friends and enemies, members and non-members.
“I wouldn’t like to be a Manowe when they’re around.”
“Seriously, it’s a universal phenomenon for all peoples. Home sapiens is a rotten species, but culturally we see ourselves different, we are genetically programmed to choose and favour those who are close to us.”
“But we are not in the jungles of Papua Niugini.”
“No, but the ideas are the same. In tribes that are far away from our so called civilisation, foreigners are considered as nothing more than game, to be tracked down and eaten, because there are considered dangerous and non-human, different and therefore inferior, to whom normal rules don’t apply.”
Stone stood up, time had flown by, it was midday.
“I have to walk the dog. He is one of us. You want to come?”
“It’s okay, I mean the police?”
“Not at this time of day.”
They walked towards the cathedral, a monument to the architectural genius of the Middle Ages, with an extraordinary purity of line.
“Hey! There’s an Irish pub here, not far, let’s go and grab a beer.”
They walked down the small ancient cobble stoned street, it was quiet, the French were at lunch. Stone stopped suddenly.
“I have to take a piss.”
He urinated against the stone wall of a centuries old building just as a young woman passed by, she mumbled something like ‘dirty old sod’, Stone shrugged. When nature called…especially at his age.
“You know what the income of the people in that place was thirty years ago?”
Ennis made a sign to say tell me.
“Thirty thousand Euros a year.”
“And today?” Ennis replied to satisfy his answer.
“Today it’s around ten thousand!”
“Perhaps it’s not their fault.”
“No, it’s not the fault of those poor buggers, it’s the fault of their leaders. They’re all corrupt, look at Monaco, the casinos and luxury hotels, they’re full of them, throwing their country’s money away at the roulette tables. Before, in France the Neos wanted housing, education, trade unions and health. Well now they’ve got all they deserve, pauperism and misery.”
“Tell me one thing, how did France come to accept the dismemberment of their country, I mean the French fought two world wars to defend their vision of civilisation and their ideas?”
“Listen old boy, it’s very simple, as you said France was not the same country that fought against the Germans.”
“Not the same country!”
“I mean the people, you know, Jean, Jacques, Pierre became Mohammed, Rachid, Mamadou, the history of France and its traditions, its religion, were not theirs, they couldn’t have cared a damn about all of that, it was gone, forgotten.”
“But Mohammed and company were not the only people in the country.”
“True, but they were city dwellers, the grass roots French had left the cities or lived in the smart districts, they had no more influence, being able to demonstrate or show their anger without being accused of being racists. On the other hand the Neos set fire to their neighbourhoods and instantly had the attention of not only the government and press, but the entire world, as well as the actors and politicians who adored being seen by the cameras, making worthless promises.”
“They could vote.”
Of course, but the Gallo votes in the towns and cities of country had little effect, the Neos also voted, choosing their own representatives, mostly socialists and extreme left wing parties.
“So the Neos changed France…at least temporarily.”
Toulouse
They were up just before six the next morning, first light of day had just appeared on the horizon. They drank their coffee in silence then Ennis collected his few belongings and they went down to Stone’s car parked on one of the narrow side streets. They left Montpellier taking the autoroute in the southerly direction, by the time they reached the first toll booth the traffic had started to build up with the normal morning rush. Outside of the city centre things had not changed very much with personal vehicles being the main form of transport to outlying districts.
After the teletoll there would be few police over the four hundred kilometres that separated them from Toulouse. Stone’s plan was to visit an old friend, owner of an antique bookshop.
He flipped on the eight o’clock news and listened to the usual stories, international politics and disasters in Africa. The local news announced that the Algharbi police was seeking an American journalist implicated in the murder of a young woman, the suspect was believed to have crossed the border at Montpellier with the papers stolen from a day worker.
“They’re on to you, those bastards!” said Stone with a hard laugh.
“I can’t understand why they’re so obsessed, there must be something else behind it?”
“In any case you’ve really got them excited, is there something else?”
