go, because among
Jews you cannot threaten Public Assistance. My money order of three hundred francs arrived
punctually every first of the month and I was unassailable. It seems to me that Moses had a
mother, but she was ashamed because her parents did not
12
they knew nothing and were from a good family and besides, Moisés was blond, with blue eyes and
without the typical nose, and these were unequivocal signs, one had only to look at him to realize it.
My three hundred francs a month tocateja made Senora Rosa respect me. I was going to be ten
years old and I was even beginning to show signs of precocity, since it is already known that the Arabs
are the first to let go. He knew he represented something solid to her and that she would think twice
before grabbing the wolf by the ears. It's what happened in the toilet when I was six years old. They will
tell me that I am mixing the dates, but it is not true, and when it comes to the matter I will explain to
them how I suddenly had an old man's exit.
—Look, Momo, you're the oldest and you have to set an example. Stop messing around with your
mom. It's lucky that you don't know your moms because at your age there is still sensitivity and they are
whores through and through. Sometimes it seems to one to be dreaming. Do you know what a whore
is?
—A person who looks for life with his ass.
“I wonder where you get those atrocities, but there is some truth to that.
"Mrs. Rosa, did you also look for life with your ass when you were young and
pretty?
She smiled. She liked to hear that she had been young and pretty.
“You're a good boy, Momo, but don't mess around. Help me. I am already very old and sick. Since I
left Auschwitz I have had nothing but sorrow.
She was so sad that you didn't even realize how ugly she was. I put my arms around her neck and
kissed her. On the street they said she was a heartless woman, but there was no one to take care of
her. He had resisted heartlessly for sixty-five years, and certain things had to be forgiven him.
I was crying so much it made me want to pee.

"Excuse me, Mrs. Rosa, I feel like peeing."
Later I told her:
"Mrs. Rosa, I know that thing about my mother can't be, but couldn't I have a baby?"
dog instead?
-How? How? Do you think there's room for a dog in here? Y
how was I going to feed him? Who would send me money?
But the day I brought home a little curly gray poodle I'd stolen from the dog store on Calle Calefeutre,
he didn't say anything. I went into the store and asked permission
13
to pet the poodle. The owner, when I looked at her as I know, put the dog in my arms. I picked
it up, stroked it, and shot out like an arrow. If there's one thing I know how to do, it's run. And
without this you can not do anything in life.
14
That dog was a real misfortune for me. I began to love him more than I could. And the others too, except Banania,
who he didn't care about because he was always happy without more or more. I've never seen a black happy with
reason. I always went with the dog in tow and I couldn't find a name for it. When I thought about calling him Tarzan
or Zorro it seemed to me that there had to be some other better name waiting, a name that no one else had. I finally
decided on Super, but with all reservations to change it if I came up with a better name. I had a large surplus
accumulated and I gave it all to Super. I don't know what I would have done without him, it was really urgent and I
might have ended up in jail. When I took him out on the street I felt like someone, because I was all he had in the
world. I wanted it so much I gave it. I was about nine years old and at that age you can think about it, except maybe
when you're happy.
It must also be said, without wishing to offend, that living in Mrs. Rosa's house was sad, even when used to it. So
when Super started to grow for me emotionally, I wanted to give him a good life, which is what I would have done
for myself if I could. Keep in mind that it was not just anyone, but a poodle.
That lady said it was a very cute little dog and asked me if it was mine and if I would sell it to her. I was badly
dressed, my face is not from around here, from the country, and she saw that the
dog was something else.
I sold him to Super for five hundred francs, and it was really an advantageous exchange for him.
I asked the good woman for five hundred francs because I wanted to be sure I had the means. I was right because
he even had a car with a driver and he immediately put Super inside, in case I had parents who might protest. And
now, even if you don't believe me, I will tell you that I took the five hundred francs and threw them into a sewer.
Then I sat on the sidewalk and began to cry like a desperate sheep, pressing my eyes with my fists, but happy. In
Mrs. Rosa's house there was no security, we all lived hanging by a thread, with the sick old woman, without money
and with the threat of Public Assistance. It was no life for a dog.
fifteen
When I got home and told Madame Rosa that I had sold Super for five hundred francs and
thrown the money down the drain, she turned purple, looked at me in horror, and ran to lock
herself in her room, turning the key twice. Since then, he always locked himself up to sleep,
for fear that I would cut his throat. The other kids made a big deal out of it when they found
out, because they didn't really want Super, but only to play.
We were a bunch of guys. Seven or eight. There was Salima, whom her mother managed
to save when the neighbors denounced her for being a street whore and she was inspected
by Social Assistance for indignity. He had to interrupt the customer and grabbed Salima, who
was in the kitchen, and pulled her out the window onto the patio. The little girl was hiding in a
garbage can all night. She arrived at Mrs. Rosa's house in the morning, hysterical and with
the girl smelling like hell. Antoine was also there, by the way, who was a real Frenchman, the
only one, and we all looked at him a lot to see what he was like. But he was only two years
old and there wasn't much to see. And I don't remember who else, because they were always
changing, with the mothers who came to look for their children.
Mrs. Rosa said that women who seek life do not have enough moral support because the
pimps no longer know how to do their job properly and they need their children to have a
good reason to live. They came back when they had a moment or when they had caught an
illness and went to the fields with the kid to take advantage of it.
I have never understood why listed whores are not allowed to educate their children; the
others wouldn't bother. Mrs. Rosa thought that it is because of the importance that France
gives to the ass, more than in other places. Here it has proportions that those who have not
seen it cannot imagine. Senora Rosa said that the ass is the most important thing they have
in France, after Louis XIV, and that is why prostitutes, as they are called, are persecuted,
since decent women want everything for themselves. I have seen mothers cry at home who
had been reported to the police for having a child with that job and they were scared to death.
Mrs. Rosa reassured them, explaining that she had a police commissioner who was also the
son of a whore who protected her and that she knew a Jew who made her some false papers
that no one would tell, how authentic they were. I never saw the Jew, because Mrs. Rosa had
him hidden. They had met in a Jewish oven in Germany where they had not been mistakenly
exterminated and had sworn never to be caught again. The Jew lived in
16
somewhere, in one of the French quarters, getting himself fake papers like a madman.
Thanks to him, Mrs. Rosa had some documents that said that she was another person, like
everyone else. She said that not even the Israelis would have been able to prove anything
against her. Of course, she wasn't completely calm, because for that you have to be dead. In
life there is always panic.
As I was saying, the boys were bawling for hours when I gave Super to ensure their future
because I didn't have any at home. Everyone cried except Banania, who, as always, was so
cool. When I tell you that that rascal was not of this world… He was already four years old and
he was still happy. The first thing Mrs. Rosa did the next day was take me to Dr. Katz's house
to see if anything was wrong.
I wanted my blood drawn in case I was syphilitic, being an Arab. But Dr. Katz was furious
and even his beard trembled, because he forgot to tell them he had a beard. He yelled at Mrs.
Rosa that she was someone from a house and that those were stories from China. Apparently,
that thing about the Chinese stories comes from when the Jews in the clothing industry didn't
drug white women to send them to brothels and everyone had it in for them. They always talk
about nothing.
But Mrs. Rosa was still uneasy.

"What exactly happened?"
"That this creature has taken five hundred francs and thrown them into a sewer."
"Is this your first crisis of violence?"
Mrs. Rosa looked at me without answering and I was very sad. I never liked to make people
suffer because I am a philosopher. Behind Dr. Katz, on top of a chimney, was a sailing ship,
and as I was feeling very unhappy and wanted to go far, far away from there and away from
myself, I climbed on board, began to fly it, and crossed oceans by hand. firm. I think it was
then, aboard Dr. Katz's sailboat, that I first went far. Actually, I can't say that before that I was
a child. And even now, when I want, I can board Dr. Katz's sailboat and go far away alone.
I've never told anyone and I always pretend I'm still here.
—Doctor, do me the favor of taking a good look at this creature. You have forbidden me
strong emotions for my heart and he goes and sells what he loved most in the world and
throws five hundred francs into a sewer. They did not do this even in Auschwitz.
17
Dr. Katz was well known to all the Jews and Arabs on Bisson Street for his Christian charity
and visited everyone from morning to night and late.
I have very good memories of him. His house was the only place he heard of me and looked at
me like I was something important. I often went by myself, not because I was sick, but to sit in
the waiting room. I had a good time there. He saw that I hadn't come at all and that I was
occupying a chair, when there was so much misery in the world, but he always smiled at me
very affectionately and didn't get angry. Looking at it, I often thought that if I had had a father it
would be Dr. Katz I would have chosen.
—I loved that dog to the rage, I slept hugging him, and what does he do? He goes and sells
it and throws the money away. This creature is not like everyone else, doctor. I'm afraid there
might be cases of sudden insanity in your family.
—I can assure you that nothing will happen, absolutely nothing, Mrs. Rosa.
I started to cry. I knew very well that nothing would happen, but it was the first time I
I heard it clearly said.
"There's no reason to cry, Mohammed. But you can cry if it does you any good. do you cry
much?
-Never. He never cries. And, despite everything, God knows what makes me suffer.
"Well, you see this is going better," said the doctor. Is crying. It develops normally. You have
done very well in bringing it to me, Senora Rosa. I'm going to prescribe a tranquilizer. The only
thing that happens to you is that you suffer from anxiety.
'It takes a lot of anxiety to take care of children, doctor. If not, they become
in some rascals.
When we left, we were holding hands. Mrs. Rosa likes to be seen accompanied. When she
has to go out, she spends a lot of time getting ready. And since she has been a woman, she
still has something left. She puts on a lot of makeup, but at her age it's no use trying to hide. He
has the face of an old Jewish frog, with glasses and asthma. When she goes up the stairs with
the purchase, she stops every moment and says that one day she will drop dead halfway, as if
it was so important to finish climbing the six floors.
18
At home we find Mr. N'Da Amédée, the pimp who is also called a pimp.
If you know the neighborhood you will know that it is full of natives, all from Africa, as its
name indicates. They have several homes, also called slums, where they lack basic
necessities, such as hygiene or heating from the municipality of Paris, which does not reach
there. There are homes of blacks in which they live a hundred and twenty, eight in each room
and with a single toilet downstairs, and, of course, they are scattered here and there because
there are things that cannot wait. Before I was born there were barracks, but France had
them destroyed so they wouldn't be seen. Mrs. Rosa said that in Aubervilliers there was a
home where Senegalese were suffocated with coal stoves, putting them all in a room with
the windows closed and the next day they were all dead. They woke up suffocated by the
bad influences that came out of the stove while they slept the sleep of the just. He often went
to see them next door on Bisson Street and was always welcome. Almost all of them were
Muslims like me, but it wasn't because of that. I think they liked seeing a nine-year-old kid
who didn't have any ideas in his head yet. Old people always have ideas in their heads. For
example, it is not true that all blacks are the same.
Mrs. Sambor, who cooked for them, was nothing like Mr. Dia to whom he was accustomed
to blackness. Mr. Dia was not at all funny. He had scary eyes. I was always reading. He also
had a straight razor so long that when you squeezed a trinket it wouldn't close. He used it to
shave, but already. In the home there were fifty and they all obeyed him. When he wasn't
reading, he did exercises on the floor to be the strongest. It was very robust, but it was not
enough for him. I didn't understand why such a stocky man would go to such lengths to be
even more so.
I never asked him, but I guess he must not have felt robust enough for everything he wanted
to do. Sometimes I also feel like bursting, as strong as I would like to be. There are times
when I dream of being a cop and not being afraid of anything or anyone. I spent the day
hanging around the Deudon Street police station, but without
19
hope because I knew that with nine years you can't, it's still a very minority.
I dreamed of being a cop because cops have the security force. I thought that was the
strongest, I did not know that there were police commissioners and I thought that everything
was there. It wasn't until much later that I knew there was anything better, but I never made it
up to the prefect of police. That was beyond my imagination. I was eight, nine or ten years old
and I was very afraid of finding myself alone in the world. She was getting more and more tired
Mrs. Rosa going up the six floors, and I felt smaller and more afraid.
My date of birth also pissed me off, especially when they took me out of school saying I
was too young for my age. Anyway, that didn't matter because the certificate that said I was
born and that I was in order was false. As I told you, Mrs. Rosa had many certificates at home
and if the police decided to make inquiries, she could even prove that she had not been
Jewish for several generations. She had protected herself on all sides since the French police,
who were supplying the Germans, had caught her off guard and put her in a velodrome for
Jews. Then, they transported her to a Jewish oven in Germany where they were burned. I
was always afraid, but not like everyone else, but more so.
One night I heard her scream in her sleep. I woke up and saw that he got up. There were
two bedrooms in the house and she had one to herself, except when there was a crowd and
then Moises and I slept in her room. This is what happened that night, but Moses was not
there. He had gone to a Jewish family that had no children and they had taken him away to
see if he was good enough to adopt. They returned it right away because of how much he
tried to make them like them. They had a kosher grocery store on Tienné street.
Mrs. Rosa's screams woke me up. She turned on the light and I opened one eye. His face
was trembling and he seemed to be seeing something. He got out of bed, put on his robe and
took a key that was hidden under the cabinet. When he bends over his ass is even bigger
than usual.
He opened the door and started down the stairs. I followed her because she was so scared
that I did not dare to stay alone.
Senora Rosa went down the stairs sometimes with light and other times in the dark. The
automatic switch is immediately turned off for economic reasons, the administrator is a pig.
One of the times the light went out, I turned it on, like a hick, and Mrs. Rosa, who was one
floor below, screamed because she thought there was a human presence there. He looked
up and down and kept going down, and so did I, but not anymore
twenty
I touched the switch again, because with that we were both scared. I didn't know what was going on,
even less than usual, and this is always scary. My knees were shaking and it was terrible to see that
Jewess coming down the stairs with Sioux cunning, as if it were full of enemies or something worse.
When he got downstairs, instead of going out into the street, he went down the basement stairs,
where there is no light and it is always dark, even in summer. Mrs. Rosa forbade us to go down there
because basements are where children are always strangled. Seeing her come down those stairs I
thought she really was crazy, and I almost ran to wake up Dr. Katz. But I was so scared that I preferred
to stay still. I was sure that if I moved it would be filled with monsters that would suddenly come out
howling and jumping on me, instead of staying hidden as they had been since I was born.
Then I made out a little light. It was coming from the basement and that calmed me down a bit. The
Monsters don't usually turn on lights. They do better in the dark.
I went down to the corridor, which smelled of piss and worse things because in the house of the
blacks next door there was only one toilet for a hundred and each one did it where he could. The
basement was divided into several rooms and one of the doors was open. Mrs. Rosa was inside and
that's where the light came from. Look.
In the center was a sagging, rusty, wobbly armchair, and Mrs. Rosa had sat on it. Stones like teeth
protruded from the walls and it seemed that they were laughing jokingly. On a chest of drawers was a
Jewish candlestick, with a lighted candle. I was surprised to see a bed that was to throw away but that
had its mattress, blankets and pillows. There were also sacks of potatoes, a stove, some drums and
some cardboard boxes full of sardines. I was so amazed that my fear had passed, but since my ass
was in the air I was beginning to feel cold.
Senora Rosa sat for a moment in the gutted chair, smiling happily. He had an air of malice and
even triumph. It was as if he had done something cunning and big. Then he got up, took a broom from
a corner and began to sweep. And then it wasn't a matter of sweeping up all that dust that was raised,
which was bad for his asthma. Right away she began to have trouble breathing and you had to hear
how her bronchial tubes were hissing, but she kept sweeping and there was no one who could tell
her, only me, because the others didn't give a damn. Of course, he was paid to take care of me and
the only thing we had in common was that neither of us had anyone,
twenty-one
but for his asthma nothing worse than dust. Then he put down the broom and tried to blow
out the candle, but despite its size, he didn't have enough air. He wet his fingers with his
tongue and thus blew out the candle. I left right away. I knew it was over and now I would
go upstairs.
Well, I didn't understand anything, but that was just one more thing. He didn't know what
satisfaction it could give him to go down six floors at midnight to sit in the basement.
with a malicious air
When she went upstairs, she wasn't afraid and neither was I, because it's contagious.
We fell asleep side by side with the sleep of the just. I have thought it over and it seems to
me that Mr Hamil is wrong when he says that. I think the ones who sleep the best are the
unjust because they don't give a damn about everything, while the just can't sleep a wink
and give each other bad blood for whatever reason. If not, they would not be fair. Mr. Hamil
has expressions that are very much his own like “take my experience” and “I have the
honor to tell you” and many others that I like and make me think of him. He was a man of
the best. He taught me to write "the language of my ancestors." He always said "ancestors"
because he didn't want to talk to me about my parents. She made me read the Koran
because Mrs. Rosa said that it was good for the Arabs. When I asked him how he knew my
name was Mohamed and that I was a Muslim, if I didn't have parents or any document to
prove it, he would get angry and tell me that one day, when he was older and stronger, he
would explain these things to me and that he didn't want to cause me trouble. terrible
impression being still a sentient creature. He always said that the first thing to take care of
in children is sensitivity. However, I did not care knowing that my mother was one of those
who seek life. If he knew her, he would have loved her, he would have been a good pimp
for her, like Mr. N'Da Amédée, whom I will have the honor of telling you about later. I was
happy to have Mrs. Rosa, but if I could have someone better and more mine, I wasn't going
to say no, shit! Even if I had a real mother to take care of, I could also take care of Mrs.
Rosa. Mr. N'Da protects several women.
If Mrs. Rosa knew that I was Mohamed and a Muslim, it means that I had an origin,
something. I wanted to know where my mother was and why she wasn't coming to see me.
But then Mrs. Rosa would start crying and say that I had no gratitude, that I didn't feel
anything for her and loved someone else. I let it run. Well, I knew that there is always a
mystery when a woman who is looking for life has a child that she has not been able to get rid of.
22
time with hygiene and that brings with it what are called sons of bitches, but it was funny that
Mrs. Rosa was so sure that I was Mohamed and a Muslim.
Surely he had not invented it to please me. I told Mr. Hamil one day when he was telling me
about the life of Sidi Abderramán, who is the patron saint of Algiers.
Mr. Hamil is from Algiers and thirty years ago he went on a pilgrimage to Mecca. His favorite
saint is Sidi Abderramán de Algiers because, as he says, what comes from the land always pulls.
But, in addition, he has a rug with the portrait of another of his countrymen, Sidi Uali Dada, who
is sitting on his prayer rug pulled by fish. It may not seem serious that some fish drag a carpet
through the air, but they are things of religion.
"Mr. Hamil, how come my name is Mohamed and I'm a Muslim if I have nothing
what proves it?
Mr. Hamil always raises a hand when he wants to say God's will be done.
—They gave you to Senora Rosa when you were very young and she doesn't keep a civil
registry. Since then they have handed him over and he has seen many children leave, Mohamed.
You must keep professional secrecy, because there are ladies who demand discretion. They
told him that your name was Mohamed and therefore you are a Muslim, and since then the
author of your days has not given any signs of life. The only sign of life he gave is you, Mohamed.
And you are a very handsome boy. We have to assume that your father died during the Algerian
war, that he is something beautiful and great, and that he is a hero of independence.
Hamil, I would rather have had a father than a hero. Had
had to be a good pimp and take care of my mother.
"Don't say such things, Mohammed. We must also think of the Yugoslavs and the
Corsicans. Everything hangs on us. It is difficult to educate a child in this neighborhood.
But it seemed to me that Mr. Hamil knew something and was keeping it to himself. He was a
very good person and if he hadn't been a traveling rug seller all his life he could have been
someone important and perhaps he could even have sat on a rug pulled by fish, like that other
saint from the Maghreb, Sidi Uali Dada.
"And why was I kicked out of school, Mr. Hamil?" Mrs. Rosa told me that because I was too
young for my age, then because I was too old for my age and then because I wasn't old enough
to be. Then he took me to Dr. Katz's house, who told him that maybe I would be very different,
like a great poet.
23
Mr. Hamil looked very sad. It was because of his eyes. In the eyes is always where the
sadder people are.
—You are a very sensitive child, Mohamed. That makes you different from the others...
smiled.
'It's not sensitivity that kills people these days.

"Is it that my father was a great bandit and everyone is afraid to even talk about him?"
"No, Muhammad. I never heard of such a thing.
"And what have you heard, Mr. Hamil?" He lowered his
eyes and sighed.
-Any.
-Any?
-Any.
Always the same with me. Any.

The lesson was over and Mr. Hamil started talking about Nice, which is the story I like best. When he
talks about the clowns that dance down the street and the giants that laugh sitting on the floats, I feel at
home. I also like the mimosa forests there and the palm trees and the white birds that flap their wings as
if applauding, they are so happy. One day I convinced Moises and another boy with a different name to
come walking with me to Nice to live in the mimosa forest of whatever we hunted. And one morning we
left and we reached Pigalle square, but we were afraid to be far from home and we returned. Mrs. Rosa
thought she was going crazy, but she always says that to explain herself.
24
So, as I have already had the honor to say, when Mrs. Rosa and I returned from Dr. Katz's
visit, we found Mr. N'Da Amédée at home, who is the best-dressed man you can imagine. He
is the biggest pimp and pimp of all the blacks in Paris and he comes to see Senora Rosa to
write him letters for her family. He doesn't want anyone else to find out that he can't write. She
was wearing a touchable pink silk suit, pink hat and pink shirt. The tie was also pink and the
whole set made him stand out. Mr. N'Da had come from Nigeria, which is one of the many
countries they have in Africa, and he had made himself. He always said it. “I have made
myself”, with his suit and his diamond rings. He had one on each finger, and when they killed
him in the Seine, they cut off his fingers to remove the rings because it was a settling of
scores. I tell you this now to save you the trouble later. In life she had the best twenty-five
meters of sidewalk in Pigalle and she also did her manicure pink. I had forgotten, I was also
wearing a vest.
He was always stroking his mustache with his finger, as if he wanted to be affectionate with it.
Every time he went home, he brought Senora Rosa a little present to eat, but she preferred
perfumes, as she was afraid of gaining even more weight. I never saw her smell bad, until
much later. Perfume was what Mrs. Rosa liked best as a gift, and she had bottles and more
bottles, but I never knew why she put it behind her ears, like parsley on calves. The black
man I am talking about, Mr. N'Da Amédée, was actually illiterate because he had become
someone too soon and had not had time to go to school. I'm not going to repeat the whole
story here, but blacks have suffered a lot and you have to understand them if you can. That is
why Mr. N'Da Amédée made Mrs. Rosa write those letters that he sent to his parents, whose
name he knew, in Nigeria. Racism has been something terrible for those people until the
revolution came, they had a regime and they ended up suffering. I have no complaints about
racism, so I don't know what to expect. Well, blacks must have theirs too
defects.
25
Mr. N'Da Amédée would sit on the bed where we slept when there were only three or four of us
because, if there were more of us, some of us would go to sleep with Mrs. Rosa, or he would stand with
one foot on out of bed while explaining to Mrs. Rosa what she had to write to her parents. Mr. N'Da
grimaced as he spoke, became upset, even angry and wild, not because he was angry, but because he
wanted to tell his parents more than he could afford on his meager means. The letter always began with
my dear and revered father, and then the tantrum. And it is that he had inside wonderful things that he
could not say, he did not have cash and with every word he had to use gold and diamonds. Mrs. Rosa
wrote him some letters in which she said that she was studying as a self-taught person to become a
public works contractor, build dams and be a benefactor for her country. When she read it to him, he felt
immense pleasure. Other times, Mrs. Rosa made him build bridges, roads, and whatever was necessary.
She liked to see him happy to hear all the things he did in his letters and he always put money in the
envelope to make it seem more true. Mr. N'Da Amédée was delighted with his pink suit from the Champs-
Elysées and Mrs. Rosa said later that when she listened to her she had the eyes of a believer and that
the blacks of Africa, because they exist elsewhere, are still the best of the world. gender. Real believers
are people who believe in God, like Mr. Hamil, who was always telling me about God and telling me that
these are things that one has to learn when one is young and capable of learning anything.
Mr. N'Da Amédée wore a diamond on his tie that sparkled a lot. Mrs. Rosa said that it was authentic,
that it was not false, as could be believed because one must always distrust. Mrs. Rosa's maternal
grandfather was from the branch and she had inherited certain knowledge. The diamond was under the
face of Mr. N'Da Amédée, who also shone but in a different way. Mrs. Rosa never remembered what
she had put in the last letter to the parents of Africa, but it did not matter and she said that the less you
have, the more you want to believe. And Mr. N'Da Amédée wasn't complicated either, and as long as his
parents were happy, it was all the same to him. Sometimes he forgot about them and said what he was
and everything he hoped to be and more. I never saw anyone who could talk about himself like that, as
if what he was saying was possible.
He shouted that everyone respected him and that he was the king. "Only the king!" he would shout, and
Senora Rosa would put him on the letter, with the bridges, the dams, and so on. Later he told me that he
26
Mr. N'Da Amédée was Michougué, which in Jewish means crazy, and that he was
dangerous and you had to go along with him to avoid trouble. Apparently he had already
killed several men, but all blacks who had no identity, because they were not French like
American blacks and the police are only interested in those who have an existence. One
day she would bump into Algerians or Corsicans and then she would have to write her
parents one of those letters that no one is amused by. Don't go thinking that pimps don't
also have their problems like everyone else.
Mr. N'Da Amédée always came with two bodyguards, because he was not very sure and
needed to protect himself. Those bodyguards looked like they would give them communion
without confession, of what they imposed. One was a boxer and had taken so many hits to
the mug that everything had fallen out of place. He had an eye that was not up to his level,
a flattened nose, some eyebrows torn out by the refereeing interruptions of the combat in
the ciliary arch. The other eye was also not very well placed, as if the blow that had been
given to one had caused the other to come out. But he had some fists and, even more,
some arms from here I wait for you. Senora Rosa had told me that when you dream a lot
you grow faster. Well, Mr. Boro's fists would have been dreaming non-stop. They were
huge.
The other bodyguard still had his face intact, but that was a shame. I don't like people
who have a face that is always changing, like it's slipping everywhere, and doesn't have
the same expression twice in a row. These are called hypocrites. Of course, he would have
his reasons, but who doesn't? Everyone would want to hide, but I swear the man had such
a forged air that it made your hair stand on end to think what he must be hiding. Do you
understand what I mean? And on top of that he was always smiling at me. It's not true that
blacks eat children, those are stories from China, but it seemed to me that seeing me
whetted his appetite and, anyway, in Africa they were cannibals, and no one can tell that.
remove. When I passed him, he would pick me up, sit me on his knee and tell me that he
had a boy my age and that he had bought him a cowboy hat and revolver, just like the ones
I liked. A real rubbish. Maybe I had something good, like everyone else if you look closely,
but it made me bad, with those eyes that never went the same way twice in a row. He must
have figured it out, because one day he even brought me peanuts to cover it up. But the
peanuts don't mean anything. A franc, only. If you thought that with that you were going to
make a friend you were wrong, believe me.
27
I tell this detail because it was in circumstances beyond my control that I had another attack
of violence.
Mr. N'Da Amédée always went to do his dictation on Sunday. That day women do not
seek life, it is the truce of the confectioners, and there was always one or two at home who
went to look for the kid to take him to breathe in the park or to eat somewhere. I assure you
that women who seek life can be the best mothers in the world because that makes them
think of something other than clients and a child is always something that gives a future.
There are also those who abandon them and if I've seen you I don't remember, but that
doesn't mean they aren't dead or have their excuses. Many did not bring the child back until
noon the next day to have him by her side as long as possible before returning to work. So,
that day at home there were only the regulars, that is, me and Banania, who had not paid
for a year but who was still so fresh. Moisés had gone on trial with a Jewish family that
wanted to make sure that he had nothing hereditary, as I have already had the honor,
because this is the first thing to see before falling in love with a boy, if you do not want to
have an upset . Dr. Katz had made him a certificate, but these people wanted to be sure.
Banania was happier than usual because he had discovered that he had a lollipop and that
was the first thing that had ever happened to him. I was learning things I didn't understand,
but Mr. Hamil had written me in his own handwriting and that didn't matter. I can still recite
them to him, because I know he would like it: Elli habb Allah la ibri ghirhu subhân ad daîm
la iazul… It means that he who loves God loves only Him. I wanted something else, but Mr.
Hamil made me study my religion because, even if I stayed in France until the hour of my
death, like Mr. Hamil himself, I always had to remember that I had a country and that is
better than nothing. My country must have been something like Morocco or Algeria, although
I did not appear anywhere from the documentary point of view. Mrs. Rosa was sure of that
and she didn't educate me as an Arab for pleasure. She also said that this didn't count for
her, that everyone is the same when they're in the shit and that if the Jews and the Arabs
were at each other's throats, it wasn't because the Jews and the Arabs were different from
the others, but because that was what made it happen. fraternity, except perhaps among
the Germans, where things change. I forgot to tell them that Mrs. Rosa had a large portrait
of Mr. Hitler under her bed, and when she felt unhappy and didn't know which saint to
commend herself to, she would take out the portrait, look at it, and immediately feel better.
It's something.
28
I can say in defense of Mrs. Rosa as a Jew that she was a saint. Of course, she always
fed us the cheapest and with me she got very heavy about Ramadan. Twenty days without
eating, go figure, was a bargain for her, so when the real Ramadan came around she would
put on an air of triumph and I would be left without the gefillte fisch she made. Much respect
for the beliefs of others, but she, the very slut, ate ham. And when I told him that the ham
thing wasn't right, he laughed without explaining. I couldn't stop him from getting away with it
during Ramadan and had to steal something from store counters in a neighborhood where
they didn't know he was Arab.
As I was telling you, it was Sunday and Mrs. Rosa had spent the morning crying.
He had days when he did nothing but cry without more or more. So it was better not to make
her dizzy, because those were her best moments. I also remember that the Vietnamese man
had been spanked that morning because he was always hiding under the bed when there
was a knock on the door. In the three years he hadn't had anyone, he had changed families
twenty times and he was getting fed up. I don't know what became of him, one day I'll see if
I find out. Other than that, no one was amused to hear the bell ring because we all feared it
was a Public Assistance inspection. Mrs. Rosa had all the false papers she might need, they
were made for her by a Jewish friend of hers who hadn't been doing anything else since he'd
returned alive from Germany. Besides, I don't remember if I've already said it, but she was
also protected by a police commissioner whom she had raised while her mother said that
she worked as a hairdresser in the provinces, but there are always envious people and she
was afraid they would denounce her. In addition, she had been woken once by the doorbell
at six in the morning and taken to a velodrome and from there to the Jewish ovens in
Germany. That's how we were when Mr. N'Da Amédée arrived with his two bodyguards, at
the letter, with the face of a hypocrite that no one could swallow. I don't know why he had
taken such a dislike to her.
It would be because I was nine or ten years old and, like everyone else, I already needed to
have someone to hate.
Mr. N'Da Amédée had put one foot up on the bed and was smoking a big cigar that filled
everything with ash, no expense spared. From the outset, he wanted to tell his parents that
he intended to return to Nigeria soon to live like a gentleman. Now it seems to me that he
himself believed so. Many times I have noticed that people come to believe
29
what he says, that he needs it in order to live. I'm not saying this to pretend to be a philosopher, but
because I really believe it.
I forgot to tell them that the son-of-a-bitch police commissioner knew everything and had forgiven
everything. Sometimes he went to see Senora Rosa and gave her a kiss on the condition that she
keep her mouth shut. It's what Mr. Hamil says, all's well that ends well. I tell it to put a little humor.
As Mr. N'Da Amédée spoke, the bodyguard on the left was sitting in a chair cleaning his fingernails
and the other seemed distracted. I was going to go out to pee when the second, the one I was telling
you about, grabbed me and sat me on his knees. He looked at me, smiled and even pushed his hat
back and said more or less:
“You remind me of my son, Momo. Now he is on vacation with his mother, in Nice.
They come back tomorrow. Tomorrow is his birthday and we are going to give him a bicycle. You can
go home whenever you want to play with him.
I don't know what happened to me then, but I had been without a mother or father for many years
and, of course, without a bicycle, and that guy pissed me off. Well, you see what I mean.
Anyway , inch'Allah, but this is not true, I say this only because I am a good Muslim.
That made me sick, it hit me very hard, it was terrible. It came from inside me, which is worse. When
it comes from outside, like kicks in the ass, you can walk away. But inside you can't. When I have the
attack I would like to leave so as not to return. It is as if inside me I had an inhabitant. I scream, I throw
myself on the ground, I hit my head to get out, but it is not possible. One has no legs, one has no legs
inside. It does me good to talk about it. It's like it goes out a little bit. Do you understand what I mean?
Well, when I had unburdened myself and they left, Mrs. Rosa immediately took me to Dr. Katz's
house. She was half scared to death and told her that I had all the hereditary signs and that I was
capable of taking a knife and killing her in her sleep. I don't know why, Mrs. Rosa was always afraid
that they would kill her in her sleep, as if that would keep her awake at night. Dr. Katz was furious and
told him that I was a poor little lamb and if he wasn't ashamed to say such things. He prescribed some
tranquilizers that he took out of a drawer and we walked home hand in hand. It seemed to me that he
regretted having accused me of nothing. But you have to understand it.
Life was the only thing left to him. People love life more than anything and it's even funny when you
think of all the beautiful things in the world.
30
When we got home, Mrs. Rosa stuffed herself with tranquilizers and spent the night
with a wild look and a happy smile, because she didn't feel anything. He never gave
me tranquilizers. She was an excellent woman and I can prove that right now. Mrs.
Sophie, who also has a boarding house for sons of whores on Rue Surcouf, or that
other one they call the Countess because she is the widow of a certain Count, in
Barbés, they have managed to have up to ten children on half board and The first
thing they do is fill them with tranquilizers. Senora Rosa knew it on good authority
from a Portuguese African who was looking for a life in the Truanderie and who took
her son out of the Countess's house so stunned that the kid couldn't stand up. Every
time they picked him up, he would fall back down and they could have played with
him for hours. But at Mrs. Rosa's house the opposite happened. When there was
trouble or seriously disturbed kids, which there were, the tranquilizers were taken by
her. And then, as much as everyone squealed and buzzed, she stayed so cool. I was
in charge of putting order and I liked that, because it made me feel superior. Mrs.
Rosa sat in her chair in the middle of the room, with a hot water bottle on her belly,
and looked at us smiling, with her head tilted to one side. Sometimes he even waved
at us as if we were a passing train. At that time there was nothing to do and I took
charge to prevent the boys from setting fire to the curtains, which are the first thing
you set fire to when you are young.
The only thing that could still make her react a little when she was reassured was
a knock on the door. He was terribly afraid of the Germans. It's an old story and it's
been all over the papers, so I won't go into details, but Mrs. Rosa never got over it.
Sometimes he still believed that everything was the same, especially at night. He
was a person who lived on memories. You will think that it is stupid, that everything
is already dead and buried, but the Jews are very stubborn, and even more so when
they have been exterminated. They always give it what give it. He talked to me a lot
about the Nazis and the SS and I'm sorry I was born too late to know the Nazis anymore.
31
the SS with weapons and baggage. And it is that then, at least, it was known why. Now it is
not known.
That fear of Senora Rosa at the doorbell was crazy. The best time was early in the morning,
when the day is still tiptoeing. Germans get up very early and their favorite time of day is
sunrise. One of us would get up, go out on the landing and ring the bell. A long bell, to hurry
up. What a party!
You had to see it. Mrs. Rosa would already weigh a good ninety-five kilos and something.
Well, she jumped out of bed like crazy and went down half a floor without stopping. We
pretended to be asleep. When she saw that it wasn't the Nazis, she would get terribly furious
and call us sons of bitches, rightly so. She remained stunned for a few moments, with a lost
look and the curlers in her last four hairs, as if she thought she had dreamed it, as if there were
no bell and it did not come from outside.
Then some of us burst out laughing and when she realized it was a joke she would go ballistic
or burst into tears.
I believe that the Jews are people like the others, but we must not take it
evil.
Sometimes we didn't even have to get up to ring the bell, because Mrs. Rosa did everything
herself. He would wake up abruptly, sit on his buttocks, which were bigger than I could tell you,
and listen. Then she would jump out of bed, put on the mauve shawl she loved so much, and
run to the door. He didn't even look to see if anyone was there because the doorbell kept
ringing inside him, which is where it hurts the most. Sometimes he would go down just a few
stairs or one floor and other times he would go to the basement, as I already had the honor
once. At first, I thought that she had hidden some treasure in the cellar and that what woke her
up was the fear of thieves. I have always dreamed of having a hidden treasure somewhere,
well protected from everyone and that I could discover whenever I wanted. It seems to me that
a treasure is the best thing there can be when it is all yours and you have it very safe. I had
noticed where Mrs. Rosa put the key to the basement and one day I went down to see. I didn't
find anything.
Furniture, a chamber pot, sardines, candles, whatever was needed to house one person.
I lit a candle and took a good look, but there was nothing there but the walls, showing their
teeth. Then I heard a noise and jumped, but it was only Mrs. Rosa. He was standing in the
doorway looking at me. She wasn't angry, on the contrary, she seemed to feel guilty, as if she
wanted to apologize.
32
"You mustn't tell anyone, Momo. Give me that.

