The Praetorians (15 page)

Boisfeuras witnessed all this agitation as an onlooker, as though the business did not concern him personally. His ugly
mug was beaming at the sight of his comrades coming to grips with contradictions which he had never ceased pointing out to them:

“You can only wage revolutionary war with a revolutionary army, and such an army can only exist in a country which itself is in revolt. Our army has always been commanded by old fogeys who are subject to anachronistic rules and regulations. France is frightened of anything that might rouse her from her slumbers.”

That day he repeatedly warned them:

“If you put Marindelle's plan into action you're taking the first step towards lawlessness. Afterwards there'll be no turning back: either you go into jug or send the whole bloody works sky high!”

“It's on account of you, all the same,” Pinières pointed out.

“No, it isn't. If this Mohadi business turns sour I can easily hop it. As you know, I've got bolt-holes all over the world. I don't need much money and yet, if I like, I've got substantial sums at my disposal.

“But I'm staying with you, as I stayed with the Vietminh when it was only too easy for me to escape. I want to see. . . . Think it over carefully. If you follow Marindelle I shall be bound to you for ever, which worries me a bit.

“On the other hand, you'll also have eliminated those contradictions which are preventing you from winning the war in Algeria.”

Boisfeuras could be exasperating when he wanted. He provoked his comrades, made himself as unpleasant as possible, so that their decision should not be influenced by the affection they had for him or by the memory of the hardships they had endured together. He tried to show them that he was not on their side, that he never had been, but also that their paths might perhaps cross, that they would then have to get rid of quite a number of habits and be prepared to be personally responsible for their actions, without referring at every moment to higher authority and regulations.

Pellegrin summed up the situation in a nutshell:

“In other words, no umbrella; therefore we get wet.”

Major Beudin did not agree. He kept shaking his head and saying:

“It's going too far.”

He turned to Raspéguy:

“And you, Colonel, what's your opinion?”

The colonel gave Esclavier a searching look:

“Are you in on this, Philippe?”

“Now, yes, I am.”

“Good. Do as you like. Whatever happens I'll always be behind you. I was prepared to go to jug with Boisfeuras. We're liable to be more numerous this time; there'll be enough of us to get up a basket-ball team to play in the prison courtyard.

“No mistakes now, mind; this is the sort of mess when discipline is most needed. Don't fool yourselves, this time it's going to be a real show-down.”

All the officers felt that he was not too keen on the idea. They were grateful to him, however, for saying openly and in no uncertain terms what they were secretly thinking and at the same time for giving them proof of his solidarity.

The Marindelle plan was accepted wholesale by many of the officers who if approached individually would have rejected it. By tapping their holsters a little too readily, the officers and warrant officers had committed themselves in front of the men. In such a serious situation they could now no longer indulge in empty bluster.

At nine o'clock in the evening Raspéguy sent the following signal to General Hellion:

“In accordance with your orders, Captain Boisfeuras reported to Algiers, but a group of officers from the division have intercepted him and forbidden him to leave for Paris. The regiment is in a state of unrest and six of my captains have disappeared.”

Similar signals had reached the general's desk from all the other units in the division, mentioning the unrest and anger in the regiments and reporting the disappearance of officers and even N.C.O.s.

It was then that Hellion decided to leave for Algiers that very evening, so as to see for himself what was going on.

By road, by plane or helicopter, a certain number of officers
of the parachute division had already arrived at the Algerian capital. Finding themselves on unauthorized leave they felt as though they were playing truant, and the younger ones did not feel very comfortable when passing a patrol.

Lieutenant Pujol-Veyrier, who had driven over in Esclavier's jeep, never let him out of his sight. He was an extremely handsome lad, healthy and athletic. He could have played virile “playboy” parts on the screen if he had not been afflicted with a lisp.

Ever since leaving the damp moors of Coetquidan for the division he had made every effort to resemble the captain, copying his manner, trying to be as arrogant as he was and running after girls far more than he wanted to.

