The Battle of Algiers Page #6

20 RUE MARENGO AND STEPS. OUTSIDE. SUNSET.

The Algerian is standing at the top of some steep, almost vertical

steps that lead from the European quarters to the Casbah.

Now he is in rue Marengo. There is still some daylight. The street is

crowded. The Algerian is unsteady on his legs. He stops and mutters

something to himself. It is obvious that he is trying to hide his

drunkenness.

He begins to walk, his hand against the wall for support. He stumbles.

The workbox falls, scattering brushes and cans of shoe polish on the

ground. The Algerian bends down, and begins to pick up his tools. He is

swearing.

Others have seen him. A peddler points him out to a child of about ten.

It is Petit Omar, who nods yes, then whistles.

Another whistle answers him, then another and another.

There are other children, at every corner of the street.

They arrive in a run and gather together.

Omar points to the drunk who is now moving away, and gives the order to

attack. It is evident that this is not a game for them, but a duty.

There is a chorus of brief shouting, of insults, and whistles.

The drunk sees them approaching. He is terrified.

He tries to quicken his step.

They reach him quickly and surround him. They attack him and then flee,

small yet elusive. They do not laugh even once; their faces are hard

and cruel.

The drunk swings around holding his workbox by its strap.

Some children are hit; some fall.

The drunk avails himself of this chance to escape, and retraces his

steps to the staircase.

He begins to descend toward the European quarters. But the children are

again upon him.

They are shouting more loudly now, and pushing him. He quickens his

step, and staggering jumps the steps two by two.

The children trip him and he falls.

He is crying. He shields himself with his hands.

The workbox has fallen and is rolling down the steps. The children are

now on top of him, like small beasts on a carrion. They smother him,

push him and pull him. They are no longer shouting.

All of them are intent upon their efforts. Only the drunk is shouting

despairingly.

They succeed in moving him, and hurl him down the steps. He rolls

downward, trying in vain to grab something with his hands.

21BAR CASBAH. OUTSIDE/INSIDE. DAY.

Outside the sun's light is blinding. Inside the small bar there is

fresh air and shade.

A young Algerian, with lifeless eyes and an idle expression, is rolling

an opium cigarette. He lights it. Two slaps cause the cigarette to fall

from his lips.

Ali la Pointe is wearing a djellabah, a type of cloak without buttoning

which slips on over the head. There is an opening of about eight inches

at the waist.

Ali has stretched his arm through the opening to slap the opium addict,

who recognizes Ali, smiles, and makes a dazed grimace.

OPIUM-ADDICT

Ali la Pointe ...

ALI:

Wake up! Have you seen Hacene le Bonois?

OPIUM-ADDICT

(shaking his head)

Not today ...

Then he gets up laboriously, bends down, and looks for the cigarette

that had fallen from his hand.

He doesn't reach it. Ali quickly crushes the cigarette with his foot.

He is wearing a pair of sneakers. He moves away and leaves the bar.

22 STREET BAR. CASBAH. OUTSIDE. DAY.

Ali continues to scour the streets. From time to time, without

lingering, he asks someone:

ALI:

Seen Hacene le Bonois?

Then adds:

ALI:

Tell him I'm looking for him ...

23 BROTHEL QUARTERS. OUTSIDE. DAY.

OFF LIMITS:

Entrance to the brothel quarters. The street widens, the alleys branch

off and seem to broaden. There are one or two Europeans, not only

tourists in search of adventure, but also elements of the international

criminal underworld who mingle here with the Algerians.

Almost all the buildings house a brothel or other place of ill-repute.

On some doorways signs are hanging which read:

THIS IS AN HONEST HOUSE.

24BROTHEL. INSIDE. DAY.

Ali has entered a brothel. It is morning and there are few clients. The

whores are Algerian and European. Some of them are pretty.

The madam is an Algerian, dressed in European clothes. She is about

forty, heavily made up. When she spots Ali, she interrupts her usual

professional chant. She seems curious, yet glad.

MADAM:

(shouting)

Ali la Pointe!

She stops herself, already sorry for having spoken so quickly and

imprudently. Ali doesn't answer her, but approaches with a steady and

serious glance.

MADAM:

(changing tone)

Haven't seen you around for some time. I

thought you were still in prison.

Ali leans against the counter, never once taking his eyes off her.

ALI:

Is Hacene le Bonois here?

MADAM:

No. He left early this morning. You know

how it is with the boss ...

ALI:

I want to see him. If he shows up, tell

him that I'm around.

Ali moves away from the counter and turns. He leaves without a word.

The woman tries to understand what has happened, and follows him with a

worried glance.

25SMALL STREET. HACENE. OUTSIDE. DAY.

HACENE:

Ali, my son ... Where have you been

hiding?

Ali turns suddenly, then pulls back so that his back is against the

wall of the alley.

ALI:

(in sharp voice)

Don't move!

Then he glances at the others.

ALI:

Hands still.

The others are three young Algerians, Hacene's bodyguards. Hacene le

Bonois is tall with short legs out of proportion with his enormous

chest. He is somewhat corpulent. He has a wide face, a cheerful and

self-confident expression. His clothing is a strange combination of

Algerian and European which does not, however, appear ridiculous, but

imposing. At Ali's remark, his expression changes, becomes amazed and

baffled. But at the same time, his eyes give away the brain's attempt

to find an explanation and a solution.

HACENE:

(astonished)

You know I never carry weapons ...

Ali keeps his arms and hands hidden under his djellabah.

ALI:

I know.

Hacene laughs warmly, and stretches out his hands which are enormous,

thick and rough.

HACENE:

You afraid of these ...?

ALI:

Don't move, Hacene.

HACENE:

Why are you afraid? We've always been

friends. One might even say that I brought

you up ... Isn't it true, Ali?

ALI:

It's true.

HACENE:

What's happened to you?

ALI:

The NLF has condemned you to death.

Hacene is stunned. He speaks aloud his thoughts in a soft voice.

HACENE:

Ah, so its come to this ...

Then he bursts into loud laughter, and seems to turn to the three

guards at his back.

HACENE:

I'm dying of laughter! Ha ... ha ...

ha ...

Ali doesn't speak. He continues to stare at Hacene. Hacene suddenly

stops laughing. His tone of voice changes, becomes brusque and hurried.

HACENE:

How much are they paying you?

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