The Battle of Algiers Page #4

PRAYERS.

The condemned man bends. The executioner places his neck in the right

position, adjusts it, turns his head a bit, then pushes his body

forward. He releases the mechanism.

The blade falls, the head rolls. There is no longer a chorus. No one is

chanting.

Ali's eyes have remained motionless.

Then from above, as the dismembered body is being carried away in a

basket, as the priest, the guards, and the officer are leaving, as the

workers dismantle the guillotine, from above, from the balconies of the

Casbah, suddenly the "ju-jus" of the women are heard, dense like the

cries of birds, shrill, metallic, angry.

WOMEN:

Ju-ju ...

14SMALL SQUARE. CASBAH. OUTSIDE. DAY. JANUARY 1956.

It is raining. The water runs along the gulleys of the narrow alleys.

The white houses have turned spongy gray. The children of the Casbah

are playing and spattering mud. Skinny and half-naked children with

bloated bellies and hair cropped because of sores.

Their mothers call them in vain. They continue to run, play, and wallow

in the mud with a despairing gaiety.

CALLS. VOICES. SHOUTS.

Petit Omar was then ten years old. He is slender, dressed in long pants

and a jacket which is too large for him and torn so that he seems

almost clownish. Calm and absorbed, he passes in the midst of the other

children, but doesn't notice them or their games.

A small square on a sloping ascent.

In the center, a fountain. On the elevated side of the square, on a

corner, there is a mosque.

SOUNDS OF CHURCH MUSIC.

Standing still at the foot of the steps is an Algerian in white cloak,

and hood down to his eyes. Other people pass by. The Algerian is turned

to one side so as not to be seen. Petit Omar walks toward him and nears

his back. The Algerian turns; it is Ali la Pointe. He tells the boy

with a tone of boredom and curtness:

ALI:

Go away!

PETIT OMAR:

Men have two faces: one that laughs and

one that cries ...

Ali looks at him incredulously and asks:

ALI:

And they sent you!

The child slips a hand under his sweater to his chest.

PETIT OMAR:

Sure, something wrong with that?

Omar takes out a piece of paper folded in four, and hands it to Ali.

PETIT OMAR:

Take it. Everything's written here.

He turns away and begins to run.

ALI:

Wait!

Omar stops running and turns to Ali.

ALI:

Come here ... Come.

Omar retraces his footsteps. Ali goes to meet him.

ALI:

(in a brusque manner)

Can you read?

PETIT OMAR:

Sure ...

Ali hands back the paper.

ALI:

Read it.

PETIT OMAR:

Here?

Ali turns and looks around him. He squats on his heels in order to

reach Omar's height.

ALI:

Here.

It is still drizzling. Omar unfolds the paper and begins to read it.

15 RUE RANDOM. CAFE MEDJEBRI. OUTSIDE/INSIDE. DAY.

The following day at 5 p.m., rue Random. The street is fairly wide for

a street in the Arab quarter and at this hour it is crowded with

people. There are Algerians in traditional costumes and others in

European clothes. Noisy and tumultuous background ...

VOICES, SOUNDS, WORDS -- ALL MIXED TOGETHER.

Veiled women with intent glances. Silent women who seem to float

through the crowds, untouchable.

An Arab cafe filled with customers at the tables and bar. Through the

large shop window, a smoky, steamy interior is visible. The cafe is

located in rue Random, number 40.

OMAR:

(off)

There is an Arab cafe at rue Random 40.

The owner's name is Medjebri. He is a

police informer ...

Medjebri is standing behind the cash register, smiling, very busy. He

is wearing a traditional costume. He is very clearly visible through

the shop window above the heads of the customers.

In a doorway near the cafe there is a clock hanging from a signboard in

front of a store. It is five o'clock. A French policeman enters the

cafe.

OMAR:

(off)

Every day at 5 p.m., a French policeman

goes to see him. He stops for a few

minutes to get information with the

excuse of drinking a cup of tea. You have

to kill the policeman ...

ALI:

(off)

Not Medjebri?

Medjebri moves away from the register, still standing behind the bar,

to where the policeman is seated. He greets him, and hands him a cup of

tea.

OMAR:

(off)

No. It says the policeman.

The policeman is leaning on the bar. He is tall and husky, and is

wearing a scruffy uniform with a kepi pushed back somewhat. Now his

thick lips are sipping the scalding mint tea.

ALI:

(off)

Okay ...

The large clock and store signboard. Standing in front, there is a

slender girl, veiled, her eyes darting in contrast with the rigid form

of her motionless body. Her arms are raised to form an arch, her hands

supporting the edges of a large basket balanced on her head.

OMAR:

(off)

At the corner, right in front of the

large clock, there will be a girl

carrying a basket. When the policeman

comes out, you will follow him together.

At the right moment she will give you a

pistol. You have only to shoot ...

quickly and in the back.

Now the policeman has finished drinking his tea. He makes a sign to

pay. Smiling, Medjebri refuses the money, and says good-bye.

Ali approaches the girl. They exchange glances. The girl puts down her

basket which is filled with corn, and rests it by her side.

She moves slowly toward the cafe. Ali walks beside her.

The policeman is coming out of the cafe. He rudely bumps into those who

are entering.

He makes his way along the sidewalk, and moves further away, balancing

his heavy body at every step.

Ali and the girl are about a yard away from him. They follow him,

pushed along with the many others who are crowded on the sidewalk.

Then the girl plunges her hand into the corn. In a second, she places

the revolver in Ali's right hand.

He holds it under his cloak. The policeman's back is a hand's-bredth

away. But Ali does not shoot.

He moves forward to pass by the policeman.

Alarmed, the girl looks at him, and tries to hold him back. She shakes

her head as if to speak.

Ali smiles at her. His eyes have a hard glint.

He moves a few steps past the policeman. Suddenly Ali turns, lifts his

arm as if to push his way through, and then stretches out his hand with

the revolver aimed.

The policeman stops; his eyes are wide with fear. Instinctively he

lifts his arms and opens his palms.

Terror paralyzes him.

Ali glances about him. Many people are moving away hastily, but others

stand still in a circle and watch fascinated. Ali speaks to all of

them, in a loud voice. His eyes are alight.

ALI:

Don't move! Look at him. You're not

giving any orders now! Your hands are up,

eh! Do you see him, brothers? Our masters

aren't very special, are they?

A sharp, metallic click. Ali tries a second time, presses the trigger

again.

SEVERAL CLICKS. REVOLVER EMPTY.

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes