The Battle of Algiers Page #26

Kader too has lost weight, his beard is long. He looks at the fuse,

then at Zohra. A second passes in silence. Now Zohra too looks at him,

and Kader says calmly in his usual voice:

KADER:

It doesn't do any good to die like this ...

it doesn't help anybody ...

He leans out from the hiding place.

KADER:

(shouting)

Mathieu! If you give your word that you

won't touch any of the other people in

the house, we'll come out.

130MILITARY CAR. INSIDE. NIGHT.

Inside a military automobile.

In the back seat, Mathieu is sitting next to Kader who is handcuffed.

Zohra is in the front seat, between the driver and a para who has in

his hand a large regulation pistol. The interior is lighted by the

headlights of a jeep which is following directly behind the auto a few

yards. Silence. Mathieu looks hastily at Kader, who is staring straight

in front of him, and appears to be sullen and downcast.

Then Mathieu speaks in a pleasant tone, as if in friendly conversation.

MATHIEU:

If you had let me blow you up, you would

have disappointed me ...

Kader turns to him, and replies, trying to maintain his own voice at

the same level of indifference:

KADER:

Why?

MATHIEU:

For many months, I've had your photo on

my desk together with a dozen or so

reports on you ... And naturally, I am

under the illusion that I know you

somewhat. You never seemed the type,

Kader, inclined to performing useless

actions.

Kader doesn't answer right away, then speaks slowly as if expressing

the results of his doubts, a new point of view ...

KADER:

You seem to be very satisfied to have

taken me alive ...

MATHIEU:

Of course I am.

KADER:

That proves that I was wrong. Evidently I

credited you with an advantage greater

than I should have.

MATHIEU:

No. Let's just say that you've given me

the satisfaction to have guessed

correctly. But from the technical point

of view, it isn't possible to speak of

advantages. By now the game is over. The

NLF has been defeated.

Zohra has turned around suddenly. She is crying and speaks hastily in

Arabic, violently, harshly.

Mathieu doesn't understand, and turns to Kader to ask him politely,

although with a bit of irony:

MATHIEU:

What is she saying?

KADER:

She says that Ali is still in the Casbah.

131CROWDED BEACH. OUTSIDE. DAY.

Ali la Pointe's glance is sullen, heavy, motionless. He moves his head

slowly in such a way so that his glance also moves in a semicircle.

White beach, fine sand, transparent sea, bodies stretched out in the

sun, golden skin of girls; girls in bikinis, sensual, smiling, young

men with narrow hips, with muscles well cared for, cheerful youth,

naturally happy, enviable. The children are building sand castles near

the water's edge; the beach is shaped like a half-moon with rocky reefs

at both ends ...

A September Sunday, warm and calm. Ali is leaning on the wall. He is

wearing a white wool cloak. Only his eyes are visible ... the eyes of a

hungry tiger perched above a path, on the lookout for innocent prey.

Eyes that now gleam, cruel eyes, tension dilating the pupils ... Then

again the calm, a gloomy calm, a gratifying tension. The place is

right, and the victims couldn't be better ones.

Ali moves, leaves the wall, crosses the street to a large city

sanitation truck, one of those metallic trucks with no visible

openings.

A young Algerian is at the steering wheel, a street cleaner. He is

leaning his thin face on the wheel. His hands are dirty, by now

unwashable from years of work.

Ali has climbed into the cab. The truck is in motion and leaves.

132SANITATION TRUCK. INSIDE. DAY.

The name of the street cleaner is Sadek. He seems frightened. He looks

around, hesitates before speaking.

SADEK:

Then the beach is okay, Ali.

Silence. Sadek looks at him again, waiting, but Ali does not respond.

Ali looks straight ahead at the street bathed in sunlight, the tar that

seems to be liquid, the villas that surround Algiers, the lemon trees,

the oleanders ... Then he speaks, but without turning to Sadek. He

speaks in a whisper, his eyes continually staring straight ahead.

ALI:

We need two more, the biggest ones.

SADEK:

And the others?

ALI:

The others ... let's wait and see.

Sadek remains silent for a while.

SADEK:

I've looked, Ali, even where I work.

Nothing. The ones who have not been

arrested have left Algiers and gone into

the mountains ... And the others don't

want to hear any more about it ...

they're afraid ...

Ali doesn't answer him. Silence.

ALI:

Can't you go any faster?

SADEK:

Yes, sure ... here.

Sadek puts the truck in third gear, accelerates the motor, then shifts

back again into fourth gear. The truck increases its speed. The road is

straight, the outskirts of Algiers are visible.

SADEK:

If we don't find any others ... should we

call it off?

Ali turns suddenly to look at him but says nothing. Sadek can feel

those eyes on him, and tries to justify himself.

SADEK:

We can't plant all of them by

ourselves ...

Ali speaks to him in a dry and indifferent voice.

ALI:

You don't have to plant anything. You

only have to carry them, that's all.

133RUE DES ABDERAMES. ALI'S HOUSE. OUTSIDE/INSIDE. NIGHT.

Night. At number three rue des Abderames, on the first-floor balcony,

the stove fires are glowing. The women are cooking outside on their

stoves built from tin containers. They are cooking in front of the

doors of their homes. The doorways are lit up.

Ali passes along the balcony, passes by Mahmoud and his wife who are

speaking in whispers by themselves and leaning on the railing. It is a

warm and starry night. Mahmoud says some more words to his wife, still

speaking in whispers, tenderly. Then he follows Ali who has stopped in

front of the door.

134ALI'S ROOM. INSIDE. NIGHT.

In the room, there is Petit Omar who is cutting out some pictures from

a comic book.

As soon as he sees Ali at the door, he stops, closes his book, puts the

scissors in his pocket. He seems to be embarrassed at being caught in

his childish game.

In the center of the room, there is a dividing curtain, pulled halfway

to the side. On the other side, Hassiba is typing. Behind Hassiba, next

to the bed, the hiding place is open. Ali enters. He seems tired,

sweating. He removes his cloak, tosses it on the chair, and puts his

machine gun on the table.

ALI:

(turning to Petit Omar)

C'mon, hurry. Go to sleep. Tomorrow we

four have a lot of work to do: Mahmoud,

Hassiba, you and I.

Mahmoud has remained motionless at the door. Hassiba has stopped typing

and approaches them. Omar says nothing, but there is a satisfied look

in his eyes. He can't help stretching out his hand to touch the machine

gun.

Ali sits down, at the table, moves the machine gun away from Omar, and

continues to speak, still talking to Omar.

ALI:

Because we can't find anyone else, Sadek

will bring us there in the truck. You get

out first and plant the bomb where I tell

you ... then return here quickly. But be

careful that no one is following you. Then

Hassiba will get out, and after her,

Mahmoud. Then I will plant the ones that

are left. They'll know that we're still

strong ... you can be sure of that.

135ALI'S ROOM. INSIDE. DAWN. OCTOBER 7, 1957.

The room is badly lit by a small lamp which is on the other side of the

curtain. There is a mattress on the table and Petit Omar is lying on

top, asleep.

Ali is lying on a mattress on the ground, fully dressed, with his

machine gun by his side. His eyes are open, and he is listening to the

far-away sound of a motor. He looks at his watch, gets up, and goes to

open the door. Outside there is the first gray light of dawn. The sound

is heard more clearly and seems to be moving nearer.

Ali returns to Petit Omar, stays a minute looking at him, then shakes

him roughly. The child gets up immediately. He is trembling, as if he

had slept with taut nerves, and jumps down quickly from the table. His

eyes are open, but he is still sleepy.

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