He reached out and took the key from me.
"Mrs. Rose, what is this?" Why does he come down here, sometimes in the middle of the night?
He fixed his glasses and smiled.
“It's my second home, Momo. Let's go.
He blew out the candle, shook my hand, and we went upstairs.
Then he sat down in his chair with one hand over his heart. She couldn't climb all six floors
without being half dead.
"Swear to me you'll never tell anyone, Momo."
"I swear, Mrs. Pink.
"Jairem?"
It means 'I swear' in their language.
—Jairem.
Then, looking over me, as if he could see very far, he murmured, "It's my Jewish
hideout, Momo."
-Oh fine, it's okay.
-Do you understand?
"No, but it doesn't matter. I am used to it.
“It's where I hide when I'm scared.
"Afraid of what, Mrs. Pink?"
"You don't need reasons to be afraid, Momo.
I have never forgotten. It is the greatest truth I have ever heard in my life.
33
I often went to sit in Dr. Katz's waiting room, because Mrs. Rosa always said that the
man did a lot of good. But I didn't feel anything. Maybe I didn't have enough time. I
know that in the world there are many people who do well, but they are not always
doing it and you have to know how to hit the moment. Miracles do not exist. At first,
Dr. Katz would come out and ask me if I was sick, but then he got used to seeing me
there and left me alone. On the other hand, dentists also have waiting rooms, but they
only cure teeth. Mrs. Rosa said that Dr. Katz was a general practitioner and it was
true, because in his house there was everything, Jews, of course, like everywhere,
North Africans, not to mention Arabs, blacks, and all kinds of diseases. There were
surely many venereal diseases caused by immigrant workers who catch them before
coming to France to benefit from Social Security. Venereal diseases are not contagious
in public and Dr. Katz accepted them, but nobody had the right to go with diphtheria,
scarlet fever or measles, which are crap that one has to keep at home. But since
parents didn't always know what it was, I caught a couple of flus and a whooping
cough there that weren't for me. But he always came back. I liked to sit in the waiting
room and wait, and when the office door opened and Dr. Katz came out, all in white,
stroking my hair, I felt better. Medicine is for that.
Mrs. Rosa was very concerned about my health. She said that she had precocious
disorders, and what she called the enemy of the human race increased me several
times a day. His biggest concern, apart from precocity, was the uncles and aunts
when the real parents died in a car accident and the others did not want to take care
of the children or give them to Public Assistance, as if there was no heart in that
neighborhood. And then they came home, especially if the kid was stunned. Mrs. Rosa
used to say that a child was stunned when he was stunned, as the name indicates. It
means that he didn't want to know anything about life and he got weird. It's the worst
thing that can happen to a kid, everything else aside.
3. 4
When they brought a child for a few days or a week, Mrs. Rosa examined him in all aspects, but
above all to see if he was stunned. He made faces at him to scare him or put on a glove in which each
finger was a punchinello, which is something that makes all children laugh who are not stunned, but
leaves the others cold, as if they were not of this world , and that is why they are said to be rare. Mrs.
Rosa could not accept them, because they give a lot of work and she did not have the workforce. One
day, a Moroccan woman who was looking for life in a house in the Goutte d'Or left her a stunned child
and then died without leaving a trace. Mrs. Rosa had to deliver the child to an agency, with false papers
to prove that he existed. That made her sick, for there is nothing sadder than an organism.
Even with healthy children there was danger. Unknown parents cannot be forced to stay with their
child again if there is no legal evidence against them.
Denatured mothers are the worst. Mrs. Rosa used to say that the law is better among animals and that
it can even be dangerous for people to adopt a child. If later his real mother wants to annoy him when
she sees that the child is happy, she has the law on her side.
That is why false papers are the best and if a slut finds out after two years that her son is happy in
someone else's house and wants to get him back to disturb him, if she has been given false papers in
order, she will never be able to find him no matter how hard you look.
Mrs. Rosa used to say that among animals the law is much better than among people, because they
have the law of nature, especially lionesses. He was always praising the lionesses. At night, before
going to sleep, I would ring the doorbell, go to open it and it would be a lioness who wanted to enter to
defend her cubs.
Senora Rosa used to say that lionesses are famous for this and that they would allow themselves to be
killed rather than back down. It is the law of the jungle and if the lioness did not defend her cubs, no one
would trust her.
I made my lioness come almost every night. She would come in, jump on the bed and lick all of our
faces, because the others needed her too and I, being the oldest, had to take care of everyone. However,
lions have a bad reputation because they have to eat like everyone else, and when I told the others that
the lioness was going to come in, they all started to cry, even Banania, despite the fact that God knows
she was laughing at all because of his proverbial good humor. I loved Banania, who went to the house
of some French people who had room and one day I plan to go see him.
35
Finally, Mrs. Rosa found out that I had a lioness come while she slept.
She knew it wasn't true, that all I was doing was dreaming about the laws of nature, but she
had an increasingly nervous system and the idea of wild beasts in the apartment gave her
night terrors. Sometimes she woke up screaming because what was a dream for me was a
nightmare for her. Because, as she said, with age, dreams turn into nightmares. And so
each one imagined a completely different lioness, but what do you want?
36
I have no idea what Senora Rosa could dream of, in general. I don't see the use of dreaming
backwards, and, at his age, he couldn't dream forwards anymore. Perhaps he dreamed of
his youth when he was young and not yet in health. I don't know what his parents did, but
whatever it was was in Poland. She had begun to make a living there, and then in Paris, on
the rue de Fourcy, the rue de Blondel, the rue de Cygnes, and a little everywhere. Later, he
made Morocco and Algeria. He spoke Arabic very well, without prejudice. She had even
been in the Foreign Legion, in Sidi Bel Abbés, but when she returned to France things began
to go wrong for her, because she wanted to know love and her uncle took all her savings
and reported her as a Jew to the French police. Here she always stopped and said, "Then
it's all over," and smiled because that was a good moment for her.
When she returned from Germany, she was still looking for a life for a few years, but after
fifty she began to put on weight and was no longer appetizing. She knew that women who
seek life have many difficulties to keep their children with them because the law prohibits it
for moral reasons and it occurred to her to open a pension for children born of penalti. We
call this a clandé. She was lucky enough to bring up a son-of-a-bitch police commissioner
there who protected her, but she was now sixty-five and had no illusions. What scared him
the most was cancer, which is something he does not forgive. I saw her getting worse and
worse and sometimes we would stare at each other in silence and we both felt afraid,
because I didn't have one in the world more than that. So the only thing missing in his state
was a lioness loose on the floor. Well, I managed to not show it. I would stand with my eyes
open in the dark and the lioness would come in, lie down next to me and lick my face without
saying anything to anyone. When Mrs. Rosa woke up scared and turned on the light, I was
in bed so calm. But she had to look under the beds and it was even funny, since the only
thing in the world that could not happen to her was being attacked by a lion, because in
Paris there are none and wild beasts are only found in nature.
37
That's when I started to realize that I was a bit unhinged. He had been through a lot of suffering
and now he had to pay, because in life everything has to be paid for.
He even took me to Dr. Katz's house and told him that I was filling his house with wild beasts and
that this was surely a symptom. I understood that she and Dr. Katz knew something they didn't
want to talk about in front of me, but I couldn't figure out what it was or why Mrs. Rosa was afraid.
“Doctor, this boy is going to commit acts of violence, I'm sure of it.
"Don't talk nonsense, Mrs. Rosa." You have nothing to fear. Our little Momo is a romantic. This
is not a disease, although diseases are not the most difficult to cure, an old doctor tells him.
"Then why does he always have a head full of lions?"

“First of all, it's not a lion, it's a lioness.
The doctor smiled and gave me a mint candy.
"A lioness," he went on. And what do the lionesses do? They defend their puppies...
Mrs. Pink sighed.
"You know, doctor, what it is that scares me."
-Shut up! Dr. Katz flushed red with anger. She is ignorant who knows nothing about these
things and imagines God knows what. Those are superstitions from other times. I've told you a
thousand times and I'd appreciate it if you shut up.
I was going to continue talking, but he looked at me and got up and made me leave, so I had to
keep listening glued to the door.
—Doctor, I'm so afraid that it's hereditary!
"Come on, Mrs. Rosa, that's enough. In the first place, she doesn't even know who her father
was, with what trade that poor woman had. Anyway, I've already explained to you that that doesn't
mean anything. A thousand other factors come into play. But the truth is that it is a very sensitive
creature and needs affection.
"But I can't lick your face every night, doctor." Where will you get those ideas? And why didn't
they want him at school?
"Because you made him a birth certificate that bore no relation to his true age." You must
already love him!
"I'm afraid they'll take it away from me." Although no one could prove anything. I put the data
on any piece of paper or keep it in memory, because the girls are always afraid that it will be
known. Prostitutes with bad habits do not have
38
right to educate their children due to parental disqualification. With that you can handle
them and make them sing for years. They go through everything in order not to lose the kid.
There are pimps who are real pimps. And there is no one to do his job
as it should.
"You are a good woman, Mrs. Rosa." I'll prescribe some tranquilizers.
I hadn't found out anything. Now I was more certain than ever that the Jewess was hiding
something from me, but I didn't really want to know what it was either. The more you know,
the worse. My friend Mahoute, who was also a son of a bitch, used to say that mystery was
normal for us, because of the law of large numbers. She said that a woman who does things
well, when she has a birth by accident and decides to go ahead, is always threatened with
an administrative investigation and that there is nothing worse because that does not
forgive. In our case, the mother is always the most exposed, since the father is protected by
the law of large numbers.
At the bottom of a suitcase, Mrs. Rosa kept a piece of paper that said: "Mohamed, three
kilos of potatoes, a pound of carrots, a hundred grams of butter, a fisch, three hundred
francs, he must be educated in the Muslim religion." There was also a date, but it was the
day he took me in deposit, not my birth.
I took care of the other kids, especially cleaning them, since Mrs. Rosa couldn't bend
over because of her weight. She had no waist and her buttocks reached directly to her
shoulders, without transition. When I walked it was like a move.
On Saturday afternoons she would put on her blue dress, a renard, some earrings, put
on a redder color than usual, and go sit in a French cafe, La Coupole, in Montparnasse,
where she would eat a cake.
I never cleaned a kid over four years old, because I had my dignity and there were those
who screwed up on purpose. I know the cloth and as someone who plays, he taught them
to clean each other, saying that it was more fun that way than each one going their own way.
It turned out very well and Mrs. Rosa congratulated me and told me that she was already
starting to put it on. I didn't play with the others, who were too small for me, unless I was
going to see who had the biggest lollipop, and Mrs. Rosa would get furious because the
lollipop gave her chills because of everything she had had to do with it in this life. At night I
was still afraid of the lions and it even seems unbelievable that, with the justified causes
that there are to be afraid, someone takes it with the lions.
39
Mrs. Rosa was weak at heart and I was the one who did the shopping to save her the
stairs. Because the stairs were the worst thing in the world for her. She was wheezing
more and more when she breathed and I also had asthma because of her. Dr. Katz said
that there is nothing as contagious as psychology. It is something that has not yet been
discovered. In the mornings, when I saw Mrs. Rosa wake up, I was overjoyed, because I
also had night terrors, I was terribly afraid of finding myself without her.
40
The best friend he had then was an umbrella named Arthur whom he had dressed from
head to toe. I made a head out of a green rag wrapped around the handle, and with
Senora Rosa's lipstick I painted a cute face with a laughing mouth and round eyes. It
wasn't so much to have someone to love as to play the clown, because since I didn't
have money for my expenses, sometimes I went to look for it in the French neighborhoods
where there is. Me, with a huge coat that came to my heels, a derby hat and a painted
face, and Arthur with that look, we made a phenomenal couple. I made up to twenty
francs a day doing the Indian on the sidewalks, but you had to be careful, because the
police are always on the prowl for minors in freedom. Arthur was, predictably, one-
legged, in a blue-and-white basketball shoe, and he wore slacks, a plaid blazer on a
hanger held together by string, and a hat sewn on his head. I asked Mr. N'Da Amédée
to lend me some clothes for my umbrella and do you know what he did? He took me to
the Pull d'Or on the boulevard de Belleville, which is most elegant, and he let me choose.
I don't know if everyone in Africa will be like him, but if so, they shouldn't lack for anything.
When I did my number on the sidewalk, I swaggered, danced with Arthur , and
collected pasta. There were people who were furious and said that there was no right to
treat a child that way. I have no idea who I was dealing with. Others were sad. It's funny,
because I did it to make them laugh.
Every once in a while, Arthur would break and I had to hammer the hanger into him
to make him have shoulders, but he was left with an empty trouser leg, which is normal
for an umbrella. Mr. Hamil did not see it well, he said that Arthur looked like a fetish and
that it goes against our religion. I'm not a believer, but it's true that when you have a
weird thing that doesn't look like anything, you start to hope that it has some power.
I slept hugging Arthur and in the morning I went to see if Mrs. Rosa was still breathing.
I was never in a church, because that goes against true religion and the last thing I
wanted was to get involved with these things, but I know that it cost Christians an eye
41
of the face to have a Christ and we are forbidden to represent the human figure so as not to
offend God, which is perfectly understandable, since there is nothing to be praised for. So I erased
Arthur's face, leaving only a green ball, like fear, and I was in order with my religion. One day
when I had the police on my heels for having caused a crowd by clowning around, Arthur fell to
the ground and scattered in all directions, hat, shoe, coat hanger, jacket, and so on.
I managed to pick him up, but naked as he came into the world. Well, Mrs. Rosa, who didn't say
anything when I slept with Arthur dressed, screamed to heaven when I wanted to take him to bed
without his clothes, saying who would think of sleeping with an umbrella. Anyone understands it.
I had some money saved and re-equipped Arthur at the Marché aux Puces,
where they have things that are not bad.
But then our luck began to run out on us.
My money transfers, which lately had been arriving irregularly, skipping a few months, but
arriving, suddenly ended. Two months, three and nothing. Four.
So I told Mrs. Rosa, feeling it so much that my voice even trembled:
"Don't be afraid, Mrs. Rose. You can be sure I'm not going to stand you up just because you
don't get any money anymore.
And I took Arthur and went to sit on the sidewalk, so I wouldn't cry in front of everyone.
Because it must be said that we were in a good bind. Mrs. Rosa was going to reach the age
limit soon and she knew it. The staircase with its six floors had become his public enemy number
one. One day he would kill her, she was sure. I knew it wasn't worth killing her, there was nothing
left to see. She had breasts, a belly and hips that were no longer distinguishable, like a barrel.
We had fewer and fewer kids on board, because the girls no longer trusted Mrs. Rosa because of
her condition.
They understood that she wasn't there to take care of anyone and preferred to pay more at Mrs.
Sophie's or Mama Aisha's house on Alger Street. They earned a lot and had an easy life. The
whores that Senora Rosa knew personally had already disappeared due to the change of
generation. Since no one was recommending her on the sidewalks anymore, her reputation was
fading. When he still had his legs, he would go to the cafes of Pigalle and the market of Les
Halles, where the girls were looking for their lives, and did a bit of publicity, praising the quality of
the accommodation, the culinary cuisine and others. Now he couldn't. Her friends had disappeared
and she no longer had references. Also, there was the
42
legal pill for child protection. Now you really have to love him.
When you had a kid, there was no excuse, you knew what you were doing.
I was already about ten years old and it was my turn to help Mrs. Rosa. I also had to think about my
future, because if I stayed alone I would have to go to Public Assistance without remedy. I couldn't
sleep thinking about it and I spent my nights watching Mrs. Rosa to see if she might die.
I tried to find my life. I combed my hair well, I put Senora Rosa's perfume behind my ears like she
did, and in the afternoons I went with Arthur to Rue Pigalle or Rue Blanche, which is fine too. There are
always women there who are looking for life all day long and some of them approached me and said:
"What a handsome little man!" Does your mom work around here?
"No, I don't have anyone yet."
They invited me to a mint at the café on Macé Street. But I had to be careful, because the police
always go after the pimps, and so do they, since they don't have the right to cast the bait. They always
asked me the same questions.
"How old are you, handsome?"
-Ten.
"Do you have a mom?"
I told them no and I felt sorry for Mrs. Rosa, but what are you going to do to her! There was one
especially who was always very affectionate and from time to time she put a bill in my pocket as she
passed by. She was wearing a miniskirt and high boots and was younger than Mrs. Rosa.
He had very sweet eyes and once, after taking a good look at me, he took me by the hand and we went
to a cafe that no longer exists because they threw a bomb at it, the Panier.
“Don't be there on the sidewalk. It is no place for a child.
He was stroking my hair to fix it, but I knew he was stroking me.
-What's your name?
—Momo.
"Where are your parents, Momo?"

-I have no one. What had he figured? I am free.
"But someone will take care of you."
I was still sucking my orangeade, because you have to be careful.

"I could talk to them." I would like to take care of you. I'd put you in a studio
you would be like a king, you would not lack for anything.
43
-We'll see.
I finished the orangeade and got off the stool.