“If only I knew.”
“You’re probably a scapegoat to cover for something else.”
“It’s a possibility, the story of the money in the hotel is bizarre, it was no doubt a plant.”
Ennis reflected in silence watching the concrete flash by.
“The girl talked about someplace, Queyras, or something like that.”
“La Queyras?”
“That sounds like it, she said they were building a camp.”
“Funny place to build a camp, it used to be a ski station, been abandoned, too near to Algharb.”
“What about the French police in all that?”
“It’s difficult to say, but the fact the story is on the national news is a clear sign they’re interested.”
“Maybe, but why?”
“You know the French, they like a peaceful life! You, you’re just an American, a pawn to throw away, your government can’t and won’t do anything.”
“You’re dead right there, the time is long gone when they would send a gun boat for one of their citizens, they’ve got other problems, home grown Hispanic terrorists, Central American wars and the rest of it.”
Stone took the slip road to a service area, it was time to eat something.
“In any case they’re nothing but incompetent fools.”
“Who?”
“Governments, it’s a long time since they had the courage to face up to reality, thirty years ago that would have sent in the Marines and their missiles, today they’re ready to give away anything. The French would give Lyon away for a quiet time.”
“The world has changed.”
“My arse, anybody could have seen what was coming if they had opened their eyes, but raise your voice and you’re a racists or fascist. Me I’ve always fought against racism all my life, for Israel, for the Kurds, and the Copts, but it doesn’t mean opening my home to the down and outs of the world.”
“I know.”
“But, I was never for handing over a chunk of Europe to mad men like Ibrani with his uncontrolled colonization.”
“I’ve heard there’s already a backlash building up.”
“You’d better believe it boy! From Brussels and Paris there’s trainloads of them every week transported to the frontier. The problem is that in Algharb it’s like a pressure cooker and one of these days it’s going to explode, another Bantustan or Gaza on our very doorstep. They should have sent them home or better never allowed them to come here in the first place!”
Stone slowed down to ninety kilometres an hour as they approached the teletoll of Villefranche. Passing through the tollgate they saw ahead of them a group of Gardes checking cars.
One of the Gardes lifted his white-gloved hand indicating to slow down the stream of traffic. There was a road check ahead.
“Shit! Just stay calm, don’t make any signs of being afraid, be natural!” Stone hissed between his closed teeth.
There were several Gardes, it was evident that they were looking for somebody, and Ennis was worried that it was himself.
>
Stone advanced in the right hand side lane, he slowed down and opened his window. With the air of an idiot he looked at the two Gardes who waved him down. One of them pointed to the spot where he should stop. It was the shorter of the two. Both wore Ray-Ban style sunglasses, their helmets bore the insignia of the Nation’s elite Corp de Garde, a double-edged sword in a curling flame. They uniforms were black and in each lapel a silver cross of Lorraine sparkled in the sunlight. Their high black leather boots gave a final touch to their sinister image.
Stone braked a little too abruptly and the car shuddered to a stop. There was a screech of brakes from the car behind.
“Good morning officer, excuse me, I’m looking for Villenouvelle,” he said with the air of a country yokel. “I’m going to visit an old friend of mine, the Curé, I’ve got a map, but I don’t know the area too well.”
He pushed the map out of the window clumsily unfolding it and pointing with a finger to the name of a village on the map. The Garde half listened inspecting the interior of the car. On the back seat Ennis had left a newspaper, the International Herald.
“Your papers messieurs,” said the Garde officiously saluting with one hand and holding out the other, waiting for Stone’s driving license and identity card who started to fumble in the glove compartment.
Ennis felt his stomach weakening. The Garde looked a hard nut, he wore a thick black moustache, the taller of the two had taken off his Ray-Bans, his eyes were blue and he looked a very slightly better disposed. The shorter Garde looked hard at Stone, who seemed to be overdoing his show, acting a little too naively, raising the Garde’s suspicion.
Suddenly from behind there was a screech of