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Back Time Is a Killer
Chapters (84)
  1. Dedication
  2. Time is a Killer
  3. Contents
  4. Map
  5. 1
  6. Twenty-seven years later …
  7. IRevellata
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. IISaint Rose’s Day
  44. 37
  45. 38
  46. 39
  47. 40
  48. 41
  49. 42
  50. 43
  51. 44
  52. 45
  53. 46
  54. 47
  55. 48
  56. 49
  57. 50
  58. 51
  59. 52
  60. 53
  61. 54
  62. IIISempre giovanu
  63. 55
  64. 56
  65. 57
  66. 58
  67. 59
  68. 60
  69. 61
  70. 62
  71. 63
  72. 64
  73. 65
  74. 66
  75. 67
  76. Twenty-seven years later
  77. Acknowledgements
  78. AFTER THE CRASH
  79. BLACK WATER LILIES
  80. DON’T LET GO
  81. About the Author
  82. Also by Michel Bussi
  83. More on W&N
  84. Copyright

I’m alone, at Bungalow C29, writing under the olive tree. Nicolas is off with the other teenagers from the campsite, Maman has taken the Fuego to go shopping in Calvi, Papa is at Arcanu Farm, with his parents, his cousins, his local friends.

He’s maintaining his Corsitude.

Papa’s Corsitude, on the other hand, is no laughing matter.

Paul Idrissi.

Lost in Normandy, in the hunchbacked Vexin.

No one laughs about that – except me!

Because to tell you the truth, Papa’s Corsitude, from September to June, consists only of a yellow rectangle stuck in the back window of his car. The Cabalistic unifying symbol of Corsicans lost on the mainland. With the Freemasons it’s a triangle. The Jews are made to wear a star.

For the Corsicans exiled in the North, it’s a rectangle.

The Corsica Ferries sticker.

Just to explain, Papa’s Corsitude begins when his yellow sticker starts peeling off, which means that the days are getting longer and the holidays are on their way. My Papa is a bit like those kids who start believing in Father Christmas once December comes, or old people who start believing in God when they are told how many months they have left to live. You know what I mean?

Oh! Wait a minute, reader, just raise your eyes a second, there’s a great procession going on in front of me. There’s Nicolas and Maria-Chjara, heading towards Alga beach with Cervone and Aurélia hot on their heels, and then the whole tribe, Candy, Tess, Steph, Hermann, Magnus, Filip, Ludo, Lars, Estefan … I’ll introduce you to them, don’t worry. All in good time.

I could go and join them, but no, I’ll stay here with you. That’s nice of me, don’t you think, choosing to write to you like someone doing homework on holiday, instead of chasing after the gang of big kids? Big kids who ignore me, snub me, leave me behind, abandon me, humiliate me, forget me … I could fill three pages this way, a whole thesaurus, but I’ll spare you the tirade and get back to my chapter about Papa.

His acute Corsitude, his longing for the maquis that afflicts him in June the way other people catch hay fever; I’ll describe it to you in three stages, which will turn into as many family rows.