"Here, darling, for candy."
He put a bill in my pocket. One hundred francs. As I have the honor.
I went back two or three times and she always smiled at me, but from afar, sadly, because
it wasn't for her.
By bad leg, the Panier cashier was a friend of Mrs. Rosa from when the two were looking for life
together and told the old woman. The scene of jealousy that he put together! I had never seen the
Jew like that. "That's not what I raised you for!" she cried.
He repeated it ten times, crying. I had to swear to him that I would never go back there and that I
would never be a pimp. He told me that they were all pimps and that he would rather die. But I
didn't see what else I could do, at ten years old.
What has always struck me is that tears are provided for in the program. I mean that we have
been equipped to cry. You had to think about it.
This is not done by a self-respecting builder.
The money orders still didn't arrive and Mrs. Rosa started digging into the savings account. He
had four quarters saved for old age, but now he knew that it would not last long. She did not have
cancer, but was deteriorating rapidly. He even spoke to me for the first time about my mother and
my father, because it seems that there were two of them. They came to drop me off one night and
my mother burst into tears and ran away. Mrs. Rosa registered me as Mohamed, a Muslim, and
promised them that she would treat me like a king. Later… Mrs. Rosa sighed and said she didn't
know any more, but without looking me in the eye. I didn't know what he was hiding from me, but
at night I was afraid. I never got her out, not even when the money stopped coming and she didn't
have to hold me back. The only thing he knew was that he probably had a father and a mother,
because nature has no way out of that. But they never came to see me and Mrs. Rosa put on a
guilty face and kept quiet. From now on I tell you that I have never seen my mother, I don't want
you to get your hopes up. One day when I got really bored, Mrs. Rosa invented a story that was so
silly that it made me laugh.
—It seems to me that your mother had bourgeois prejudices because she was from a good
family. He didn't want you to know what job he was doing. That's why she left, heartbroken and
sobbing, never to return because prejudice would have caused you a traumatic shock, as medicine
requires.
44
And she began to cry too. You have to see what he liked stories. I think Dr. Katz
was right. When I told him about it, he told me that whores are very sentimental.
And the same goes for Mr. Hamil, who has read Victor Hugo and has lived longer
than anyone his age and who explained to me with a smile that things are neither
black nor white and that black hides in white and black can hide in black. have
white And he still added, looking at Mr. Driss, who had just served him a mint tea:
"Take my experience." Mr. Hamil is a great man, but circumstances have not
allowed him to be at all.
Four. Five
My money orders hadn't arrived for months and Mrs. Rosa from Banania hadn't seen the
color of her money since they brought it home and she asked for two months in advance.
Banania was already going to have four years for free, but he was so cool, just like if he
paid. Mrs. Rosa was able to find him a family, because that boy was always lucky. Moisés
was still under observation, and he slept in the house of the family who had been
observing him for six months because they wanted to make sure that he was of good
quality and did not have attacks of violence or epilepsy. What most fears families who
adopt a child are attacks of violence. It is the first thing that anyone who wants someone
to adopt him has to avoid. With the kids on half board and to feed Senora Rosa we
needed twelve hundred francs a month, not counting the medicines and they didn't trust
her. We couldn't feed her for less than fifteen francs a day without committing an atrocity,
not even making her lose weight. I remember that I told her bluntly: «You have to eat less
to lose weight, but that is very hard for an old woman who is alone in the world. She needs
more for herself than anyone else. When you don't have anyone by your side who loves
you, you start to grow fat. I went back to Pigalle, where Maryse was, the lady who had
fallen in love with me because I was still a child. But I was terribly afraid, because they
take pimps to jail and we had to see each other secretly. I waited for her in a doorway and
she came, gave me a kiss, crouched down, said how much she would like to have a child
like me, and gave me the price of the past. I also took advantage of Banania to shop at
stores. I left him alone with that disarming smile and everyone chorused him for the
emotional and tender feelings he inspired. When they are four or five years old, blacks
are very well tolerated. Sometimes I pinched him to make him cry, and while people
excitedly took care of him, I snatched up things to eat. I had a coat that came down to my
heels, with pockets like a house that Senora Rosa had sewn for me, and I was seen and
not seen. And it is that hunger does not forgive. To go out, I would take Banania in my
arms and stand behind some woman who was paying and we would all
46
They thought we were going with her, while Banania played the whore. Children are very
well seen when they are not yet dangerous. Even I received kind words and smiles,
because people always feel calm when they see a kid who is not yet old enough to be a
rogue. I have brown hair, blue eyes and I don't have a Jewish nose like the Arabs.
It could be anything without the need to change faces.
Mrs. Rosa ate less. This was good for her and for us. Plus, we had more kids than ever.
It was the good season and people went on vacation.
I never liked cleaning asses more, because that made the pot boil, and when I filled my
fingers with shit I didn't even feel the injustice.
Unfortunately, Mrs. Rosa was undergoing modifications due to the natural laws that
were thrown at her everywhere: her legs, her eyes, the organs known as the heart, liver,
arteries, and everything that can be found in very worn people. And since there was no
elevator, sometimes it would get stuck between floors and we all had to push down, even
Banania, who was beginning to come to life and understand that he was interested in
defending his steak.
In the person, the most important pieces are the heart and the head, and they are also
the most expensive ones. If the heart stops, you cannot continue as if nothing had
happened, and if the head goes away and stops working, all attributions are lost and you
stop enjoying life. It seems to me that you have to start living very young, because then
you devalue yourself and nobody gives you anything.
Sometimes, I would bring Mrs. Rosa useless things that are useless, but that are
pleasant because nobody wants them and they have been thrown away. For example,
there are people who bring flowers home because there is a birthday or even for no special
reason, to brighten the eyes, and when they wither they throw them away. So, if you get
up early they can recover, and this was my specialty, what is called debris. Sometimes the
flowers retain a bit of color and still live. I made bouquets, without worrying about their age,
and I took them to Senora Rosa, who put them in vases without water because it didn't
matter anymore. Or she would grab armfuls of mimosas from the carts at the Les Halles
market and take them home so she could smell a little of happiness. Along the way I
dreamed of the flower battles of Nice and the mimosa forests that surround that white city
that Mr. Hamil had known when he was young and of which he spoke to me from time to
time, although he was not the same lately.
47
Between us we almost always spoke in Arabic, in Jewish or, in front of strangers or when
we didn't want to be understood, in French, but now Mrs. Rosa mixed all the languages of
her life and sometimes even spoke to me in Polish, which was her oldest language, because
it is already known that what the old have the most is their youth. Well, she, aside from the
ladder, was still holding her own. But not every day he was moderately well and even had
to give him injections in the buttock. It was hard to find a nurse young enough to climb six
floors, and none were cheap. I made a deal with my friend Mahoute, who was legally
injecting because he was diabetic and his health condition allowed him to do so. He was a
good guy who had made himself, but very black and very Algerian. He sold transistors and
other products of his thefts and in his spare time he tried to get himself detoxified at
Marmottan, where he got in for free. He went home to give Mrs. Rosa the injection, but it
almost ended badly because he got the wrong vial and shot the heroin ration he was saving
for the day he finished his detox up her ass.
I saw immediately that something unnatural was happening there, for the Jewess had
never been so enchanted. First he was astonished and then he felt very happy. It even
scared me because it seemed to me that he was not going to come back, because anyone
would have said that he was in heaven. I shit on heroin. The kids who inject themselves
become addicted to happiness and that does not forgive, since happiness is known for its
states of lack. To inject yourself you need to want to be happy and this can only occur to an
asshole like a house. I have never taken to sweet things and if I have sometimes smoked
weed with friends it has been out of politeness, despite the fact that it is at the age of ten
when older people teach you these things. And it is that happiness does not pull me. I still
prefer life. Happiness is filth and rubbish and should be given a good lesson. Happiness
does not go with me. So far I have never gotten into politics, because that always benefits
someone, but it seems to me that there should be laws that prevent happiness from doing
its thing. I only say what I think. I may be wrong, but I would never go for a shot to be happy.
Shit. I'm not going to tell you about happiness because I don't want to have a crisis of
violence, but Mr. Hamil says I have an aptitude for the unspeakable. He says that in the
ineffable is where you have to look, that's where it is.
The best way to procure shit, and that's what the Mahoute did, is to say that you've never
injected yourself, and then they give you a free injection, because nobody wants to
48
to be alone in misfortune. It seems unbelievable that of guys who wanted to give me the
first injection, but I'm not here to help anyone live, because I've had enough with Mrs.
Rosa. I will not be the one who risks entering happiness before having tried everything to
get out of it.
As I was telling you, it was Mahoute —which is a name that doesn't mean anything and
that's why we called him that— who gave Mrs. Rosa her dose of HLM, which is what we
call heroin, since this is the name of the region of France where it is grown. Senora Rosa
was prodigiously stunned and then entered into a state of satisfaction that was pitiful.
Imagine, a sixty-five-year-old Jewess. What was missing. I ran out in search of Dr. Katz,
because with shit you expose yourself to the danger of what is called an overdose and
then you go to artificial paradise. Dr. Katz couldn't come because he was no longer fit to
go up six floors, except in case of death.
He phoned a young doctor and he showed up an hour later. Senora Rosa was drooling in
her chair. The doctor stared at me, as if he had never seen a ten-year-old boy in his life.
-What's this? A kind of kindergarten?

I felt sorry for that scared face, as if I couldn't believe what I was seeing. The Mahoute
was rolling on the floor bawling because it was his happiness that had kicked Mrs. Rosa's
ass.
"But how is that possible?" Who has procured heroin for this lady?
I looked at him smiling with my hands in my pockets, but I didn't say anything. So that?
He was a thirty-year-old boy who had yet to learn everything about life.
49
A few days later I had a stroke of luck. She had to run an errand at a department store at the
Opera that had a circus in the window for parents to bring their kids with no obligation on
their part. I had been there at least ten times, but that day I arrived too early. The curtain was
still drawn and I began to hit the thread with a street sweeper I didn't know, but he was black.
It was from Aubervilliers, because they are there too. We smoked a cigarette and for lack of
anything better to do I watched him sweep the sidewalk. Then I went back to the stores and
really enjoyed myself. The shop window was surrounded by stars larger than natural that
turned on and off as if blinking. In the center was the circus, with the clowns and the
cosmonauts who went to the moon and back waving to those who passed by and the
acrobats who flew through the air with the ease that their trade gives them and some white
dancers on top of some horses and strong men full of muscles who lifted incredible weights
without the slightest effort, because they were not human and had their mechanisms. There
was even a dancing camel and a magician with a hat from which rabbits came out in single
file that went around the floor and went back into the hat, and then started again because it
was a non-stop show, I couldn't stop, it was stronger that he. The clowns were of all colors
and were dressed as is de rigueur for them. There were white, blue and rainbow ones and
they had a red bulb in their nose that would light up. Behind, there were the spectators who
were not real, but a joke, and applauded non-stop because they were made for that. The
cosmonaut saluted when he reached the moon and his machine stopped to give him time.
Just when you thought you had seen it all, some crazy elephants would come out of his
garage, walking around the track holding their tails. The last one was still a baby, all pink, as
if he had just been born.
But for me the best were the clowns. They didn't look like anything or anyone. They all had
an impossible face, with questioning eyes and such idiots that they never lost their good
humor. Looking at them I thought that Mrs. Rosa would be very funny if she were a clown,
but she wasn't and that was the problem. They had pants that went up and down because they were
fifty
laughter and musical instruments that gave off sparks and trickles of water instead of what instruments
usually do in ordinary life. There were four clowns and the king was a white one with a pointed hat, baggy
pants and a whiter face than the others. The others did somersaults and salutes in front of him and he
kicked them in the behind. He hadn't done more than that in his life and even if he wanted to he couldn't
stop because that's what they had prepared him for. He wasn't doing it out of spite, he was a mechanic.
There was a yellow clown with green polka dots and a face that was always very happy, even when he
broke his skull. He did a number on the wire that always went wrong, but it made him laugh, because he
was a philosopher. He had a red wig that stood on end with fear when he put the first foot on the wire and
then another and so on until he had both on the wire and he couldn't go forward or backward and he would
tremble with fear to do anything. laugh, because there is nothing that gives more laughter than a clown with
fear. His partner was all blue and friendly, with a mini-guitar, and he sang to the moon, and you could see
that he had a very good heart, but he couldn't do anything about it either. The last one was actually two,
because it had a double and everything one did had to be done by the other and no matter how hard they
tried to cut it, there was no way, because they were tied to each other. The best thing is that everything
was mechanical and kind and one knew in advance that they did not suffer or age or have misfortunes. It
was different from everything and without any relation to anything. Even the camel had good intentions,
contrary to what it may seem. She had a very wide smile and swaggered like a rumbera. Everyone was
happy in that circus that had nothing natural about it.
The clown on the wire enjoyed total security and in ten days I did not see him fall even once and even if he
fell he would not be hurt. That was something else, dammit. I was so happy that I would have wanted to
die, because you have to grab hold of happiness when it passes.
I was looking up at the sky so happy when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned to look right away,
because the first thing that occurred to me was that he was a cop, but it was a pretty young girl, twenty-five
at the most. She was scared, blonde, with long hair and she smelled good, fresh.
-Why are you crying?

-I do not cry.
He touched my cheeks.
-What is this? Aren't they tears?
-No. I don't know where they came from.
51
Well, I see I was wrong. How beautiful is the circus!

-The best I've ever seen.
"Do you live near here?"
"No, I'm not French. I am probably Algerian. I live in Belleville.
-What's your name?
—Momo.
I didn't understand why I was wondering. At ten years old he was useless, not even being an
Arab. She kept her hand on my cheek and I leaned back a bit. You have to be suspicious. Maybe
you don't know it, but there are social workers who hide it very well and if you don't take care, they
will fine you with an administrative file. There is nothing worse than an administrative file. Mrs.
Rosa could not live just thinking about it. I backed up a bit more. Not much, just enough to be able
to run if he wanted to grab me. But she was scared, and she could have made a fortune if she
wanted a serious guy to take care of her. He started laughing.
-Do not be afraid.

Yeah, yeah, "don't be afraid" is a very weak trick. Mr. Hamil always says that fear is our best
ally and that without it God knows what would become of us, I tell him from experience. Mr. Hamil
was even in Mecca. To such an extent I was afraid.
"At your age you shouldn't be walking alone on the street."
Here I laughed. I laughed heartily. But I didn't say anything to him, I wasn't the one to explain it
to him.
“You are the most handsome boy I have ever seen.
"You're not bad either."
Serious.
-Thanks.
I don't know what gave me, but I had a hope. It's not that I was trying to get high, I wasn't going
to stand up to Mrs. Rosa while she was shooting. But you had to think about the future, which
sooner or later is upon you, and sometimes I dreamed at night about my future.
Someone who would take me to the beach on vacation and not give me what to feel. Well, I fooled
Mrs. Rosa a bit, but it was only with the thought that I wanted to burst. I looked at her hopefully
and felt my heart beating. Hope is one thing that is always stronger, even in old people like Mrs.
Rosa or Mr. Hamil. A crackpot.
52
But she said no more. Everything was in that. People are as they are. He spoke to me, he made me a
complied, smiled at me affectionately, sighed and left. a whore
He was wearing a raincoat and pants. Even from behind you could see her blonde hair. She was slim,
and from the way she walked, it was obvious that she could have run up the six flights of stairs several
times a day, carrying packages.
I went after her because I had nothing better to do. Once he stopped, he saw me and we smiled at
each other. Then I hid in a doorway, but she didn't turn to look or back away.
I almost lost it. He was walking fast and I guess he had forgotten about me because he had other things
to think about. She went into a garage door and I saw her stop downstairs and knock. It did not fail. The
door opened and two kids came out and threw themselves at her neck. Seven or eight years. Oh, I
swear to you that…!
I sat in the doorway. I did not care to be there than anywhere. There were several things he could do.
Go to look at the drawn strips of the drug of the Étoile. One can laugh at everything with the drawn strips.
Or go to Pigalle to see the girls who loved me and make some money. But suddenly I felt completely fed
up, I didn't care about anything. I would have gladly vanished altogether. I closed my eyes, but it takes
more than that, it was still there. And it is that when one lives it is automatic. I didn't understand why that
whore had come on to me. It must be said that when it comes to understanding something I am a bit silly
and I can't stop thinking about it. Mr. Hamil is right when he says that it's been a long time since nobody
understands anything and that the only thing one can do is be amazed. I went back to look at the circus
and spent a couple of hours like that, but in one day that's nothing. I went into a ladies' tea room and
gobbled down two chocolate cakes, which are my favorites. I asked where I could pee and going upstairs
I went straight to the door and bye. Then I stole some gloves at Printemps and went to throw them in a
garbage can. This did me good.
53
On the way back down Rue Ponthieu something really weird happened to me. I don't believe in weird things,
because I don't see what can be different about them.
I was afraid to go home. Mrs. Rosa was sad to see her and I knew that from one moment to another she
was going to miss me. I was always thinking about that and sometimes I didn't dare to go back. It made me
want to go steal something big from a warehouse and get caught to get noticed. Or let me be cornered in a
branch and defend myself until the last moment by shooting, with a machine gun. But I knew no one was going
to notice me anyway. So I stayed on rue Ponthieu and killed a couple of hours watching some kids play
foosball in a cafe. Then I wanted to go somewhere else, but I didn't know where and I stayed there. I knew
that Mrs. Rosa would be desperate. I was always afraid that something would happen to me. She almost didn't
leave the house anymore, because there was no way to get upstairs. At first, four or five kids were waiting for
her downstairs and when she came home, we all started pushing to help her. But now he didn't have the legs
or the heart for that, and the breath he had left wasn't even big enough for a person a quarter of his weight.
She didn't want to hear or talk about the hospital, where they make people die until the end instead of giving
an injection. He said that in France everyone was against sweet death and forced you to live as long as you
were able to continue raging. Mrs. Rosa was terribly afraid of torture and always said that when she couldn't
take it anymore, she would have an abortion. She had told us that if they took her to the hospital, we would
legally end up in Public Assistance, and she would burst into tears when she thought that perhaps she would
have to die in accordance with the law. The law is there to protect people who have something to protect from
others. Mr. Hamil says that humanity is but a comma in the great book of life and if an old man says such a
stupid thing I don't know what I could add. Humanity is not a comma, because when Mrs. Rosa looks at me
with her Jewish eyes, it is not a comma, but the entire great book of life, and I have no desire to see it. I've
gone to the mosque twice to pray for Mrs. Rosa, but it hasn't helped at all, because for the Jews it doesn't
work. That's why I didn't want to go back to Belleville or nail
54
eyes on Mrs. Rosa. "Eye! Watch out!” she always said. That's what the Jews say when something hurts.
We Arabs say: “Jay! Jay!” and the French: “Oh!
Oh!” Because, they are not going to believe, they are not happy sometimes either. I was turning ten
years old because Mrs. Rosa had decided that I had to get used to having birthdays and today was the
day. He said that that was the main thing so that I could develop normally and that the rest, like the name
of the father and mother,
it was snobbery.
I had sat in a doorway to wait for everything to pass, but time is the oldest thing there is and it goes
very slowly. When people are sick, their eyes widen and they have more expression than ever. Mrs.
Rosa's eyes were getting bigger and more like those of a dog, which when kicked they look without
knowing why. I was watching them from there, despite being on Ponthieu Street, near the Champs-
Elysées, where there are elegant shops. His hair from before the war was falling out more and more, and
when he was strong enough to continue fighting he asked me to find him a real hair wig to look like a
woman. The old woman had also turned disgusting. Because it must be said that she was going bald like
a man and this hurt her eyesight, because women have not been prepared for that. She wanted a red
wig, which was the color that best suited her beauty type. I didn't know where to take her. In Belleville
there are no such stores for ugly women called beauty institutes. On the Elysian Fields I dare not enter.
You have to ask, give the measure, shit.
I felt horrible. I didn't even feel like having a Coke. He told me that he had no reason to have been
born on such a day as that, that the birthday story is nothing more than a collective convention. I started
thinking about my friends, the Mahoute and the Shah, who worked at a gas station. When you're a kid,
to be someone you have to be many.
I lay down on the ground, closed my eyes and began to do exercises to die, but the cement was cold
and I was afraid of catching a disease. I know guys who foist on me a lot of shit, but I'm not going to lick
life's ass to be happy. I don't make up life, I shit on it. We do not get along. When I'm of legal age, it's
possible that I'll become a terrorist to hijack planes with hostages like on TV, to ask for something in
return, I still don't know what, but it doesn't matter. It won't be easy, of course. Something really good,
wow. At the moment I would not know what to demand because I have not received professional training.
55
I was sitting on the ground, with my ass in the cement, hijacking planes and making
hostages come out with their hands up and wondering what I would do with the money
because you can't buy everything. He would buy a house for Senora Rosa, so that she could
die peacefully, with her feet firmly planted and a new wig. He would send the motherfuckers
and their mothers to the luxury hotels of Nice, where they would be safe from life and could
later become visiting heads of state in Paris, members of the majority voicing their support,
or even into important success factors. And I could buy a new TV that I had seen in a shop
window.
This was what I thought, but I really didn't feel like doing business very much.
I had the blue clown come over and we both laughed for a while. Then I summoned the
white man, who sat down beside me and played a bit of silence for me on his tiny violin.
They made me want to go to the other side and stay with them forever, but I couldn't leave
Senora Rosa alone in the sink. We had a Vietnamese latte to replace the old one, which a
black woman from the Antilles who was French had wanted from a Jewish type of mother
and who she wanted to raise for herself because she had made the case a love story and it
was something personal. . He paid us hand over fist because Mr. N'Da Amédée left him
enough money to live decently. He kept forty percent of the income because that sidewalk
was very busy and that was non-stop and on top of that he had to pay the Yugoslavs, who
are the plague with their extortions. And, in addition, there were the Corsicans, who were
already beginning to have a new generation.
Next to me was a drawer full of useless junk that could have been set on fire and the
whole house burned down. But they wouldn't know it was me either. Anyway, it wasn't wise.
I remember that moment in my life very well because it was exactly the same as all the
others. For me, life is always the same, but there are times when I feel even worse. It didn't
hurt at all, I didn't have to, but I seemed to have no arms or legs, even though I had
everything I needed. Not even Mr. Hamil could explain it.
It must be said, without wanting to offend anyone, that Mr. Hamil was becoming more of
an idiot every day, as is often the case with old men who are reaching the end and who no
longer have excuses. They know very well what awaits them and in their eyes you can see
that they look back to hide in the past like ostriches doing politics. He always had his Victor
Hugo book in his hand, but sometimes he got confused and thought it was the Koran,
because he had both. He knew bits by heart and dropped them like it was nothing, but
56
mixing them. When I went with him to the mosque, where we made a very good impression
because I wore him like a blind man and among us the blind are very well regarded, he was
always wrong, and instead of praying, he would recite "Waterloo, Waterloo, sad plain »,
which surprised the Arabs present there very much because it was out of place. And even
tears came to his eyes, of religious fervour. He was very well with his gray djellaba and his
white braid on his head, praying to be well received. But he has not died yet and it is possible
that he will become world champion in all categories because at his age there is no one who
can say more. Among men, it is the dogs that die first. At twelve years they can no longer be
counted on and must be renewed. The next time I have a dog, I'll take it newborn so I have
more time to lose it. The only ones who don't have problems of life or death are the clowns,
because they don't come into the world by way of family. They were invented without natural
laws and they never die because that wouldn't be funny. I can see them by my side whenever
I want, I can see anyone, King Kong, Frankenstein, a flock of pink wounded birds, except my
mother, because for that I lack imagination.
I got up. I was already fed up with the portal and looked at the street. On the right a police
car, full of prepared cops. When I grow up, I would like to be a police officer so that I am not
afraid of anything or anyone and know what to do. Cops are sent by authority. Mrs. Rosa said
that in Public Assistance there are many sons of bitches who become cops, CRS or
Republicans and that no one touches them.
With my hands in my pockets, I approached the patrol car, as it is called. He had a bit of a
funk. They weren't all inside the car, some had been scattered. I started to whistle when
passing through Lorena, because you can't see what I am on my face and there was one
who was already smiling at me.
The cops are the strongest in the world. The one who has a poly father is as if he had
twice as much father as the others. They admit Arabs and blacks as long as they have some
French. They're all sons of bitches who've been through the Assistance and they know it all.
There is nothing better as a security force, I say it as I feel. Not even the military reach their
ankles, less perhaps the general. Mrs. Rosa is terribly afraid of the cops, but it's because of
the oven in which she was exterminated and her reasons don't count because she went to
fall on the bad side. Or maybe I'll join the Algerian police because they need you more there.
And it is that in France there are fewer Algerians than in Algeria and
57
they have less to do. I took another step or two toward the car where they were waiting for
mobs and armed robberies, while my heart jumped.
I always feel outside the law. He understood that he shouldn't be there, but they continued as
if nothing had happened. They may have been tired. There was even one asleep, he slept
leaning against the window, and another ate a banana next to a transistor radio.
They were relaxing. Outside was a blond guy with an antenna radio in his hand who seemed
so calm. I had a funk, but it's nice to be afraid when you know why, since fear almost always
comes to me without further ado, like breathing. The policeman on the antenna saw me, but
he didn't take any action and I walked past him whistling like nothing happened.
There are married cops with kids, I know there are. I once talked about it with the Mahoute,
because I would have liked to know what it's like to have a cop father, but the Mahoute got
tired right away, told me that dreaming is useless and left. It's not worth talking to stoners.
They are not curious.
I was walking a while longer so as not to return home, counting the steps on each sidewalk,
and there was an enormity. I was missing numbers. There was still sun. One day I will go to
the field to see what it is like. The sea may also interest me. Mr. Hamil speaks of him with
great esteem. I don't know what would have become of me if it hadn't been for Mr. Hamil, who
has taught me everything I know. He came to France as a child with his uncle and was left
alone very soon after his uncle died, and he still managed to qualify. Now he's getting crazier
every day, but it's not planned that we can get to be that old. The sun looked like a yellow
clown sitting on a roof. One day I will go to Mecca. Mr. Hamil says that it's sunnier there than
anywhere else and that's because of the geography. But I imagine that otherwise Mecca will
not be so different from other places. I would like to go far away, to a place full of something
else that I don't even try to imagine so as not to spoil it.
We could keep the sun, the clowns and the dogs, which are the best of their kind. The rest
would have to be different from everything and arranged especially for it.
But then I think that in the end everything would end up being the same. Sometimes it's even
funny how things strive to be what they are.
58
It was five o'clock and I was already on my way home when I saw a blonde stopping her
Mini on the sidewalk, under the parking ban. I recognized her right away, because I'm
spiteful like a bad bug. It was the whore who had stood me up after making a pass at me
and had been following me for nothing. I was shocked to see her again. Paris is full of streets
and it takes a lot of chance to find someone there. He did not see me. I was on the other
sidewalk and crossed at full speed to be recognized. But she was in a hurry or maybe she
didn't remember anymore because two hours had passed. He entered number 39, an interior
that opened onto a courtyard with another house. I didn't even have time to make myself
look. He was wearing a camel-skin coat and trousers and a lot of blond hair on his head. It
left behind at least five meters of perfume. I hadn't locked the car and I thought about
stealing something from him to remind him of me, but I was very down about the birthday
and also surprised that I had room inside for so many things.
There were too many people for me alone. I thought it wasn't worth it, because he wouldn't
even know it was me. I wanted him to see me, but don't think I was looking for a family.
Senora Rosa could still last a while, with a bit of luck. Moisés had found employment and
even Banania was in business. I didn't have to worry. He had no known illnesses and was
not a misfit, which is the first thing people look at when choosing. And it is understandable
because there are those who meet a child who has had alcoholics and is retarded, while
others who are excellent do not find anyone. I too, if I had been able to choose, would have
taken the best, not an old Jewish woman who couldn't take it anymore and who made me
feel sad and wanted to burst when I saw her in that state. If Mrs. Rosa had been a dog, they
would have sent her away a long time ago, but people are kinder to dogs than to human
beings, who are not allowed to die without suffering. I tell you this so that you do not think
that I was following Miss Nadine, as I later found out her name, so that Mrs. Rosa could die
in peace.
59
The entrance of the building led to another smaller building located within the first. As soon
as I entered, I heard shots, screeching brakes, a woman's screams, and a man's voice
pleading: “Don't kill me! Do not kill me!". It sounded so close that I even jumped. There was
a burst of machine gun fire and the man shouted "No!", as he always does when one dies
unwillingly. Then there was an even scarier silence, and now is when they won't believe
me. Everything started again as before, with the same guy who didn't want to be killed
because he had his reasons and the machine gun that didn't listen to him.
He died three times again, even though he didn't want to, as if he were a complete
scoundrel who had to be killed three times to set an example. There was another silence
during which he was dead and then they took it up with him again and again until I began
to feel sorry for him, because after all... Then they left him alone and a woman's voice said:
"My love, my poor love”, but with so much feeling that I was stunned, although I don't know
very well what that means. At the entrance there was no one but me and a door with a red
light. I had barely recovered when they came back with "My love, my love," but with a
different tone and then again, and hit it. The guy must have died his good five or six times
in his girlfriend's arms. Surely he wanted to make sure someone felt his death. I remembered
Senora Rosa, who had no one to tell her: "My love, my poor love," because she had almost
no hair left and weighed a good ninety-five kilos to what little. Then the woman gave a cry
of despair so heartrending that I rushed to the door and entered as one man. Shit, it was
some kind of movie theater, but everyone was walking backwards. When I entered, the
woman on the screen fell on the corpse to die on top of it, but then she got up backwards,
walking backwards as if she were a woman going and a doll on the way back. Then
everything went out and the lights came on.
60
The blonde who had stood me up was standing next to a microphone in the middle of the room,
in front of some seats, and when the lights came on she saw me. There were three or four guys
in the corners, but they weren't armed. I must have looked like an idiot, with my mouth open,
because that's how they looked at me. The girl recognized me and gave me a huge smile,
which raised my spirits a bit. It had made an impression on him.
"But he is my friend!"
We weren't friends, but this wasn't the time to argue. He came up to me and stared at Arthur,
but I knew he was interested in me. Sometimes women make me laugh.
-What's that?
—An old umbrella that I have disguised.
“It's funny, in that suit. It looks like a fetish. Is your friend?
"Do you take me for a retard or what?" It's not a friend, it's an umbrella.
He picked up Arthur and pretended to look at him. The others too. The first thing that people
look at when adopting a child is that he is not retarded, that is, one who has preferred to stay
by the wayside because there is nothing that excites him. And then the parents get into a
quagmire because they don't know what to do with it. For example, a fifteen-year-old boy who
does things as if he were ten. And that is not a good thing. When a boy is ten, like me, and does
fifteen-year-old things, they kick him out of school for being disturbed.
"He's handsome with that green face." Why did you make his face green?
It smelled so good that it made me think of Mrs. Rosa, for the difference.
"That's not a face, it's a rag." Faces are forbidden to us.
"Forbidden?" Why?
He had blue eyes, very happy and friendly. She was crouched in front of Arthur,
but it was for me.
-I'm Arabian. In our religion faces are forbidden.
61
"You mean represent a face?"

