Chourmo (27 page)

At Place de la Mairie, some of the old people got off and others got on. The woman with the baby looked at me before leaving the ferry. I smiled at her.

A schoolgirl got on. The kind that flourish better in Marseilles than anywhere else. West Indian father or mother, maybe. Long curly hair. Firm breasts. Ankle-length skirt. She came and asked me for a light, because I'd glanced at her. She gave me an unsmiling Lauren Bacall look. Then she went and took up position on the other side of the cabin. I didn't have time to say thank you, just for the pleasure of looking in her eyes again.

After I got off the ferry, I walked along the embankment, on my way to see Gélou. I'd called the hotel before leaving L'Oursin. She was waiting for me at the New York. I didn't know what I'd do if Narni was there. Strangle him on the spot, maybe.

But Gélou was alone.

“Isn't Alexandre here?” I said, as I kissed her.

“He'll be here in half an hour. I wanted to see you without him. For the moment. What's happening, Fabio? About Guitou.”

Gélou had shadows under her eyes. She bore all the signs of anxiety. The wait was wearing her down. But she was my cousin, and she was beautiful. Still. I wanted to take advantage of her face, as it was right now, while I still could. Why hadn't life been kind to her? Had she hoped for too much? Expected too much? But aren't we all like that? As soon as we open our eyes and see the world? Are there people who ask nothing of life?

“He's dead,” I said, softly.

I took her hands. They were still warm. Then I looked up at her, trying to put in my look all the love I kept in reserve for the winter months.

“What?” she stammered.

I felt the blood drain from her hands.

“Come,” I said.

I forced her to stand up, to walk out. Before she broke down. I put my arm around her shoulders, like a lover. She slipped her arm around my waist. We crossed in the middle of the flow of traffic. Cars braked, horns honked, drivers shouted insults. But we ignored them. There was only us now. The two of us. And this pain we shared.

We walked along the embankment. In silence. Holding each other tight. I wondered for a moment where that bastard Narni was. He couldn't have been far. Spying on us. Wondering when he could finally put a bullet in my head. He must be dying to do that. Me too. The gun I'd been carrying in my car since last night would be for that. And I had an advantage over Narni. I knew now what a scumbag he was. I felt Gélou's shoulder shaking. The tears were coming. I stopped, turned Gélou to face me, and embraced her. She clung to me, pressing her body close to mine. Anyone seeing us would have thought we were two lovers, unable to contain their desire. Behind the bell tower of Les Accoules, the sun was already going down.

“Why?” she asked through her tears.

“The questions don't matter anymore. Or the answers. It's the way it is, Gélou. It's just the way it is.”

She lifted her face to me. A ravaged face. Of course, her mascara had run, leaving long blue trails. Her cheeks seemed cracked, like the ground after an earthquake. I saw her eyes turn inward. Forever. Gélou was leaving. For another place. A land of tears.

In spite of everything, she still clung to me, desperately, with her hands and her eyes. Trying to stay in the world. Trying to hold on to everything that had united us since childhood. But I was no help to her. I hadn't brought a child into the world out of my own belly. I wasn't a mother. Not even a father. The only words I could say came from the dictionary of human stupidity. There was nothing to say. I had nothing to say.

“I'm here,” I whispered in her ear.

But it was too late.

Once death has appeared, it's always too late.

“Fabio . . . ”

She fell silent, and rested her forehead on my shoulder. She was calming down. The worst would come later. I stroked her hair gently, then put my hand under her chin and lifted her face to look at me.

“Do you have a Kleenex?”

She nodded. She freed herself from me, took out a Kleenex and a little mirror. She wiped away the mascara trails. That was all she did.

“Where's your car?”

“In the parking garage behind the hotel. Why?”

“Don't ask any questions, Gélou. What level? One? Two?”

“Level one. On the right.”

I put my arm around her shoulders again, and we walked back toward the New York. The sun was disappearing behind the houses on the Butte du Panier, leaving a beautiful light that turned the houses pink on Quai de Rive-Neuve. It was magnificent. And I needed that, needed to cling to these moments of beauty.

