The Battle of Algiers
1 VILLA HEADQUARTERS. INSIDE. NIGHT.
Inside a three-story villa, just built, with whitewashed walls.
An elevator shaft is empty, the large cables dangle.
On every landing two apartments. The front doors are wide open.
Whitewash on the floor of the halls, swirls of whitewash on the
windowpanes, naked light bulbs hung from electric wires. The rooms
contain hardly any furnishings.
The kitchens are still without sinks and stoves.
An agitated bustle, a rhythm of efficiency. Paratroopers go up and
down the stairs, pass along the halls, enter and leave the rooms.
The sounds in the background are indecipherable.
SHOUTED ORDERS, CRIES, HOWLS.
SHOUTS, HALF-SPOKEN REMARKS, LAUGHS.
SOMEWHERE A GRAMOPHONE IS PLAYING AT FULL BLAST.
The scene is tense. No pauses.
When the paras are tired, they move to another room.
They sit down, stretch out on the floor, drink coffee or beer, and
smoke cigarettes while awaiting the next shift. Suddenly, the rhythm
of this routine, the timing of these images is upset. A para rushes
down the stairs, and asks cheerfully while running:
MARC
The colonel. Where's the colonel?
PARAS
Why? What's happening?
MARC
We know where Ali la Pointe is. One of
them "spoke" ...
His voice echoes through the corridors, on the landings, from one
floor to another. The excitement is contagious. Many crowd around
the door of the kitchen.
The Algerian who has "spoken" is there. He is young with a thin face
and feverish eyes. The paras are all around him: they help him stand
up, dry him, clean his face with a rag, give him some coffee in a
thermos cover. They are full of attention, sincerely concerned. One
of them tries to push away the others.
PARA
C'mon, let him breathe!
Meanwhile others who are arriving ask if it is true.
OTHER PARAS
So he spoke? Does he really know where
Ali is?
MARC
It seems so. We'll go see. Give him a
little coffee.
Marc is tall and husky, his eyes young and cheerful. One of the others
asks him with a shade of admiration:
PARA
Hey Marc, you made him talk?
MARC
(smiling)
Sure.
He then begins to smoke again, and moves aside to rest a bit. The
Algerian is trying to drink, but his hands are trembling. Someone
helps him and holds still the cover of the thermos, drawing it to his
mouth:
LAGLOY
C'mon Sadek ... Drink, you'll feel better.
The Algerian drinks, but his stomach can't take it, causing him to
double over and vomit again.
Colonel Mathieu enters, elegant and graceful.
MATHIEU
(smiling)
At ease. Is it true?
MARC
I think so. Rue des Abderames three ...
The colonel turns to the para, who had gone to call him, and who is
holding a pair of camouflage fatigues in his hands.
MATHIEU
Dress him.
Then he goes near the Algerian, lifts his chin, inspects him for a
moment with curiosity.
MATHIEU
Chin up, it's all over. Nothing can happen
to you now, you'll see. Can you stand up?
The Algerian nods yes. The colonel turns to the paras who are holding
him up.
MATHIEU
Let him go.
He takes the camouflage fatigues and hands them to the Algerian.
MATHIEU
Here, put them on.
The Algerian mechanically takes the fatigues, but he doesn't
understand. The colonel explains to him:
MATHIEU
We're trying to help you. We're going to
the Casbah. Dressed like this, they won't
be able to recognize you. Understand?
We're going to see the place, then you'll
be free ... and under our protection ...
The Algerian shivers from the cold. He is completely naked. He
laboriously puts on the fatigues which are too big for him.
MATHIEU
Go on, give him the cap.
They give him a wide belt and buckle it. The other paras, one on either
side of him, pull up his sleeves to the elbows. A third places the cap
on his head and cocks it.
LAGLOY
Nationalized!
The colonel turn to him angrily:
MATHIEU
Don't be an idiot, Lagloy!
The Algerian is ready. The paras look at him repressing their laughter.
The Algerian continues to tremble. His breath is short, his eyes
glossy. He is crying.
CAPTAIN
Let's go.
The Algerian looks around. He breathes deeply. Then, suddenly,
unexpectedly, he lets out a hoarse cry:
SADEK
No!
and tries to jerk forward toward the window.
Marc seizes him immediately, and with his right hand grabs him by the
chest, almost lifting him. With his left hand he gives him two quick
slaps, not very hard.
MARC
(persuadingly)
What do you think you're doing, you fool?
Do you want us to start all over again?
C'mon, be good. Don't make me look like
an idiot in front of the others.
