Xala (15 page)

‘Mr President, may I finish?' El Hadji asked, fully in control of himself.

‘Yes, El Hadji.'

‘Isn't that true, Laye?'

‘No asides! Put your case!' roared Laye.

‘All right. We are a bunch of clodhoppers. Who owns the banks?
The insurance companies? The factories? The businesses? The wholesale trade? The cinemas? The bookshops? The hotels? All these and more besides are out of our control. We are nothing better than crabs in a basket. We want the ex-occupier's place? We have it. This Chamber is the proof. Yet what change is there really in general or in particular? The colonialist is stronger, more powerful than ever before, hidden inside us, here in this very place. He promises us the left-overs of the feast if we behave ourselves. Beware anyone who tries to upset his digestion, who wants a bigger profit. What are we? Clodhoppers! Agents! Petty traders! In our fatuity we call ourselves “businessmen”! Businessmen without funds.'

‘You have gone on long enough, El Hadji,' interrupted Diop, a bald man with a shiny, bumpy head. ‘We aren't at the theatre. You're up to your neck in muck and you preach revolution to us. You should have thought of all that before. Let's get it over. Let's vote his expulsion.'

The hum spread, grew louder. They were all talking at once.

After Diop's interruption El Hadji had lost the thread of his argument. His thoughts became confused again. He looked at the faces around him for agreement and support. He saw Sheikh Ba scribbling something. Sheikh Ba was not a man who wasted his time. It was whispered that he had the ear of the great of the land. He finished writing. El Hadji was intrigued by the journey of the piece of paper as it passed from hand to hand. It reached the President, who unfolded it. El Hadji shivered with anxiety. He looked hard at the President. Impossible to read the contents of the note in his face. El Hadji was sure that if he had Sheikh Ba's support he would be all right.

‘El Hadji, have you finished speaking?' asked the President.

‘No.'

‘We are listening.'

‘I'll be brief,' he said, speaking in a dull, flat voice, without resonance, which bore no resemblance to his normal voice. He glanced towards Sheikh Ba before continuing.

‘All of us here have signed cheques that have bounced, sold quotas.'

‘We have been insulted enough! Mr President, tell us whose side you are on.'

The President wondered if Laye's question was a disguised threat.
Perhaps he had let El Hadji talk too long, allowed him to say things that should only be said in private.

‘Well, before we reach a decision, I have a proposal from our friend Sheikh Ba,' said the President, giving in.

‘I beg your pardon, Mr President, for interrupting you. It is indeed a proposal. I was drawing your attention to certain points of fact.'

When Sheikh Ba raised points of fact at meetings, everyone knew he was intending to guide the discussion along a particular line with a definite end in view.

‘We can request the withdrawal of El Hadji's import-export licence on the grounds we already know, but also our... well, he has not paid his dues to the Group for some time. His expulsion depends entirely on us. The trickiest problem will doubtless be our future relations with the National Grain Board. If we show ourselves to be decisive and firm in the decision we are about to take, I believe the National Grain Board would have no further grounds for complaint against us. So we would return to where we were before. As far as the matter of dishonoured cheques is concerned, that does not depend on us. I understand – it's what is being said – El Hadji has a very thick file in a certain place. Mr President, these are the points of fact I had in mind.'

Sheikh Ba's intervention terminated the discussion. El Hadji had nothing to say. They voted unanimously for his exclusion from their Group.

He was left standing on his own.

With dignity, he descended the stairs.

‘To Adja's,' he ordered Modu.

In the car he felt ill at ease. His sudden downfall caught him in the stomach. Without remembering very clearly what he had discussed with Rama, one sentence came back into his mind: ‘Our country is a plutocracy.'

At the ‘Villa Adja Awa Astou,' mother and daughter were in the sitting-room.

‘Good evening,' he said.

‘Good evening,' they replied.

El Hadji went over to his daughter and looked over her shoulder.

‘What's that?'

‘Wolof.'

‘You write in Wolof?'

‘Yes. We have a newspaper called
Kaddu
and we teach anyone who wants to learn how to write in Wolof.'

‘Do you think it will be adopted as the language of the country?'

‘Eighty-five per cent of the people speak it. They only need to know how to write it.'

‘What about French?'

‘An historical accident. Wolof is our national language.'

El Hadji smiled and went over to his wife.

‘How are you?'

‘Well, thanks be to Yalla!'

‘Get me something to drink, please.'

Adja Awa Astou got up and disappeared into the kitchen.

‘I came,' said El Hadji, addressing his daughter.

‘I see, father.'

Adja Awa Astou returned with a bottle of mineral water and a glass. She served her husband, then told him:

‘Yay Bineta came to see you.'

‘What did she want?'

‘She wanted to see you.'

‘I will go tomorrow.'

‘She told me that “they” would wait all night for you if necessary.'

Rama gathered up her books.

‘Pass the night in peace.'

‘You too pass the night in peace,' replied her mother.

‘I shall go and see them tomorrow,' reiterated the father, loud enough for Rama to hear.

Adja Awa Astou said nothing. She went to bed first, leaving her husband alone.

El Hadji Abdou Kader Beye woke up a little earlier than usual. He watched the children leave for school. Alassane helped them into the mini-bus.

The road-sweeper's cart passed by.

‘Papa,' called Mariem, Oumi N'Doye's younger daughter.

The father went out to them. Each of the second wife's children held out a hand to him.

‘How is your mother?'

‘She is well,' replied Mariem.

‘Papa, are you thinking about mother's car?' asked the youngest child.

Rama nervously put her foot down twice on the accelerator.

‘I'm thinking about it. I promised your mother.'

