The Praetorians (20 page)

“I've been in jug and am out of touch.”

“For political prisoners prison walls don't exist.”

“My sister kept me informed . . . but she also kept Glatigny informed.”

Mahmoudi stood up and a harsh gleam came into his eye. His strong jaws could be seen working under his skin.

“Major de Glatigny, I should like to ask you one question in front of your brother-officers: if you had been free would you have married my sister?”

Glatigny blushed, embarrassed by what he considered a serious lapse of manners on the part of his comrade, but in all sincerity replied:

“Yes, only she would have had to adopt my religion.”

Mahmoudi could understand this point of view, for he felt that a woman does not only marry a man but his God and his laws as well.

“Now I'm going to answer Boisfeuras's question. Forgive me if I'm a bit long-winded, if I express myself badly. . . . It's difficult.

“I've a little nephew of six and I asked him one day what he would like as a present. He replied: ‘A gun, a machine-gun, so as to take to the mountains and become a
moujahedine.
'

“The vocation of the Maghreb is rebellion. The rebel, be he a nationalist or a highway robber, has always found support among the population. It's an age-old tradition, which the F.L.N. are now exploiting. Later on they may be the victims of it. So, sentimentally speaking, everyone is for the rebels at the outset, the young and the old alike.

“But the rebellion has become established, has become a form of law and order parallel to the other form; it has indulged in atrocities and has lost part of its attraction.

“In the hinterland the peasants have only just realized that
the rebellion did not necessarily mean the end of taxes, gamekeepers, fixed prices in the market and reafforestation zones where they were forbidden to pasture their sheep.

“The Moslem
petite bourgeoisie
are well aware of what France offers them: a higher standard of living, schools, hospitals . . . but their weight isn't enough to tip the scales, any more than that of the
fellahin.

“The intellectuals want to manage a free country, even if it dies of hunger, and the young are like my little nephew. They dream of guns and of taking to the hills. On these youngsters and intellectuals, however, depends the future of the rebellion.

“Now some of these intellectuals disapprove of the practices of the F.L.N., for example being made to do a stint in the mountains from which few of them come back alive. They also feel they are not being given the importance they deserve.

“If the youngsters are offered an adventure of the same quality, of the same brutality, as that of the rebels, they will don the camouflage uniform of the paratrooper just as readily as the
kachabia
of the
fellagha.

“In the first place they want to feel that they're somebody and that they're living. A machine-gun, a lizard uniform, endows any brat from the Clos Salembier with a sort of dignity. He at once ceases to be ‘a dirty Arab.'”

“And so,” said Boisfeuras, “we must first of all win over the youngsters available for the maquis, and after that the intellectuals who dream of laying siege to U.N.O.”

“And also the Moslem N.C.O.s in the army, who are drawn between the
petite bourgeoisie
and the rebellion. Above all, the fighting must come to an end. At the moment lassitude has got the upper hand. During this month of April rebel activity has decreased considerably. The liquidation of the autonomous zone of Algiers, the creation of road-blocks and at the same time the dissension between the rebel leaders, which you have sometimes provoked—isn't that so, Marindelle?—have been a sore trial. But it won't last.

“The French of Algeria have likewise been extremely shaken by the bombs. They have at last realized that there were Moslems who could do something else besides clean their shoes.

“I am with you out of friendship and gratitude, with you but not with those old colonels who came to indoctrinate me in my cell and talked to me about Verdun and Monte Cassino. But I'm rather sceptical and I remain loyal to the spirit of the letter to the President of the Republic that I signed and would sign again.”

“It was extremely well worded,” Marindelle quietly observed. “It could almost have been written by one of us. We haven't come here to defend colonial privileges, or Blachette's alfa plantations or Borgeaud's vineyards or Schiaffino's shipping, but to defend one of the last footholds of the West on the soil of Africa.”