He makes a reassuring sign to the colonel. Then, he takes the Algerian
by the arms, and they move off.
2 STREETS OF ALGIERS. OUTSIDE. DAWN. OCTOBER 7, 1957.
The city is gray and white, by the sea which looks like milk. The dawn
outlines her features sharply.
The streets and wide avenues of the European quarters are empty.
Silence, until gradually is heard ...
A HUMMING OF MOTORS.
One truck after another. Their headlights on, with an opaque glow, by
now useless.
A line of trucks follow one another along the sea-front, all at the
same speed.
They turn right and go up toward Place du Gouvernement.
Here, without stopping, the columns divide in two. The two lines enter
each of the two roads that lead up to surround the Casbah.
In the brighter light, the Casbah appears completely white, limestone.
Enclosed by the European city, it stands at a greater height and
overlooks it.
Mosaic of terraces. White pavement, pavement interspersed by the black
outlays of narrow alleys. Only a jump from one terrace to another ...
Agile and silent, the paras jump one by one from the trucks in a hurry.
SOUND OF TRUCKS.
They arrange themselves geometrically, their movements synchronized.
They disperse and disappear in the alleys.
They reappear together, then once again scatter.
They meet without looking at one another; each one takes his own
course.
In like manner without a sound, they are above, even on the terraces,
in perfect geometry. Even up here, the paras tighten their grip ...
3 RUE DES ABDERAMES. COURTYARD OF HOUSE. INSIDE/OUTSIDE. DAWN.
Every three yards, there is a para, even at all four corners of an
intersection.
They are also in the side streets as well as the main streets.
And also above, against the sky, many other paras appear.
Number three. The doorway is the height of a man. A squadron stands
ready in a semicircle with machine guns in firing position.
Marc continues to hold up the Algerian by his arm.
The captain glances at his watch, then looks up at the terrace and
gives a signal.
In a lowered voice, without turning around, he speaks to the para who
is at his back:
CAPTAIN
Fire ...
The para nears the front door, his legs wide open, his machine gun,
clenched at his side, and aims at the lock.
MACHINE GUN FIRE.
He moves the gun barrel in a circular direction.
Immediately the others hurl themselves against the door.
At the same time, the door of the terrace is broken down, and the paras
burst into the house below.
The inner courtyard is square. In the center there is a well; above, a
patch of sky; on four sides, the arcades, columns, and majolica arches.
Beneath the porches, there is a door for every dwelling. And above, a
balcony with railings and other doors. The doors are wide open. The
paras quickly carry out their orders.
ORDERS, CURT AND BRIEF.
The people are used to all this and know how to obey. The scene takes
place exactly as if it were an arranged maneuver, a practice drill.
The rooms are emptied in a few seconds. The people are crowded together
in the courtyard.
Eyes wide with fright.
Men, women, and children with blankets and sheets thrown around their
shoulders. By now, it is almost day. A soft light is diffused from
above.
The Algerian walks with his head lowered, Marc on one side, the captain
on, the other.
They climb to the first floor and go along the balcony.
The Algerian stops in front of a door.
The captain murmurs softly:
CAPTAIN
Here?
The Algerian nods yes. They enter.
4 ALI'S ROOM. INSIDE. DAWN.
The room is badly lit. There is a mattress on the floor, and another on
the table, a cupboard against the wall, some chairs. Nothing else. At
the back of the room to the left, there is a dividing curtain hung by a
cord at medium height. The curtain is drawn and a large bed with brass
headboards is visible. The Algerian points in that direction; the
captain signals for him to go there.
They go forward silently, and push aside the curtain. There is a small
light bulb hung on the wall beneath a small shelf covered with
postcards and photos.
The baseboard all around is more than three feet tall and is covered by
majolica tiles.
The Algerian points to a spot in the brick structure, on the back
wall, between the headboard of the bed and a corner of the room.
Marc and the captain have their machine guns ready. The captain goes
near the wall, his breath drawn, and begins to examine it.
He runs the fingernail of his thumb along the wall horizontally,
between one row of tiles and another.
He taps the tiles at different places until he hears the plaster in the
interstices crumble. He looks at the bit of plaster that is left in his
nail.
He squeezes it in his fingertips; it is soft, newly laid.
Then he bends over, places his ear to the wall, and listens.
Suddenly he smiles.
5 ALI'S HIDING PLACE. INSIDE.
There isn't enough air in the hiding place. The four are forced to
breathe deeply. And in that small space their laborious breaths
resound like splashes.
