That Devil's Madness by Dominique Wilson Page A

cottages for Arab and Berber employees.
    One of these employees was Imez. With each visit the young man had shown a keen interest in the way Marius worked the land, asking more and more questions each time, until Gwafa agreed to let his son work for Marius. But though he was officially employed as a farm hand, Imez quickly became more useful as a translator.
    Jean – Marius’ eldest son – and his wife Madeleine had joined them a few months previously. They had twin boys, Bernard and Jerôme, who were forever escaping their mother’s care to toddle after Louis or, if he was not available, Merzoug.
    Marius had hoped that in time Fernand and Bernadette would also come, accompanied by Gustave, but these young people showed no interest in leaving Sablières, and if he were honest with himself, Marius could see there was nothing here for Gustave. So he contented himself with sending postcards, and if he thought the postcards depicting Algeria were but a romanticised European version of what he saw, he also realised that it was unlikely Gustave would ever know the difference.
    Marius had become highly respected in the area – his reputation had been established the day he had not reported the stolen mule to the authorities. No one realised that it had been more a matter of distance than fairness, but nevertheless this had the effect of earning him the reputation of a just man, and many locals now came to ask him to intervene on their behalf with the French authorities, or to borrow money. It had earned him the nickname of the Kherznadji , or cashier.
    Merzoug now lived in the original gourbi, but this had been restored, and now had a proper floor and a fireplace. He still carried the parasol, bleached of any colour and now somewhat tattered. Merzoug, they had learnt the next time Imez and Gwafa passed through, was not a slave as they had thought, but a serf – his father had been a Tuareg, his mother a slave. And because he had Tuareg blood, he considered himself better than the others who worked for Marius, and so had elected himself supervisor of the field hands. Out of respect for his age all indulged him, and he spent his days riding the mule as he patrolled the perimeters of the paddocks with his parasol held high, often with the twins running close behind. He would inspect the wheat and barley fields, and yell out instructions that were always acknowledged but forgotten as soon as he’d passed – everyone answered to Marius always, and to Louis occasionally.
    There had been many changes in the area as well. The presence of the military had encouraged many more colonists to settle, and Aїn Azel was now called Ampère, with a market every Friday to which everyone would go to trade and catch up on news.
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    Marius listened to the raised voices coming from the kitchen – one of the household staff must have offended Madeleine yet again. He sighed and wiped the dirt from his hands – it seemed to him that not a day went passed without some sort of drama involving Madeleine and the staff. He went to investigate.
    Madeleine was leaning against the kitchen table, her face flushed, her belly heavy with child. On the floor at her feet Fatima, the little Arab girl who helped with the laundry, was crying. In the sink was an upturned soup pot, the contents still steaming, blocking the drain.
    â€˜What’s going on?’
    â€˜She spiced the soup.’
    â€˜What? Fatima? But she doesn’t do the cooking.’
    â€˜I realise that, Papa. I specifically asked her mother not to add spices to the food anymore – in my condition, it upsets my digestion. But this girl went behind my back and spiced the soup anyway.’
    Marius squatted to the level of the child and gently removed her hands from her face. He could see the imprint of his daughter-in-law’s hand across her cheek. ‘Did you add anything to the soup?’ he asked. The girl nodded.