Two Testaments by Elizabeth Musser

to come with me, David?”
    “No, you go ahead. I’ll go with Moustafa. It looks as though we won’t be waiting long.” He pointed to the sea, where another paquebot floated into view in the distance. “Save me a spot if I’m late.”
    He was sorry the moment he spoke, because the carefree expression left her face at once. “I’m kidding,” he said. “Go on. Find your friend. We’ll be back soon.”
    He left with Moustafa, following a handful of men who were heading toward shops in the distance. Across the wide boulevard that emptied onto the port, they walked behind the chic stores into a small street running perpendicular to the boulevard. He could see a boulangerie sign near the end of the street.
    David was not thinking of anything but a good baguette filled with ham and cheese when three youths appeared from nowhere—Arab boys. They were laughing, but there was anger in their eyes. The tallest, wiry and thin, spoke with disgust in his voice. “Well, if it isn’t another hungry pied-noir going to stock up on bread before the long trip to France. And he’s here with a harki boy. Everybody knows what happens to harki boys, don’t they?”
    He motioned to his friend, shorter, sullen, no older than seventeen, who stepped forward and drew a switchblade. “Aren’t we in luck today, les gars ? Two for the price of one. Doesn’t look like you’ll be taking that ferry ride after all.”
    David felt more anger than fear. They were merely boys, threatening with knives. He was ready to fight; his shoulder ached, but at least his arm was free of the sling. But before he had a chance to react, Moustafa pulled out a revolver and pointed it at the boys. “Leave us!” he yelled. “You think you own Algeria and everyone in it. You think murder is a game. Get out.”
    The three boys scrambled away, one of them turning to curse him: “You’re done for, harki boy. You’ll never leave this country alive.” They fled down the alley.
    David placed a hand on Moustafa, who was trembling violently. “Let’s get out of here. I shouldn’t have let you come down to the docks. It’s too dangerous. Did you know those guys?”
    “No. But they know us. They know every last stinking traitor and their families. That kid was right. We’ll never get out of here.”
    “Good thing you had that gun. I didn’t know—”
    “I never leave the apartment without it.” He chuckled without humor. “A gift from the last person who tried to kill me. One of Ali’s men.”
    They bought several sandwiches and a bottle of water, but David had lost his appetite. The harkis would be massacred, just like the Jews. There was no escape for them. Didn’t anyone care?
    His mind was whirling now, wondering. If Anne-Marie had a friend on the boat now, a companion to help her make the trip, maybe … could he not finish his mission?
    But what was his mission? At first it had been Operation Hugo, the mission to help Anne-Marie rescue those children threatened by Ali Boudani. That he had accomplished, yes, but his mission was also simply to help Anne-Marie—the mother of his child. This would be his final help to her. First she would have Ophélie, and then she would have Moustafa. She would have her impossible love.
    He was unsure, almost angry at himself for thinking of it. Gabriella would not understand, and neither would Ophélie. Mother Griolet needed him. But the mission.…
    “Where will you go, Moustafa?” he asked softly.
    “I’ll be okay. Don’t worry. Just get Anne-Marie back to France.”
    “I’m not going back. Not yet.” He spoke with conviction.
    “What?” The young Arab wrinkled his brow in disbelief. “What are you saying?”
    “I’m staying with you. I’m going to make sure you get to France. I’m doing it for her.”
    “You’re crazy, David Hoffmann. You can’t. The harkis aren’t your problem.”
    “You saved my life back there. I figure if I stick around long enough, I might be able to return the favor.”