La Superba. Ilja Leonard Pfeijffer

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СКАЧАТЬ The harbor was full of American warships. An American marine had broken the explicitly worded rules and ventured into these streets one night. Into the Ghetto. He had fallen in love. To him, she was the most beautiful girl in Genoa. He had the blushing privilege of being able to shower her in cigarettes, chocolate, and fishnet stockings. He secretly wrote poems for her in his diary. It was the most wonderful night of his life. But exploring between her sticky thighs afterward, he discovered the truth. He felt betrayed, swore he would take revenge, and fetched his friends. Forty heavily armed marines invaded the Ghetto. And the transvestites fought back. Stilettos vs. night-vision binoculars. Boiling oil poured from the top floor. Fences falling as soon as the troops reformed. In the meantime, running across the rooftops and the rusty scaffolding. Diversionary tactics with fishnet stockings. And the street you came through, the one guaranteeing your retreat, suddenly doesn’t exist anymore because it seems to have been barricaded with a portcullis. They won. The transvestites won. The neighborhood was declared a no-go zone for American marines.

      It’s a place that has an unusual pull on me. Probably partly due to that story. Or because it’s the place that is the furthest away from my fatherland. Or for other reasons. I don’t know. We’ll come back to the subject.

      25.

      Rashid was limping when I saw him again. He had a black eye as well.

      “Come and sit down. I’ll order you a beer. Sorry about last time. And thank you. But what happened?”

      “A disagreement,” he said.

      “Did you go to the police?”

      He tried to giggle but it made him cough, which clearly hurt his ribs.

      “Are you here illegally?”

      He stared into his beer.

      “Sorry, Rashid. Perhaps you don’t feel like talking at all.”

      “Could you order a few of those free appetizers for me maybe? What are they called again? Stuzzichini.”

      “Of course.”

      “Sorry to ask but there are some things here that a foreigner like you gets more easily than a foreigner like me.”

      He ate like a dog. He ate like someone who hadn’t eaten for a week.

      “I haven’t eaten for a week, Ilja.”

      I ordered more free snacks for him under the pretext of ordering them for myself.

      “And I’m privileged,” he said with his mouth full. “Can you imagine? Where I live, we live with eleven or nine or thirteen, it’s different every day. Two rooms. Nine hundred and eighty euros a month. Most of them are Moroccans like me. But there are also a few Senegalese. It’s even harder for them than it is for us. But they make it difficult for themselves, I have to say. I’m not a racist but those black people ruin it for all of us. I mean, I came here to work, Ilja. I’m an honest man. Tell me it’s true. I’m a good Muslim, even if I do have the occasional beer. But those blacks have a completely different mentality, you can’t do anything about it, it’s just like that. They steal. They even steal from their own housemates. And if you say anything about it, they kick the shit out of you and give you a black eye. They’re used to taking advantage of others. It’s not even their fault, really. It’s their culture. You have to respect that. You’ll agree with me about that, Ilja, that you have to respect their culture.”

      I began to feel more and more uncomfortable about this conversation.

      “But to return to your question,” Rashid said. “No.”

      “Sorry, I lost the thread.”

      “I’m not here illegally. I have a temporary residence permit. Not like those blacks. I have the right to be here. They arrive on rubber boats via Lampedusa, Malta, or the Canary Islands. I came here with a passport. I’m a skilled worker. I installed air-conditioning for work in Casablanca. I’m a good person, Ilja, do you understand?”

      “And why did you come here?”

      “Do you want an honest answer?”

      “No.”

      Rashid had to laugh and then cough and then his ribs hurt again. He slapped me on the back.

      “Really, you’re my only friend here,” he said. “It’s quite an honor for a white man, me saying that, you should know that. Since you asked, I’ll give you a dishonest answer.”

      He took a sip of his beer.

      “I came here to write a book and not to earn money. I came here to gather inspiration and to enrich my life with new experiences, like being robbed and beaten by my own housemates, and I didn’t come here to survive. I got bored with my work in Casablanca. It was the same old. I came here to look for a new challenge. Like not even being able to get the most basic job with a name like mine. Here I’m a pariah. But it’s fascinating sharing a two-room apartment with nine or eleven or thirteen others, plus the rats. It makes me resourceful. It makes me creative. It keeps me on my toes.”

      “I’m sorry, Rashid. I understand what you want to say. But why don’t you go back?”

      “You don’t understand a thing, Ilja. I’ve already explained it to you. The first time we met. Don’t you remember?”

      “Yes.”

      “You’re lying. But I’ll explain it to you one more time. If you’ll order me another beer.”

      I ordered him another beer with stuzzichini.

      “Let’s take one of my housemates as an example. So that it’s not about me but someone else. That makes it easier. He comes from Senegal. He’s black. His name is Djiby. Yes, write that in your notebook: Djiby. Got that, concerned white citizen of the world? Great. He’s a man with a spectacular refugee story. Go and interview him. I’d be happy to introduce you to him.”

      “Thank you.”

      “But the principle is the same.”

      “What principle?”

      “My family saved up, too. I have five brothers. And a couple of sisters, but they don’t count. Apart from that, I have about forty cousins. The family picked me out. The crossing and the documents cost a couple thousand euros. The illegals, like Djiby, paid even more. But in Africa, it’s considered a wise investment. Everyone knows how difficult it is to get into Europe. That’s why they choose their best sons or cousins. The people with the best chance of success in Europe. They picked me because of my professional training and because I speak English. And everyone knows the investment is returned. Because if he manages to reach Europe, he’ll automatically get rich and send back money, fridges, and cars to the family members who took out loans to get him there.”

      “What if it doesn’t work?”

      “That’s not an option.”

      “But it happens.”

      “In almost one hundred percent of the cases. But it’s not an option. Because they’ve invested too much in you. And apart from that, you’d be the first.”

      “The СКАЧАТЬ