‘They j . . . ju . . . just going to c . . . c . . . cover up the in . . . in . . .’

‘Cover up the incident?’

‘Y . . . yeah.’

‘We’ll make them fucking sit up and take notice if they try. They’ve got him, they can keep him.’

‘They could send him back where he came from with only one eye.’

‘Or one arm, like Manchot here.’

‘Well, if that’s the good news, the bad news must be a world fucking war. Spill . . .’ I said.

‘The first thing is there’s a new emir on the estate, a guy called Flicha.’

‘Recruitment is obviously booming.’

‘And we’ve got this new one-eyed imam. They call him Cyclops. Aren’t one-eyed people bad luck?’

‘No, fool, that’s hunchbacks you’re thinking of.’

‘Bullshit, hunchbacks are supposed to bring good luck.’

‘This just gets better and better, now we’ve got gimps casting spells. Anyone else?’

‘These guys are no-bullshit, they’re from the AIG, they were sent in from Boufarik, that’s where they’ve got all the Taliban training camps. The day they showed up they issued a fatwa. First: anyone who’s not with them is against them. Second: girls aren’t allowed out on the street any more. Third: we’re forbidden from talking to Jews, Christians, animists, communists, queers or journalists. Four: they’ve banned speed, blow, cigarettes, beer, pinball, sports, music, books, TV, movies . . . I don’t remember the rest . . .’

‘Wanking in public.’

‘Wanking in private.’

‘Farting in the direction of the mosque.’

‘Shaving your d . . .’

‘You fuckwits think this is funny?’

‘Yeah . . . no . . . we’re just having a laugh!’

‘What about the people on the estate, what are they doing about it?’

‘Same old same old, they just play dead.’

‘What about you guys?’

Silence. Whispering.

‘What about you guys?’ I repeated.

‘What do you expect us to do?’ Raymond was angry.

‘Nothing. Same old same old.’

‘You can talk, you the one who never leaves the house, what about you?’

It was my turn to tell them a few things. I told them what I’d been thinking. I couldn’t believe it, they actually listened from start to finish, except Momo who got up half way through and said, ‘Hang on, I’ve got to piss, don’t say anything till I get back.’

He came running back, stuffing his water pistol back into his pants.

‘Okay, you can go on now . . .’

I started with a question.

‘How much do you guys know about Hitler?’

Silence. Looks. Whispers.

‘Okay, none of you knows anything, that simplifies things . . .