Ali la Pointe has his eyes fixed upon the square patch of wall that
seals the hiding place. His eyes are large, black, slanted, his eyelids
heavy, somewhat lowered, so that the black of the irises appears even
blacker in the shadows, deeper and more sullen.
Petit Omar is with him, a boy of twelve, and Mahmoud who is eighteen.
There is also Hassiba, a Kabyle girl, blond, blue-eyed, and fair
skinned.
The hiding place is only five feet high, and hardly holds them. They
are sitting or stretched out on the ground, close to one another.
The entrance to the hiding place is blocked by the small patch of wall
which matches exactly the rest. It is held firm by a bar through an
iron ring attached at the center. On the other side of the cell, above
them, there is a hole for air.
They are tense and do not move. Their lips are dry, half-open, and
their breasts rise and fall in a difficult attempt to breathe.
CAPTAIN
(off)
Ali la Pointe ... the house is surrounded.
You haven't got a chance. Surrender. Let
the child and the girl come out, then you
and the other one. Leave your weapons
inside. It's useless to try anything. Our
machine guns are ready to fire -- you
wouldn't have time. Do you understand?
Ali's face is motionless and hasn't changed its expression.
CAPTAIN
(off)
Ali, do you hear me? Listen! You are the
last one. The organization is finished.
All your friends are dead or in prison.
Come out. You'll have a fair trial. Come
out, surrender.
SOUND OF FOOTSTEPS, OTHER VOICES, CHEERFUL, INCOHERENT:
VOICES PARAS
Why are they breathing so heavily?
Fear ...
Air ...
They haven't got enough air inside ...
And again the voice of the captain, clear and somewhat distant:
CAPTAIN
(off)
Make up your mind, Ali? Do you want us to
wall you in, or do you prefer that we
blow you to pieces? ... Alright. So much
the worse for you.
Ali's expression is still firm; his stare is dark and sullen.
6 VIEWS OF THE CASBAH. OUTSIDE. DAY. NOVEMBER 1, 1954.
The Casbah: compressed humanity, swarming in the alleyways, on the
steps, in the cafes, in the Arab baths, in the mosques, and in the
markets; a tangle of voices, gestures, faces, veiled women, eyes.
Someone is putting up a handbill, another distributes them.
SPEAKER
"National Liberation Front! Algerian
brothers! The time has come to break
loose at long last from the bonds of
misery in which one hundred and thirty
years of colonial oppression has kept us
chained. The moment of struggle is near;
our goal -- national independence ..."
7 VIEWS OF THE EUROPEAN CITY. OUTSIDE. DAY.
The European city: reinforced concrete, asphalt, steel, lights, shop
windows, buildings, automobiles. A steady rhythm of efficiency, music,
cordiality, an apéritif.
SPEAKER
"In order to avoid a fatal and bloody
conflict, we propose an honorable program
of discussion to the French authorities,
on condition that they recognize the right
of our people to self-government ..."
And the Algerians who work in the European city, the dockers, waiters,
laborers, street-cleaners, farm-hands, and gardeners.
SPEAKER
"Algerians unite! Be ready for action!
The National Liberation Front calls you to
struggle."
Unemployed, peddlers, beggars, shoeshine boys ...
8 STREET CARD GAME. OUTSIDE. DAY.
Two hands are moving; one over the other, they criss-cross with
incredible speed; at the same time, they are shifting three small
pieces of wood which appear to be identical. The hand movements are
marked by a kind of Algerian CHANT.
From time to time, the pieces of wood are overturned for a split second
so that the other sides are visible. Robust hands, thick, unusually
agile for their size. The hands of Ali la Pointe, younger then, twenty-
four years old.
A European quarter of Algiers. Coming and going of people, automobile
traffic. On the sidewalk a small group of European and two Algerian
boys.
Other passersby stop to watch. The group crowds around the stand where
Ali la Pointe is playing his game.
The entranced eyes of all present are staring at the pieces of wood.
Ali's hands seem to move by themselves.
His glance, always a bit sullen, apparently distracted, indifferent,
passes from one face to another, and then to the street, from one side
to another.
At fifty yards, a policeman. Two Europeans, a man and a woman, are
speaking to him in an excited manner, and nudging him along pointing to
Ali.
WOMAN
Look! Yes, that's him!
Ali is no longer singing. His hands have stopped moving.
A POLICE SIREN IS HEARD.
Ali pushes his way through the crowd.
He breaks into a run.
The policeman also begins to run.
9 STREET. ALI'S FLIGHT. OUTSIDE. DAY.
The street is sloping. Ali flees, pursued by the policeman. He dodges
passersby with agility. He gains ground. But nearby are heard ...