“Talk to me,” she said.

We were in front of one of the entrances to the Vieux-Port metro station. There were three. This one. One at the bottom of the Canebière. The third on Place Gabriel-Péri.

“Later. Go to your car. Get in and wait for me. I'll be there in less than ten minutes.”

“But—”

“Can you do that?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I'll leave you here. Start walking as if you're going back to the hotel. When you get there, hesitate for a few moments. As if you'd just thought of something. Something you've forgotten, for example. Then go to the parking garage, but without hurrying. OK?”

“OK,” she said, mechanically.

I kissed her, as if I was saying goodbye. I clasped her to me, tenderly. “You must do exactly as I say, Gélou,” I said, gently but firmly. “Have you got that?” She put her hand in mine. “Go on now.”

She went. Walking stiffly, like an automaton.

I watched her as she crossed the street. Then I took the escalator down into the metro. Without hurrying. When I reached the corridor, I broke into a run. I ran the whole length of the station as far as the Gabriel-Péri exit. I climbed the stairs two by two, and found myself on the square. I turned right to get back onto the Canebière, in front of the Palais de la Bourse. The parking garage was opposite me.

If Narni or the other guy, Balducci, had been watching me, I'd gotten a head start on them. Where Gélou and I were going, we didn't need anyone. I crossed without waiting for the little green man and walked into the parking garage.

Lights flashed and I recognized Gélou's Saab.

“Move over,” I said, opening the door. “I'll drive.”

“Where are we going, Fabio?” she cried. “Please tell me!”

“We're just going for a drive,” I said, gently. “We have to talk, right?”

 

We didn't talk until we got onto the highway leading north. I'd zigzagged across Marseilles, looking constantly in the rear-view mirror. But we weren't being tailed. Once I was sure of that, I'd told Gélou what had happened. I'd told her the inspector who was on the case was a friend of mine and we could trust him. She'd listened, without asking any questions.

“It doesn't make any difference now.” That was all she'd said.

I left the highway at the Les Arnavaux fork and drove through the streets that climb toward Sainte-Marthe.

“How did you meet Narni?”

“What?”

“Alexandre Narni. Where did you meet him?”

“At the restaurant I had with Gino. He was a customer. A good customer. A regular. Sometimes he brought friends, sometimes he came alone. He liked Gino's cooking.”

So did I. I still remembered his
lingue di passero
with truffles. The best I'd ever eaten. Even in Italy.

“Did he flirt with you?”

“No. Well, he'd make compliments . . . ”

“The kind a handsome man makes to a beautiful woman.”

“If you like . . . But I treated him like all the other customers. No better, no worse.”

“Hmm. And how did he treat you?”

“What do you mean, how did he treat me? Fabio, what's this all about? Why are you asking me all these questions? Is there a connection with Guitou's death?”

I shrugged. “There are things I need to know about your life. I'm trying to understand.”

“Understand what?”

“How my dear cousin Gélou met a Mafia hitman named Alexandre Narni. And how, in the ten years she slept with him, she never suspected a thing.”

I braked quickly. I wanted to park before she slapped me.

T
he restaurant had only been open a few months when Narni became one of its best customers. Whenever he came, he'd bring well-known people with him. Mayors, deputies. Regional representatives. Ministers. People from show business, the movies.

These are my friends, he seemed to be saying. You're lucky that I like your cooking. And that we're fellow countrymen. Like Gino, Narni was from Umbria. Almost certainly the region with the best cuisine in Italy. Even better than Tuscany. That really was lucky. You had to admit it. The restaurant was always full. Some people came just to catch a glimpse of a celebrity or two.

The walls were soon covered with framed photos of the customers. Gélou posed with all of them. Like a star. In this restaurant, she was the biggest star. An Italian director, she couldn't remember which one now, had even wanted her for his next movie. That had made her laugh a lot. She loved the movies, but she'd never imagined appearing in one. And besides, Guitou had just been born. So movies were out.

