Tomorrow I'll Be Twenty by Alain Mabanckou

Author:Alain Mabanckou
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Publisher: Profile Books
Published: 2013-05-26T16:00:00+00:00

Maman Pauline asked me to go and buy some sugar from Diadhou the Senegalese, who has one of the biggest shops on the Avenue of Independence.

I’ve only been walking for a few minutes, but it’s so hot this Sunday afternoon that my feet are burning. I ignored my mother when she said I should put my sandals on. When you walk barefoot on the tarmac out of the shade it’s like walking inside a wood burning stove. Sometimes I stop by the side of the road and shelter under a mango tree to cool my feet, but when I step back onto the tarmac my feet start burning again. So it’s better to stay on the tarmac, then your feet get used to the heat and you won’t even feel them. You just have to grit your teeth and try to forget you’ve got feet. It’s a bit like when you’re desperate for a pee and you’re a long way from home. If all you think about is having a pee and how good it will feel when you’ve had one, the pee is quite likely to burst out suddenly while you’re still in the street, and you’ll wet your pants. But if you try to forget it for a moment, you can hold on for another few metres.

So I’m walking along and thinking about nice things, not my poor feet. I’m thinking of Caroline. I’m thinking of the red five-seater car. I’m thinking about the little white dog. I’m thinking about the radio cassette player. I’m thinking about the book of Arthur’s poems and his angel face. And it works.

Now I’m outside Diadhou’s shop. And who do I see inside? Oh no, I don’t believe it! I want to turn round and go home. It’s Mabélé inside the shop, and he’s waiting while Diadhou butters his slice of bread. It’s the first time I’ve seen him close up. My heart falls into my stomach. I think: So when you’re frightened it’s like being in love, your heart falls into your stomach.

Mabélé turns round and sees me too. Now what do I do? I’ve no idea. I go up to the counter and stand behind him. I keep about a metre’s distance between us. If he throws a punch at me, it won’t reach me, I’ll just step back a few centimetres.

Mabélé acts like he hasn’t seen me. He watches while the Senegalese goes on buttering his bread. After a while Diadhou hands him his bread, he pays and turns round to leave the shop. He walks past me, shoulders me out of the way and says quietly, ‘Asshole, I’ll wait for you outside. Let’s see who’s tougher, you or me. And when I’ve smashed your face in, Caroline won’t even look at you again!’

He leaves the shop. I can see him outside, gobbling up his bread. I’m so frightened I forget what I’m doing here.

‘What do you want, Michel?’

I don’t answer, just look out at the road. Diadhou asks

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