SIRENS
and also in front of him.
Another two policemen; they too are running.
There is an intersection. At the corner, a cafe.
GAY MUSIC.
Young Europeans leaning against a shop window stop chattering and look.
Ali reaches the corner, crosses the street, passes by the bar.
There is a blond youth, about eighteen, who seems to be a student who
stretches out his foot, and pushes a chair in front of him.
Ali stumbles and falls.
The youth attempts a laugh, and at the same time moves backward.
Ali is lying face downward, but suddenly turns his head toward the
youth and stares at him. Then lifting himself by his arms, he turns to
look back.
The police are now twenty yards away.
Ali gets to his feet. For a split second, he hesitates. He hurls
himself against the youth, headfirst.
Using his head, Ali rams into the youth's face, striking him in the
nose and splurting blood everywhere.
The youth is unable to shout. He opens his mouth in the attempt, but
the only result is a gurgling sound and blood. His friends intervene.
Ali is surrounded. The police arrive. A mass of people jump on Ali,
kicking him and striking him with their fists as long as they please.
Finally the police aid Ali and disperse the crowd.
Ali is now in handcuffs and being led away.
More people have arrived. They are yelling, shouting insults, and
spitting on Ali.
Ali passes in their midst protected by the police. He pays no heed to
the fist blows, the shouts, the spits, but seems neither to see nor
hear, as if he were already resigned to having lost the battle this
time, and were preparing to wait patiently for a better chance.
He is walking with an unfaltering step. His face is emotionless, oval,
swarthy. His hair black and wavy, his forehead low and wide; his eyes
large and slanted with eyelids somewhat lowered, his mouth firm and
proud.
SPEAKER
Omar Ali, known as "Ali la Pointe" born
in Miliana, March 1, 1930. Education:
Illiterate. Occupation: Manual laborer,
farm hand, boxer, presently unemployed.
Former convictions: 1942 -- Oran Juvenile
Court, one year of reformatory school for
acts of vandalism. 1944 -- Two years of
reformatory school for theft. 1949 --
Court of Algiers, eight months for
compulsory prostitution and resisting
arrest. Habitual offender.
10 PARIS 1955. OUTSIDE. DAY.
The air is clear and springlike. A 4CV Citroen delivery van is parked
in front of the Minister of the Interior warehouses. The rear door is
open, the motor is running, a policeman is at the wheel. Two workers in
overalls exit from the warehouses.
Each one is carrying a box, and places it inside the van. The boxes are
made of seasoned wood, both of them rectangular. They are each about
eight inches long; one and two yards high respectively. The two workers
sit down inside the van, toward the rear. They are facing toward the
exterior. Their feet are dangling and almost touch the ground.
The jolting movement of the van in motion causes them to laugh.
STREETS OF PARIS. Spring. Girls with lightweight clinging dresses. The
two workers call them, whistle, gesture, and then move off in the
distance.
ORLY AIRPORT. The van stops in front of a warehouse. The two workers
jump to the ground, place the boxes on their shoulders, and enter the
warehouse.
The boxes are moving on a mobile ramp. There is a large label on each
one which says: REPUBLIC OF FRANCE. MINISTER OF THE INTERIOR.
DESTINATION: BARBEROUSSE PRISON. ALGIERS.
11 ALGIERS. BARBEROUSSE PRISON. OUTSIDE. MORNING.
Barberousse prison is situated on the outskirts of the Upper Casbah. It
is an ancient fortress with thick, high surrounding walls, which appear
to vanish in contrast with the central building which dominates them.
The whole structure is covered with limestone like the other houses of
the Casbah. Only the bars on the windows and the big gate are black.
The gate opens. A covered jeep enters the prison courtyard. In the
stronghold of the jeep are the two boxes sent from Paris.
Early morning. The sky is pale blue. In the prison courtyard, the
workers open the two chests and assemble the guillotine. It is possible
to see it from the cell windows that face the courtyard. Faces of
prisoners appear between the bars of some windows.
The workers have disappeared. Only the delicate, makeshift structure of
the guillotine is visible, its slender outline lengthened.
12 PRISON CELL. INSIDE. MORNING.
In one of the cells there are about twenty prisoners. The cell is huge;
there are two very high windows that almost reach the ceiling.
A prisoner is standing on the urine bucket, and looks outside through
the barred window. On the ground there are some mats which serve as
beds. Nothing else.
About ten prisoners are in a group, seated on the ground, and they are
speaking in whispers.
