Abduction by Simon Pare Page B

have found him tied up on the edge of the estate with a bullet in his head. If he can carry on waking us up every morning since he got out of jail with that bloody loudspeaker of his, it’s because the authorities back him.”
    This argument hit home. Meriem’s eyes, which had been almost malicious up till now, reflected her bewilderment. I drove home my advantage, ready to damn a man whose son I sometimes gave a lift home to and whom I actually barely knew.
    â€œQuid pro quo, I guess. In any case, that’s the rumour. If he doesn’t preach, the leader of the mosque is just one more unemployed in this shit-hole neighbourhood. They must have offered him a deal: his freedom and a chance to make a living selling sermons in return for some information about troublemakers on the estate. Maybe he even grasses on both sides: one day to the cops, the next to their sworn enemies… Look at where it leaves us: if you talk to the imam, everyone will find out, the cops and the terrorists. That kidnapper swine insisted we…”
    I didn’t continue. Meriem’s drawn face paled a little more.
    â€œI wanted to suggest an exchange to the kidnapper – an adult for a child.”
    â€œAnd then what?”
    â€œI would’ve killed myself. I’ve brought along what I’d need.”
    She half-opened her coat. The handle of a kitchen knife was poking out of the inside pocket. A chill wave swept through me. I tried to clear my throat, but nothing, not a sound, came out of my gullet.
    Meriem hung her head, beaten once and for all. A little liquid ball, then another, rolled down her nose. I caught myself smiling stupidly as some snot flowed out of her nostrils and linked the two streams of tears. I felt like yelling: You locals, save us. You think we’re alive because we’re still standing and speaking, but we’re drowning before your very eyes!
    I stretched out my arms to embrace my wife.
    â€œHey, you two, aren’t you ashamed of yourselves, arguing in front of a mosque this early in the morning?”
    The man guarding the entrance ran up to us. He was ‘Afghan’ in appearance, with his unkempt beard and the small dimple above his eyebrows typical of devotees reputed to pray so fervently that their mat leaves an imprint on their forehead.
    â€œAs for you, you ass, don’t you have an ounce of modesty, showing yourself in public in your pyjamas with a woman within the confines of God’s house? Get out of here before I call the faithful!”
    â€œCome on,” I said simply, “let’s go home.”
    We walked away in silence, infinitely sad, leaving the cleric to his imprecations. We were only a few yards from our building when Meriem murmured, “Your feet are covered in blood.”
    Her voice was so gentle, so like how it used to be, that a breath of gratitude for the council workers’ negligence filled my lungs.
    â€œIt’s nothing… just the stones from the building work.”
    We started with the police. Meriem wanted to come to the police station with me, but I insisted she wait for me in the car. A duty policeman blocked my path. I announced that I wanted to withdraw a complaint. With a cigarette dangling from his mouth and his cap pushed back, the man joked, “Good idea! At last someone sensible, who doesn’t come and heap us with every misfortune that has afflicted him since birth!”
    I grimaced.
    â€œOne can get carried away sometimes. Then, after a good night’s sleep…”
    Inside, the man at the desk asked me to wait, muttering that there was no panic and that he had an urgent report to fill in for his boss. I waited a good twenty minutes for the officer to return. People came in and sat down tamely next to me on the bench. A man and his son were arguing fiercely about the burglary they had suffered the night before. The father accused the son of not having checked the padlocks on the