Lorraine Connection (2 page)

Maréchal draws back the curtain around the cubicle and comes in, almost on tiptoe.

‘How do you feel, Miss Saidani?’ No reply. ‘I realise what a shock this has been for you. The nurse told me you were feeling a lot better.’

Clumsy, bumbling Maréchal. Definitely not bright.

‘What do you want?’

‘OK. Ms Lepetit has gone upstairs to talk to management and as you’re the only one from the other production line to have stayed, I wondered whether you’d kindly take her place. Just while she’s upstairs. It shouldn’t be for long.’

Aisha sits bolt upright. To face all that right now – the
sheet-metal
walls, the production line, the neon lights, the dangling wires, the handle of the soldering iron in the palm of her hand – is to face her own death. But whether she does it today, or
tomorrow
…
the
girls
will
be
around
me,
supportive,
their
eyes
saw
what
I’ve
seen.
If
I
have
to
choose
between
the
production
line
and
going
home
to
my
father,
I
prefer
the
production
line.
Besides,
I’m
doing
it
for
Rolande.

‘All right.’

‘The nurse will give you a little pick-me-up.’

In the admin section, Rolande is trying to walk straight and slowly.
They’re
probably
going
to
ask
me
about
the
accident.
That’s
going
to
be
difficult.
Because
right
now,
what
I
need
more
than
anything
is
to
forget,
completely,
for
a
few
days,
until
I’ve
got
over
my
fear.
Then
talk
about
it …
I
must
ask
for
a
few
days
off
for
the
girls.
Flashback to the girls’ faces, ashen against the sheet metal.
The
shock
was
too
brutal.
Get
them
to
understand.
Find
the
words …
and
I’ll
find
out
how
Émilienne
is.
Miscarriage?
Dead?
Be
prepared
for
the
worst,
and
above
all,
don’t
break
down
in
front
of
‘them’.

She is immediately shown into the office of the Head of HR himself. It’s the first time she’s set eyes on him. A quick glance to size him up. Young, flashy. Not my type.

‘Ms Lepetit, I have very little to say to you. After your
inexcusable
behaviour towards Mr Maréchal, your section foreman,
you are being dismissed for serious misconduct, and this decision takes effect as of now. You may not return to your work station. You will be accompanied to the cloakroom to remove your
personal
belongings, and then to the exit. You will receive your final pay cheque tomorrow.’

Her insides turn to liquid, her mind goes blank, not a word, not a coherent thought, only images, violent feelings, the flash, the white light, the scream, the smell, the fear.
And
then
my
son’s
smile,
in
his
boarding
school
uniform,
my
mother,
drunk,
asleep
on
the
kitchen
floor,
who’s
going
to
pay?
Work,
pain,
broken
body,
hands
numb,
hard,
yes,
but
better
than
no
job.
Tomorrow,
on
the
streets,
homeless?

Half unconscious, she’s shoved out into the corridor. She leans against the wall, her eyes closed, dizzy, feels like
throwing
up. When she opens her eyes, Ali Amrouche is standing in front of her. He’s holding her hands, tapping them, a concerned expression on his face. Amrouche, the union rep, always hanging around management, that’s him.

‘Rolande, don’t you feel well? Rolande, talk to me.’

He places a hand on her shoulder, a gesture he’s never made, or dared make before. He has nothing but respect for Rolande, but she’s distraught. She feels the warm contact of his hand on her shoulder, it does her good, less alone, and the words return, jumbled at first. She leans against him, lets herself go, then the words come tumbling out and she tells him about the accident, in great detail – her every movement, Émilienne’s body, lifeless, rigid: ‘I touched death, Ali.’ The helplessness, not knowing what to do to save a life, and the violent contractions, the groans as if Émilienne were in immeasurable pain and a hope, the baby that died, almost as if that would bring the mother back to life. With the words come tears, what a relief. ‘And they fired me, Ali, because I knocked Maréchal to the floor.’ A hint of a smile. ‘For that price, I should have killed him, the fat bastard.’

‘I’m taking you home, Rolande, and I’ll come back and talk to management, straight away. It isn’t possible, it’s a mistake. It has to be a mistake.’

‘Thank you, but no. See me to the exit, that’ll help. I’ll go home by myself, it’s only a couple of minutes away.’

In the Head of HR’s office, Ali Amrouche tries to explain.

‘You can’t fire Ms Lepetit. The whole factory will be up in
arms. She’s a courageous woman, everybody looks up to her. We all know that she has to support her son and her penniless mother single-handed. Everyone was shaken up by the accident this morning in her section.’

‘She’s not the one who had the accident, it was Émilienne Machaut who, let me take the opportunity to inform you, is safe and sound.’

‘What about the baby?’

‘Miscarriage. It happens. None of that in any way justifies Ms Lepetit’s behaviour in physically attacking her foreman.’ He straightens his upper body, pushes his shoulders back. I’m here to restore order and discipline in this factory, both of which are sadly lacking. I will not stand for this behaviour.’

The Head of HR shuffles a file around his desk, taps the
telephone
, folds his hands. ‘Mr Amrouche, my predecessor told me you were a reasonable man, a man of compromise, able to make allowances. So I am keen for you to be the first to know this: in one week, the works council will meet and the question of the last nine months’ unpaid bonuses will once again be on the agenda. If the company were to pay those bonuses today, plus the arrears, its financial stability would be jeopardised. The financial situation is still precarious, as you well know, and there’s a risk the
factory
will have to close. So, management is going to suggest – and when I say suggest, you know what I mean – that all bonuses be cancelled for this year and paid from next January.’ He spreads his hands and raises his eyebrows.

‘We’ve examined the figures from every angle. There’s no other solution. We are relying on people like you to get everyone to accept it.’

Amrouche stares at the Head of HR. What does this man know about it? Weariness. How to explain the poverty, suffering, fear, and then the eruption of consuming anger and hatred to this fine gentleman with his smart shoes about to be blown to pieces?

‘Does Maréchal approve of Rolande Lepetit’s dismissal?’

The Head of HR stands up and turns to face the window.

‘The matter is closed.’

Seated alone at a table in the empty cafeteria, Amrouche is
drinking
a coffee and thinking things over.
The
Head
of
HR,
what
a
shit.
‘My
predecessor
spoke
to
me
about
you’ …
and
drops
two
bombshells,
without
even
being
aware
of
it.
What
do
I
do? ‘
You’re
a
reasonable
man’.
So
what?
The
bonuses
can
wait
until
the
works
council
meeting,
I’m
not
supposed
to
know
about
that.
As
for
Rolande,
by
the
end
of
the
lunch
break
the
whole
factory
will
have
heard.
If
the
guys
find
out
that
I
knew
and
that
I
didn’t
say
or
do
anything,
they
won’t
forgive
me.
Rolande,
a
woman
who’s
been
through
the
mill
like
me,
and
who
gets
on
with
things.
Never
off
sick,
a
hard
worker,
tough,
proud,
honest.
Better
than
me.
A
man
of
compromise,
huh!
A bitter taste of coffee on his tongue and at the corners of his mouth.
A
man
who
compromises?
True
enough:
because
I’m
a
broken
man.
Images of the nearby Pondange iron and steelworks where he worked for ten years flood back. He loved the heat, the noise, the physical exertion, the danger too, and the sense of comradeship that went with it. Not like here. And then the exhilarating struggle to save the works. They’d felt so powerful, all united. Followed by total failure. The works
dismantled
, obliterated from the valley. A working class dynamited, like the blast furnaces. Tears welled up in his eyes each time he walked along the swollen river banks, the concrete bases where the blast furnaces once stood now overgrown with grass. One thing was certain: they were the winners,
them,
the other side.
You
have
to
live
with
it.
Be
shrewd,
hold
out.
For
now,
get
Rolande
reinstated.
At
least
do
that
much.
Go
and
see
Maréchal,
a
racist
bastard,
but
a
former
steelworker
and
capable
of
understanding,
not
like
that
arsehole
Head
of HR.
He’ll
get
her
reinstated
even
if
she
did
knock
him
flat.

But no sign of Maréchal anywhere in his section, or in the offices.
He
ought
to
be
here
at
this
time
of
day.
What
shall
I
do?
I’ll
go
and
talk
to
Nourredine,
he
works
in
the
same
section
as
Rolande,
he
knows
her
and
values
her
work.
Nourredine is shocked when Amrouche informs him of Rolande’s dismissal. Rolande, with her tall, familiar form and her clear, warm, attentive gaze. Always ready to offer a sympathetic gesture or word in passing.
She
helped
me
get
through
my
early
days
in
the
factory,
when
I
was
just
a
shy
and
miserable
kid.
It’s
thanks
to
her
I’ve
found
my
place
here.
We
can’t
abandon
her,
after
the
horror
of
the
accident,
on
top
of
everything.
He asks the others to take over his job while he goes and has it out with Maréchal, who is nowhere to be found. Back to packaging and a brief collective discussion. The horror of the accident still hangs over them – the white light, the scream, the
juddering sheet-metal walls, Émilienne’s lifeless body glimpsed in the crush.

And the outcome? The production line wasn’t even brought to a complete standstill. Some of the girls are back at work
without
a thorough safety check being done. Rolande is fired and that bastard Maréchal’s made himself scarce. It might even transpire it was his idea, to create a diversion so that everyone would be talking about Rolande’s dismissal instead of the accident. There’s electricity everywhere, in one form or another, at all the work
stations
. If we don’t do something, we’ll all get electrocuted. It’s vital to see the girls in finishing at coffee break.