AD LIB DIALOGUE IN LOWERED VOICES.
Two of them are playing with some stones on a chessboard drawn in the
dirt; others are speaking among themselves. One is reading a Mickey
Mouse comic book and laughing to himself. But all of them, in
appearance and behavior, are distinguished from those who make up the
more numerous group. These solitary men are different in some way, they
are not ordinary delinquents.
Ali la Pointe is alone, withdrawn from the others, seated on the
ground, his shoulders propped against the wall, his knees raised. He is
barefoot. On his left ankle, directly above his foot, are tattooed two
words in print: TAIS-TOI. His shirt is unbuttoned and on his chest are
other tattoos in a strange design.
Ali looks at the group and seems to listen to their murmured words
absent-mindedly. His expression is taciturn, reserved, and indifferent.
Ali turns to the prisoner at the window.
PRISONER AT WINDOW
Look at them!
Ali jumps to his feet. Everyone moves toward the two windows.
Ali moves away two yards at a quick pace, then runs toward the window,
and grabbing hold of the bars, heaves himself up to it.
The condemned man turns and looks up toward the windows. He seems to
smile although his face is motionless. In a soft voice, he speaks to
those faces which appear behind the bars:
CONDEMNED MAN
Tahia el Djez-air! [Long live Algeria!]
The political prisoners take up the phrase and recite it gutturally,
keeping time to the steps of the condemned man.
POLITICAL PRISONERS
Tahia el Djez-air!
13 PRISON COURTYARD. OUTSIDE. MORNING.
The condemned man walks toward the guillotine accompanied by guards and
a priest reading the Koran. There is also the executioner wearing a
black hood. The executioner tries to appear indifferent. The priest
recites his prayers. The entire ceremony seems improvised and hasty.
The epilogue is reached quickly.
PRAYERS.
The condemned man bends. The executioner places his neck in the right
position, adjusts it, turns his head a bit, then pushes his body
forward. He releases the mechanism.
The blade falls, the head rolls. There is no longer a chorus. No one is
chanting.
Ali's eyes have remained motionless.
Then from above, as the dismembered body is being carried away in a
basket, as the priest, the guards, and the officer are leaving, as the
workers dismantle the guillotine, from above, from the balconies of the
Casbah, suddenly the "ju-jus" of the women are heard, dense like the
cries of birds, shrill, metallic, angry.
WOMEN
Ju-ju ...
14 SMALL SQUARE. CASBAH. OUTSIDE. DAY. JANUARY 1956.
It is raining. The water runs along the gulleys of the narrow alleys.
The white houses have turned spongy gray. The children of the Casbah
are playing and spattering mud. Skinny and half-naked children with
bloated bellies and hair cropped because of sores.
Their mothers call them in vain. They continue to run, play, and wallow
in the mud with a despairing gaiety.
CALLS. VOICES. SHOUTS.
Petit Omar was then ten years old. He is slender, dressed in long pants
and a jacket which is too large for him and torn so that he seems
almost clownish. Calm and absorbed, he passes in the midst of the other
children, but doesn't notice them or their games.
A small square on a sloping ascent.
In the center, a fountain. On the elevated side of the square, on a
corner, there is a mosque.
SOUNDS OF CHURCH MUSIC.
Standing still at the foot of the steps is an Algerian in white cloak,
and hood down to his eyes. Other people pass by. The Algerian is turned
to one side so as not to be seen. Petit Omar walks toward him and nears
his back. The Algerian turns; it is Ali la Pointe. He tells the boy
with a tone of boredom and curtness:
ALI
Go away!
PETIT OMAR
Men have two faces: one that laughs and
one that cries ...
Ali looks at him incredulously and asks:
ALI
And they sent you!
The child slips a hand under his sweater to his chest.
PETIT OMAR
Sure, something wrong with that?
Omar takes out a piece of paper folded in four, and hands it to Ali.
PETIT OMAR
Take it. Everything's written here.
He turns away and begins to run.
ALI
Wait!
Omar stops running and turns to Ali.
ALI
Come here ... Come.
Omar retraces his footsteps. Ali goes to meet him.
ALI
(in a brusque manner)
Can you read?
PETIT OMAR
Sure ...
Ali hands back the paper.
ALI
Read it.
PETIT OMAR
Here?
Ali turns and looks around him. He squats on his heels in order to
reach Omar's height.
ALI
Here.
It is still drizzling. Omar unfolds the paper and begins to read it.