“It is offending God.
She looked at me quickly, as if nothing had happened, but I knew that I had impressed
her.
-How old are you?
"I already told you the first time." Ten. Today I have fulfilled them. But age doesn't matter.
I have a friend of ninety-five and there it is.
-What's your name?
“You've asked me before. Momo.
Then she had to work. He explained to me that this was what they call a dubbing room.
Those on the screen opened their mouths as if to speak, but it was those in the room who
spoke. They did what the birds do, they put their voices directly into their maws. And when
the voice didn't come in at the right time, you had to start over. And then came the good
part: everything went backwards. The dead came back to life and took up their place in
society again by walking backwards. They pressed a button and everything went away.
Cars were driving backwards, dogs were backing up, and houses that had gone rogue were
suddenly standing up again. The bullets left the body and went back into the machine guns
and the assassins retreated and backed out the window. The poured water rose again into
the glass. The blood re-entered the body without a trace and the wound closed. One who
had spat swallowed the spittle. Horses were galloping backwards and a guy who fell from a
seventh story was coming back in through the window. It was the world upside down, the
best thing I've ever seen in my fucking life. There was a time when I even saw Mrs. Rosa
young and fresh with her legs. I pushed her back a bit more and she got even prettier.
Tears came to my eyes.
I stayed a long time because they didn't expect me anywhere, and what fun I had.
The best thing was when they killed the woman, who stayed dead for a moment to show
pity and then rose from the ground, as if pulled by an invisible hand, recoiled and came
back to life. The guy whom she called "my love, my poor love" had the face of a pig, but
there they were. Those present saw that I liked that cinema and they explained to me that
you could go backwards from the end to the beginning and one with a beard told me, joking:
"Until the earthly paradise." Then, he added: "The bad thing is that when you start over it's
always the same." The blonde told me her name was Nadine and that her job was to make
people in movies speak with a human voice. I was so comfortable
62
that I didn't want anything. Imagine, a house that catches fire and sinks and then rises and goes
out. You have to see it with your own eyes to believe it, because if you see it
another is not the same.
And then something amazing happened to me. I can't say I leaned back and saw my mother,
but I did see myself sitting on the floor and in front of me were legs in thigh-high boots and a
leather miniskirt. I had to make a terrible effort to look up and see his face. I knew it was my
mother, but it was too late, memories can't look up. And I was still able to go back further. I feel
warm arms rocking me, my belly hurts, the person holding me walks around humming, but my
belly still hurts and I spill a shit that ends up on the floor. Nothing hurts anymore, I'm comfortable
and the person who carries me in his arms kisses me and laughs with a happy laugh that I still
seem to hear, hear, hear...
-You like?
I was sitting in a chair and there was nothing on the screen. The blonde had
approached me. They turned on the lights.
-Not bad.
Later I could still see the guy who was taking a machine gun discharge in his belly, because
he was the bank teller or a member of the rival gang and he was shouting: “Don't kill me! Don't
kill me!" like an idiot, because that is useless and everyone has to go their own way. I like movies
where, before dying, the dead man says, "Go ahead, gentlemen, do your job." This denotes
understanding, because it is useless to look around people for the sentimental. But the guy
couldn't find the right tone and they had to back him up again. First he would hold out his arms
to stop the bullets and then he would yell, “No! No! Don't kill me! Don't kill me!”, with the voice of
the one in the room, who was there so calm. Then, he would fall to the ground writhing, which is
something that movies always like, and he would stay still. The gangsters were taking yet
another shot at him to make sure he couldn't hurt them. And when everything was liquidated,
the thing started up again, but in reverse, and the guy rose in the air as if the hand of God took
him to be able to continue using him.
We saw other pieces later and there were some that had to be backed up at least ten times
to get them right. The words also went backwards, with mysterious sounds like a language
unknown to all that perhaps wants to say something.
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When there was nothing on the screen, I had fun imagining Mrs. Rosa happy, with all her hair from
before the war and without even having to look for life because that was the world upside down.
The blonde caressed my cheek and I must say that she was nice. Pity! Remembering those two guys
I had seen at her house, I thought what a shame, gosh.
"You seem to like this very much."

"I had a lot of fun."
"You can come back anytime you want."
—I don't know if I'll have time, I won't promise you anything.
He bought me an ice cream and I didn't say no. He liked me too and when I took his hand to walk
faster he smiled. I ordered a chocolate, strawberry and caramel ice cream, but then I felt it. I would have
liked more vanilla.
"I like going back. I live with a lady who is going to die very soon.
She looked at me without touching her ice cream. His hair was so blond that I couldn't help myself and
I raised my hand to touch it. Then I laughed because the thing was funny.
"Aren't your parents in Paris?"
I didn't know what to answer and I started eating the ice cream, which is perhaps what I like the most.
like in the world.
He did not insist. It makes me sick when they ask me what my dad does and where my mom is. As a
topic of conversation, it disgusts me.
He took out a piece of paper and a fountain pen and wrote something underlining it three times so
he wouldn't lose it.
“Here, it's my name and address. You can go home whenever you want. I have a friend who takes
care of children.
"A psychiatrist," I said.
This stunned her.
-Why do you say that? Those who take care of children are pediatricians.
"Only when they're very young." Then there are the psychiatrists.
He looked at me without saying anything, as if I scared him.
-Who told you that?

—I have a friend, the Mahoute, who knows about it because he goes to Marmottan to get
detoxify.
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He put his hand on top of mine and leaned in.

"You say you're ten years old, right?"
-Yes.
"You know a lot of things for your age... So, will you promise me that you'll go see us?"
I kept licking the ice cream. I was down in the dumps and good things are even better when you're
down in the dumps. I have noticed it many times. When you feel like bursting, chocolate tastes better
than ever.
“You already have someone.
From the way he looked at me, you could see he didn't understand me.
I licked the ice cream staring into her eyes, spitefully.

“I saw her come into the house earlier. He has two children. They are blonde like you.
"Did you follow me?"

-Well yes. I liked him.
I don't know what happened to him all of a sudden, but I swear there was a world in his shape.
look at me It was as if he had four times more in his eyes than before.
"Look Mohammed...
—Everyone calls me Momo because Mohamed is very long.
—Look, darling, you have my name and my address, don't lose them and come see me whenever
you want… Where do you live?
No way. A girl like that, if she showed up at the house and found out that this was a clandé for sons
of bitches, what a shame. Not that he had her, because he knew he already had someone, but for the
good people, sons of bitches are all pimps, pimps, criminals, and child delinquency. We have a very
bad reputation among good people, I say this from experience. They never take you with them because
there is what Dr. Katz calls the influence of the family environment and for them whores are the worst
thing in the world.
In addition, they are afraid of venereal diseases in children, because it is already known that we are all
hereditary. I didn't want to deny myself and gave him some sticky signs. I took his paper and put it in my
pocket, because you never know, but miracles don't exist. He started asking me questions and I didn't
say yes or no. Then I had a vanilla ice cream and it was over. Vanilla is the best in the world.
“I want you to meet the children. We will go to the field. We have a house in
Fontainebleau…
-Well bye.
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I jumped up. I hadn't asked him for anything. I ran out of there with Arthur.
Then I had fun scaring the cars. He crossed in front of them at the last moment. People
are afraid of running over a child and I liked feeling that it impressed them. They slam on the
brakes terribly so as not to hurt and that's better than nothing. I would have liked to scare
them even more, but it was out of my power. I still didn't know if I would join the police or the
terrorists, I'll see when the time comes. In any case, it has to be an organized band, because
you can't do it alone, it's very little. But it's not that I like to kill, quite the opposite. No, what I
would like is to be a guy like Victor Hugo. Mr. Hamil says that with words you can do
anything, without having to kill anyone. When I have time, we'll see. Mr. Hamil says it's the
strongest there is. If you want to know my opinion, it seems to me that if armed guys are the
way they are, it's because nobody paid attention to them when they were kids and went
unnoticed. There are too many kids in the world for all of them to see each other, there are
even those who have to starve to death or form gangs to be noticed. Mrs. Rosa says that in
the world there are millions of kids who burst, and some are even portrayed. And that the
dick is the worst enemy of the human race, and among doctors the only decent guy is Jesus,
because he didn't come out of a dick. He says it was an exceptional case. Mrs. Rosa says
that life can be beautiful, but that nobody has found it yet and that, in the meantime, you
have to live. Mr. Hamil has also spoken very well to me about life and especially about the
rugs
Persians.
As I ran between the cars to scare them because no one likes to run over a child, you can
be sure of that, it felt important to think that I could give them a good upset. Not that I was
going to get run over just to piss them off, but they were impressed. I have a friend, Claudo,
who, acting like an idiot, ended up under the wheels and was entitled to three months of
hospital care, while, being at home, if he had lost a leg, his father would have sent him to
look for it .
It was already night and perhaps Mrs. Rosa was beginning to be afraid when she saw that
arrived. He ran thinking that he had had a good time without her and he had regrets.
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I immediately saw that while I was gone it had gotten worse, especially on the top of the
head, which was the most serious. Many times he had told me, as a joke, that life was not
very good for him, and now he saw it. Everything hurt. She hadn't been able to go shopping
for a month now because of the stairs and she said that, if it weren't for the headaches I
gave her, she wouldn't have any interest in continuing to live.
I told her what I had seen in that room where everything was going backwards, but she
just sighed and we went to dinner. She was aware that she was getting worse and worse,
but she still cooked very well. The only thing he wouldn't have wanted for the world was
cancer, and in this he had been lucky because it was the only thing he didn't have. Everything
else was so damaged that even her hair had stopped falling out because the mechanism
that made it fall out had also broken down. I went to find Dr. Katz. He came, even though,
not being so old, he couldn't afford the stairs, because of his heart. At home there were two
or three temporary kids, two left the next day and the other was taken by his mother to
Abidjan, where he planned to retire and open a sexshop. Two days before, he had had his
last appointment, after twenty years at Les Halles, and he had told Senora Rosa that he had
then been moved and that he seemed suddenly to have aged. Together we helped Dr. Katz
up, supporting him from all sides, and he ordered us out while he examined Mrs. Rosa.
When we went back in, she was very happy because it wasn't cancer and she told us that
Dr. Katz was a good doctor who took her very well. He looked at all of us and when I say all
I mean the remains, because I knew that soon I would be left alone. There was a story from
China that the Jewish woman starved us to death. I don't even remember the name of the
others, except that of a certain Edith, who knows why she would be called that, since she
was no more than four years old.
-Who is the oldest?
I told her it was Momo, as always, because I was never young enough to stay out of
trouble.
"It's okay, Mom. I'm going to write a prescription and you're going to take it to the pharmacy.
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We went out on the landing and he stared at me with that face he always makes to make
you sad.
—Look, son, Mrs. Rosa is very ill.
"But you say you don't have cancer."
—No, he doesn't have it, but, in truth, his is bad, very bad.
He explained to me that Mrs. Rosa had enough illnesses for several people and that she
would have to be taken to the hospital, where she would be put in a large room. I remember
well that he said “a large room”, as if a lot of space was needed for all those diseases, but I
imagine that with that he wanted to paint the hospital in an attractive way. I did not understand
any of the names that Dr. Katz listed with satisfaction, for it was obvious that he had found
several things. The least I understood was that Mrs. Rosa was very tense and that she could
be attacked at any moment.
—But the worst is senility, stupor, if you prefer.

I didn't prefer anything, but I wasn't going to argue with him. He explained to me that his
arteries had shrunk, that his canals were closing and that the thing was not circulating where it
should have circulated.
“Blood and oxygen don't feed his brain well. He will stop thinking and he will live like a
vegetable, like a vegetable. It can last a long time and for years you will have moments of
lucidity, but that doesn't forgive, son, it doesn't forgive.
His way of saying "that doesn't forgive, that doesn't forgive" made me laugh, as if there were
something to forgive
"But it's not cancer, is it?"
-Do not even think about it. You can rest easy.
Anyway, it was good news and I burst into tears. It was lucky we were able to avoid the
worst. I sat on the stairs and cried my eyes out, pardon the expression.
Dr. Katz sat down next to me and put a hand on my shoulder. It looked like
Mr Hamil, because of the beard.
"No need to cry, son. It is natural for the old to die. you have your whole life
in front.
Did he want to scare me, the pig, or what? I have always observed that old people say: "You
are young, you have your whole life ahead of you", with a smile, as
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gloating.
I got up. Well, I know that I have my whole life ahead of me, but I wasn't going to feel bad
blood for that.
I helped Dr. Katz down the stairs, then ran upstairs to tell Mrs. Rosa the good news.
—Now we can be sure, Mrs. Rosa, it's not cancer. The doctor said so
strict form.
She opened her mouth in a huge smile, because she hardly has any teeth left. When she
smiles, she is less old and less ugly because she retains a young smile that is like a beauty
treatment. She has a photo, fifteen years old, before the exterminations of the Germans, that
seeing it nobody would say that one day she was going to become Mrs. Rosa. And the same
thing happened the other way around. It was hard to imagine Mrs. Rosa at fifteen. They had
nothing to do. At fifteen, Mrs. Rosa had long red hair and a smile that seemed to expect only
good things wherever she went. It gave me a stomach ache to see her at fifteen and now, in
that state. Life had treated her, wow. Sometimes I look in the mirror and imagine what I will
be like when I have been treated by life, and I pull my lips and make faces.
That day I gave Mrs. Rosa the best news of her life, that she did not have cancer.
In the evening we uncorked the bottle of champagne that Mr. N'Da Amédée brought, to
celebrate that Mrs. Rosa did not have the people's worst enemy, as he said, because Mr.
N'Da Amédée wanted to go into politics. She dressed for champagne and even Mr. N'Da
Amédée was amazed to see her. When he left, there was still something left in the bottle. I
refilled her glass, we toasted, and I backed the bean down until she was fifteen years old, like
in the photo, and I was even able to kiss her as she was back then. We finished the
champagne and I sat next to her on a stool, trying to put on a brave face to cheer her up.
"Soon you can go to Normandy." Mr. N'Da Amédée will give you the money.
Mrs. Rosa used to say that the happiest people in the world were cows, and she dreamed
of going to live in Normandy, where the air is very good. I don't think I ever wanted to be a
cop more than I did at that moment, sitting there on my stool and holding her hand.
If I would feel little. Then she asked me for the pink robe, but we couldn't get it in because it
was her whore robe. He had put on too much weight in those fifteen years. I believe that old
whores are not respected enough, after persecuting them when they are
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youths. If I could, I would only deal with the old whores, because the young ones have the pimps, but the
old ones have no one. I would only take the old and pochas who are no longer good for anything and I
would be their pimp, I would take care of them and do justice.
He would be the biggest cop and pimp in the world and no one would see some abandoned old whore
crying on a sixth floor walk-up.
"And apart from that, what else has the doctor told you?" I'm going to die?
"Not especially, no, Mrs. Pink." You didn't specifically say that you went to
die more than others.
-What do I have?
-He has not given details, he has said that maybe a little of everything, go.
-And the legs?
"He didn't tell me anything in particular about the legs." In addition, it is already known that nobody
die for the legs
"And what is in my heart?"
"He hasn't made it clear.
"What did you say about the vegetables?"

I played innocent.
"What vegetables?"
"I heard him say something about vegetables."
—That you have to eat vegetables because they are good for your health. You always us
made him eat vegetables. And sometimes nothing more than that.
Her eyes were full of tears and I went to find toilet paper to dry them.
"What will become of me, Momo?"
"I don't know and there's no reason to think about it now."
“You're a handsome boy, Momo, and that's a danger. You have to be suspicious. Promise me
that you will never look for life with your ass.
-I promise you.
-Swear to me.
"I swear, Mrs. Pink. You can be calm.

—Momo, always remember that the ass is the most sacred of man. There is your honor. Don't let
anyone look for your ass even if they pay you well. Even if I die and you have nothing left but your ass
in the world, you don't consent to it.
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"I know, Mrs. Rosa, that's the job of a good woman." man has to do
respect.
We stayed like that for an hour, hand in hand, and she was no longer afraid.
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When Mr. Hamil found out that Mrs. Rosa was sick, he wanted to go up to see her, but at the
age of eighty-five and without an elevator, he didn't even think about it. Thirty years ago, when
Mr. Hamil sold rugs and Mrs. Rosa hers, they had been close friends and it was unfair that
they now had to be separated by an elevator. He also wanted to write him a poem by Victor
Hugo, but since he couldn't see anymore I had to learn it by heart, on his behalf. It began like
this: Subhân ad daîm lâ iazul, which means that only the Eternal never ends. I ran up to the
sixth floor to recite it to Senora Rosa before I forgot, but got stuck twice and had to go down
six flights as many times to ask Mr Hamil for the missing pieces of Victor Hugo.
I told myself that it would be good if Mr. Hamil married Mrs. Rosa, because at his age they
could deteriorate together, which is always better. So I told Mr. Hamil.
We could carry him up to the sixth on a stretcher for the proposal and then transport them
both to the field and leave them there until they died. I didn't say it with these words, because
they weren't the most appropriate to encourage him to make up his mind; I only insinuated
that it is better to be two and thus be able to exchange impressions. I also told him that he
could live perfectly well until he was one hundred and seven years old, because perhaps life
has forgotten about him and since in another time he was interested a couple of times in Mrs.
Rosa, now was the moment to take advantage of the occasion. They both needed love and
since at their age that was no longer possible, they had to join forces. I even showed him the
photo of Mrs. Rosa when she was fifteen and he admired her with those special glasses she
has to see more than other people. First he put it far away and then very close, and he must
have seen something despite everything because he smiled and then tears came to his eyes,
not for anything in particular, but only because he is an old man. And the old ones always leak.
“You see how beautiful she was before the events. You should get married.
Well, I know, but at least you can always look at the photo to remind yourself of it.
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"Perhaps I would have married her fifty years ago, had I known her,
Mohammed.
"In fifty years they would have had enough of each other." Now, instead,
they can't even look good and they don't have time to get fed up.
He was sitting in front of his coffee cup with his hand on Victor's book.
Hugo and he seemed happy because he was a person who did not ask for much.
"Mohamed, I couldn't marry a Jewess, even if I were able to make a
similar thing.
'She's not a Jew or anything anymore, Mr Hamil, she's just a sick woman. And you are
already so old that now it is Allah who has to think of you and not the other way around. You
already went to see him in Mecca. Now it's his turn to get upset. Why not get married at eighty-
five, when you don't risk anything anymore?
"And what would we do when we were married?"
“Pity each other, shit. That's what people get married for.
"I am too old to marry now," repeated Mr. Hamil, as if it were not
too old for everything.
I didn't even dare to look at Mrs. Rosa anymore, she was deteriorating so much. The other
kids had left and when some mother whore came to talk about the pension, seeing that the
Jewish woman was a wreck, she went with the kid somewhere else. The worst thing is that Mrs.
Rosa put on makeup every time and drooped her eyes and pursed her lips as if she were still
on her sidewalk. This was already too much, I couldn't see it. I would go down to the street and
spend the day outside, leaving her alone with her lipstick and her postures. Sometimes I would
sit on the sidewalk and push people back, like in the dubbing room, but even further. Those
who came out of the gates I would walk back in and I would put myself in the driveway and
drive the cars away and no one could get close to me. Of course, I was not in top shape.
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Luckily we had some neighbors who helped us. I have already told you about Mrs. Lola,
who lived on the fourth floor and defended herself in the Bois de Boulogne as a transvestite.
Before he left in his car, because he had a car, he always went upstairs to lend us a hand.
He was only thirty-five years old and many successes still awaited him. He brought us
chocolate, smoked salmon and champagne, which are expensive things. That's why people
who look for life with their ass can never save. Then there was a story that said that the
North African workers had the cholera that they had brought from Mecca, and the first thing
Mrs. Lola did when she got home was wash her hands. I was terrified of cholera, which is
unhygienic and seeks out dirt. I don't know cholera, but I imagine it won't be as swine as
Mrs. Lola said; furthermore, it is a disease and is not responsible. Sometimes they made
me want to defend cholera, because he, at least, is not to blame for being the way he is;
he never decided to be angry, he touched him for good.
Mrs. Lola was driving around the Bois de Boulogne all night and said that she was the
only Senegalese in the business and that she liked him a lot because she had both a dick
and nice tits. The teats had been artificially fed, like someone who raises chicks.
He was so strong, having been a boxer, that he could lift a table by holding one of its legs,
but they didn't pay him for that. I liked it a lot because it didn't look like anything, it was
unique. I soon understood that she was interested in me because she couldn't have
children, because she lacked what was necessary. She wore a blonde wig and breasts of
those so sought after among women and that she fed with hormones every day, and she
strutted on her high heels, making provocative gestures to excite the clients, but she was
really a different person from all. that inspired confidence. I didn't understand why people
are always classified by the ass and given so much importance, if it's something that can't
hurt. She courted her a bit, and we desperately needed her. She gave us money and made
us dinner, tasting the sauce with little poses and gestures of satisfaction, shaking her
earrings and swaying in her high-heeled shoes. He told us that when he was young, in
Senegal, he had defeated
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Kid Govella in three rounds, but as a man he was always very unhappy. "Mrs. Lola, you don't
look like anything or anyone," I told her. This he liked. "Yes, Momo," he replied, "I am a
creature of dreams." And it was true. It looked like the blue clown or my Arthur umbrella,
which were also different. "When you're older, Momo, you'll realize that there are external
marks of respect that mean nothing, like balls, which are an accident of nature." Mrs. Rosa,
from her chair, told him to be careful, that I was still a child. Of course, she was nice because
she was completely backwards and she wasn't a bad person. At night when she would get
ready to go out with her blonde wig, high heels, earrings, her beautiful black face with boxing
scars, the white sweater, good for marking her bust, a pink scarf to hide her Adam's apple,
which is very frowned upon among transvestites, the skirt open at the side and her garters,
she really looked like a woman. Sometimes she would disappear for a day or two in Saint-
Lazare and come back exhausted and faded. Then he went to bed and took a sleeping pill,
because it is not true that one ends up getting used to everything. One day the police were
at his house looking for drugs, but it was an injustice; Some friends, envious, who had
slandered her. I am now talking about when Mrs. Rosa could speak and almost always kept
her whole head, except when she stopped in the middle and her mouth was open and her
gaze was lost, as if she did not know who she was or where she was or what she was doing.
there. Dr. Katz called this a state of obtundation. He hit him hard and more and more often,
but he still set up his bean carp very well. Mrs. Lola came up every day to ask and when the
Bois de Boulogne was doing well she gave us money. She was highly respected in the
neighborhood and whoever allowed herself some impertinence, she shook him.
I don't know what would have happened to the inhabitants of the sixth floor if it hadn't been
for those of the other five, who weren't trying to annoy each other. Mrs. Rosa had never been
reported to the police, not even when she had ten sons of bitches at home who were making
a ruckus on the stairs.
There was even a Frenchman in the second who behaved as if he were not at home and
in his country. He was tall, skinny and with a cane and lived quietly, without being noticed.
When he found out that Mrs. Rosa was sick, he went up the four flights between him and us
and knocked on the door. He entered, greeted Senora Rosa, paid her his respects, sat down
with his hat on his knees, very straight, with his forehead high, and took an envelope from
his pocket with a stamp and his name written in all the letters.
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“My name is Louis Charmette, as the name indicates. You can read it yourself. It's a letter
from my daughter. He writes to me once a month.
He showed us the envelope with his name on it, as if he wanted to show that he still had
one.
“I'm retired from the Railroads, administrative officer. I found out that you were ill and after
twenty years of living in the same house I wanted to take advantage of the occasion.
I have already told you that Senora Rosa, apart from her illness, had lived a long time and
this sometimes gave her cold sweats. And when I didn't understand something, it got worse,
which is what happens when you get older and these things add up. Well, that Frenchman
who had bothered to go up four floors to greet her had a definite effect on her, as if he had
come to announce her death, as an official representative. In addition, that individual was
properly dressed, in a black suit, shirt and tie. I don't think Mrs. Rosa had much desire to live,
but she didn't want to die either, it seems to me that neither one nor the other, she had gotten
used to it. I'm sure you can do better than that.
That Mr. Charmette seemed very serious and very important by the way he sat, so stiff
and still, and Mrs. Rosa was afraid. They held a long silence between the two and then did
not know what to say. If you want to know my opinion, it seems to me that Mr. Charmette
came up because he was alone and wanted to talk to Mrs. Rosa to connect. When you are a
certain age, you are less and less frequented, unless you have children who feel bound by
natural law. I would say that they scared each other and looked at each other as if to say,
"You first." "No, you first, please." Mr. Charmette was older than Mrs. Rosa, but he was dry,
while she overflowed everywhere and the disease had much more scope.
It is always harder for an old woman who has had to be Jewish than for a railway employee.
She was sitting in her chair, with a fan that she kept from her past, from when they gave
her women's gifts, and she didn't know what to say about the scare she had. Mr. Charmette
was looking at her unblinkingly, with his hat on his knees, as if he had come looking for her,
and the Jewess was trembling and sweating with fear. Still, it's funny to imagine that death
can walk into your house, sit with his hat on his knee, and look you in the eye to say it's time.
Although I saw that it was nothing more than a
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Frenchman lacking compatriots who had wanted to take advantage of the opportunity to signal his
presence when the news that Mrs. Rosa was never going to come down again spread through public
opinion, to Mr. Keibali's Tunisian grocery store, where all the news always gathers .
Mr. Charmette's face was already half in shadow, especially the part of the eyes that are the first to
sink and go live alone in their neighborhood, with an expression of why, with what right and what is it that
is happening It seems to me that I am still seeing him, sitting in front of Senora Rosa, with his back
straight, because he could no longer bend it due to the laws of rheumatism, which increases with age,
especially when it cools down at night, which usually happens out of season. He had heard in the store
that Mrs. Rosa had no more for a long time and that her main organs were affected, which were no longer
of public use, and she must have imagined that a person in these conditions could understand her better
than those who still did not. they are whole, and that's why it went up. The Jewess was scared to death. It
was the first time that he had received a Catholic Frenchman in his house, so stiff and silent. They
remained silent for a few moments, and then Mr. Charmette uncovered himself a little and began to talk
very seriously about all that he had done for the French railways. That was already too much for an old
Jewish woman in a very advanced state, who was going from surprise to surprise.
They were both afraid because it is not true that nature does things well. Nature can do anything to
anyone and she doesn't even know what she's doing, sometimes it's flowers and birds and sometimes it's
an old Jewish woman who lives on the sixth floor and can't even go down to the street anymore. That Mr.
Charmette made me feel sorry for him because you could see that he didn't have anything or anyone
either, despite his Social Security. It seems to me that what is most needed are the basic necessities.
The old, through no fault of their own, are always attacked in the end; I don't like the laws of nature
very well.
You had to listen to Mr. Charmette talking about trains, stations, and departure and arrival times, as if
he still hoped he could get away with taking the train on time with a good connection, when he knew full
well that it had already arrived and there was nothing left for him to do but get off.
They stayed like that for a long time and I was already beginning to worry about Mrs. Rosa, because I
saw her crazy with fear for a visit of such importance, as if they had gone to
give him the last honors.
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I opened for Mr. Charmette the box of chocolates that Mrs. Lola had left us, but he didn't
take any because he had I don't know what organs that didn't like sugar. Finally she went
down to the second floor again without her visit having fixed anything, because Mrs. Rosa
saw that people were more and more kind to her and that is never a good sign.
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Mrs. Rosa had more and more prolonged absences and sometimes spent whole hours without feeling
anything. I remembered the sign that Mr. Reza, the shoemaker, put up to say that in case of absence I
should leave the message somewhere else, but I never knew where to go, because there are even those
who catch cholera in Mecca. I would sit next to her on the stool, hold her hand and wait for her to come
back.
Mrs. Lola did what she could to help us. She came back from the Bois de Boulogne beaten to a pulp,
after the efforts she had been making in her specialty and sometimes
I slept until five in the afternoon. At night he came up to give us a hand. Still
we had the occasional pensioner, but it wasn't enough to live on and Mrs. Lola said that the job of whore
was being lost due to free competition. The whores who are for nothing are not persecuted by the police,
who only have it with those who are worth something. We had a case of blackmail when a pimp who was a
bloody pimp threatened to report a son of a bitch to the Assistance, with parental disqualification for
prostitution if she didn't go to Dakar, and we kept the kid at home for ten days — Jules was his name, no
less—until things were fixed thanks to Mr. N'Da Amédée. Mrs. Lola took care of the house and helped Mrs.
Rosa to clean herself. It's not that I want to throw flowers at her, but I've never seen a Senegalese who
could be a better mother of a family than Mrs. Lola and it's truly a pity that nature didn't allow it. An injustice
has been done to him, because he could have made some children happy. He didn't even have the right to
adopt them, because transvestites are too different and no one can forgive him for that. And that sometimes
made Mrs. Lola very angry.
I can tell you that the entire building reacted well to the news of Mrs. Rosa's death, which was going to
take place at the right time, when all its organs combined their efforts in that regard. There were the four
Zaoum brothers, who worked in removals and were the strongest in the neighborhood for pianos and
cabinets, and I always looked at them with admiration because I too would have liked them.
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liked to be four. They went up to tell us that we could count on them to go down and pick up Mrs. Rosa
whenever she felt like going out. On Sunday, which is a day when no one moves, they took Mrs. Rosa,
lowered her like a piano, put her in the car, and we all went to the Marne to make her breathe fresh air.
That day she was in her right mind and even began to make plans for the future because she did not want
to be buried religiously. At first, I thought that this Jewish woman was afraid of God and hoped that if she
was buried without religion she would go unnoticed. But it wasn't that.
She was not afraid of God, but she said that it was too late, that what was done was done and that He did
not have to go now to ask her forgiveness. It seems to me that when she had her head in place, Mrs. Rosa
wanted to die completely and not as if there was still a way to go later.
On the way back, the Zaoum brothers took her through Les Halles, rue Saint-Denis, rue de Fourcy, rue
Blondel, rue de la Truanderie and she was moved, especially in rue de Provence, when she saw the little
hotel where young man climbed the stairs up to forty times a day. She told us that she was glad to see the
sidewalks and the corners where she had made a living and that she thought she had fulfilled her contract
well. He smiled and I saw that this had lifted his spirits. He started talking about the old days and said that
it had been the happiest time of his life. When he retired, in his fifties, he still had his regular customers,
but it seemed to him that at his age it was no longer aesthetic and he made the decision to convert. We
stopped for a drink on Rue Frochot and Senora Rosa ate a cake. Then we went home and the Zaoum
brothers carried her up to sixth like a flower. The walk had made her so happy that she seemed to have
rejuvenated a few months.
Moses, who had come to see us, was waiting for us sitting at the door. I greeted him and left him with
Mrs. Rosa, who was fit. I went down to the cafe to see a friend who had promised to bring me a black
leather jacket that he was going to get from real American stock , no counterfeits, but it wasn't there. I
stayed for a while with Mr. Hamil, who was in good health. He was sitting on top of his empty coffee cup
and smiling calmly at the opposite wall.
"How are you, Mr. Hamil?"

