move. It lies in wait for your every moment of happiness, interprets your every moment of sadness, and calls you to account for being different. So in order to survive, you have to rethink your wardrobe, your hairdo and your vocabulary and try to look as ordinary and miserable as possible, since the one thing the state will never forgive you for is being different.
What is freedom, in the end, but your right to be different?
Another thing I couldn’t see any justification for was the fact that I had to wait so long in that little office. It was as though I was of no concern to anyone, or as though everyone was too busy with more important matters to concern themselves with my case.
From time to time I’d hear a young man screaming. I concluded that they must be interrogating him in their own way, which made me feel all the more pained and helpless.
For a moment it occurred to me that they might have caught the murderer, although I didn’t think it likely, since they’d never caught a murderer that fast before.
Suddenly a policeman came in and asked me to follow him.
This time I was ushered into an office whose furnishings were nicer, in keeping with the rank of the officer whooccupied it. Above his desk hung a picture of President Chadli Bendjedid. When I came in, the officer stood up to shake my hand and invited me to sit down.
‘Have you found the murderer?’ I asked him.
‘No,’ he replied as he arranged some of his papers. ‘We’re counting on your testimony to help us do that.’
I gulped.
‘All the details are important to us,’ he went on, ‘so try to remember everything you can.’
‘I’ll try,’ I said.
He took out a piece of paper in preparation to write down my answers.
‘First,’ he said, ‘did you see the murderer?’
‘I was looking towards the bridge when I heard gun shots. When I turned around, I saw a young man running and disappearing down a side street.’
‘Do you think he was alone, or that someone was with him?’
I answered, ‘I only saw one man running. I don’t know whether there were others with him, or waiting for him somewhere.’
‘Approximately how old would you say he was?’
‘Somewhere between twenty and twenty-five, maybe.’
‘Could you describe him for me?’
‘I don’t know how to describe him, actually. I only glimpsed him from the back.’
‘While you and the driver were on your way to the bridge, did you notice a motorcycle or car following you?’
‘I don’t know. I was looking ahead. All I know is that while we were standing on the bridge, there was heavy traffic. There were a lot of people around us and, as you might expect in that sort ofsituation, some of them turned and stared at us out of curiosity.’
‘Did you stand there for very long?’
‘I don’t think so. Not more than around ten minutes. I remember the driver saying all of a sudden, “Come on, let’s go,” as if he’d noticed something. Then he headed for the car. I’d just started towards the car after him when he was shot.’
‘Do you go there regularly?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘Did you inform anyone in advance that you would be going there?’
‘No.’
‘The maid, for example. Didn’t you tell her where you were going?’
‘No. As I always do, I told her I was going out, and that’s all.’
He paused briefly, fiddling with a small piece of paper in front of him. Then he asked me, ‘And your brother? Is he aware of your comings and goings?’
‘My brother?’ I asked, surprised. ‘He doesn’t live with me.’
‘I know,’ he said.
Then he continued, ‘Had you noticed any change in the driver’s behaviour of late? Any visible nervousness or anxiety?’
‘No. He was a calm, peaceable sort of person, and during that last outing of ours, he was his usual talkative, jovial self.’
After jotting down some comments, he got up, shook my hand again, and said, ‘We may be in touch with you again if we need to investigate any of these
What is freedom, in the end, but your right to be different?
Another thing I couldn’t see any justification for was the fact that I had to wait so long in that little office. It was as though I was of no concern to anyone, or as though everyone was too busy with more important matters to concern themselves with my case.
From time to time I’d hear a young man screaming. I concluded that they must be interrogating him in their own way, which made me feel all the more pained and helpless.
For a moment it occurred to me that they might have caught the murderer, although I didn’t think it likely, since they’d never caught a murderer that fast before.
Suddenly a policeman came in and asked me to follow him.
This time I was ushered into an office whose furnishings were nicer, in keeping with the rank of the officer whooccupied it. Above his desk hung a picture of President Chadli Bendjedid. When I came in, the officer stood up to shake my hand and invited me to sit down.
‘Have you found the murderer?’ I asked him.
‘No,’ he replied as he arranged some of his papers. ‘We’re counting on your testimony to help us do that.’
I gulped.
‘All the details are important to us,’ he went on, ‘so try to remember everything you can.’
‘I’ll try,’ I said.
He took out a piece of paper in preparation to write down my answers.
‘First,’ he said, ‘did you see the murderer?’
‘I was looking towards the bridge when I heard gun shots. When I turned around, I saw a young man running and disappearing down a side street.’
‘Do you think he was alone, or that someone was with him?’
I answered, ‘I only saw one man running. I don’t know whether there were others with him, or waiting for him somewhere.’
‘Approximately how old would you say he was?’
‘Somewhere between twenty and twenty-five, maybe.’
‘Could you describe him for me?’
‘I don’t know how to describe him, actually. I only glimpsed him from the back.’
‘While you and the driver were on your way to the bridge, did you notice a motorcycle or car following you?’
‘I don’t know. I was looking ahead. All I know is that while we were standing on the bridge, there was heavy traffic. There were a lot of people around us and, as you might expect in that sort ofsituation, some of them turned and stared at us out of curiosity.’
‘Did you stand there for very long?’
‘I don’t think so. Not more than around ten minutes. I remember the driver saying all of a sudden, “Come on, let’s go,” as if he’d noticed something. Then he headed for the car. I’d just started towards the car after him when he was shot.’
‘Do you go there regularly?’
‘No, not at all.’
‘Did you inform anyone in advance that you would be going there?’
‘No.’
‘The maid, for example. Didn’t you tell her where you were going?’
‘No. As I always do, I told her I was going out, and that’s all.’
He paused briefly, fiddling with a small piece of paper in front of him. Then he asked me, ‘And your brother? Is he aware of your comings and goings?’
‘My brother?’ I asked, surprised. ‘He doesn’t live with me.’
‘I know,’ he said.
Then he continued, ‘Had you noticed any change in the driver’s behaviour of late? Any visible nervousness or anxiety?’
‘No. He was a calm, peaceable sort of person, and during that last outing of ours, he was his usual talkative, jovial self.’
After jotting down some comments, he got up, shook my hand again, and said, ‘We may be in touch with you again if we need to investigate any of these
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