‘When will it be?'

‘When? Soon,' replied. El Hadji without, conviction, drawing away.

‘Father always lets us down,' remarked Mariem to her brother as the vehicle moved off.

Modu dropped El Hadji at his ‘office'. They arrived at the same time as Madame Diouf. As soon as he had seated himself at his table El Hadji phoned the bank. He could not wait until the end of the morning, he was too impatient. He was informed that the deputy manager was very busy and told to phone the following week to make an appointment. The woman's voice very politely suggested he stay calm. He insisted, but in vain. After they had argued for fifteen minutes he realized that there was no intention of receiving him.

Madame Diouf came in to announce a visitor.

‘Who is it?'

‘A
toubab
representing “Automobile Credit”.'

He told her to show him in. The European was dressed in a cotton shirt and khaki trousers and carried a fat briefcase made of snakeskin.

‘You recognize me?' he asked as soon as he was seated opposite El Hadji.

‘Of course.'

‘I apologize for calling so early. I don't want to take up too much of your time, so I'll come to the point...'

Opening his briefcase he took out a cardboard file, which he placed on his lap: He waved away the flies with his hand.

‘Mr El Hadji Abdou Kader Beye, you have made no payments on your cars for three months now. I have been sent to find out why.'

‘True,' said El Hadji, anxious to gain the advantage with a prompt reply. ‘True. You are quite right. I have been very busy these last months. Please excuse my lateness. I received your reminders. I understand there is a five per cent interest charge when this happens.'

El Hadji took out his personal cheque-book.

‘Please, Mr El Hadji Abdou Kader Beye,' said the whiteman with a
slight gesture of his hand and speaking in a tone of voice which had a hidden authority, enough to stop El Hadji's intention. ‘Please, sir,' he repeated, with a hint of a smile at the corners of his mouth. ‘I don't want to hide from you, sir, the fact that we have been told about your financial situation.'

They remained frozen, each with his thoughts. El Hadji read in the whiteman's face a determination to bend him, to bring him to his knees. When the representative's mocking look disappeared El Hadji felt the shock even more strongly. He scrutinized the fellow again but could not really make out what was going on in his mind.

The beggar's wail could be heard.

‘Can you tell me who informed you?' asked El Hadji.

‘You must know that over the phone you don't see the face.'

‘The voice? The accent?'

El Hadji was certain they were trying to catch him out. He smiled, a sceptical smile that distorted his mouth.

The whiteman looked at him for a moment and evaded the question.

‘I merely wanted to warn you. The sooner you settle with us the better.'

‘What do you mean by “the sooner you settle”?'

‘Three days.'

‘Can you give me a little more time than that?'

‘I understand. Unfortunately I am only a messenger. I have my instructions.'

When the representative from “Automobile Credit” left him, El Hadji sat in silent anger. Mentally he counted his influential contacts: someone in a high position or having a lot of influence, who could intercede on his behalf. He was like a mouse caught in a trap trying to find a way to escape. His
xala,
his third wife were pushed to the back of his mind. In a broken sequence he recalled his efforts to better himself. He had schemed and struggled to get where he was, to be somebody. And now it was all collapsing around him.

Madame Diouf gave a hesitant knock and timidly entered the ‘office'.

‘Sir,' she said.

El Hadji looked up wearily at her.

‘Yes?'

She was embarrassed.

‘Sir, the bank returned the cheque to me,' she said, looking at the floor as she placed the cheque on the table.

‘Oh!' he said blankly.

‘You know I need the money. For two months I have been living on credit at home. I must pay my rent. If I don't pay it this week my family and I will... will...'

She stopped, unable to continue.

‘Give me two days, Madame Diouf. I am going through a bad patch at the moment. Will you?'

She nodded agreement.

‘Come in!' called El Hadji.

It was Modu, accompanied by a man wearing a worn-out caftan and a cap made of black wool with a tassel hanging down one side. He had rings of plaited leather around his neck and red, mobile eyes.

‘I have been sent by Sereen Mada,' he declared with self-assurance, standing well clear of the table. His attitude verged on contempt.

Madame Diouf withdrew.

‘Sereen Mada?' repeated El Hadji examining the intruder, who was unknown to him. He asked: ‘Who is Sereen Mada?'

The fellow in the woollen cap gave a shiver of surprise, opened wide his eyes and looked hard at Modu. Modu lowered his head like a faithful dog in front of its master.

‘The person who treated you and cured your
xala
.'

‘Oh, yes.'

The ‘oh, yes' came like a gasp from El Hadji, who quickly straightened himself and invited the man to sit down.

‘I hope he is well. As it happens I need to see him urgently. How is he?'

‘
Alhamdoullilah!
'

Joy and hope surged up inside El Hadji. He had confidence in Sereen Mada. Only he could get him out of his present predicament. Why had he not thought of him sooner?

‘Sit down, my friend. Brother. Please excuse my ill manners. You must know how terrible life is in N'Dakaru! You have come at just the right moment. I need Sereen Mada's help very urgently. We will go to his village together. While you are in N‘Dakaru, please by my guest. Modu will drive you to my second wife's villa. No... take him to Adja Awa Astou, Modu. She's my first. She is very religious. A woman!
Sit down, and tell me what Sereen Mada wants,' asked El Hadji finally.

‘To give you this,' said the fellow, holding out the cheque to him. ‘I have just been to the bank. Remember what Sereen Mada told you. What he has taken away, he can restore.'

El Hadji Abdou Kader Beye walked up and down his ‘office', entangling himself in vague explanations.

The other, indifferent to all his excuses, with a reproving look placed the cheque beside Madame Diouf's and left.