In the Boulevard du Télémly the lieutenant raised his finger in the air and pointed out a terrace on top of a block of flats:

“That's where they live, sir.”

“That's where who live?”

“The air hostesses. It's an absolute hen-house! Half of them are flying, the other half waiting to take off. You arrange to meet Odette and it's Geneviève who turns up instead. We might go up and have a drink.”

“Why not?”

Having no small change for the lift, the two officers climbed the twelve floors on foot.

Esclavier fumed:

“The French in Algeria are a sordid lot. They can't resist taking a cut on anything they can grab. Making the tenants of a block of flats pay for the lift! Five francs to go up, five to come down again!

“They charge a soldier twice as much for a glass of wine, a tin of sardines or a sausage. . . . And we have to wear our guts out for people like that!”

“But, sir——”

“Are you wondering what we came into Algiers for today? For me it's simple: there's a pal of mine by the name of Boisfeuras, and they want to put him in clink; a regiment which I have made my life, and they're trying to destroy it. I won't have it.

“There's only one way left for us to defend ourselves: Marindelle's scheme. You see, it's not because I like the French or
Moslem Algerians that I'm fighting, but because we can't allow ourselves to lose this war. Vanquished, we would be the torturers of Algiers, gangs of Fascists in the pay of the big settlers. As victors, they will leave us in peace.

“We shan't lose this war in Algeria, but in Paris. If we have to bring the war to Paris it's too bad for those who force us to do so.”

They rang the doorbell and were welcomed in by a little brunette with mischievous eyes, who moved with the grace and litheness of a cat. . . .

“I say, I don't know that one,” said Lieutenant Pujol-Veyrier, “she must be a friend of Geneviève's. Mademoiselle, let me introduce Captain Esclavier.”

A little later, with his nose in a glass of whisky, Esclavier replied to a question the brunette had just asked him:

“What frightens me above all is boredom. This war in Algeria is becoming sheer routine. As it collapses, it gives off a smell of charnel-house and stale cooking. We've got to change all that.”

The brunette was very impressed, and the young lieutenant told himself that from time to time one has to talk to women about serious matters. It makes them more receptive.

 * * * * 

Boisfeuras had joined Marindelle in his office. He sat tilting his chair backwards, while his friend, with feverish gestures, was explaining the situation to Orsini:

“We shan't win this war unless we have the country behind us and a government that supports us. There's no point in killing off
fellaghas
; they rise again from their own ashes. The Moslems have no confidence in the French Algerians, who have never stopped pulling the wool over their eyes, or in the civil administration which has always served the settlers, twisting to their own advantage the liberal laws promulgated in Paris. What's left of the
1947
decrees?

“The Moslem has always known that the soldier is his only protector. It was the officers of the Arab Bureaux who prevented the settlers from appropriating all their land. But it was the settlers who had these officers dismissed, taking advantage of the defeat of
1870
to replace them with an administration
which suited their book, and, later on, by elected candidates whose election they controlled.

“Now, because they're frightened, they're calling in the army to protect them; they're fawning on us after having insulted us.”

“Interesting,” said Boisfeuras, “but the days of the Arab Bureaux and the Officers for Native Affairs in big burnouses are over and done with. That was all part of the folklore. Even after the conquest Algeria still had ethnic, religious and tribal structures. In one century we have thrown the whole lot overboard and created, out of these very diverse individualities, what the Communists call a
Lumpenproletariat.
The war has accelerated this phenomenon, with its resettlement camps, its migrations of population, its mixtures. Islam has fallen into disuse, and with it all sorts of customs earlier than Islam, which were still alive ten years ago in Kabylia. The Maghreb specialists can say what they like. We have levelled the Algerians down and replaced these maybe mouldy structures by others that exist only on paper and have never taken actual shape.