"Hello Victor, nice to hear from you.
"Soon there will be glasses for everything, Mr. Hamil, and you will be able to see again."
“You have to have faith in God.
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—One day some formidable lenses will come out like never before, and then you will be able to
see.
“Well, Victor, praise God, because it is He who has allowed me to live so many years.
Hamil, my name is not Victor. My name is Mohamed. Victor is another friend

yours.
He seemed surprised.
—Of course, Mohamed… Tawa kkaltu'ala al Hayy elladri la iamût… I have put
my trust in what lives and does not die… What had he called you, Victor?
Shit.
"Victor called me."
"How could I?" Forgives.

-It's not important. One name is the same as another. How about since yesterday?
He made a worried face. It was obvious that he was making a great effort to remember, but since
he hadn't spent his life selling rugs, all his days had been the same, and that was a white on white
in his head. His right hand was on top of a well-worn book, the book that Victor Hugo had written
and that he must have been very used to feeling that hand leaning on it, as blind people do when
someone helps them cross the street.
"Since yesterday, you ask me?"

—Yesterday or today, Mr. Hamil, it doesn't matter, it's all just time passing.
"Well, I've been here all day today, Victor."
I looked at the book not knowing what to say. They had been together for years.
'One day I'll write a book too, Mr Hamil. And I'm going to put everything in it. What
is the best thing that Mr. Victor Hugo did?
Mr. Hamil looked at me from a distance and smiled, moving his hand as if to caress
the book. His fingers trembled.
"Don't ask me so many questions, my little...

—Mohammed.
“…Don't ask me so many questions. I'm a little tired today.

I picked up the book and Mr. Hamil got nervous. I looked at the title and left it again
under hand.
'Here it is, Mr Hamil, you can touch it now.
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I watched as he traced it with his fingers.

“You're not a boy like the others, Victor. I always knew it.
'Someday I'll write Les Miserables too, Mr Hamil. Do you have someone to take you home
afterwards?
—Inch'Allah. There will be no one missing, I trust in God, Victor.
I was beginning to be fed up, because I always went out with the other.
'Tell me something, Mr Hamil. Tell me about the great trip you took to Nice when you were
fifteen.
Not answer.
-Me? A big trip to Nice?

-When he was young.
-I do not remember. I do not remember anything.
"Well, I'll tell you." Nice is an oasis by the sea, with forests of mimosas and palm trees and
Russian and English princes having flower battles. There are clowns dancing down the street and
confetti falling from the sky without forgetting anyone. One day I will also go to Nice when I am
young.
"How, when you're young?" Are you old? How old are you? You are little Mohamed, aren't you?
—Ah, nobody knows that, nor my age either. I don't have a date. Mrs. Rosa says that I will
never have an age because I am different and I will never do more than that, be different. Do you
remember Mrs. Pink? He's going to die soon.
But Mr. Hamil had lost himself inside, because life makes people live without realizing what is
happening to them. In the house across the street lived a Mrs. Halaoui who went to look for him
before closing time and put him to bed because she didn't have anyone either. I don't even know
if they knew each other or it was so they wouldn't be alone. She had a peanut stand in Barbés
and so did her father, when he was still alive. Said:
"Mr. Hamil, Mr. Hamil!"
Thus, to remind him that there was still someone who loved him, who knew his name and who
knew he had one. I stayed with him for a long time, letting time go by, the one that goes slowly
and is not French. Mr. Hamil always told me that time comes slowly from the desert, with its
caravans of camels, and that it is not in a hurry because it transports eternity. But it is always
more beautiful when you talk about it than when you
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he looks at him in the face of an old man who allows himself to be robbed a little every day. If you want to know
my opinion, at the same time you have to look for it among the thieves.
The owner of the café, whom you probably know, because he is Mr. Driss, came over to take a look at us.
Sometimes Mr. Hamil needed to pee and had to be taken to the bathroom before things got too fast. But don't
think that Mr. Hamil wasn't responsible or worth anything anymore. The old ones are worth the same as anyone,
even if they go down. They feel the same as you and me, and sometimes that makes them suffer even more than
us, because they can no longer help themselves. But nature, which usually gets very dirty, attacks them and
makes them burst little by little.
Among us, it's worse than in nature, because it's forbidden to abort old people when nature slowly suffocates
them and their eyes bulge out of their sockets. This was not the case with Mr. Hamil, who could still grow very old
and die at the age of one hundred and ten and who knows if even become world champion. He still had his full
responsibility and said 'pee-wee' when he needed to, before it got too big, and then Mr. Driss would take him by
the elbow and take him personally to the lavatory. Among the Arabs, when a person is very old and it seems that
he is going to be dispatched soon, he is respected and thus earns in the accounts of God, where there is no small
benefit. Anyway, it was sad for Mr. Hamil that someone had to take him to pee and I left them because it seems
to me that sadness is not to be sought.
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From the stairs I heard Moises crying and I ran upstairs in case something had happened to Senora
Rosa. When I entered, it seemed to me that this could not be true and I even closed my eyes to open
them better later.
Senora Rosa's car ride through all the places where life had been sought had a phenomenal effect on
him and all his past came to life in his head. He was naked in the middle of the room, trying to get
dressed to go to work, as when he was still looking for life. Well, I have never seen anything in my life
and I am not very authorized to say what is frightening and what is not, but I swear to you that Mrs. Rosa
is naked, with boots and black lace panties around her neck because She had been in the wrong place
and breasts like you can't imagine lying on her belly, I swear it's something you don't see anywhere, even
if it exists. And besides, she tried to shake her ass as if she were in a sex shop, but since her ass
exceeded all human possibilities… Siyyid! I think that was the first time I said a prayer, the mahboul
prayer, but she kept squirming with a mischievous smile and a
Damn, I don't wish it on anyone.
I understood that it was due to the shock of memories that I had received when seeing the places
where I had been happy, but there are times when understanding does not fix anything, quite the
contrary. She was so made up that the rest seemed more naked and with her lips she pouted in the
shape of a frankly disgusting chicken ass.
Moises was bawling in a corner, but I could only say, "Señora Rosa, Señora Rosa," and ran away. Not
to run away, that's not possible, but just not to be there.
I ran a long way and when I was calmer I sat in a dark doorway, behind some garbage cans that were
waiting their turn. I didn't cry, because it wasn't worth it anymore. I closed my eyes, hid my face in my
knees in embarrassment, waited a while, and then had a cop come over. He was the strongest cop you
can imagine. It was millions of times more important than everyone else and with more armed forces
than anyone else for security. He even had armored cars at his disposal and by his side he had nothing
to
84
fear, because he would ensure my self-defense. I felt calm, because he took all the responsibility.
He paternally put his almighty arm around my shoulders and asked me if I was injured as a
result of the blows I had received. I told him yes, but it wouldn't do any good to go to the
hospital. He stayed for a long time with his hand on my shoulder and I felt that he would take
care of everything and that he would be like a father to me. I was calmer now and I was
beginning to understand that the best thing for me would be to go live in a place where nothing
is true. Mr. Hamil, when he was still with us, always said that it was the poets who ensured the
other world, and suddenly he smiled when he remembered that he had called me Victor.
Perhaps with that I promised myself to God. Then I saw some white and pink birds, which could
swell up and with a string at the end so that I could go with them very far and I fell asleep.
I slept for a long time and then I went to the cafe on the corner of Bisson Street, where there
is a lot of black, because of the three African homes next door. In Africa it is very different. They
have their tribes and when you're from a tribe it's like you're in a big family. Mr. Aboua was
there, whom I haven't told you about yet because I can't tell you everything and that's why I'm
mentioning him now. He doesn't even speak French and someone has to do it for him. I stayed
there for a long time with Mr. Aboua, who is from Ivory. We held hands and had a great time, I
was ten years old and he was twenty, which is a difference that he liked and so did I. Mr. Soko,
the owner, told me not to stay too long because he didn't want to get in trouble with child welfare
and a ten-year-old kid could get into trouble from drugs, which is the first thing people think of
when they see a a boy. In France, minors are very protected and are put in jail when no one
cares about them.
Mr. Soko also has children, but he left them in Ivory because he has more women there than
here. I knew perfectly well that I had no right to be in a public drinking place without my parents,
but frankly, I didn't feel like going home. Just thinking about the state in which I had left Senora
Rosa gave me goosebumps. It was terrible enough to see her die little by little without knowing
the cause, but naked, with a piggy smile, her ninety-five kilos waiting for a client and an ass that
no longer had anything human, it was something that she was crying out for. a law to end their
sufferings. Everybody talks about upholding the laws of nature, but I'm more inclined to spare
parts. Anyway, you can't always live in a tavern and I went back home. As I climbed the stairs, I
went
85
telling me that perhaps Mrs. Rosa had died and that there was no one left to suffer.
I opened the door slowly so as not to be scared and the first thing I saw was Mrs. Rosa
fully dressed in the middle of the room and with a briefcase next to her. He seemed to be on
a platform, waiting for the subway. I looked at her face at once and saw that she was not in
her right mind. If he would be absent he seemed completely happy. Her eyes went far, far
away and she was wearing a hat that did not suit her at all, because this was impossible, but
at least it covered her a little from above. He even smiled, as if he had just been given good
news. She was wearing a blue dress with daisies and she had taken her whore purse out of
the back of the cupboard where she kept it for sentimental reasons and which I knew well,
there were still several English condoms inside, and she was looking through the wall as if
she were about to to take the train forever.
"What are you doing, Mrs. Rosa?"
"They're coming for me." They will take care of everything. They have told us to wait here,
the trucks will come to take us to the velodrome with the strictly essential.
"Who's going to come?"

'The French police.
I did not understand anything. Moises beckoned me from the other room, touching his
head with finger She had her bitch bag in her hand and her suitcase beside her and she was waiting like she
was afraid she was going to be late.
—They gave us an hour and told us to take only one suitcase. They'll put us on a train and
take us to Germany. I won't have any more problems, they will take care of everything. They
have told us that they will not harm us and we will have a house, food and clothes.
I did not know what to say. It was possible that the Jews would be taken back to Germany,
since the Arabs did not want them. When she was in her right mind, Mrs. Rosa told me that
Mr. Hitler had made a Jewish Israel in Germany to give everyone a home and there they
welcomed them but without teeth, bones, clothes and shoes in good use, which They took
them away to take advantage of them. But I did not understand why the Germans were
always going to be the only ones to take care of the Jews or why they were going to give
them more ovens, when the natural thing would be that now it would be the turn of others,
since all peoples had to sacrifice themselves equally . Mrs. Rosa liked to remind me that she
86
he had also been young. Well, I knew all these things because I lived with a Jewess and with
Jews these things always end up being known, but I didn't understand why the French police
were going to take care of Mrs. Rosa, who was old and ugly and didn't offer the slightest
interest in no way. I also knew that Mrs. Rosa had returned to childhood due to illness, weak
senility, as Dr. Katz had told me.
She must have thought she was young, like before when she had dressed as a whore, and
here she was so happy with her briefcase because she was twenty again, waiting for the bell
to go back to the velodrome and the Jewish oven in Germany. Now he was young again.
I didn't know what to do because I didn't want to upset her, but I was sure that the French
police wouldn't come to the house to give Mrs. Rosa back her twenty years. I sat in a corner
ducking my head so as not to see her. It's all I could do for her. Luckily it happened to her and
she was the most surprised to see herself standing there, with the suitcase, the hat, the blue
dress with daisies and her bag full of memories. But I thought it would be better not to tell him
anything about what had happened, since it was clear that he had forgotten. It was the
amnesty and Dr. Katz had already warned me that I would have more and more, until the day
when I no longer remember anything and it was possible that I would still live for many years
in a state of torpor.
"What happened, Mom? What am I doing here with the suitcase as if I were traveling?
“You've been dreaming, Mrs. Rosa. But dreaming a little never hurt anyone.
She looked at me suspiciously.
“Momo, you have to tell me the truth.

"I swear it's the truth. He does not have cancer, Dr. Katz is quite sure. May
be calm
She seemed to calm down. It was good not to have it.
"How is it possible that I am here without knowing how or why?" What is what
I have, Momo?
She sat up in bed and began to cry. I got up, sat down next to him and took his hand. She
liked it. He immediately smiled at me and fixed my hair a bit to make it look pretty.
—It's just life, Senora Rosa, and you can live with it for many years. the doctor says
Katz that you are a person his age and he even gave you a number for this.
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-The third Age?

-That.
He thought for a moment.
-I do not get it. I finished menopause a long time ago. He even worked. No
I have a brain tumor, Momo? Because if it's evil, that doesn't forgive either.
"He didn't tell me not to forgive." He didn't talk to me about things that forgive or those that don't
forgive. He didn't even say sorry. Only that you were that age. neither did he say
no amnesty.
"You mean amnesia? "

Moses, what a damn thing he was doing there, began to cry. It was the only thing
was missing
"What's wrong, Moses?" Won't you tell me the truth? Are they silent about something? Why is that boy
crying?
Shit, shit, shit, the Jews are always crying among themselves. should you
know, Mrs. Rosa. They even built a wall for that. Shit.
"Isn't it cerebral atherosclerosis?"
I was already fed up, I swear. I was so fed up that I wanted to go to the Mahoute and give myself a
homemade injection, even if it was just to send
everyone to hell.
—Momo! Could it be cerebral arteriosclerosis? That doesn't forgive.

"Do you know of many things that they forgive, Senora Rosa?" I shit on the…! I shit on my mother's
grave!
-Do not say that. Your poor mother… Perhaps she is alive.
“I don't wish it. Because even though she is alive, she is still my mother.
He looked at me strangely and then smiled.
“You've matured a lot, Momo. You are no longer a child. One day…
He was going to say something but stopped himself.
-One day that?

He seemed to feel guilty.
“One day you will be fourteen. And then fifteen. And you don't want to hear from me.
"Don't talk nonsense, Mrs. Rosa." I'm not going to leave her. This does not go with me.
This reassured her and she went to change. She put on her Japanese kimono and rubbed perfume
behind her ears. I don't know why he always put perfume behind his ears. maybe for
88
not be seen. Then I helped her to sit in her chair, because it was hard for her to bend over. It
was pretty good for all I had. She seemed sad and uneasy and I was glad to see her in her
normal state. He even cried a little, proof that he was doing better.
"You're already a big boy, Momo. That shows you understand things.
It was a lie, I didn't understand anything, but it wasn't the time to argue.
"You're older now. So listen to me...
Here the thread went away and she stood for a few seconds like a broken down car inside.
I waited for her to start moving again by holding her hand, because it wasn't a broken car
anyway. One of the three times I went to see him afterwards, Dr. Katz told me that an
American spent seventeen years in the hospital knowing nothing, like a vegetable, while being
medically kept alive, and that it was a world record. . All the world champions are in America.
Dr. Katz told me that nothing could be done for her, but that in the hospital, with good care,
she could last for a few more years.
The bad thing is that Mrs. Rosa did not have Social Security because she was clandestine.
Since the raid by the French police, when Mrs. Rosa was still young and useful, as I have
had the honor, she did not want to appear anywhere. However, I know many Jews in Belleville
who have identity cards and all kinds of papers that betray them, but Mrs. Rosa did not want
to run the risk of appearing properly on some papers because as soon as people know who
you are, you throws it in the face. Mrs. Rosa was not at all patriotic and it didn't matter to her
whether someone was North African, Arab, Malian or Jewish, since she had no principles.
Many times he told me that all peoples have their good side and that is why there are those
people called historians who do special studies and research. As I told you, Mrs. Rosa did not
appear anywhere and had false papers to show that she had nothing to do with herself. So
he didn't get paid from Security.
Anyway, Dr. Katz told me to reassure me that if a body still alive but unable to defend itself
was brought to the hospital, it would not be thrown out on the street, because where could it
go?
This was what I thought looking at Mrs. Rosa while her head had gone from brown peaks.
It is what is called accelerated weak senility, first with comings and goings and then definitively,
chocho, for short, which comes from chochear and chochera,
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speaking in medical terms. He caressed her hand to encourage her to come back and he had
never loved her so much as now that she was little and old and soon she would not be a being.
human.
I did not know what to do. We didn't have any money and I wasn't old enough to escape the
laws against minors. He seemed to be over ten years old and I knew he liked the whores who
have no one, but the police have it with the pimps and I was afraid of the Yugoslavs, who are
terrible with competition.
Moises tried to cheer me up by telling me that the Jewish family that had taken care of him
treated him very well and that I too could wise up to find someone.
When he left he promised me that he would come back every day to give me a hand. It was
necessary to clean Mrs. Rosa, who no longer knew how to fend for herself. Even in his right
mind he had difficulty with this. And it is that with those buttocks there was no way for the hand
to reach the precise place. It gave her a lot of trouble to be cleaned by others, because of her
femininity, but what can she do? Moises returned the next day as promised and then the
national catastrophe of which I have had the honor occurred and which made me suddenly old.
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It was the day after that in which the oldest of the Zaoum had brought us a kilo of
flour, oil and meat to make meatballs, because since Mrs. Rosa had deteriorated
there were many people who showed us their good side. I marked that day with a
white stone, which is a beautiful expression.
Mrs. Rosa was better in her ups and downs. Sometimes it was closed completely
and other times it remained open. One day I will thank all the neighbors who helped
us, like Mr Waloumba, who swallowed fire on Boulevard Saint-Michel to interest
passers-by in his case and who went upstairs to do a very nice number in front of
Mrs Rosa with Hoping to get your attention.
Mr. Waloumba is a black man from Cameroon who came to France to wipe it out,
leaving all his wives and children in his country for economic reasons. He had an
Olympic talent for swallowing fire and to this he dedicated all his free hours. The
police did not see him with good eyes because he caused crowds, but he had a
license to swallow fire that was irreproachable. Whenever I saw Mrs. Rosa roll her
eyes and start drooling in the other world, I would run in search of Mr. Waloumba,
who shared a legal address with eight other people from his tribe in a room they had
rented from them on the fifth floor. If he was at home, he would immediately go
upstairs with his lighted torch and start vomiting fire in front of Senora Rosa. It was
not only to amuse a patient aggravated by sadness, but also to give her a shock
treatment, because Dr. Katz said that many people who were in the hospital had
improved with this treatment, by suddenly turning on the electricity. Mr. Waloumba
was of the same opinion and said that many times old people recover their memory
when they are scared and that in Africa he had cured a deaf mute that way. Old
people often fall into even greater sadness when they are taken to the hospital
forever. Dr. Katz says that this age has no compassion and that after sixty-five and
seventy years one no longer interests anyone.
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We spent hours and hours trying to scare Mrs. Rosa so that her blood would react. Mr. Waloumba
is terrible when he starts to eat fire and shoot flames that reach the ceiling, but Mrs. Rosa had one of
those potholes called lethargy in which she did not give a damn and there was no way to impress
her. Mr. Waloumba was spitting flames for half an hour, but she continued with those round and
stunned eyes full of stupor as if she were one of those statues that do not feel because that is why
they are made of stone or wood. He tried again and then Mrs. Rosa snapped out of her state and
seeing a bare-chested black man spitting fire in front of her, she gave a scream you can't imagine.
We had to hold her down so she wouldn't run away. Then he said he didn't want fire breathing in the
house anymore and he didn't want to talk about it again. The poor thing didn't know she was lela,
she thought she had had a little sleep and that we had woken her up. And anyone told him the truth.
Another day, Mr. Waloumba came with five of his tribune friends and they all danced around Mrs.
Rosa to chase away the evil spirits that attack certain people when they have a free moment. Mr.
Waloumba's brothers were well known in Belleville and people went to look for them for this ceremony
when they had a sick person who could be treated at home. Mr. Driss in the cafe laughed at these
things, which he called "practices," and said that Mr. Waloumba and his tribal brothers did black
medicine.
Mr. Waloumba and his family went up to the house one night when Mrs. Rosa was having one of
her absences and was sitting in the chair with blank eyes. They came half naked and painted in
colors, with terrible faces to scare the demons that the black workers bring with them to France. Two
sat on the floor with their drums and the other three began to dance around Senora Rosa's chair. Mr.
Waloumba played a special musical instrument and that night was truly the best to be seen in
Belleville. But the thing did not work because, apparently, the Jews do not have an effect and Mr.
Waloumba explained to us that it was a matter of religion. He thought that Mrs. Rosa counterattacked
and prevented healing. This surprised me a lot, because Mrs. Rosa was in such a state that it was
impossible to see where religion could get involved.
If you want to know my opinion, after a certain moment the Jews stop being Jews, to such an
extent they are nothing. I don't know if I make myself understood, but it doesn't matter either because yes
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If they understood me, it was surely going to be even worse.

After a while, Mr. Waloumba's brothers began to lose heart, because Mrs. Rosa continued as if
nothing had happened and Mr. Waloumba explained to me that in that state the evil spirits made all their
attempts fail and their efforts did not reach her. We all sat on the ground around the bean to rest. And it
is that in Africa they are much more numerous than in Belleville and to combat evil spirits they can take
turns, as in the Renault factory. Mr. Waloumba brought brandy and chicken eggs and we all had a snack
around Mrs. Rosa, who had a lost look and seemed to be looking for her.
While we ate, Mr. Waloumba explained to us that respecting and caring for the elderly was easier in
his country than in a city as big as Paris, where there are thousands of streets, flats, corners and hiding
places where they are forgotten, and that you can't use the army to look for them because the army is
there to take care of the young people. If the army spent its time taking care of the old, it would cease to
be the French army. He told me that there were tens of thousands of old people's nests in the cities and
in the countryside, but that no one knows how to account for them and one lives in ignorance. In a large
and beautiful country like France, an old man or an old woman is something that is sad to see and people
already have enough worries. The old men and women are useless and are not of public utility, so it is
best to leave them alone. In Africa, people live together in tribes in which the old are in great demand,
because of how much they can do for you when they die. In France there are no tribes because of
selfishness. Mr. Waloumba says that France is completely detribalized and that is why there are armed
gangs that close ranks to try to do something. Mr. Waloumba says that young people need to have tribes
because without tribes they are like drops of water in the sea and they become crazy. Mr. Waloumba
says that everything is done so big that less than a thousand is not worth counting. And that is why the
old men and women who cannot form armed groups to exist, disappear without leaving a trace and live
in their nests full of dust. No one knows they are there, especially in the attics without elevators, since
they cannot signal their presence by shouting because they are too weak. Mr. Waloumba says that a lot
of foreign labor would have to be brought in from Africa to start looking for old people at six in the morning
and take away those who start to smell bad because nobody is going to
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check if the old man or the old woman is still alive and until someone tells the concierge
that it smells bad on the stairs, certain things are not explained.
Mr. Waloumba speaks very well and always as if he were the boss. His face is full of
scars that are marks of importance that make him highly respected in his tribe and know
what he is talking about. He still lives in Belleville and one day I'll go see him.
He taught me a trick applicable to Senora Rosa, very useful in distinguishing a living
person from a completely dead person. He got up, took a mirror from the dresser and put
it in front of Senora Rosa's lips. In the place where she breathed on, the mirror was
clouded. There was no other way to tell if he was breathing, since his lungs couldn't lift that
much weight. This serves to distinguish the living from the others. Mr. Waloumba says it's
the first thing to do every morning with people of a certain age who are in garrets with no
lift, to see if they're just senile or a hundred percent dead already. If the mirror fogs up, it's
because they're still breathing and you don't have to throw them away.
I asked Mr. Waloumba if we could not send Mrs. Rosa to her tribe in Africa so that she
could enjoy the advantages that the old people have there. He laughed, his teeth so white,
and his brothers from the scavenger tribe laughed too and started talking in their language.
Later, they explained to me that life is not that easy, that we need plane tickets, money
and permits and that I would have to take care of Mrs. Rosa until death do us part. At that
moment, we saw in Mrs. Rosa's face a hint of intelligence, and Mr. Waloumba's brothers
of the race got up at once and began to dance around her, beating drums and singing with
voices as if to wake up a dead, which is forbidden after ten o'clock at night for public order
and the sleep of the just, but there are very few French in the house and here, moreover,
they are less furious than in other places. Mr. Waloumba also took his musical instrument,
which I cannot describe to you because it is special, and even Moses and I entered the
dance to exorcise the Jewish woman, since she was beginning to show signs and had to
be encouraged. We put the demons to flight and Senora Rosa came to her senses; but
seeing herself surrounded by half-naked blacks, with green, white, blue, and yellow faces,
dancing and ululating like redskins, while Mr. Waloumba played his magnificent instrument,
she got such a fright that she began to scream for help and tried to run away. and he didn't
calm down until he recognized Moises and me and then he called us sons of bitches and
fagots, which
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It showed that she was her again. Everyone congratulated us and Mr. Waloumba was the first.
They stayed for a while having a chat and Mrs. Rosa could see that they were not
they had no bad intentions nor had they come to spank her or steal her purse. of all
Anyway, she wasn't very fine yet and she thanked Mr. Waloumba in Jewish, which in this
language is called Yiddish, but it didn't matter, because Mr. Waloumba was a good guy.
When they left, Moises and I undressed Mrs. Rosa from head to toe and washed her with
bleach, because during her absence she had gotten dirty. Then we powdered her ass with baby
powder and put her back in the chair she loved so much. He asked us for a mirror and he painted
himself. He knew very well that he had those potholes, but he tried to take it with a good Jewish
humor and said that while he was in Babia he had no worries and that everything was a gain.
Moisés went down to do the shopping with our last savings and she prepared us a stew without
making any mistakes and nobody would have guessed that two hours before she was on the
moon. It is what Dr. Katz calls in medicine remission of grief. Then he sat down, for he got tired
quickly. She sent Moises to wash the pots and pans and fanned herself with her Japanese fan,
while she reflected wrapped in her kimono.
"Mom, come here.

-What's the matter? Is he going to leave again?
“No, I hope not. But if this continues they will take me to the hospital. I don't want to go.
I am sixty-seven years old...
“Sixty-nine.
“Well, sixty-eight. I'm not as old as I look. Look, Momo, I don't want
Go to the hospital. They are going to torture me there.
"Don't talk stupid, Mrs. Rosa." In France no one has ever been tortured.
Here we are not in Algeria.
“They will make me live by force, Momo. It is what they always do in the hospital, they have
their laws for that. I do not want to live more than necessary and it is no longer necessary. There
is a limit even for the Jews. They'll give me a hard time to prevent me from dying.
They have something called the College of Physicians that is there just for that. They make you
angry until the end and they don't want to grant you the right to die because it would be a privilege.
I had a friend who wasn't even Jewish, but he had no arms or legs because of an accident. They
kept him in the hospital for ten years, making him suffer to study his
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circulation. Momo, I don't want to live just because medicine demands it. I know I'm losing my mind
and I'm not willing to live years in a coma to please medicine. So if you find out I'm going to be taken
to the hospital you ask your friends to give me a proper injection and dump my remains in the field.
Let it be between some bushes, not anywhere. I was in the camp for ten days after the war and I had
never breathed so much. For my asthma, the countryside is better than the city. I've been giving ass
to clients for thirty-five years, and now I don't want to give it to doctors. Will you promise me?
-Promised.
"Jairem?"
—Jairem.
Between them it means 'I swear', as I have already had the honor.
I would have promised Mrs. Rosa anything to make her happy, because happiness can serve even
when you are very old, but at that moment there was a knock at the door and that was when that
national catastrophe occurred that has not yet occurred to me. fit here and that gave me great joy,
since it allowed me to age several years at once, apart from everything else.
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They knocked on the door, I went to open it and it was a sadder guy than usual, with a long, droopy
nose and those eyes that you see everywhere, but even more scared.
He was very pale, sweating and breathing fast, with his hand on his heart, not because of feeling,
but because the heart is the worst thing for stairs. His coat collar was turned up and he had no hair
like many bald men. He held his hat in his hand as if to show that he had it. I didn't know where he
had come from, but I had never seen such a restless guy in my life. He looked at me with a scared
face and I did the same because I assure you that there was nothing more to see him to think that
the world was falling on top and panic.
"Is Mrs. Rosa here?"

In these cases you have to be careful because strangers do not go up six floors to
give a joy I played dumb because age allows me.
-Who?
—Mrs. Rose.
I thought about it a bit. In these cases you have to buy time.