Plenty of money was coming in. It was a happy time. Even if it meant going to bed at night exhausted. Especially on weekends. Gino had hired an assistant cook and two waitresses. Gélou didn't wait on tables anymore. She'd greet the important guests, drink an aperitif with them, that kind of thing. Narni would get her invited to official receptions and galas, as well as several times to the Cannes Film Festival.

“Did you go alone?” I'd asked.

“Without Gino, yes. The restaurant had to carry on. And you know he wasn't crazy about socializing. The only thing that turned his head was me,” she said, with a sad little smile. “He wasn't impressed by money, or honors. He was a real peasant, with his feet firmly planted on the ground. That's why I loved him. He kept me balanced. He taught me to tell the difference between what was real and what was fake and flashy. You remember the way I was when I was as a girl? The way I used to run after all the boys who flashed their daddies' money?”

“You even wanted to marry the son of a Marseilles shoe manufacturer. That would have been a good match.”

“He was ugly.”

“But Gino . . . ”

She was lost in thought. We were still parked on the street where I'd braked suddenly. Gélou hadn't slapped me. She hadn't even moved. As if stunned. Then she'd turned to me, slowly. Her eyes were sending out distress signals. I hadn't dared look at her right away.

“Is that how you've been spending your time?” she'd said. “Prying into my life?”

“No, Gélou.”

And I'd told her the whole story. Well, not quite the whole story. Only what she had every right to know. Then we'd sat in silence, smoking.

“Fabio,” she resumed.

“Yes.”

“What are you trying to find out?”

“I don't know. It's like when a piece is missing from a jigsaw puzzle. You can see the picture, but the missing piece screws everything up. Do you understand?”

Night had fallen. Even though the windows were open, the car was filled with smoke.

“I'm not sure.”

“Gélou, this guy lives with you. He helps you raise the kids. Patrice, Marc and Guitou. He saw Guitou grow up . . . He must have played with him. There must have been birthdays. Christmases.”

“How could he do it? Is that what you're saying?”

“Yes, how could he do it? And how could . . . ? Supposing we'd never found out, right? Supposing you hadn't come to see me. Narni kills this guy, Hocine Draoui. Then he kills Guitou because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. He slips through the police net. As usual. He comes back to Gap . . . How could he . . . ? I mean, he puts on his pajamas, all clean and ironed, he gets into bed with you and . . . ”

“Even supposing that, I don't think . . . With Guitou dead, I don't think I could have stood having a man in my bed anymore. Alex or anyone else.”

“Ah,” I said, thrown.

“I had the kids to raise. Especially Guitou. That was why I needed a man. A father. Yes, I needed a father for them.” Gélou was increasingly nervous. “Oh, Fabio, it's all so mixed up! There are the things a woman expects from a man, you know. Kindness. Affection. Pleasure. Pleasure matters too, you know. But there are all the other things. The things that make a man a real man. The stability he can give you. The confidence. The sense of authority. Someone to rely on . . . A single mother, with three children. I wasn't brave enough to face it. That's the truth.” She lit another cigarette, mechanically. She was pensive. “None of this is simple.”

“I know, Gélou. Tell me, didn't he ever want a child with you?”

“Yes.
He
did. Not me. Three was enough for me. Don't you think so?”

“Have you been happy these last few years?”

“Happy? Yes, I think so. Everything was going well. You've seen the car I drive.”

“I've seen it. But that's not what being happy is about.”

“I know. But what do you want me to say? Switch on the TV . . . When you see the things that are happening here, and in other places . . . I can't say I've been unhappy.”

“What did Gino think of Narni?”

“He didn't really like him. At first, maybe, yes. They got along quite well. They'd talk about the old country. But Gino, you know, was never good at making friends with people. For him, only the family mattered.”

“Was he jealous? Was that it?”

“A little. Like any good Italian. But it was never a problem. Even when a huge bouquet of roses would arrive for my birthday. All it did was remind him that he'd forgotten my birthday. But it wasn't serious. Gino loved me, and I knew it.”