“Why shouldn’t I? She should know, she’s not a kid any more. She might even think it’s acceptable or clever.”

“Stop it, Céline’s not like that.”

He adds something in Arabic which Céline doesn’t understand.

“What did my grandfather do?”

Saïd shuts his mouth, his silence the signature of his surrender.

“He hired some illegals for the harvest,” the old man resumes. “All the harvest. Of course, they were happy. He even let them sleep under the porch roof, with the tractor. They worked as though their lives depended on it, because their lives did depend on it.”

“All right, Shems,” Pascal, who has also approached, grumbles. “That’s enough.”

They all seem to know the story. But they’re waiting to see how Céline will react.

The old Kabylian has a sip of wine straight from the bottle before carrying on. He gauges his effect, anger simmering behind his words and savouring the trick of the storyteller as the others gather around him.

“Those fuckers picked the grapes in record time. They were super-motivated. Your grandfather was the first one in the region to put them in the vats. And you know what he did after the harvest?”

Céline knows perfectly well he’s not waiting for an answer. Still, she shakes her head, so he can carry on.

“He warned police headquarters and the gendarmerie.”

Shems takes an unfiltered Gauloise from a crushed packet. The tip is bent, so he smooths it before putting it in his mouth. The smell of dark tobacco makes the girl nauseous as she waits to understand, although she’s already understood but is milking it a little. “Some of them managed to run away across the fields and hide. The others were arrested. What’s neat is that, all of a sudden, your grandfather doesn’t need to pay them.”

Céline is visibly affected. She can’t work out if she’s shocked or not, or if she should be. After all, she’s heard about Arabs, Romas and Jews, and it’s often them who stir the shit. Just look at all the terrorist attacks – she also watches TV.

It’s all a bit confusing, but she honestly doesn’t give a shit. A tooth for a tooth, and there’s no smoke without fire, or something like that.

She doesn’t say anything. She just feels her childhood packing its bags, along with fresh almonds and secrets spat out like phlegm.

Anything or Anybody

Anything or Anybody