15 RUE RANDOM. CAFE MEDJEBRI. OUTSIDE/INSIDE. DAY.
The following day at 5 p.m., rue Random. The street is fairly wide for
a street in the Arab quarter and at this hour it is crowded with
people. There are Algerians in traditional costumes and others in
European clothes. Noisy and tumultuous background ...
VOICES, SOUNDS, WORDS -- ALL MIXED TOGETHER.
Veiled women with intent glances. Silent women who seem to float
through the crowds, untouchable.
An Arab cafe filled with customers at the tables and bar. Through the
large shop window, a smoky, steamy interior is visible. The cafe is
located in rue Random, number 40.
OMAR
(off)
There is an Arab cafe at rue Random 40.
The owner's name is Medjebri. He is a
police informer ...
Medjebri is standing behind the cash register, smiling, very busy. He
is wearing a traditional costume. He is very clearly visible through
the shop window above the heads of the customers.
In a doorway near the cafe there is a clock hanging from a signboard in
front of a store. It is five o'clock. A French policeman enters the
cafe.
OMAR
(off)
Every day at 5 p.m., a French policeman
goes to see him. He stops for a few
minutes to get information with the
excuse of drinking a cup of tea. You have
to kill the policeman ...
ALI
(off)
Not Medjebri?
Medjebri moves away from the register, still standing behind the bar,
to where the policeman is seated. He greets him, and hands him a cup of
tea.
OMAR
(off)
No. It says the policeman.
The policeman is leaning on the bar. He is tall and husky, and is
wearing a scruffy uniform with a kepi pushed back somewhat. Now his
thick lips are sipping the scalding mint tea.
ALI
(off)
Okay ...
The large clock and store signboard. Standing in front, there is a
slender girl, veiled, her eyes darting in contrast with the rigid form
of her motionless body. Her arms are raised to form an arch, her hands
supporting the edges of a large basket balanced on her head.
OMAR
(off)
At the corner, right in front of the
large clock, there will be a girl
carrying a basket. When the policeman
comes out, you will follow him together.
At the right moment she will give you a
pistol. You have only to shoot ...
quickly and in the back.
Now the policeman has finished drinking his tea. He makes a sign to
pay. Smiling, Medjebri refuses the money, and says good-bye.
Ali approaches the girl. They exchange glances. The girl puts down her
basket which is filled with corn, and rests it by her side.
She moves slowly toward the cafe. Ali walks beside her.
The policeman is coming out of the cafe. He rudely bumps into those who
are entering.
He makes his way along the sidewalk, and moves further away, balancing
his heavy body at every step.
Ali and the girl are about a yard away from him. They follow him,
pushed along with the many others who are crowded on the sidewalk.
Then the girl plunges her hand into the corn. In a second, she places
the revolver in Ali's right hand.
He holds it under his cloak. The policeman's back is a hand's-bredth
away. But Ali does not shoot.
He moves forward to pass by the policeman.
Alarmed, the girl looks at him, and tries to hold him back. She shakes
her head as if to speak.
Ali smiles at her. His eyes have a hard glint.
He moves a few steps past the policeman. Suddenly Ali turns, lifts his
arm as if to push his way through, and then stretches out his hand with
the revolver aimed.
The policeman stops; his eyes are wide with fear. Instinctively he
lifts his arms and opens his palms.
Terror paralyzes him.
Ali glances about him. Many people are moving away hastily, but others
stand still in a circle and watch fascinated. Ali speaks to all of
them, in a loud voice. His eyes are alight.
ALI
Don't move! Look at him. You're not
giving any orders now! Your hands are up,
eh! Do you see him, brothers? Our masters
aren't very special, are they?
A sharp, metallic click. Ali tries a second time, presses the trigger
again.
SEVERAL CLICKS. REVOLVER EMPTY.
Ali rolls the gun barrel; it is empty.
The policeman slowly lowers his hands. His right hand rushes to his
holster.
Ali is ready to jump, throws away the gun, and starts to move forward.
He knocks down the policeman, who is overwhelmed, and falls backward.
The crowd moves away quickly. Ali starts to throw himself on the
Frenchman lying on the ground, but stops halfway.
A thought restrains him. He turns and sees the girl who has picked up
the revolver and hidden it again in her basket.
Then she moves away hurriedly.
Ali curses angrily, then, kicks the policeman's head twice, and runs
after the girl.
He reaches her, grabs her shoulder so roughly that she shouts.
ALI
(in a whisper)
Bastard! ... Bitch!
The girl struggles free from his grip. At the same time, they hear
behind them ...
POLICE WHISTLES.
The girl quickens her step.