“We now have in our hands that raw material which the Communists take so long to manufacture, a people of uprooted proletarians. We know their methods. It's up to us to show that it's possible to find a solution other than that of Communism for the underdeveloped peoples.

“But watch out! If we fail, the Communists will be the ones to benefit from our action. We shall only have accelerated the process of putrefaction.

“In
1958
one doesn't cross the Rubicon to change a government or a Prime Minister, but for some great project, a demonstration on a world scale.”

“And the Europeans of Algeria,” said Marindelle, “have no political structures. There have never been political parties in Algeria, nor trade unions, but only financial feudalities. One belonged to Borgeaud, to Blachette, to Jacquier, to Germain, one was just a customer of theirs. Apart from that, a great void, or a negative solidarity against these Arabs who breed like rabbits. You're right. It's up to us to skim this fermenting melting-pot.”

Captain Orsini broke in, his beret pulled down over his nose:

“Colonel Raspéguy has gone soft! One would think he's anxious about his promotion. Whatever happens, all that matters is for Algeria to remain French.”

Boisfeuras stopped rocking in his chair:

“Whatever we may do, Orsini, Algeria will be independent one day. But we must be the ones that bring about this independent Algeria.”

Slightly put out, Orsini stared at his boots, which were still caked with the red mud of the
jebel
:

“I don't give a damn if she's independent or not, but I want her to remain French.”

He went out rolling his shoulders, still as bad-tempered as ever.

“How's General Hellion going to take this?” asked Marindelle. “He's not such an easy-going chap, you know.”

Boisfeuras had picked up a knife from the table and was paring his nails.

“If the lads give in because of him they're lost. They started out without thinking twice and now they're in a hell of a mess.”

 * * * * 

Glatigny had joined Bonvillain in the little villa of the antenna of the Ministry of National Defence.

“I've just left Boisfeuras,” said the major. “He can be dangerous on occasion. He's a fanatic for agitation.”

“Not really. With his ‘Officers' Committees' he's basically back to our idea of ‘workshops.'”

“But we haven't got there yet. General Hellion has rung up Captain Bergasse and told him to come and meet him at the military aerodrome of Maison Blanche. Bergasse will then drive him to the Aletti.

“At last I've been able to get through to Paris. Major Miguelon will be here at eight o'clock. He'll lend you support.”

 * * * * 

A short, thick-set little man from Orleansville, Captain Bergasse had inherited from his Spanish mother a great volubility, from his father, a small settler, a certain form of truculent humour, and from his long association with Moslems a need to accompany every word with a gesture.

General Hellion, whom he had come to meet, asked him as he climbed into the car:

“Well, Bergasse, how goes it?”

“So-so” (moving his hands); “rather more so than otherwise.”

“Have you heard what my officers are up to? A plot?”

“Which plot, sir? I've heard of at least twelve!”

He counted off on his fingers:

“The students' plot with Lagaillarde and Adruguez, the Mitidja settlers' plot, Arcinade's and Colonel Thomazo's, the plots of the antenna of the Ministry of National Defence with Chaban-Delmaz, of Soustelle's Gaullists in the U.S.R.A.F.
*
and of the former Pétainists, the secret police's plot, Colonel Puysanges's and all the plots which the French Algerians make every evening over their anisette for want of something better to talk about. If there's yet another one, I'm in it—on condition, of course, that it's aimed at preserving Algeria and Bergasse for France.”

They had just driven over the Hussein Dey bridge and the musty smell of the Harrach enveloped them.

Hellion asked:

“Do you know where my men are likely to be at this time of the evening?”

“At the Aletti, sir, where you asked me to get you a room. All your officers are waiting for you; the envoys of both divisions.”

“Envoys, what the hell are you talking about? In that case, stop the car, I'm getting out.”

“A general wandering about alone in Algiers after the curfew and getting picked up by a patrol, that would be funny!”

The general sank back in his seat and did not open his mouth again until the car drew up outside the Aletti.