-It's not me.
He sighed, took out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead first to the side and then to the back.
other.
“I am sick. I just got out of the hospital where I've been for eleven years. I've climbed these six
floors without doctor's permission. I have come to see my son before I die.
I have a right to it. For that there are laws even among savages. I would like to sit down for a
moment, rest and see my son. Nothing more. It's here? I entrusted my son to Mrs. Rosa eleven
years ago. I have a receipt.
He rummaged in a coat pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper crumpled as hard as he could. I
read what I could thanks to Mr. Hamil, to whom I owe everything. Without him, it would be nothing.
"I have received from Mr. Kadir Youssef five hundred francs in advance for little Mohamed, from a
Muslim state, October 7, 1956." Yes, I had a shock, but
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we were in the 70's, I did the math and it was fourteen years old. It couldn't be me. Mrs. Rosa
could have had lots of Mohamed, for there are plenty of them in Belleville.
"Wait, I'll see."
I went to tell Mrs. Rosa that there was a nasty-looking guy who was going to look for his son.
and she immediately became terribly afraid.
"My God, Mom! There's just you and Moses.
"Then it must be Moses," I told him in self-defense, since it had to be him or
me.
Moses had fallen asleep in the next room. He was the sleepiest of all the sleepers I've ever
seen.
"Perhaps you want to make the mother sing," said Senora Rosa. Well, now we will see.
Pimps don't scare me. You can't prove anything. I have false documents in order. What's up?
If it gets rough, you'll go find Mr. N'Da.
I let the guy in. Mrs. Rosa had curlers on her three remaining hairs, was wearing makeup,
and was wearing her red Japanese kimono. When he saw her, he immediately perched on the
edge of a chair. Her knees were shaking. the pink lady
He was also trembling, but it was less noticeable to her, since the tremors did not have the
strength to move so much weight. But he has brown eyes of a very pretty color, if you don't
look at the rest. The gentleman had sat on the edge of the chair, with his hat on
knees and in front of Mrs. Rosa, who was in her chair as if on a throne. I kept my back to the
window, so that I could be seen less, because one never knows what can happen. I didn't look
like that guy at all, but in my life I always stick to a golden rule, that it's better not to take risks.
Besides, he was looking at me attentively, as if searching for a nose that had been lost. We
were all silent, because no one wanted to be the first to speak about the fear we had. I went to
look for Moisés, because that subject had a receipt in due form and had to give him some
satisfaction.
"Did you want to…?"

"Eleven years ago I entrusted my son to you," he said, making an effort to speak, for it was
hard for him to catch his breath. I have not been able to give signs of life until now because I
was locked up in the hospital. He didn't even have his address. When they locked me up they
took everything from me. Your receipt was at the house of my poor wife's brother, who died
tragically, as you know. I was released this morning, I went to
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look for the receipt and I have come. My name is Kadir Yussef and I want to see my son Mohamed.
I want to say hi.
That day Mrs. Rosa had her head in place and this saved us.
I noticed that she had turned pale, but you had to know her, because with so much makeup she
only looked red and blue. He put on his glasses, which always suited him better than nothing, and
looked at the receipt.
"How do you say?"
The guy almost burst into tears.
"Ma'am, I'm sick.
"And who doesn't, and who doesn't?" said Senora Rosa piously, and even raised her eyes.
eyes to heaven as if to give thanks.
—Ma'am, my name is Kadir Yussef, Yuyú for the nurses. I have spent eleven years in a psychiatric
hospital, after that tragedy that came out in the newspapers for which I am totally irresponsible.
Then I suddenly remembered that Mrs. Rosa was always asking Dr. Katz if I wasn't a psychiatrist
too. Or hereditary. Well, I didn't give a damn anyway. It wasn't about me. I was ten years old, not
fourteen. Shit.
"And what do you say your son's name was?"
—Mohammed.
Senora Rosa stared at him in a way that scared me even more.

"And the mother's name, do you remember?"
So I thought the guy was dying. He turned green, opened his mouth, and his knees began to
shake and tears welled up.
"Ma'am, you know very well that I was irresponsible." I was recognized and certified as such. If
my hand did it, it's not my fault. They didn't find syphilis, no matter how much the nurses say that all
Arabs are syphilitic. I did it in a moment of madness. May God have forgiven her. Now I am very
pious. Every hour I pray for his soul. And he will need it, with the job he had. I acted in a fit of
jealousy. Imagine doing up to twenty passes a day. I finally got jealous and killed her, I know. But I
am not responsible. I was recognized by the best doctors in France. After that I didn't even remember
anything. He loved her madly. I couldn't live without her.
Mrs. Rosa laughed mockingly. I had never seen her laugh like that and it was something... No,
I can't explain it to you. I froze my ass.
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'Of course I couldn't live without her, Mr Kadir. Aixa reported him one hundred thousand
pounders a day for years. And he killed her so that she would report more to him.
The guy screamed and started crying. It was the first time I saw an Arab cry,
Besides me. If he wouldn't care about me, I even felt sorry for him.
Senora Rosa relaxed immediately. He was glad he'd cut that guy's balls off. She must still feel
quite a woman.
"And otherwise, are you all right, Mr. Kadir?"
The guy wiped his eyes with his fist. I didn't even have the strength to take out the handkerchief.
It was too far.
"Well, Mrs. Rose. I will die soon. The heart…
" Mazltov ," said Senora Rosa kindly, which in Jewish means
'congratulations'.
-Thanks. I'd like to see my son, if you'll do me a favor.

'You owe me three years' pension, Mr Kadir. It's been eleven years since he gave
signs of life.
The guy jumped out of his chair.

"Signs of life, signs of life, signs of life!" He repeated with his eyes on
the sky where everyone waits for us. Signs of life!
It cannot be said that he spoke as the word indicates and with each exclamation he jumped
as if his buttocks were kicked without any consideration.
-Signs of life! Do you want to laugh...
"That's the last thing I want," Mrs. Rosa assured him. He left his son behind
like shit, in all the expression of this word.
"But I didn't even have his address!" Aixa's uncle took the receipt to Brazil... I was locked up! I
went out this morning! I went to your daughter-in-law's house in Kremlin-Bicetre.
All have died there, except the mother, who has inherited and vaguely remembered something.
The receipt was pinned to the picture of Aixa as mother and son!
Signs of life! What does sign of life mean?
"Money," Mrs. Rosa said with common sense.
"And where am I going to get it?"
"Those are things I don't want to get into," Mrs. Rosa said, fanning her
face with her Japanese fan.
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Mr. Kadir Yussef was swallowing so much air that his Adam's apple went up and down like
a fast elevator.
“When we entrusted the child to you, I was in full possession of all my means.
He had three women working at Les Halles, and one of them he loved dearly. I could afford to
give my son a good education. He even had a name in society.
Kadir Yussef, well known to the police. Yes, ma'am, "well known to the police," that's how the
newspaper put it in all its letters. "Kadir Yussef, well known to the police"...
Well known, ma'am, not badly known. Then irresponsibility caught me and I worked my
misfortune...
The guy was crying like an old bean.
"There is no right to leave a child lying around like shit, without paying," said Mrs.
Rosa severely, fanning herself with her Japanese fan.
The only thing that interested me was to know if that Mohamed was me. If it was me, then I
wasn't ten years old but fourteen and this was more important, because it meant that I was
much less of a child and this is the best thing that can happen to anyone. Moises, who was
standing at the door listening, didn't do bad blood either, because if the guy was called Kadir
and Yussef, he couldn't be a Jew, not even by fluke. You'll notice that I didn't mean to say that
being a Jew is a fluke because they too have their problems.
—Ma'am, I don't know if you're really talking to me in that tone or if I'm wrong because I
imagine things because of my psychiatric condition, but I've been isolated from the outside
world for eleven years, so I was in a material impossibility. Here I have a medical certificate that
attests it...
He began to search nervously in his pockets. He was one of those people who are not sure
of anything and it could be that he did not have the psychiatric role he thought he had, since it
was precisely for imagining things that they had locked him up. The psychiatrists are guys who
are always being told that they don't have what they have and that they don't see what they see
and this ends up making them crazy. But he found the paper and wanted to give it to Mrs. Rosa.
"I don't want to know anything about papers that attest to things," said Senora Rosa,
pretending to spit on bad luck, as the rules require.
"Now I'm completely fine," Mr. Kadir Yussef said, looking at us.
everyone to make sure it was true.
"Go on, go on," said Senora Rosa because that was the only thing that could be said.
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But he did not seem to be well, with those eyes that asked for help because it is always the
eyes that need it the most.
—I couldn't send him money because they declared me irresponsible for the crime I committed
and they locked me up. I think it was my poor wife's uncle who sent her the money until he died. I
am a victim of fate. As you can imagine, I would not have committed a crime if I had been in a
state without danger to my relatives. I can't bring Aixa back to life, but before I die I want to kiss
my son and ask him to forgive me and pray for me.
That guy was beginning to tire me out with so much paternal feeling and so much demand. In
the first place, he didn't have the face that he had to have to be my father, who had to be a one-
piece guy and not a worm. And besides, if my mother made a living at Les Halles and did
phenomenally well, as he himself said, no one could claim me as a father. My father was unknown,
guaranteed by invoice, because of the law of large numbers. I was glad to know that my mother's
name was Aixa. It is the most beautiful name you can imagine.
"I have been cured very well," Mr. Kadir Yussef said. I no longer have crises of violence. On
this side I am healthy. But I don't have much time left. I have a heart that does not resist emotions.
The doctors have let me out out of compassion. I want to see my son, kiss him, ask him to forgive
me and…
Shit. That was a disk. “…pray
for me.
He turned to look at me, purple with fear for the emotion that this was going to cause him.
-Is he?
But that day Mrs. Rosa had a good head and even a little more. fanned himself
looking at Mr. Kadir Yussef as if savoring the scene beforehand.
She kept fanning herself in silence and turned to Moses.

"Moses, say hi to Dad."
"Hello, dad," said Moises, who knew perfectly well that he was not an Arab and that he had no
nothing to blame.
Mr. Yussef Kadir turned even whiter.
-How? Did I hear right? Did Moses say?
"Yes, Moses. What happen?
The guy got up as if pushed by something very strong.
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"Moses is a Jewish name," he said. Of that I'm sure. Moses is not a good Muslim name, ma'am.
There are also, yes, but not in my family. I brought you a Mohamed, not a Moses. I can't have a Jewish
son, ma'am. My health would not allow it.
Moisés and I looked at each other and managed not to laugh.

Mrs. Rosa seemed astonished. And then he seemed even more astonished. He fanned himself There
was a huge silence in which all kinds of things happened. The guy was still standing, but shaking from
head to toe.
-Bah! said Senora Rosa, shaking her head. Are you sure?
"Sure about what?" I'm not sure of anything. Madam, we have not been brought into the world to be
safe. I have a weak heart. I only know one thing, it is little, but I know it very well.
Eleven years ago I brought a three-year-old Muslim boy named Mohamed to him. You gave me a receipt
for a Muslim son, Mohamed Kadir. I am Muslim and my son was Muslim. His mother was Muslim. I will
say more than that. I duly entrusted an Arab son to him and I want an Arab son back. I don't want a
Jewish son. I don't want it and enough. My health does not allow it. There was a Mohamed Kadir, not a
Moises Kadir. I don't want to go crazy. I have nothing against the Jews, may God forgive them.
But I am Arab, I am a good Muslim and I had a son in the same state. Mohamed, Arab, Muslim. I
entrusted it to him in good condition and I want him to return it to me the same.
You know that I cannot bear these emotions. All my life I have been the object of persecution, I have
documents that attest to it and that recognize for all useful purposes that I am persecuted.
"So you're sure you're not a Jew?" Mrs. Rosa asked hopefully.
Mr. Kadir Yussef had several spasms in his face, like waves.
—Madam, I am persecuted despite not being a Jew. You do not have a monopoly.
The Jewish monopoly is over, ma'am. There are others who also have the right to be persecuted. I want
my son Mohamed Kadir in the Arab state in which I entrusted him against receipt. I do not want a Jewish
son under any pretext. enough worries
I have already.
"Well, don't suffocate. Maybe there was a mistake," said Mrs. Rosa, seeing that the
The guy seemed genuinely moved.
It was pitiful to think of all that Arabs and Jews have been through together.
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"Of course there was a mistake!" Oh my God! exclaimed Mr. Kadir Yussef, sitting down
because his legs demanded it.
"Momo, bring me the papers," Mrs. Rosa said.
I pulled out the large family suitcase that was under the bed. Since I had searched it many
times looking for my mother, no one knew the mess of papers inside it better than I did. Mrs.
Rosa registered the sons of bitches that she took to pension on pieces of paper where no
one could clarify because at home the first thing was discretion and the interested parties
could sleep peacefully. No one could denounce them as mothers for reasons of prostitution
with parental disqualification. If some pimp wanted to make them sing to send them to
Abidjan, he wouldn't have found a single kid there even if he had followed special courses.
I gave the pile of papers to Mrs. Rosa and she wet her finger and started looking for
through his glasses.
"Here it is," he said in a triumphant voice, putting his finger on it. the seventh of october
from 1956 and peak.
"What do you mean and peak?" asked Mr. Kadir Youssef plaintively.
- It's to round up. That day two boys brought me, one Muslim and one Jewish.
She thought, her face lighting up with understanding.
"Ah, now I explain everything!" said Senora Rosa, very satisfied. I must have had the
wrong religion.
"How do you say?" Mr. Kadir Yussef said, keenly interested. How do you say?
—I had to educate Mohamed like Moses and Moses like Mohamed. I received them the
same day and confused them. Little Moses, the real one, is now with a good Muslim family in
Marseille where he is highly regarded. And I raised your little Mohamed here as a Jew. With
barmitzwah and all. He has always eaten kosher. You can rest easy.
"How come you've always eaten kosher?" shrieked Mr. Kadir Yussef, who hadn't even the
strength to get up from his chair and had sunk down the entire line. Are you saying that my
son Mohamed has always eaten kosher? And what did his barmitzwah have? So they have
made him Jewish?
"I made a mistake in identity," Mrs. Rosa said. Because you already know that with identity
one can also make a mistake. And a three-year-old doesn't have much of an identity, even if
he's circumcised. I was wrongly circumcised and educated your little one
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Mohamed as a Jew, but a good Jew, can rest easy. Besides, when you go eleven years without
seeing your son, you shouldn't be surprised if you find him converted into a Jew.
"But I was in a clinical impossibility!" Mr. Kadir Youssef moaned.
-Okay. He was Arab and now he is a little Jewish. But he's still your son," said the
Mrs. Rosa with a confident smile.
"I love my Arab son!" he bellowed. I don't want a Jewish son!

"But it's the same thing!" Mrs. Rosa said to encourage him.
-Is not the same! I have been baptized!
"No, no," spat out Mrs. Rosa, who despite everything had her limits.
Baptized, No. God save us! Moses is a good Jew. Aren't you a good Jew,
Moses?
"Yes, Senora Rosa," Moisés said happily, since his father and his wife didn't care.
mother.
Mr. Kadir Yussef stood up looking at us with eyes in which there were horrors and began to
stamp his foot on the ground as if he were dancing the tap dance of despair without moving from
his spot.
"I want my son back the way he was!" I want my son in good
Arab state and not in a bad Jewish state.
-Here we do not look at that of the Arab states and the Jewish states. If you love your son, you
can take him as he is. First kill the mother; then, he has himself declared a psychiatric patient, and
finally he makes a scandal because we have raised his son as a Jew, which we have done duly
and with all honors. Moisés, kiss your father, even if it kills him. After all, he is your father!
"There's no reason to disgust him," said I, who was very happy to think that
he was four years older.
Moses took a step towards Mr. Kadir Yussef and he said something terrible about
a man who didn't know he was right. "That's
not my son!" he yelled, making a show of it.
He got up, took a few steps towards the door and there he found the cause beyond his control.
Instead of going out, which was what he wanted to do, he said "Ah!", then "Oh!", put a hand to the
left side, where the heart is located, and fell to the ground as if he had nothing more to do. tell.
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-What happens? Mrs. Rosa asked, fanning herself with her Japanese fan,
which was the only thing he could do. What happens? We'll see.
We didn't know if he was dead or it was just something momentary, since he didn't give any sign.
We waited, but he still didn't move. Mrs. Rosa began to get nervous, because the only thing we
lacked there was the police, who did not finish when they started. He told me to run and find
someone to do something, but I had already seen that Mr. Kadir Yussef was completely dead from
that calm that takes over the face of people who no longer have to be bad blood.
I pinched Mr. Kadir Yussef here and there and put the mirror in front of his mouth, he was completely
dead. Moisés, naturally, left right away, because he was always on the run and I ran to look for the
Zaoum brothers to tell them that we had a dead person and that we had to leave him on the stairs
so that he would not have died at home . They went upstairs and put it on the landing of the room,
in front of the door of Mr. Charmette, who was French by guarantee of origin and could afford it.
Anyway, I went back downstairs, sat down next to the dead Mr. Kadir Yussef and
I stayed with him for a while, even though we couldn't do anything for each other anymore.
He had a much longer nose than mine, but noses are known to grow
as you go living.
I searched his pockets to see if I could find any souvenirs, but there was nothing but a pack of
blue Gauloises. There was one left and I smoked it sitting next to him, since if he had smoked the
others it gave me a little thrill to smoke the last one myself.
I even cried a little. I liked it. It was like losing someone of mine. Then I heard
the police siren and I ran upstairs to stay out of trouble.
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Mrs. Rosa was still scared and it reassured me to see her in that state and not in the other. There
had been luck. Sometimes he had only a couple of good hours a day and Mr. Kadir Yussef had
fallen at the right time.
I was still shaken by the idea that, in one fell swoop, I had just turned four years older and
didn't know what face to make. I even looked in the mirror. It was the most important event of my
life, what is called a revolution. He didn't know where he was, as always happens when one is no
longer the same. He knew he couldn't go on thinking like before, but for now he preferred not to
think at all.
-Oh Lord! said Mrs. Pink.
We tried not to talk about what had just happened, so as not to get sad. I sat down on the stool
at his feet and took his hand in gratitude for what he had done to keep me. We were all we had in
the world and something is something. It seems to me that when you live with a very ugly person
you end up liking them for being ugly. And it also seems to me that the real ugliness is in need
and this is where there are more opportunities. Now, remembering her, it seems to me that Mrs.
Rosa was much less ugly than all that, that she had beautiful brown eyes, the eyes of a Jewish
dog, but one should not think of her as a woman, since this obviously did not favor her. .
"Did you feel it, Momo?"

-No ma'am. I am very happy to be fourteen years old.
-It's better that way. Also, a father who has been to psychiatric is not what you need.
Because sometimes it is hereditary.
"You're right, Mrs. Rose. I have been lucky.
—Besides, Aixa had a very high volume of business and thus there is no way of knowing who
the father is. It didn't stop even when you were born.
I went down to buy him a chocolate cake at Mr. Driss's and he ate it.
He remained in his right mind for several days. This was what Dr. Katz called remission of
sentence. Twice a week, one of the Zaoum brothers took Dr. Katz upstairs.
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slopes. He couldn't blow all six floors every time he had to check for damage. Because we
must not forget that Mrs. Rosa had other organs besides her head and that she had to be
watched everywhere. I never wanted to be present while he did the bill and waited for him on
the street.
Once, while I was downstairs, El Negro passed by. They called him El Negro for little
known reasons, perhaps to distinguish him from the other blacks in the neighborhood,
because there always has to be one who pays the price. He is the skinniest of all, he wears
a bowler hat and he is fifteen years old, of which he has spent at least five without anyone. It
had some parents who left it to an uncle who passed it on to his sister-in-law who endorsed it
to someone who did good deeds and things ended up being very complicated because
nobody knew who had started it. But he didn't get upset, he said he was spiteful and didn't
want to submit to society. El Negro was known in the neighborhood as an errand boy,
because it was cheaper than a phone call. There were days when he did a hundred services
and even had his own room. He quickly saw that I wasn't in top Olympic shape and invited
me to play foosball at a cafe on Bisson Street. She asked me what I was going to do if Mrs.
Rosa called her and I told her that I had something else in mind. But he realized it was a bluff.
I told him that I had just turned four in one fell swoop and he congratulated me.
We were talking about how one could make a living at fourteen or fifteen years old and
without having anyone. He had several addresses, but he told me that you have to like that
thing about the ass, because if you don't like it, it's disgusting. He never wanted to know
anything about that because it was a girl's job. We smoked a cigarette and played foosball,
but Negro had his errands and I'm not one to hit people.
When I went upstairs, Dr. Katz was still there, trying to convince Mrs. Rosa to go to the
hospital. Several more people had come up, the eldest of the Zaoums, Mr. Waloumba, who
was not on duty, and five of his roommates, because death gives importance to people and
when it comes closer they are respected more. Dr. Katz lied like a tooth puller to keep the
good humor going, because morality is also important.
"Ah, here's little Momo, here to hear the news!" As well,

the news is good, he still does not have cancer, we can rest easy. Ha ha!
Everybody was smiling, especially Mr. Waloumba, who was a fine psychologist.
Mrs. Rosa was also happy, because at least she had achieved something in life.
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—But since we have bad moments because our poor head is sometimes without circulation and
since the kidneys and the heart are no longer what they were, the best thing is that we go to spend
a little time in the hospital, in a large and beautiful room, where everything will end up being fixed.
Hearing Dr. Katz make my blood run cold. Everyone in the neighborhood knew that it was
impossible to have an abortion in the hospital, even if they were mad, and that there they were
capable of making people live by force as long as there was a pinch of chicha left to stick the needle.
Medicine must always have the last word and fight to the end to prevent God's will from being fulfilled.
Senora Rosa had donned the blue dress and embroidered shawl, which was pricey, and was happy
to arouse interest. Mr. Waloumba started playing his musical instrument because, you know, it's sad
when no one can do anything for anyone. I was smiling too, but inside, and I wanted to burst.
Sometimes I think that life is not this, far from it, believe in my old experience. Then they all left in
single file without saying anything, because there are times when you have nothing to say. Mr.
Waloumba still played a few notes that went with him.
The two of us were left alone as I wouldn't wish it on anyone.

"Have you heard Momo?" Hospital. And what will become of you?
I started to whistle. It was all he could say.
I turned to look at her, determined to play any Zorro-style prank on her, but I was lucky because
at that moment the thing got stuck in her head and she spent two days and three nights without
realizing it. But the heart kept going and she was still alive, although it is a saying.
I didn't dare call Dr. Katz, not even the neighbors, because I was sure that this time they were
going to separate us. I sat next to her as long as possible, without going to pee or eat a bite. I wanted
to be there when he came back to be the first thing he saw. I put my hand on his chest and felt his
heart, despite the kilos that separated us. El Negro came because I was nowhere to be found and he
was looking at her for a long time while he smoked a cigarette. Then, he reached into his pocket and
handed me a card that said, “Free transportation of heavy objects. Telephone 278 78 78».
Then he patted me on the shoulder and left.
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The second day I ran to look for Mrs. Lola and she brought us some pop records that shrieked so
much that, according to her, they woke up the dead, but they were of no use. It was already the
vegetable that Dr. Katz had announced to us from the beginning and Mrs. Lola was so upset to see
her friend in that state that that night she did not go to the Bois de Boulogne, despite the damage
that it caused her. That Senegalese was a real human person and any day I'm going to go see her.
We had to leave the bean in her chair. Not even Mrs. Lola, despite her
years of the ring, he could lift her.
The saddest thing about those people who go out of their heads is that you don't know how long
they will last. Dr. Katz had told me that the world record was held by a seventeen-odd-year-old
American, but this requires special drip facilities.
It was terrible to think that Mrs. Rosa could become world champion, because she had already
passed her own and what mattered least to her was breaking records.
Mrs. Lola was affectionate like few others. She would have liked to have children, but I already
explained that she wasn't equipped for that, like most transvestites, that in that respect they don't
fit in with natural laws. She promised me that she would take care of me, she sat me on her knee
and sang me Senegalese lullabies. In France there are also, but I never heard of them because I
have not been a baby; I've always had other headaches. I told him to forgive me, but that I was
already fourteen years old and was no good at playing with dolls, which was strange. Then he went
off to get ready for work and Mr Waloumba had his tribe stand guard around Mrs Rosa and they
even roasted a whole lamb which we ate sitting on the ground. It turned out nice. One had the
impression of being in the field.
We tried to feed Senora Rosa by giving her previously chewed meat, but she kept half a piece
out of her mouth and half inside, looking with her beautiful Jewish eyes at everything she could not
see. Not that it mattered much, for she had enough fat to feed herself and all of Mr. Waloumba's
tribe, though now she no longer knows.
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they eat people. Finally, since they were in a good mood and they had drunk palm liqueur, they
began to play their instruments and dance around Señora Rosa. The neighbors don't complain
about the noise because they're not one of those people who complains and there wasn't a single
one who had their papers in order. Mr. Waloumba made Mrs. Rosa drink some of the palm liqueur
they sell on Bisson Street, in Mr. Somgo's shop, with cola nuts, which are also indispensable,
especially at weddings. It seems that the palm liquor had to be very good for Mrs. Rosa because it
goes to her head and opens the circulation paths, but it didn't work and she only turned a little red.
Mr. Waloumba said that the main thing was to make a lot of noise to ward off death, which must
already be there and that he was terribly afraid of the tamtans, she would know why. The tamtan
are small drums that are played by hand, and they were
all night.
The next day, I was sure that Mrs. Rosa had taken the start to break the world record and that
we were not going to be able to get rid of the hospital where they would do everything possible for
her. I went out into the street and started walking, thinking about God and things like that because I
wanted to go further.
I went to Ponthieu Street, where there is that room that has machines that make you walk
backwards. I wanted to see again the beautiful blonde girl who smelled fresh and I think I've already
told you about, the one named Nadine or something like that. Perhaps he wasn't very delicate with
Mrs. Rosa, but what do they want? I was in such a state of failure that I didn't even feel the four
years I had gained. It was as if I was still ten, I lacked the force of habit.
Well, you're not going to believe me if I tell you that she was waiting for me in the living room,
because I'm not the expected kind of guy. But it was there and I almost tasted the vanilla ice cream
he had paid me for.
He did not see me enter, he was saying words of love into the microphone and these are things
that absorb. On the screen there was a woman who moved her lips, but it was the other one, mine,
who spoke for her. He gave her his voice. This is called technique.
I went to a corner and waited. In that state of failure, I would gladly have burst into tears if I hadn't
had four more years. And still he had to make an effort. There wasn't much light in the room, but
she saw right away that I was there and who I was, and then everything came out of me and she
can't hold back anymore.
"Mohammed!
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He came running as if I were somebody and put his arm around my shoulders. The others
They looked at me because it is an Arabic name.
"Mohammed, what's wrong with you?" Why are you crying? Muhammad!
I wasn't very happy when he called me Mohamed because it's colder than
Momo, but what are you going to do?
"Mohamed, tell me, what do you have?"
Imagine how easy it would be to tell him. There was no where to start. I swallowed
saliva.
-Nothing nothing…
“Hey, I've finished the job. Now we go to my house and you tell me everything.
He ran off to get his raincoat and we got into his car. From time to time, he turned to look at me and
smiled. It smelled so good it seemed impossible. He had noticed that I wasn't in full Olympic shape because
I even had the hiccups, but he didn't say anything.
So that? Only once in a while, at some traffic light, would he put his hand on my cheek, which is something
that always goes well in these cases. We arrived at his house on Rue Saint-Honoré and he pulled the car into
the yard.
In the apartment there was a guy I didn't know, tall, with long hair and glasses, who shook my hand without
saying anything, as if it were the most natural thing to do. He was rather young, no more than two or three
times my age. I looked around, in case the two blond boys they already had came out to tell me that I wasn't
doing anything wrong, but there was only one dog that wasn't bad either.
They began to speak in English, a language I did not know, and they brought me tea and some superb
sandwiches. They let me eat as if there was nothing else to do and then the man asked me if I was feeling
better. I made an effort to say something, but I had so many things inside me that I couldn't breathe and I
even had hiccups and asthma like Mrs. Rosa, because asthma is contagious.
I was speechless as a bean carp for half an hour, hiccuping, and heard the guy say I was in shock, and I
liked this because they seemed to be interested.
Then I got up and told them that I had to go home because there was an old lady in a state of failure who
needed me, but Nadine went to the kitchen and came back with a vanilla ice cream that was the best thing
I've ever eaten in my fucking life I say it as I think.
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After that, we talked a bit because I was better. When I explained to them that the human
person was an elderly Jewish woman in a failing state who was going to break the world record
in all categories and what Dr. Katz had told me about vegetables, they said words that I had
already heard, like senility and cerebral arteriosclerosis, but I was happy because I could talk
about Mrs. Rosa and I always liked that. I explained to them that Mrs. Rosa was a former whore
who had returned deported from the Jewish ovens of Germany and that she had opened a
clandé for sons of whores who can be made to sing about the paternal disqualification for illicit
prostitution and have to hide their kids because there are always dirty neighbors who can report
them to Public Assistance. I don't know why it was good for me to talk to them. I was sitting in
a very comfortable chair and the guy even gave me a cigarette and lit it for me with his lighter
and he listened to me as if I were important. Not to say, but I could see that they had been
impressed. I packed myself and I couldn't stop, I wanted to get it all out, but it wasn't possible,
of course, because I'm not Mr. Victor Hugo and I'm not equipped for that yet. It came out in a
mess because it always started at the end, with Mrs. Rosa in a state of failure and my father,
who had killed my mother because he was a psychiatrist, but I have to say that I never knew
where it began or where it ended; because in my opinion it does nothing but continue. My
mother's name was Aixa and she fought for life with her ass and made up to twenty passes a
day before I killed her in a fit of madness, but it wasn't certain that I was hereditary and Mr.
Kadir Yussef couldn't swear that it was my dad. Mrs. Nadine's friend was called Ramón and he
told me that he was a bit of a doctor and that he didn't believe much in inheritance, that he
didn't have to think about it. He lit me up again with his lighter and told me that sometimes it's
better to be a son of a bitch because that way you can choose the father you like the most and
you're not obligated. He told me that a lot of guys born by accident turned out very well afterward
and became profitable guys. I told her I agreed, that if you're here you have to put up with it,
that it's not like in Mrs. Nadine's projection room, where everything goes backwards and you
can go back inside the mother, but there's no right that old people like Mrs. Rosa who are
already fed up cannot be aborted. It did me a lot of good to talk to them, because it seemed to
me that because I had said so, less had happened. The guy, whose name was Ramón and
who didn't look bad, was busy with his pipe while I was talking, but it was clear that he was
interested in me. I was just afraid that the girl, Nadine, would leave us alone,
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because without her that would not have been the same, in terms of sympathy. She had a
smile that was all for me. When I told them that I had suddenly turned fourteen because the
day before I was only ten, I scored another goal. They were very impressed. I couldn't stop
seeing them so interested. I did everything I could to interest them even more and to make
them see that they were doing a good deal with me.
“The other day my father came to look for me. He had left me at Mrs. Rosa's house before
he killed my mother, when they declared him a psychiatric hospital. He had other whores
working for him, but he killed my mother because she was his favorite. When they let him
out, he came to claim me, but Mrs. Rosa did not want to know anything because it would
not be good for me to have a psychiatric father, since it can be hereditary. Then he told him
that his son was Moses, who is a Jew. There is also Moses among the Arabs. But imagine,
Mr. Kadir Yussef was Arab and Muslim and when they gave him a Jewish son he had a
seizure and died...
Doctor Ramón also listened to me, but the one I liked the most was that he listened to me
it was Mrs. Nadine.
—Mrs. Rosa is the ugliest and most lonely woman I've ever seen in her disgrace. Lucky
that she has me because nobody would want to know anything about her. I don't understand
how there can be people who have everything, who are ugly, old, poor and sick, and others
who have nothing at all. It's not fair. I have a friend who is the chief of the entire police force
and who has the strongest security forces under his command. In everything he is the
strongest. He is the strongest and biggest cop you can imagine. He is so strong that he
could do anything. He is the king. When we walk down the street together, he puts his arm
around my shoulders, so people know he's like my father. When I was little, sometimes at
night a lioness would come and lick my face. He was still ten years old at the time and the
school said he was disturbed because they didn't know he was four years older. It was not
dated yet, it was long before Mr. Kadir Yussef showed up with a receipt in his hand saying
he was my father. Mr. Hamil, the rug dealer, has taught me everything I know, but now he's
blind. Mr. Hamil always carries a book by Mr. Victor Hugo and when I am older I am also
going to write Les Miserables, which is what you always write when you have something to
say. Mrs. Rosa was afraid that I would have a fit of violence and cut her throat, because she
feared it was hereditary. But there isn't a single son of a bitch who can say who his father is
and what he is. I'm never going to kill anyone, I don't care.
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When I am older I will have all the security forces at my disposal and nothing will scare me.
It's a pity that you can't go back as in your projection room to go back to everyone and so that
Mrs. Rosa is young and beautiful and a pleasure to see. Sometimes I feel like going to a
circus where I have clown friends, but I can't do it and say shit and that's it while the Jewess
is here, because I have to take care of her...
I got more and more packed and I couldn't stop talking because I was afraid that if I stopped
they would stop listening to me. Dr. Ramón had a face with glasses and eyes that stared and
there was a moment when he got up and put on the tape recorder to listen to me better and I
felt even more important, I almost couldn't believe it. He had a lot of hair on his head. It was
the first time that it was worthy of interest and they even put me on a tape recorder. I never
knew what to do to be worthy of interest, kill someone, take some hostages or whatever. I
swear. There is such a lack of attention in the world that sometimes you have to choose, like
on vacation, when you can't go to the sea and to the mountains at the same time. We are
forced to choose the lack of attention that we like the most, and people always choose the
best, the most valued, like the Nazis, which cost millions, or Vietnam. That's why an old
Jewess on a sixth floor without an elevator and who's suffered her own thing doesn't matter,
you're not going anywhere with that.
People need millions and millions to feel interested and you can't blame them, because the
less you are, the less you count...
I was talking like a king, sitting in my chair, and the funniest thing is that they listened to me
as if they had never heard anything like it. But the one who made me talk was Dr. Ramón,
because she gave the impression of not wanting to hear and sometimes she even acted as if
she wanted to cover her ears. This pissed me off a bit because one is forced to live, gosh.
Dr. Ramón asked me what I meant by the state of failure and I told him that it is when
everything has failed and you have nothing or no one. Then he wanted to know what we did
for a living since the whores no longer left us their children. I immediately reassured him and
told him that the ass is the most sacred thing that a man has, that Mrs. Rosa had already
explained it to me before I knew what it was for. I was not looking for life with my ass, I could
rest easy. We had a friend, Mrs. Lola, who was making a living in the Bois de Boulogne as a
transvestite, who helped us a lot. If everyone was like her, the world would be completely
different and there would be less
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misfortunes. He had been boxing champion in Senegal, before he became a transvestite,