16 SIDE ALLEY WITH FRONT DOOR. OUTSIDE/INSIDE. SUNSET.
The girl arrives at a side street, enters it, and breaks into a run.
Ali is again beside her, but unexpectedly the girl enters a front door.
She bends, places the basket on the ground, removes the revolver, and
hides it in her breast beneath her shawl. She gets up again, and leaves
the basket. Ali blocks her way.
ALI
Tell me what this joke is all about.
The girl attempts to push past him toward the door.
DJAMILA
Let's move now or they'll catch us.
Ali grabs her by the arm, shakes her, and shouts uncontrollably:
ALI
I want to know who sent me that letter.
What's his name?
DJAMILA
He's waiting for you!
ALI
Where?
DJAMILA
We're going there ... if you don't get us
arrested first.
The girl nods toward the street where two policemen are passing by
hastily.
Ali moves backward into the shadow of the doorway. He regains control
of his nerves, loosens his cloak, and lets it fall on the basket. He is
dressed in European clothes, trousers and pullover.
ALI
(pushing her ahead)
Move ... go ahead. I'll follow you.
The girl takes a look outside, then goes out. Ali follows her a few
steps behind. By now it is dusk.
17 TERRACE. KADER'S HOUSE. OUTSIDE. NIGHT.
It is a starry night and there are few lights visible in the windows of
the Casbah. In the background, there is the triumphant neon of the
European city, the sea, the ships at anchor, the shining beams of a
lighthouse. Kader turns around gracefully, and goes to sit on the wall
of the terrace.
KADER
You could have been a spy. We had to put
you to the test.
Ali looks at him sullenly.
ALI
With an unloaded pistol?
KADER
I'll explain.
Kader is a few years older than Ali, but not so tall. He is slender
with a slight yet sturdy bone structure. The shape of his face is
triangular, aristocratic, his lips thin, his eyes burning with hatred,
but at the same time, cunning. He continues to speak in a calm tone
which has an ironic touch to it.
KADER
Let's suppose you were a spy. In prison,
when the NLF contacts you, you pretend to
support the revolution, and then the
French help you to escape ...
ALI
Sure. By shooting at me.
KADER
Even that could be a trick. You escape,
then show up at the address which the
brothers in prison gave to you, and so
you are able to contact me ...
ALI
I don't even know your name yet ...
KADER
My name is Kader, Ali ... Saari Kader ...
In other words, in order to join the
organization, you had to undergo a test.
I could have told you to murder the
barman, but he's an Algerian ... and the
police would let you kill him, even
though he is one of theirs. By obeying
such an order, you still could have
been a double agent. And that's why I
told you to kill the French policeman:
because the French wouldn't have let
you do it. If you were with the police
you wouldn't have done it.
Ali has followed Kader's logic a bit laboriously, and he is fascinated
by it. But not everything is clear yet.
ALI
But I haven't shot him.
KADER
(smiling)
You weren't able to. But what's important
is that you tried.
ALI
What's important for me is that you let me
risk my life for nothing.
KADER
C'mon ... you're exaggerating. The orders
were to shoot him in the back.
ALI
I don't do that kind of thing.
KADER
Then don't complain.
ALI
You still haven't told me why you didn't
let me kill him.
KADER
Because we aren't ready yet for the
French. Before attacking, we must have
safe places from which to depart and find
refuge. Of course, there is the Casbah.
But even the Casbah isn't safe yet. There
are too many drunks, pushers, whores,
addicts, spies ... people who talk too
much ... people who are ready to sell
themselves, undecided people. We must
either convince them or eliminate them.
We must think of ourselves first. We must
clean out the Casbah first. Only then
will we be able to deal with the French.
Do you understand, Ali?
Ali doesn't answer.
Kader has come down from the wall and looks toward the Casbah. Ali too
looks toward the Casbah, immersed in the night.
ALI
And how many are we?
KADER
Not enough.
18 AREAS OF CASBAH UNDERWORLD. OUTSIDE/INSIDE. DAY. MARCH 1956.
A warm spring wind, large white clouds. At the western edge of the
Casbah, from the Upper to Lower Casbah, the street of the Algerian
underworld descends to the brothel quarter.
SPEAKER
"National Liberation Front, bulletin
number 24. Brothers of the Casbah! The
colonial administration is responsible not
only for our people's great misery, but
also for the degrading vices of many of
our brothers who have forgotten their own
dignity ..."
Shady bars for gamblers and opium smokers, shops filled with tourist
trinkets, merchants, fences, pimps, children with adult faces, ghastly
old women, and young girls, whores standing in the doorways of their
houses. The girls having their faces uncovered have put scarves on
their heads, knotted at the nape.