“I'm willing to believe you, Marindelle. Only you haven't got with you any of those Frenchmen who could act as a link between the two communities, anyone who is liked or tolerated by the Moslems. You haven't got Restignes.”

“It's impossible!” Boisfeuras exclaimed. “On two or three occasions during the battle of Algiers we followed certain F.L.N. threads leading us to people in close touch with him. His influential protectors, his popularity with the French as well as with the Moslems, prevented us from carrying our enquiries through to the end.”

Mahmoudi became heated:

“And at the end what would you have found? That he has remained loyal to his friends, like you; that he wants to change an unjust and outworn form of order; that he has as much dash as Esclavier, as much presence as Glatigny; that, like Raspéguy, he refuses to be shackled by taboos, rules and regulations and that he backs the future and not the past, like Boisfeuras and Marindelle.”

“There's nothing to prevent us from informing him of our plans,” said Glatigny. “I only want him to give his word not to repeat anything to certain friends of his, who are already beginning to smell very highly of treason . . . and they are not Moslems!”

 * * * * 

Ten thousand demonstrators were expected; thirty thousand turned up, who marched in ranks behind their flags, observing a minute's silence in front of the war memorial. Then they dispersed, while a delegation went and handed the prefect a motion
in the form of an ultimatum addressed to Parliament. It demanded a Public Safety government.

Péladon, Corporal Videban and Sergeant Molintard felt much too hot in their civilian clothes.

In their discomfort they regretted the freedom of movement afforded by battledress. They found themselves placed behind a small group of youngsters, some of whom came from the Rue Michelet, others from the Rue Bab Azoun. The paratroopers spoke to one another in undertones.

Péladon pointed out a weedy youth in espadrilles, with long hair hanging down over the back of his neck.

“I tell you, that gypsy's got a gun in his pocket.”

“Just now I saw him give it a pat. Shall I cosh him on the head and relieve him of his weapon?”

“Let him be,” said Molintard. “At the moment he's no trouble.”

The “gypsy,” who was merely from Mallorca, pretended not to hear them. He leant over towards Adruguez:

“You see, Pépé, they've introduced some paratroops in mufti. Just look at them, the oafs, you'd think they were dolled up to go to church at Romorantin or Saint-Fleur.”

“They're Raspéguy's chaps, from the
10
th Regiment, who are said to be the Gaullist shock-troops. Lions with sparrows' faces. What about our little pals?”

“They're demonstrating in other parts of the town. And rightly! They don't want to get mixed up with these bloody Gaullists and sods of veterans. Once they've put on their medals, got out their flags and laid a wreath on the war memorial, these chaps think French Algeria is saved. What are we doing here?”

“We're observing.”

“And what are we observing? The one-minute silence. And after that?”

 * * * * 

After following the demonstrators as far as the war memorial Monsieur Lamentin, with his brief-case stuffed with books under his arm, went home. He had the worthy, bland face of a middle-aged man who is pleased with life. Cordial and at the same time retiring, the shopkeepers in the Belcourt quarter, like his pupils in the commercial school, had nothing but good
to say of him. He had come from France two years earlier and was not known to have any particular political views.

There was nothing in Monsieur Lamentin's life that could shock the French of Algeria. Like everyone else, he read the
Echo d'Alger
in the morning and the
Dernières Nouvelles
in the evening. Twice a week, on Thursdays and Saturdays, he dined out in a restaurant, never the same one, but for the remainder of the time he cooked for himself on a gas ring.

He was carrying on a discreet affair with one of the secretaries at the Government General, Gisèle Barouch, a Jewess of about forty, who was neither pretty nor ugly; everyone said they were going to get married any day.

Gisèle Barouch sometimes came to meals with him and she had a key to the apartment.

Encumbered with his loaf of bread, bottle of milk and briefcase, Monsieur Lamentin knocked on the door with his foot and Gisèle let him in.

“It's beginning to get hot,” he said.