and he earned enough and could have supported a family, if he hadn't had the
nature against.
From the way they listened to me, you could see they weren't used to life and I explained
that to get some pocket money out of me I was pimping on Rue Blanche.
Now I know it 's called pimp and not pimp like I used to say when I was a kid, but I still haven't
gotten used to it. Sometimes, Dr. Ramón would tell his friend something about politics, but I
didn't understand him very well because politics is not for young people.
I don't know what I got to tell them and I would have gladly continued talking about the
things that I still had inside. But I was exhausted and I was beginning to see the blue clown
waving at me, like when I fall asleep and I was afraid that they might see it too and think I
was crazy or something. I couldn't take it anymore and they realized that I was knackered
and told me that I could sleep at their house. But I told them that I had to go take care of Mrs.
Rosa, that she would die soon, and that we would see later. They gave me a piece of paper
with her name and address on it and Nadine said she would drive me and the doctor would
go with us to have a look at Mrs. Rosa to see if there was anything he could do. I didn't see
what anyone could do for Senora Rosa after everything they had already done to her, but it
didn't seem bad to me that they accompanied me by car. Only then things went wrong. We
were going to go out when there was a knock on the door five times in a row and when Mrs.
Nadine opened it I saw that it was the two boys who lived there, so there was nothing to
say. They were his children, coming home from school or somewhere. They were blond and
dressed in fancy clothes, the kind of dumbasses that no one steals because they're only on
display inside the store and to get to them you have to walk past the shop assistants. They
just stared at me like I was shit. I was doing a facha, I immediately realized. I was wearing a
beret that was riding up in front because I have too much hair and a coat that was down to
my heels. And it is that when a pingo is sleeved you do not have time to see if it is big or
small. Well, they didn't say anything, but we weren't from the same neighborhood.
I had never seen such blond children as these. And I swear they hadn't
had a lot of use, they were brand new. He had no point of contact.
"Come, I'm going to introduce you to our friend Mohamed," his mother said.
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He shouldn't have said Mohamed, but Momo. In France, Mohamed sounds like a shitty Arab
and when they call me that I get angry. It's not that I'm ashamed of being an Arab, quite the
opposite, but in France Mohamed works as a street sweeper or as a mason's laborer. It does not
mean the same thing as Algerian. Also, Mohamed sounds weird. It is as if someone in France was
called Jesus Christ. Everyone would burst out laughing.
The two kids looked me up and down. The youngest, who was six or seven
years while his brother must have been around ten, he said, "Why
are you dressed like that?"
I wasn't going to be insulted. He knew very well that he did not hit there. Then the other, without
stop looking, he asked me:
"Are you an Arab?"
Shit, I wasn't going to let anyone call me an Arab. Besides, it wasn't worth insisting on. I wasn't
jealous or anything, but the job wasn't for me, I was already busy, I had nothing to say. I felt a
lump in my throat, I swallowed it and ran.
We weren't from the same neighborhood, wow.
117
I stopped in front of a movie theater, but the movie was not suitable for minors. It's funny to
think about the things that are not suitable for minors and those that are allowed.
The ticket clerk saw me looking at the photos and yelled at me to get out of there to protect
the youth. Moron. I was sick of not being suitable for minors. I unzipped my pants, showed her
my prick and ran out, because this was no time for jokes.
In Montmartre I walked past a lot of sexshops, but they're not suitable either, although I don't
need gossip to cheer me up when I feel like it. Sexshops are for old people who can no longer
do it alone.
The day my mother didn't have an abortion, she committed genocide. Mrs. Rosa always had
this word in the mouth, had gone to school a bit and had an education.
Life is not for everyone.
I didn't stop again until I got home. I just wanted to sit next to the
Mrs. Rosa because in reality she and I, at least, were the same shit.
When I arrived I saw an ambulance at the door and I thought that everything had already been
screwed up and I had been left alone in the world, but it was not for Mrs. Rosa, but for someone who
was already dead. I was so relieved that if I hadn't been four years older I would have burst into tears.
I thought I had nothing left. It was for the body of Mr. Bouaffa. Mr. Bouaffa, you know, is that
guy I haven't told you about yet because there was nothing to say and you could hardly see
him. He had had a thing on his heart and Mr. Zaoum, the eldest, who was outside, told me that
no one had noticed that he had died, as he never received mail. I've never been so happy and
I'm not saying this to blame you, of course, but because I was happy for Mrs. Rosa.
I went up quickly, the door was open. Mr. Waloumba's friends had left, but they had left the
light on so that Mrs. Rosa could see.
She was sprawled in the chair and you can imagine how happy I was to see her tears running
down her face because this showed that she was alive. And he even stirred a little inside, like
those people who sob.
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"Momo...Momo...Momo..."
It was the only thing he could say, but that was enough. I ran to kiss him. He didn't smell
good because he had shit and peed because of his condition. I kissed him harder so he
wouldn't think I disgusted him.
"Momo…Momo…"
"Yes, ma'am, it's me, you can be sure."
“Momo… I heard… They called an ambulance… They're coming.
-Is not for you. It is for Mr. Bouaffa, who is already dead.
-I'm scared…
"I know… And that shows she's alive."
-The ambulance…
Speaking was difficult for him because to get out the words they need muscles and his
they were already loose.
-Is not for you. They don't even know it's here. I swear to the Prophet. Jairem.
"They're coming, Momo...
"But not now, Mrs. Rosa." No one has reported her. She is alive. Look, he pooped and
has peed Only the living do.
He seemed to calm down. I looked into her eyes so as not to see the rest. You won't
believe me, but that old Jewess had beautiful eyes. Like Mr. Hamil's rugs, who said, 'I have
some lovely rugs.' Mr. Hamil believes that there is nothing in the world more beautiful than a
good carpet and that even Allah himself is sitting on one. If you want my opinion, Allah must
be sitting on top of many
things.
"You're right, I smell bad.

"That shows that inside it still works."
" Inch'Allah ," Mrs. Rosa said. I will die soon.
"Inch'Allah, Mrs. Pink. "
"I'm glad to die, Momo.
"We're all happy for you." We are all his friends here. The whole world wants her.
“But don't let them take me to the hospital, Momo.

—You can rest easy, Mrs. Rosa.
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—In the hospital they would force me to live. They have laws for that. they are authentic
Nuremberg laws. You don't know what that is, you're too young.
“I was never too young for anything, Mrs. Rosa.
"Dr. Katz will report me to the hospital and they'll come for me."
I did not say anything. If the Jews began to denounce each other, so be they. To me the Jews neither
fu nor fa. They are people like everyone.
—In the hospital they won't make me abort.
I still didn't say anything. I only held one hand. So at least he wasn't lying.
—How long were they making that world champion suffer in America,
Momo?
I played crazy.
"Which champion?"
-In America. I heard you talking to Mr. Waloumba.
Shit.
—You see, in America they have all the world records. They are great athletes.
In France, at the Olympique de Marseille, there are only foreigners. Brazilians and everything. They won't
admit it. I mean the hospital.
"Do you swear to me that…?"
"As long as I'm here, fuck the hospital."

He almost smiled. Between us, when he smiles he doesn't win anything, quite the opposite, because
the rest are even more out of tune. The worst thing is the hair that is missing. He had thirty-two left, just
like last time.
"Mrs. Rosa, why did you lie to me?"

He seemed genuinely amazed.
"That I lied to you?"

"Why did you say I was ten years old when I'm fourteen?"
You won't believe me, but she turned a little red.
"I was afraid you'd leave me, Momo, so I cut you down a bit." You have always been my little man. I
never wanted another. I was counting the years and I was afraid. I didn't want you to grow up too fast.
Forgive me.
I kissed her, squeezed her hand, and put an arm around her shoulders, as if she were a woman. Then
Mrs. Lola and the eldest Zaoum got on; we picked her up, undressed her, put her on the floor and washed
her. Mrs. Lola poured perfume on her
120
everywhere, we put on her wig and kimono and put her on the clean bed. It was nice to
see her.
121
But Mrs. Rosa was getting more and more shriveled every day and I couldn't tell you how
unfair it seemed to me that a person lived only to suffer. His body was no longer worth
anything and when he didn't have one thing he had another. The old man who cannot
defend himself is always attacked because it is the easiest thing to do and Mrs. Rosa was
a victim of this crime. All the pieces were bad, the heart, the liver, the kidneys, the bronchi,
there was not a single one that was of good quality. She and I were alone at home and
outside, apart from Mrs. Lola, we had no one. Every morning I forced her to do a little
walking, to loosen her up, and she went from the door to the window and back, leaning on
my shoulder, so as not to rust completely. For the march, he played a Jewish record that he
liked a lot and that was less sad than usual. I don't know why the Jews always play sad
records. It is because of its folklore. Mrs. Rosa used to say that all her misfortunes came
from the Jews and that if she hadn't been a Jew she wouldn't have had even a tenth of the
bad times she had gone through.
Mr. Charmette sent us a death wreath because he did not know that the dead man was
Mr. Bouaffa and he thought it was Mrs. Rosa, as everyone wished for her good, and she
was very happy because this gave her hope and because it was the first time someone
sent her flowers. The brothers of Mr. Waloumba's tribe brought bananas, chickens, mangoes
and rice, as is customary in their land when preparing a happy family event. Between all of
us we made Mrs. Rosa believe that it would soon be over and then she was less afraid.
Father André, the Catholic priest of the African homes around Bisson Street, also came to
visit him, but not to act as a priest, just to pay a visit. He was very correct and did not make
any insinuations. We didn't tell him anything either, because you already know what
happens with God. He does what he wants because he has the strength of his
part.
Father André died shortly after of a heart attack, but it seems to me that it was nothing
personal, that the others did it to him. I hadn't told them about him because the
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Mrs. Rosa and I were not from her branch. He had been sent to Belleville to take care of the
African Catholic workers and we were neither one nor the other.
He was very affectionate and always had a slightly guilty look, as if he knew that one could
rightly complain. I tell you about him because he was a good person and when he died he left
me a good memory.
It seemed that Father André was going to stay for a while and I went down to the street
looking for news of a very stupid case that had happened. Kids call heroin "shit" and an eight-
year-old kid, who had heard that guys take shit shots and that was a freak, had shit on a
newspaper and had a shot of real shit believing that it was the good one and had died.
The Mahoute and two other guys had been taken away for misinforming him, but it seems to
me that they had no obligation to teach an eight-year-old to shoot himself.
When I went back upstairs, I met with Father André the rabbi of the Rue de Chaumes, who
lives next to Mr. Rubin's kosher grocery store , who had surely heard that there was a priest
hanging around Mrs. Rosa and was afraid that she would die. Christianly. The rabbi had never
set foot in the house because he knew Senora Rosa from her days as a whore. Neither Father
André nor the rabbi, who had another name that I don't remember, wanted to give the signal to
leave and there they were, each one in his chair, next to Senora Rosa's bed. They even talked
about the Vietnam War, which was neutral ground.
Mrs. Rosa had a good night, but I couldn't sleep and I kept my eyes
open in the dark thinking of something else that he didn't know what it could be.
The next morning, Dr. Katz went to give Mrs. Rosa a periodic examination, and this time
when we went out on the stairs, I knew that misfortune was going to call our attention.
door.
"You have to take her to the hospital." You can't stay here. I'll call an ambulance.
"And what will they do to him in the hospital?"
"They will take proper care of you." It can still live quite a long time. I have
known people in your state who have lasted for years.
Shit, I thought, but in front of the doctor I didn't say anything. I hesitated a moment and then
asked: "Listen, doctor, and couldn't you abort her, among Jews?"
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He seemed genuinely amazed.
"What, abort?" What are you saying?

—Well, nothing, abort her so she doesn't suffer.
Dr. Katz was so shocked that he had to sit down. He grabbed his head with his
hands and sighed several times looking at the sky as usual.
—No, Momo, you can't do that here. Euthanasia is prohibited by law.
We are in a civilized country. You do not know what you say.
-Yes, I know. I am Algerian and I know what I am talking about. There they have the sacred right of
peoples to dispose of themselves.
Dr. Katz stared at me as if I scared him. was with the mouth
open, saying nothing. It pisses me off those people who don't want to understand things.
—The sacred right of peoples exists, doesn't it? What the fuck!
"Of course there is," Dr. Katz said, getting up from the step where he had sat down out of respect. It
exists, it is something big and beautiful, but I don't see the
relationship.
—The relationship is that, if she exists, Mrs. Rosa has the sacred right of peoples to dispose of
herself like everyone else. And if you want to have an abortion, that's up to you.
And you would have to do it yourself, because for that you would need a Jewish doctor, so that there
would be no anti-Semitism. Among Jews they should not be made to suffer. It's disgusting.
Dr. Katz was breathing more and more and there were even beads of sweat on his forehead. Yes
I would speak well... It was the first time that I was really four years older.
—You don't know what you're saying, son… You don't know what you're saying, child.
"I am not his son and I am not a child either." I'm a son of a bitch and my father killed
to my mother and when you know that you already know everything and you stop being a child.
Dr. Katz was trembling and looking at me in astonishment.

"Who told you that, Momo?" Who told you these things?
—It doesn't matter who told me, Dr. Katz, because there are times when it is better to have as few
fathers as possible, believe in my old experience and I have the honor to, speaking as Mr. Hamil, the
friend of Mr. Victor Hugo, at that you know, no doubt. And don't look at me like that, doctor, because
I'm not going to have a violent crisis either, I'm not psychiatric or hereditary, and I'm not going to kill my
mother's bitch, God rest her ass, because that's already done; I shit on all of you, except Mrs. Rosa,
which is the only thing I want, and I'm not going to let her become a champion of vegetables for
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to please medicine, and when I write about the miserable I will say all I want without killing anyone
because it doesn't matter and if you were not an old Jew without a heart, but a real Jew with a real
heart in the place where that organ must be there, you would do a good deed and abort Mrs. Rosa
right away to save her from the life that has been foisted on her ass by a father that no one even knows
and who has no face because he hides and who is not there allowed to represent him because he has
a whole mafia to prevent him from being caught and this is criminal and the condemnation of shitty
doctors for denial of assistance...
Dr. Katz was very pale and that suited him well with his beautiful white beard and heart eyes and I
kept quiet because if he died I wouldn't be able to hear everything he would say to them one day. But
his knees were beginning to buckle and I helped him sit back on the step, but without sparing him or
anyone. He put his hand to his heart and looked at me like I was a bank teller asking me not to kill him.
But I crossed my arms, feeling like a people that has the sacred right to dispose of itself
same.
“Momo…, my little Momo.

“Not little Momo or anything. Is that yes, or shit?
"I have no right to do that...
"You don't want to abort her?"
-It's not possible. Euthanasia is severely punished.

It made me laugh. I would have liked to know what is not severely punished,
especially when there is nothing to punish.
-You have to take her to the hospital, for humanity...
"Will I be admitted to the hospital too?"
This calmed him down a bit and he even smiled.
"You're a good boy, Momo. No, but you can go visit her. Although very soon
won't recognize you.
He tried to talk about something else.
"By the way, Momo, what are you going to do?" You can't live alone.
-Do not worry about me. I know a lot of whores in Pigalle. And I have already received a
lot of propositions.
Dr. Katz opened his mouth, looked at me, swallowed hard, and sighed like everyone else. Me
I was thinking. You had to buy time, it's always the best.
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“Hey, Dr. Katz, don't call the hospital. Give me a few days. She may die alone. Besides, I have to
settle my affairs. Otherwise they would take me to the
Assistance.
He sighed again. Uncle, every time he breathed it was to sigh. I was already fed up with people
who sigh.
He looked at me, but in a different way.
—You were never a child like the others, Momo. And you won't be a man like the others either, I've
always known that.
-Thank you very much doctor. He is very friendly.
"I really think so." You will always be very different.
I reflected for a moment.
“It must be because I had a psychiatric father.

Dr. Katz had a very bad look on his face, he seemed to be sick.
"No, Momo, that's not what I mean. You are still too young to
understand, but...
"You're never too young for anything, doctor, believe my old experience."
"Where did you learn that expression?"
He seemed amazed.
"Oh yeah!" You are a very intelligent boy, very sensitive, maybe even too sensitive. I have told Mrs.
Rosa many times that you will never be like everyone else. Sometimes, that gives great poets, writers,
other times... Other times, revolutionaries. But calm down. This does not mean that you will not be
normal.
“I hope I'm never normal, Dr. Katz. Only rogues are normal. I'll do my best not to be normal, doctor...
He got up again and I thought it was time to ask him something that was beginning to
keep me restless
"Tell me, doctor, are you sure I'm fourteen years old?" Am I not twenty, thirty or more? First they
tell me ten, then fourteen... I won't have many more? Am I not a dwarf, damn it? I don't want to be a
dwarf, doctor, even if they are normal and different.
Dr. Katz smiled through his beard, pleased to finally give me a good
News.
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"No, you're not a dwarf, doctor's word." You are fourteen years old, but Mrs. Rosa was afraid
that you would leave her and that is why she made you believe that you were only ten. Maybe I
should have told you earlier, but...
He smiled and this made him look even sadder.
—But since it was a beautiful love story, I didn't say anything. Regarding Mrs. Rosa, I will wait
a few more days, but I think it is essential to take her to the hospital. We have no right to end their
suffering, as I have already explained to you. In the meantime, make her exercise, stand up, move
around, walk around the room, otherwise she'll get sores and abscesses everywhere. You have
to move it… Two or three days, no more.
I called for one of the Zaoum brothers to put him down on his shoulders.
Dr. Katz is still alive and I plan to go see him any day.
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I sat on the stairs for a while, alone, to be calm. I was glad to know he wasn't a dwarf,
because that was something. Once I saw a photo of a man who had neither arms nor legs. I
think of him many times to feel better, and I like having arms and legs. Then, I remembered
the exercises we had to do to Mrs. Rosa to get her to move a little and I went to find Mr.
Waloumba to ask him to help me, but he was at his garbage job. I stayed all day with Senora
Rosa, who read her cards to read her future. When Mr. Waloumba returned from work, he
went upstairs with his friends and together they took Mrs. Rosa and made her do a little
exercise. They walked her around the room first, for her legs were still good, and then they
laid her on a blanket and shook her a little to stir her insides. And in the end they were even
amused by that because Mrs. Rosa seemed like a huge doll to them and they thought they
were playing something. The wiggle did him a lot of good and he had kind words for everyone.
Then we put her to bed, we gave her dinner and then she asked for the mirror. When he
looked at himself, he smiled and fixed the thirty-five remaining hairs. We all congratulate her
on her good looks. She put on makeup, because you can be pocha and still preserve your
femininity, trying to dress up as well as possible. It is a pity that Mrs. Rosa was not pretty,
because she was gifted for that and would have been wonderful. He was smiling and we
were all glad he wasn't grossed out.
Later, Mr. Waloumba's brothers made him rice with peppers because they said that it had
to be peppered so that his blood would run faster. Then Mrs. Lola arrived. When that
Senegalese came, it seemed that the sun entered the house. The only thing that makes me
feel sorry for Mrs. Lola is when she says that she is going to make him cut everything to be a
full-bodied woman as she says. It seems to me that this is taking things too far and I am afraid
that they will hurt him.
Mrs. Lola gave one of her dresses to the Jewish woman, knowing how important morality
is for women. He also brought champagne and it doesn't get any better than that.
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Then he poured perfume on Senora Rosa, who needed it more and more, since it was difficult
for her to control her openings.
Mrs. Lola has a cheerful nature because she has been blessed by the sun of Africa and it
was nice to see her sitting on the bed with one leg on top of the other and dressed in the
latest fashion. Mrs. Lola is very pretty for a man, except for her voice, which dates back to
her days as a heavyweight boxing champion, but there is no way to fix this because the
voices are related to the balls, and this was the great sorrow of his life. I was holding Arthur,
the umbrella, because I didn't want to be abruptly separated from him, despite the four years
that had suddenly fallen on me. I had the right to get used to it little by little, because people
take a long time to turn several years old and I shouldn't be in a hurry.
Senora Rosa recovered so quickly that in a little while she was able to get up and walk a
little on her own. It was recession and hope. When Mrs. Lola went to work, bag and all, we
ate a little and Mrs. Rosa tried the chicken that Mr. Djamaili had sent her from the grocery
store. Mr. Djamaili himself had passed away, but he had always gotten along with his family
and his family had carried on the business. Afterward, she drank some tea with jam and made
a dreamy face. I thought he was going to have another attack of stupidity and I was afraid.
But that day she had been shaken so much that the blood had resumed service and was
reaching her head as expected.
"Momo, tell me the whole truth.

—I don't know the whole truth, nor do I know if there is anyone who does.
"What did Dr. Katz tell you?"

—That we have to take her to the hospital and that they will take care of her there to prevent her from dying.
You can still live long.

It made me very sad to say these things to him and I tried to smile as if it were a
good news.
"What do they call this thing I have?"

I swallowed hard.
"It's not cancer, Mrs. Rosa." I swear.

"What do doctors call this, Momo?"
"You can live like this for a long time."
-How?
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I shut up.
"Momo, you're not going to lie to me, are you?" I am an old Jewess and they have done everything to me.
What can you do to a man?
She said mensch, which in Jewish means the same for a man as for a woman.
-I want to know it. There are things that no one has the right to do to a mensch. I know that sometimes I
lose my mind.
"It's nothing, Mrs. Pink." So you can also live perfectly.
-How? How is it so?
I could not contain myself. Tears choked me inside. I fell on her, I
He hugged me and I yelled at him:
—Like a vegetable, Senora Rosa, like a vegetable! They want to make her live like
a vegetable
He didn't say anything, but started to sweat a little.
"When are they going to come for me?"
"I don't know, in a day or two." Dr. Katz loves her very much and has told me
that he will not separate us more than if they put a dagger in his chest.
"I'm not going," she said.
-I do not know what to do. They are a bunch of pigs. They don't want to abort her.
She seemed very calm. He only asked to wash himself because he had peed.
Now that I think about it, I think she was very beautiful. This depends on how you think of someone.
"It's the Gestapo," he murmured.
He didn't say more.
At night I was cold and got up to throw another blanket on her.
The next day, I woke up happy. When I wake up I don't think about anything and that's how I have a good
time for a while. Mrs. Rosa was alive and she even smiled at me to show me that everything was fine, that
only her liver hurt, because she had a liver problem, and her left kidney, which Dr. Katz viewed with very
bad eyes. I had other things that didn't work, but I'm not the one to explain it, because I don't understand
them. It was sunny outside and I took the opportunity to open the curtains, but she said no, because it looked
too much that way and she didn't like it. He took the mirror and said only:
"How ugly I've become, Momo!"
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I was furious because there is no right to speak ill of an old and sick woman.
It seems to me that you can't judge everything equally, because hippos and turtles aren't like
everyone else either.
She closed her eyes and tears ran down her face, but I don't know if it was because she was
crying or because her muscles were relaxing.
"I'm monstrous, I know very well.
"Mrs. Rosa, it's just that you don't look like the others."
I look myself.
"When are they going to come for me?"

