This was the first time in my life I ever saw Aunt Sakina surprised by anything. When I told her I was going back to the bled, she looked at me like she didn’t understand what I’d just said. ‘Where did you say you were going?’ she said, her voice cracking. I kept right on, pretending I hadn’t noticed how worried she was. ‘To Aïn Deb, just for a week or so, I want to go and see Papa and Maman’s graves, catch up with some friends from when I was a kid.’ She thought for a moment, then she said, ‘I’ve got a little money put by, I’ll buy some things for you to take to the children there, I’m sure there’s a lot of things they need.’

She packed a suitcase for me, the biggest one she could find, the suitcase of an emigrant coming home, a poor man’s Santa Claus.

When I told my mates I was going back to the bled, as we stood freezing our balls off in a stairwell in one of the tower blocks, they didn’t pull their punches.

‘What are you, sick in the head? You’ll get your throat cut.’

‘Have you forgotten what they did to your parents?’

‘Fuck sake, don’t be stupid, stay here with us.’

‘You don’t speak Arabic, you don’t speak Berber, how are you supposed to talk to people?’

‘Pretend you’re deaf and dumb . . .’

‘Dress like a Taliban, that way no one will notice you.’

‘Steer clear of the red-light districts.’

‘Steer clear of the banlieues.’

‘Watch out for the cops, everyone says they’re like the mafia.’

‘Keep away from the jihadists.’

‘They’ll roast you like a Jew.’

‘There’s no way they’re going to let you come back.’

‘They’ll arrest you, they don’t like the French over there.’

‘They’ll never let you in, they fucking hate French Arabs.’

. . .

I waited till they were done, then I said, ‘Thanks for the support, guys, but I’m going anyway. I’ll be back in a week. Meet me from the plane at Orly.’

The night before I left was a long one. Aunt Sakina kept coming and going, she’d check to make sure the suitcase was properly closed, then she’d open it and put something else in, close it again, zip it up tight, go back to the living room, then come back to check it again. Uncle Ali was in his bed, staring at the ceiling, off somewhere in his head.