Gisèle Barouch had a stern face, with hard eyes, a prominent nose and thick lips. Her curly greying hair was the only feature that gave this unprepossessing face a certain distinction.

“I've been waiting for you for an hour,” she said. “I was beginning to get anxious.”

“There's really no reason. I paraded with the veterans.”

To Gisèle, Lamentin was an infinitely precious ornament for which she had made herself responsible. She burst out:

“Your unfortunate propensity for joking will get us into trouble one day.”

Lamentin poured himself out a glass of milk. It was the only thing he drank. The food in concentration camps and prisons had ruined his stomach.

“I've got a perfect right to parade. If I'm not a veteran, who is? I must have at least a dozen wars or revolutions to my credit, from the
Rotefront
to the Spanish civil war. Did you bring your typewriter?”

“Yes.”

“As usual, you'll burn the carbons when we're finished. Who's leaving for France tonight?”

“Gérin. He works in the Hassi-Messaoud petrol company. It's his normal leave, so there's no danger.”

With his glass of milk still in his hand, Monsieur Lamentin, a top-secret agent of an international Communist organization, began dictating his weekly report.

Every now and then he referred to some notes jotted down in his minute handwriting in a schoolboy's exercise book.

 * * * * 

“The recent demonstration of
26
April shows the determination of the Gaullist group who, counting on the support of some paratroop elements, F.F.L. veterans, members of the networks of Free France, an organization created by Soustelle, the U.S.R.A.F., are trying to provoke a situation which will bring General de Gaulle back to power.

“The majority of the population is hostile to them, as are all the activist sections, but the Gaullists have been clever enough to have a Public Safety government accepted in principle, and this move can only be to the general's advantage.

“The army, on the whole, are still fairly indifferent to his name, but they don't want any more of the
4
th Republic; and our campaign against torture, which has borne fruit in Metropolitan France, has roused the troops in Algeria against the régime.

“The Commander-in-Chief is marking time and waiting. He will not make a decision until the last moment, when he sees to which side the troops are veering. His intimate circle is in close contact with the activist organizations, and his staff with the sector troops, where he is trying to counterbalance the influence acquired by the
missi dominici
of the Minister of National Defence.

“To all intents and purposes, Algeria and the army occupying it have entered a state of secession. Important developments are therefore to be expected in the near future.

“The Gaullists, anxious to maintain a certain form of law and order, are trying to win over Lacoste, the Resident Minister, so that there is no interruption of power.

“They would like him to assume the leadership of the Public Safety Committee in Algeria until de Gaulle is formally invested. Lacoste is in agreement with them. I would remind you of the
interview he gave to the
Sud-Ouest
which reflects his views perfectly:

“‘The government which tries to impose a solution of abandonment in Algeria will raise against it a violent reaction on the part of the European community. The army, which is not here to defend the established privileges and which wholeheartedly wants a new, but French, Algeria, would itself take part, at least morally, in this plot.'

“But Lacoste is jibbing at the Rubicon which everyone else has already crossed. He has even just remembered that he is a Socialist. . . . I don't think he will take the plunge. This bull has turned out to be a calf; his outbursts of temper, apoplectic fits and verbal tirades, mere play-acting.

“I have made no attempt to resume contact with our networks that have been completely dismantled and whose elements left at liberty are merely being used as a bait. On the other hand, I have reopened negotiations with the leader of the Dockers Trade Union, Sanchez, a veteran of the International Brigade, and I continue to be well informed on what is happening in the army by our comrade G . . .”

 * * * * 

Then Lamentin dictated a number of notes for the benefit of the police department. They were mainly about paratroop officers. The information could have been provided only by one of them, for it was very specific and detailed, but lacked that objectivity which it is difficult to maintain towards people with whom one lives every day. One of these notes gave a full description of the Aletti “decisions.”

“So these Fascist swine are going to bring off their
coup d'état
,” Gisèle remarked, “and nothing's going to be done to prevent them?”