The Lost Sailors by Jean-Claude Izzo, Howard Curtis

he’d invited over for couscous. ‘The more women you have in the house, the stronger you are.’ Yes, that’s my father.”
    â€œA real fundamentalist!” Diamantis had joked.
    â€œYou’re telling me! That evening, he was even ready to sell me to one of his pals. For the night, I mean. The guy was a fucking ex-paratrooper who was selling boats now, and he’d put five hundred francs on the table. It didn’t happen, because my mother threatened to throw herself out the window. She was screaming so much, they were scared the neighbors would call the cops.”
    The more Diamantis looked at this guy, he more he felt like hitting him. But he wouldn’t do it. Years had passed, and he didn’t have the right to judge Amina’s father. Hadn’t he himself acted like a bastard, leaving the way he had?
    â€œI don’t know where she’s living.”
    â€œYou don’t know?”
    â€œI swear it.” Masetto seemed to be telling the truth.
    â€œIs she married? Doe she have a job?”
    He smiled contemptuously and shrugged his shoulders.
    â€œMaybe you sold her to your buddy the ex-paratrooper?”
    In his surprise, Masetto let go of the door. Diamantis took advantage of the opportunity to push him inside the room and close the door behind him. Masetto looked around, as if searching for help that was unlikely to come.
    â€œWho are you?”
    The room wasn’t very big. It was furnished in rustic style, and had a musty smell, a smell of dirty washing. Even though the window was open.
    â€œI told you,” Diamantis said. “A friend.”
    â€œI don’t know you,” he sniveled. “You come in here, you insult me, you push me around—”
    â€œShut up, Masetto.” He took a step toward him. “Tell me where I can find her, and I’ll leave you alone. I don’t really want to hurt you to find out.”
    Masetto shrugged. “I don’t know anything. I’m telling the truth. I’ve heard from friends that she’s sometimes at Le Mas.”
    â€œLe Mas? What’s that?”
    â€œA restaurant. On Rue Lulli. Behind the Opéra. It stays open late. You’re not from around here, are you?”
    â€œWhat of it?”
    â€œShe’s a whore, or something like it. That’s why I don’t want to see her anymore. She’s not my daughter.”
    Daimantis grabbed Masetto by his shirt collar. “Maybe you pointed the way. You beat her, didn’t you, Masetto? As revenge, because you couldn’t fuck her. Your own daughter!”
    â€œLet go of me, or—”
    â€œOr what, asshole?”
    Diamantis was getting carried away. He wanted to yell at him that whores, hoboes, beggars, and thieves weren’t necessarily any worse as people than minor officials, junior managers, small traders. Everything was in the eye of the beholder.
    But he didn’t raise his voice. He let go of Masetto. He was ashamed. Ashamed for Amina, and ashamed of himself. Masetto sensed how weary Diamantis was, and that he had nothing more to fear from him. He was like a vulture, cowardly but vicious.
    â€œO.K., but I wasn’t the one who made her end up on the streets. That was some other asshole. The guy who fucked her the first time by promising her the earth and then packed his bags, as soon as he’d gotten what he wanted.” He looked at Diamantis, quite pleased with this tirade. “Maybe that was you.”
    Diamantis slapped him, hard. Masetto lost his balance. As he fell, his nose hit the corner of the table and started to gush blood. “Shit,” he said.
    Â 
    Outside, the sunlight was so strong, it blinded Diamantis and made him sway on his feet. He stood for a few minutes outside Masetto’s building, not knowing what to do.
    He had gone back to the Cintra the next day at the same time. Amina was there, with the same group of friends. The table next to theirs was free. He