"Dr. Katz-"
"I don't want to hear about Dr. Katz." He's a nice person, but he doesn't know women. I was
pretty, Momo. He had some of the best clientele on Provence Street.
How much money do we have left?
"Mrs. Lola left me a hundred francs." It will give us more. Life is looking very good.
'I would never have worked in the Bois de Boulogne. There is no where to wash. In Les Halles
there were category hotels, with hygiene. And in the Bois de Boulogne it can be dangerous for
maniacs.
—Mrs. Lola slaps maniacs in the face. You know he was a boxing champion.
“She is a saint. I don't know what would have become of us without her.
Then he wanted to say a Jewish prayer that his mother had taught him. I was very scared, it
seemed to me that I was going back to childhood, but I didn't want to contradict him. He couldn't
remember the words because of the mess in his head. She had taught Moses that prayer and I
had also learned it because it gave me courage every time the two of them did things apart. And
I recited:
—Shma israel adenoi eloheinu adenoi ejot buruj shein kweit malhussé loeilem boet…
He kept repeating it to me and then I went to the bathroom to spit fu, fu, fu, like the Jews do
because that was not my religion. Then she asked me to dress her, but I couldn't do it by myself
and I went down to the black flat. There were Mr. Waloumba, Mr. Sokoro, Mr. Tané and others,
whose names I could not tell you since they are all gentiles there.
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When we entered we immediately saw that Mrs. Rosa was stupid again, with eyes like fried hake and
drool that fell on her as I have already had the honor and would not like to repeat.
Then I remembered what Dr. Katz had said about the exercise she had to do to get her blood where it
was needed. Then we put her on a blanket and Mr. Waloumba's brothers picked her up with their
proverbial strength and began to shake her, but at that moment Dr. Katz came riding on the shoulders
of Mr. Zaoum, the eldest, with his medical instruments in a bag. . Before he got off Mr. Zaoum's back,
he went wild, because what he had wanted to say was not that. I had never seen Dr. Katz so furious,
and he even had to sit with his hand on his heart, because all the Jews around here are sick. They
came to Belleville from Europe a long time ago, they are old and tired and that's why they stopped
here, because they couldn't go any further.
He yelled terrible things at me and called us all savages, which pissed off Mr. Waloumba, who told
him that was no way to talk. Dr. Katz apologized, saying that he had not meant to be pejorative, but
that he had not ordered Senora Rosa to be flipped upside down like a crêpe, but that she had to be
walked slowly, in small steps, with a thousand precautions. Mr. Waloumba and his compatriots quickly
left her in the chair because the sheets had to be changed due to physiological needs.
"I'm going to phone the hospital," Dr. Katz said determinedly. i will order one
ambulance immediately. Your state requires it. It needs constant care.
I started to cry, but I saw right away that it wouldn't do any good. And then I had an idea
great, because at that time I would have been capable of anything.
“Dr. Katz, she can't be taken to the hospital today. Not today. Your family will come. He seemed
amazed.
"What family if you don't have anyone in the world?"
"He has family in Israel and they're arriving today," I said, swallowing hard.
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Dr. Katz observed a minute of silence in memory of Israel. He couldn't get out of his astonishment.
"I didn't know that," he said with a tone of respect in his voice because for the Jews
Israel means a lot. She never told me...
I was beginning to have hope. He was sitting in a corner, with his coat on and the Arthur umbrella
in his arms. I took his derby hat and put it on, so he would give me
luck.
"Today they're coming for her." They will take her to Israel. Everything is set. The Russians have already
given the visa.
Dr. Katz was stunned.

"What, the Russians?" What are you saying?
Shit, then I saw that I screwed up. But Mrs. Rosa had told me many times that to go to Israel you
needed a Russian visa.
“Well, you know what I mean.
"You got confused, Momo. But I see… So they're going to come looking for her?
—Yes… They have found out that sometimes she loses her mind and they take her to live in Israel.
Tomorrow they take the plane.
Dr. Katz was amazed and stroked his beard. It was the best idea ever.
had in my life. That was the first time I was really four years older.
—They are delicious. They have shops and are motorized. They…
So I said to myself, "Shit, don't exaggerate."
- They have everything you need.
"Well," said Dr. Katz, lowering his head. It's good news. The poor
He has suffered so much in his life… But why hadn't they told him anything until now?
—They already wrote to her to go with them, but she didn't want to leave me. Mrs. Rosa and I
cannot do without each other. We are all we have in the world.
He didn't want to leave me. Neither now. Just yesterday I had to beg him. "Mrs. Rosa," I told her, "go
with your family to Israel. There you can die in peace, they will take care of you.
Here you are nothing. There will be much more."
Dr. Katz was looking at me with his mouth open in astonishment. I even had emotion in the
eyes, which had become moist.

'This is the first time an Arab has sent a Jew to Israel. - I could hardly speak
the shock.
133
"She didn't want to go without me."
Dr. Katz was thoughtful.

"Couldn't both of you go?"
This impressed me. I would have given anything to go somewhere.
"Mrs. Rosa told me that she'll ask about it when she arrives."
He was already almost speechless, not knowing what to say.
"I finally convinced her." Today they come to look for her and tomorrow they take the plane.
"And you, Muhammad?" What will become of you?
“I have found someone who will help me.

"Help you… with what?"
I shuted up. I had gotten myself into a big mess and didn't know how to get out.
Mr. Waloumba and his people were very happy to learn that I had arranged everything. I was still
sitting on the ground, with my Arthur umbrella, not even knowing where I was. I didn't know and didn't
want to know.
Dr. Katz got up.
“That's good news. Mrs. Rosa may still live for a long time, even if she doesn't know it. It is evolving
very fast. But he will have moments of lucidity and will be happy to see that he is on his own land. Tell
his family to come see me. I don't get out of
House.
He put his hand on my head. You have to see the people who put their hands on my
head. This does them good.
"If Senora Rosa regains consciousness before leaving, tell her I congratulate her."
-Yes doctor. I will tell him mazltov.
Dr. Katz looked at me proudly.
"You must be the only Arab in the world who speaks Yiddish, Momo."
"Yes, Mittornischt Zorgen. "
In case you don't know Jewish, this means 'nothing to complain about'.
"Don't forget to tell Senora Rosa that I'm very happy," the doctor repeated.
Katz.
This is the last time I speak to you about him, because that's life.
Mr. Zaoum, the eldest, was politely waiting for him at the door to carry him down. Mr. Waloumba
and his tribunes put Mrs. Rosa to bed on her well-cleaned bed and left. I stayed with my Arthur
umbrella and my coat, looking at the
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Senora Rosa lying on her back, like a huge tortoise that had not been made for that.
—Momo…
I didn't even raise my head.

-Yes ma'am?
“I've heard it all.
-I already know it. I noticed it when I saw you looking.
"So I'm going to Israel?"

I said nothing. His head was lowered so as not to see her.
Every time we looked at each other we hurt each other.
“You did very well, Momo. You will help me.
"Of course I'll help her." But not yet.
I even cried a little.
135
He had a good day and slept well, but the next night things got worse when the manager
came up because we hadn't paid our rent for several months. She told us that it was a
shame to have a sick old woman at home with no one to take care of her and that she had
to be taken to a nursing home for humanitarian reasons. He was a fat, bald guy, with eyes
like two cockroaches, and he left saying that he was going to phone the Piedad Hospital for
Mrs. Rosa and Public Assistance for me. He also had big whiskers that moved. I bounded
down the stairs and caught up with him just as he had gone into Mr. Driss's cafe to make a
phone call. I told him that Mrs. Rosa's family would arrive the next day to take her to Israel
and that I would go with her. He could get the flat back. I had a great idea and told him that
the family would pay him the three months we owed him while the hospital would pay him
absolutely nothing. I swear to you that those four years that I had suddenly recovered were
noticeable and I had quickly gotten used to thinking properly. I even told him that if he put
Senora Rosa in the hospital and me in the Assistancy, all the Jews and all the Arabs in
Belleville would turn on him for having prevented us from returning to the land of our elders.
I dropped the whole lot on him and promised him that he would meet the Khlaui in his mouth,
which is what Jewish terrorists always do and that there is nothing worse than them, except
for my Arab brothers who are fighting to dispose of themselves. and return to his land and
that if he messed with Mrs. Rosa and me he would have to deal with the Jewish terrorists
and the Arab terrorists at the same time and that he could start cutting his balls off. Everyone
was looking at us and I felt very happy with myself. He was really in top Olympic shape. I
would have gladly killed that guy, I was so desperate, and they had never seen me like this
in the cafe. Mr. Driss listened to us and advised the administrator not to get involved in the
issues between Jews and Arabs because it could cost him dearly. Mr. Driss is from Tunisia,
but there are also Arabs there. The administrator had turned very pale and told us that he
did not know that we were going to return to our land and that he was the first to rejoice. up
to me
136
He asked if I wanted something to drink. It was the first time that someone invited me to
drink as if I were a man. I ordered a Coke, told them hello and went back up to the sixth
floor. There was no time to lose.
137
I found Mrs. Rosa in a dazed state, but I saw that she was afraid and that is a sign of intelligence.
He even called me by my name as the one asking for help.
—I'm here, Mrs. Rosa, I'm here...
He wanted to say something, his head trembled, his lips moved, and he made an effort to behave
like a human being. But all it did was make his eyes get bigger and bigger. His mouth was open
and his hands were on the arms of the chair, looking forward, as if he were already hearing the
bell...
—Momo…
-Quiet. I'm not going to let him become world champion of vegetables in a hospital...
I don't know if I told you that Mrs. Rosa always kept the portrait of Mr. Hitler under her bed and
when things went wrong she would take it out, look at it and immediately feel better. I took the
portrait and put it in front of his nose.
—Mrs. Rosa, Mrs. Rosa, look who's here...
I had to shake it. She sighed a little, saw Herr Hitler's face in front of her, recognized him
immediately, and even cried out. This revived her completely and she tried to get up.
"Hurry up, Mrs. Rosa, hurry up, we have to go."

-They are already here?
"Not yet, but we have to go." We're going to Israel, remember?

Then it started working. And it is that what has the most effect on the old are the memories.
"Help me Momo...
-Slowly. We have time. They haven't phoned yet, but we can't stay here.
I had a hard time dressing her and on top of that she wanted to get ready and I had to hold the
mirror for her while she put on makeup. I couldn't explain to myself why she insisted on wearing what
138
better than she had, but femininity is something that cannot be explained. He had a lot of very rare
pingos in his closet that he bought in Les Puces when he had money, not to wear them but to dream.
The only thing she could fit into was her Japanese pattern kimono with birds, flowers, and a sunrise. It
was red and orange. She also put on her red wig and wanted to look at herself in the closet mirror, but I
didn't let her. It was worth more.
It was already eleven o'clock at night when we went out to the stairs. I didn't think I would get it.
He did not know how much strength he had left to go and die in his Jewish hideout. The hiding place
always seemed silly to me. I never understood why he had fixed it or why he went down to it from time
to time, sat down, looked around and breathed. I hadn't lived long enough yet to have enough
experience, and even today I know that, no matter how hard it cracks you up, you always have
something to learn.
The circuit breaker didn't work and kept turning off. On the fourth floor we made noise and Mr. Zidi,
who has come from Oujda, opened the door and came out to see what was happening. When he saw
Mrs. Rosa, his mouth fell open, as if he had never seen a Japanese model kimono, and he immediately
closed it. In the third, we meet Mr. Mimoun, who sells peanuts and chestnuts in Montmartre and who
will soon return to Morocco after making his fortune. He stood up, raised his eyes and asked:
"My God, what is that?"

—Mrs. Rosa, who is going to Israel. He
thought about it, then thought about it again and, still with fear in his voice, he wanted to
know: "And why did they dress her like that?"
'I don't know, Mr Mimoun. I am not a Jew.
Mr. Mimoun took a deep breath.
—I know the Jews and they don't dress like that. Nobody dresses like that. It is impossible.
He took out his handkerchief, wiped his forehead and helped Senora Rosa down the stairs, because
he saw that this was too much for a man alone. When they got downstairs, he asked where the luggage
was and if he wasn't going to catch cold while waiting for the taxi and even got angry and started
shouting that you couldn't send a woman to the country of the Jews in such a state. I told him to go up
to the sixth floor and talk to Mrs. Rosa's family, who were just finishing packing, but he left, saying that
the last thing in the world he would do was send Jews to Israel. We are alone. You had to hurry,
because you still had to go down half a floor to get to the basement.
139
When we entered, Mrs. Rosa sank into the chair and then I thought she was dying.
His eyes were closed and he had no air left to even lift his chest. I lit the candles and sat on
the floor beside her, holding her hand. This relieved her a little, she opened her eyes, looked
around and said:
"I knew I'd need it one day, Momo." Now I can die in peace.
He smiled and continued talking:
"I won't break the world record for vegetables."
—Inch'Allah.
"Yes, Momo, Inch'Allah." You're a nice guy. We have always gotten along well.
-Yes ma'am. And that is worth more than nothing.
“Now make me say my prayer, Momo. It may be the last time.

—Shma israel adenoi…
She kept repeating it with me, until loeilem boet, and it seemed that she was happy.
He still had a good hour, but then it got worse. At night she mumbled in Polish because she
had spent her childhood there and repeated the name of a guy called Blumentag, some
pimp she had known when she was a woman. Now I know it 's called pimp, but it's the
custom. She didn't say anything else and just sat dumbfounded looking at the opposite wall
and shitting and pissing on herself.
If you want me to tell you something, it seems to me that this should not exist. I say it as
I think it. I will never understand why there can be abortion for the young and not for the old.
It seems to me that the guy who broke the world record for America as a vegetable had a
worse time than Jesus, because he was on his cross for seventeen-odd years. It seems to
me that there is nothing worse than forcing life into people who cannot help themselves and
who do not want to continue living.
There were many candles and I lit some so it wouldn't be so dark.
He muttered "Blumentag, Blumentag" twice and I started to get pissed off. I would have
liked to see her Blumentag there, hunching over her like me. Then I remembered that
blumentag in Jewish means 'flowery day', so that must have been another of her dreams as
a woman. Femininity is stronger than anything else. Once, when she was young, she must
have gone to the country with a guy she liked and she still had the
memory.
"Blumentag, Mrs. Pink. "
140
I left it there and went upstairs to get my Arthur umbrella , because I was used to it.
Then I went upstairs again to get the portrait of Mr. Hitler, which was the only thing that still left him.
it had an effect.
I thought that Senora Rosa would not stay long in her Jewish hiding place and that God would have mercy
on her, because when one reaches the limit of one's strength, all kinds of ideas come to mind. From time to
time, I looked at her beautiful face and suddenly I remembered that I had forgotten her makeup and
everything that she liked to wear to be a woman and I went upstairs for the third time, although I was already
fed up. Mrs. Rosa was very demanding.
I pulled the mattress up next to him, for the company, but I couldn't sleep a wink because I was afraid of
the rats that are famous in all basements, but there weren't any. I don't know when I fell asleep and when I
woke up there were hardly any candles left. Mrs. Rosa's eyes were open, but when I put the portrait of Mr.
Hitler in front of her, she didn't notice. It was a miracle to be able to lower it in its state.
141
When I went outside it was noon. I stayed on the sidewalk and every time someone asked me about
the lady, I would say that she had gone to her Jewish home in Israel, that her family had come to look
for her and that she had all the modern comforts there and would die faster than anyone else. here,
that this was no life for her. Perhaps he would live for a while and send for me, since I, too, had a right
to live there. The Arabs also have the right.
Everyone was glad that the Jewess had found peace. I went into Mr. Driss's cafe, and he made me eat
out of a hat, and I sat down opposite Mr. Hamil, who was standing near the window in his gray and
white bathrobe. He no longer saw anything, as I have had the honor, but as soon as I told him my name
three times he immediately remembered me.
"Ah, little Mohamed, yes, yes, I remember him... I know him very well... What has he done?"
been his?
Hamil, it's me.

"Oh, well, well, sorry. Since I no longer see...
"How are you, Mr. Hamil?"
—Yesterday I ate a good couscous and today they will give me rice with broth. I still don't know what
They will give me for dinner, I want to know.
He kept his hand on Mr. Victor Hugo's book and looked into the distance, as if
looking for what they were going to give him for dinner.
"Mr. Hamil, can you live without someone to love?"

'I want couscous, Victor, but not every day.
'You misunderstood me, Mr Hamil. When I was little, he told me that you can't
live without love
His face had lit up from within.
-Yes, that's true. I also loved someone when I was young. Yes, you are right, my little one.
—Mohammed. I am not Victor.
142
"Yes, my little Mohamed." When I was young I loved someone, a woman. I know
called…" He seemed surprised. "I don't remember.
I got up and went back to the basement.
Senora Rosa was still in her dazed state. I didn't feel well, my whole body ached. I put the portrait of
Mr. Hitler back in front of his eyes, but it did nothing to him. I thought I could go on living like this for
years and years and I didn't want to do that to her, but I didn't have the courage to abort her with my
own hands. I didn't look good, even in the dark, and I lit as many candles as I could, for company. I took
her makeup and painted her lips, cheeks and eyebrows, just the way she liked it. I painted her eyelids
blue and white and glued on some little stars, like she used to do. I tried putting false eyelashes on it,
but they didn't stick. I could already see that he wasn't breathing, but I didn't care. He still loved her even
if she wasn't breathing. I lay down next to her on the mattress with my Arthur umbrella and tried to feel
even worse to see if I would die at all. When those candles went out, I lit others and others. They went
out several times. Then the blue clown came to see me, despite my being four years older, and he put
his arm around my shoulders. Everything hurt. The yellow clown also came and I forgot about those four
years, I didn't give a damn. From time to time, I would get up and put the portrait of Mr. Hitler in front of
Mrs. Rosa's eyes, but he stayed the same as before, he was no longer with us. He also gave her a few
kisses, but that doesn't help either. His face was cold. She was very pretty, in her artistic kimono, her
red wig, and all the makeup I had put on her face. I painted a little more here and there because it
started turning gray and purple every time I woke up. I slept next to him, on the mattress, and I was
afraid to go outside because there was no one there. Anyway, I went up to Mrs. Lola's house, because
she was different.
He wasn't there, it wasn't a good time. He didn't want to leave Senora Rosa alone in case she woke up
and, finding herself in the dark, thought she was dead. I went back downstairs and lit another candle,
just one, because she wouldn't have wanted to be seen in that state. I had to do her makeup again, with
a lot of red and pretty colors to make it less noticeable. I slept by her side for a while and went back up
to Mrs. Lola's house, who didn't look like anything or anyone. He was shaving, he had put music on and
some eggs on the plate that smelled very good. She was half naked and was rubbing vigorously
everywhere to erase the traces of her work. In leathers, with the razor blade in the hand and the face
143
soaped, it did not resemble anything known. When she opened the door for me, she was struck dumb
by how much I must have changed in four years.
"My God, Mom! What happened? Are you sick?
—I wanted to say goodbye on behalf of Mrs. Rosa.
"Did they take her to the hospital?"
I sat down, because I no longer had the strength. I hadn't eaten since I don't know when, to go on
a hunger strike. I don't give a damn about the laws of nature. I don't even want to know what they are.
"No, he's not in the hospital. He's in his Jewish hideout.

I shouldn't have said it, but I immediately saw that Mrs. Lola didn't know what that was.
-What do you say?
'He's gone to Israel.
Mrs. Lola was so surprised that her mouth dropped open in the middle of the shaving soap.
"But she hadn't told me she intended to leave!"

'They came for her by plane.
-Who?
-His family. He had a lot of family there. They came to look for her by plane, with a
car at your disposal. A Jaguar.
"And he left you alone?"
"I'll go too." She will send for me.
Mrs. Lola kept looking at me and touched my forehead.

"Momo, you have a fever!"
-I'm not well.
"Come get something to eat." It will do you good.
-No thanks. I don't eat anymore.

"What's that you don't eat anymore?" What do you say?
"I don't give a damn about the laws of nature."
She burst out laughing.
-And me too.
—I shit on the laws of nature, Mrs. Lola. I spit on them. They suck and
They should even ban them.
144
I got up. One breast was bigger than the other, because it wasn't natural. I loved Mrs. Lola very much.
He smiled at me in a very nice way.

"Would you like to come live with me while you wait?"
"No, Mrs. Lola. Thanks a lot.
He crouched down in front of me and cupped my chin. He had tattoos on his arms.
-You can stay. I will take care of you.
"No, thank you very much, Mrs. Lola." I already have someone.
She sighed, got up and went to get her bag.
-Take this for you.
He gave me thirty bucks.
I went to the faucet to drink water, because I had a thirst for my father and lord.
I went down to the basement and locked myself in with Senora Rosa in her Jewish hiding place. But he
couldn't stand it. I poured all the remaining perfume over it, but not like that. I went out again and went to
Rue Coulé, where I bought paintings and some bottles of perfume in the well-known perfumery of Mr.
Jacques, who is heterosexual and is always making advances to me. I didn't want to eat to punish
everyone, but it wasn't worth talking to them anymore and I ate some sausages in a cafeteria. When I
came back, Senora Rosa smelled even more because of the laws of nature and I poured her a whole
bottle of Samba, which was her favorite perfume. Then, I painted his face with all the paints I had brought
to make it less visible. Her eyes were still open, but with so much red, green, yellow, and blue around her,
she wasn't so terrible, because there was nothing natural about her anymore. Then I lit seven candles, as
Jews always do, and lay down beside her on the mattress. It is not true that I spent three weeks with the
body of my adoptive mother, because Mrs. Rosa was not my adoptive mother. It's not true, and I wouldn't
have been able to resist it either because the perfume had run out. I went out four times to buy more
bottles with the money that Mrs. Lola had given me and I stole as many. I threw them all over her and
painted and repainted her face with all the paints I had to hide the laws of nature, but she was horribly
damaged everywhere, because there is no compassion. When they opened the door to see where it was
coming from and saw me lying next to them, they all began to ask for help and shout: "How horrible!" It
hadn't occurred to them to scream before because life doesn't smell. They took me in an ambulance to the
place where the paper said they found me
145
in the pocket with a name and an address. They called you because you have a phone and
they thought you were something of mine. And you came and took me to your country house
without any obligation on my part. I think Mr. Hamil was right when he still had his whole
head and said you can't live without someone to love, but I'm not promising you anything.
We'll see. I loved Mrs. Rosa and I am going to continue seeing her. But I don't mind staying
with you for a while, since your boys have asked me to. Mrs. Nadine taught me how things
can be turned back. That interests me very much and I wish it with all my heart. And doctor
Ramón even went to get my Arthur umbrella. I felt bad blood because no one was going to
love it for its sentimental value, and you have to love it.
146
Your opinion is important.

In future editions, we will be happy to collect your comments on
this book.
Please send them to us through our website:
www.plataformaeditorial.com
147
The lives that I promised you

Susana, Rizo,
9788417622039
200 Pages
Buy it and start reading
Nothing will ever be the same in El Hogar after the arrival of the children... In a
peculiar residence for the elderly, a nursery is set up, in which children and the elderly
share a few hours a day. Through coexistence, residents will live moments that will awaken
dormant emotions in them. There they meet Ingrid and Max, an endearing old woman and
a sensitive and creative five-year-old boy. Despite the age that separates them, the
relationship between the two will intensify; They will share confidences and learn from each
other. The lives that I promised you, winner of the fourth edition of the Feel Good Award, is
a tribute to the elderly, as well as an optimistic reflection on the end of life, a moment as
important as the beginning.
Aware that tomorrow is a blurred frontier and that the illusion can only be lived in the
present, the protagonists of this novel will not plan their life, they will live it.
149
The child's brain explained to parents

Bilbao, Alvaro
9788416429578
296 Pages
How to help your child develop their intellectual and emotional potential. During the first
six years of life, the infant brain has a potential that it will never have again. This does
not mean that we should try to turn children into little geniuses, because in addition to
being impossible, a brain that develops under pressure can lose part of its essence
along the way. This book is a practical manual that synthesizes the knowledge that
neuroscience offers parents and educators, so that they can help children achieve full
intellectual and emotional development.
"Indispensable. A fundamental tool for parents to learn about and promote balanced
brain development and for professionals to support our parental advisory work."LUCÍA
ZUMÁRRAGA, child neuropsychologist, director of NeuroPed "Indispensable. A book
that helps our children and provides practical tools to guide us in the great challenge
of being parents. All with a great scientific base but explained in an entertaining and
accessible way."ISHTAR ESPEJO, director of the Aladina Foundation and mother of
two children "A clear, deep and endearing that all adults should read."JAVIER
ORTIGOSA PEROCHENA, psychotherapist and founder of the Interaction Institute
"100% recommendable. The best gift a father can give his children."ANA AZKOITIA,
educational psychologist, teacher and mother of two girls
151
reinvent yourself
Alonso Puig, Dr. Mario

9788415577744
192 Pages
Dr. Mario Alonso Puig offers us a map with which to get to know ourselves better. Little by
little, he will reveal the secret of how people create the eyes through which we observe and
perceive the world.
153
live life with meaning

Kuppers, Victor
9788415750109
246 Pages
This book aims to make you think, in an entertaining and clear way, to order ideas, to
prioritize, to help you make decisions. With a very simple, close and practical approach,
this book wants to make you reflect on the importance of living a meaningful life. We value
people for their way of being, for their attitudes, not for their knowledge, titles or experience.
All great people have a way of being great, and all mediocre people have a way of being
mediocre. They don't appreciate us for what we have, they appreciate us for who we are.
Living life with meaning will help you realize that the most important thing in life is that the
most important thing is the most important thing, of the need to focus on fighting and not
crying, on doing and not complaining, on how to develop joy and enthusiasm, to recover
values such as kindness, gratitude, generosity, perseverance or integrity. In short, a book
about values, virtues and attitudes to go through life, because being great is a way of being.
155
Sell like cracks

Kuppers, Victor
9788417002565
208 Pages
Selling is a wonderful profession, absolutely fantastic. Difficult, complicated, with frustrations,

lonely, but also full of joy and satisfaction that more than compensate for that less beautiful
part. This book tries to help motivate, excite, and enjoy commercial work. It is an area in
which there are two types of professionals: the cracks and the chusqueros; those who have
methodology, those who prepare, those who care about helping their clients, on the one
hand, and the crooks, installers and pluggers, on the other. I have tried to write a book that
is very practical, useful, applicable, simple, not at all complex and with a bit of humor, and I
explain without holding anything back all those sales techniques and methodologies that I
have seen that work, that give results. It is not a theoretical or philosophical book, it is a book
that gets to the point, which aims to give you ideas that you can use immediately. Ideas that
are ordered phase by phase, step by step.
157
Index
Front page two
Credits 3
Epigraph 4
Index 5
life before you 6
Colophon 147
158

La Vida Ante Sí - Émile Ajar

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life before you

Translation of Ana Maria de la Fuente

Original title: La vie devant soi

First edition in this collection:

© Éditions Mercure de France, 1975 © of

the translation: Ana María de la Fuente, 1989-2007 © of this

edition: Editorial Platform, 2007

c/ Muntaner, 269, center. 1ª – 08021 Barcelona Tel.:

(+34) 93 494 79 99 – Fax: (+34) 93 419 23 14

Legal deposit: B. 2357-2016

Rubén Verdú and peeping monster

work, contact the publisher or CEDRO (www.cedro.org).

1. Life before him

"Why do you always smile, Mr. Hamil?"

I thought of Mrs. Rosa, I hesitated a moment and asked her:

I was crying so much it made me want to pee.

when you're happy.

dog was something else.

But Mrs. Rosa was still uneasy.

'It's not sensitivity that kills people these days.

Always the same with me. Any.

"You mustn't tell anyone, Momo. Give me that.

"Then why does he always have a head full of lions?"

"Do you have a mom?"

"Where are your parents, Momo?"

I was still sucking my orangeade, because you have to be careful.

I finished the orangeade and got off the stool.

-What's this? A kind of kindergarten?

-Why are you crying?

Well, I see I was wrong. How beautiful is the circus!

-Do not be afraid.

because I don't see what can be different about them.

work. That's why I didn't want to go back to Belleville or nail

"You mean represent a face?"

"You seem to like this very much."

"You can come back anytime you want."

—I don't know if I'll have time, I won't promise you anything.

-Who told you that?

He put his hand on top of mine and leaned in.

I licked the ice cream staring into her eyes, spitefully.

"Did you follow me?"

—But the worst is senility, stupor, if you prefer.

"What did you say about the vegetables?"

"I swear, Mrs. Pink. You can be calm.

made Mrs. Lola very angry.

"How are you, Mr. Hamil?"

Hamil, my name is not Victor. My name is Mohamed. Victor is another friend

"How could I?" Forgives.

"Since yesterday, you ask me?"

"Don't ask me so many questions, my little...

“…Don't ask me so many questions. I'm a little tired today.

I watched as he traced it with his fingers.

-Me? A big trip to Nice?

makes them burst little by little.

to me that sadness is not to be sought.

Damn, I don't wish it on anyone.

"Who's going to come?"

was afraid she was going to be late.

“Momo, you have to tell me the truth.

-The third Age?

"You mean amnesia? "