...a deathly serenade...

could all stay with Bon as he had a place that was
close to the city centre and was quite large, as he
had inherited it from a wealthy relative who had
died two years previous. Neither Lucia nor
Mustapha had a car so we intended to take a bus
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AA
that would take about four hours and meet Bon
there. I had thought the conversation had ended,
but Mustapha had more to add. —I wanted to talk
to you, but you have been gone for a few days, he
said before clearing his throat. ...Do you find
Lucia and Ahmed strange? —What do you mean?
—I mean...it just seems a little bit strange the way
they are together... —Is he there? —They went
out, no... —I’m a little lost. — Well...okay let’s
forget about it... I failed to understand clearly
what Mustapha was saying, beyond the initial
suspicions of Ahmed and G’s contentious prayer
group, my attempts to ascertain any more
information over the phone seemed to stumble
into mumblings that led to us just wishing each
other a good afternoon. After I hung up I
considered the conflict between Mustapha’s
beliefs in Berberism, even if it was latent, and
what seemed like Lucia’s preoccupation with a
holy alternativeness. I had yet to contemplate
some sort of impending strengthening of
relationship with her and Ahmed or a new
conflict. I only hoped, even if I attested to
Murphy’s Law (at most times), that it belied sense.
After I finished this call, I moved off the bed, and
looked down at Leila, and when I scratched my
scrotum to rid an itch she begun taking off her
knickers, which she had put on after taking a
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