SPEAKER
"Corruption and brutality have always
been the most dangerous weapons of
colonialism. The National Liberation
Front calls all the people to struggle
for their own physical and moral
redemption -- indispensable conditions
for the reconquest of independence.
Therefore beginning today, the
clandestine authority of the NLF
prohibits the following activities:
gambling, the sale and usage of all types
of drugs, the sale and usage of alcoholic
beverages, prostitution and its
solicitation. Transgressors will be
punished. Habitual transgressors will be
punished by death."
19 BAR. EUROPEAN CITY FACING CASBAH. OUTSIDE/INSIDE. SUNSET.
It is dusk. In the European city, the first lights are visible. People
begin to crowd the bars for an apéritif.
An Algerian shoeshine man leaves his workbox at the entrance of the
bar. He goes to the counter. He is tall and thin as a reed. He takes
from his pocket a handful of change; his hands tremble slightly as he
counts it.
The barman recognizes him, fills a glass of wine, and places it in
front of him. The Algerian pays and takes the glass. It's probably not
his first; the trembling of his hands increases. The Algerian drinks
the wine in one gulp, then goes to the door. He waits patiently while
some Europeans enter. He goes out, picks up his workbox, and moves
away.
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.
21 BAR 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.
24 BROTHEL. 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.
25 SMALL 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?
ALI
They're not paying me anything. They've
already warned you twice; this is the
last warning. Decide.
HACENE
What ... What must I decide?
ALI
You've got to change occupations, Hacene.
Right away!
Hacene makes a gesture as if to emphasize what he is going to say.
HACENE
(with irony)
Okay, you convince me.
Then suddenly, unexpectedly, he lets out a SHRILL SCREAM, like fencers
who before plunging their swords, try to frighten their adversaries.
Simultaneously, he hurls himself forward, head lowered and arms
outstretched.
Ali steps aside, and releases a BLAST OF MACHINE-GUN FIRE.
Hacene falls flat on his face. There is movement. Some passersby
approach. The three boys try to escape.
ALI
(shouting)
Stop!
The barrel of the machine gun is visible through the opening in his
djellabah. Ali's voice is quivering angrily:
ALI
Look at him well! Now nobody can do
whatever he wants in the Casbah. Not even
Hacene ... least of all you three pieces
of shit! Go away now ... go away and
spread the word ... Go on!
26 WEDDING. OUTSIDE. DAY.
Summer. There is a garland of flowers strung across an alley. A front
door is open, and the guests continue to arrive.
27 WEDDING HOUSE. OUTSIDE. DAY.
In the inner courtyard, there are benches and chairs arranged in rows.
In front of all of them, there are two chairs separated from the rest,
one next to the other. In front of them, there is a small table with a
pen and inkstand on top. The people remain standing, about twenty
Algerians, of all ages. They are speaking among themselves in thick
whispers. There is an expectant and ceremonious atmosphere.
BUZZING.
Mahmoud was seventeen then. He has soft down on his cheeks, his first
beard. He is thin, his neck long and tense, his glance nervous. He
appears to be the protagonist of what is about to take place. His hair
is combed with care and covered with much hair cream. He is wearing a
clean and newly bought white costume.
Many of the others come to speak with him; the younger ones are joking
and trying to provoke him.
AD LIB REMARKS.
Mahmoud reacts comically with a grim frown with which he tries in vain
to hide his shyness. At the same time, he glances secretly, anxiously,
up to the empty balcony on the first floor. Much gay and lively
chattering can be heard from an open door above.
28 WEDDING ROOM. INSIDE. DAY.
In the room, a group of girls are busy preparing trays with cups of
coffee. They are little more than children, twelve or thirteen years
old, with soft complexions, white teeth, and shining eyes. They seem
children who are playing, but beneath that veneer of gaiety, some
anxiety is noticeable, emotions in suspense. The faltering voice of an
old woman calls from the adjoining room.
A girl leaves the group, lifts the dividing curtain, and nearing the
bed where the old woman is lying, she kneels beside her. The old woman
lifts her hand and places it on the girl's hair, caressing her
tenderly. She speaks in a wavering voice, and her small yet kind eyes
fill with tears.
OLD WOMAN'S SPEECH IN ARABIC.
The girl nods yes, then she gets up and goes to rejoin her companions.
Passing before a mirror, she stops a minute to tidy her hair.
29 WEDDING HOUSE. OUTSIDE. DAY.
They appear on the balcony, then descend to the courtyard. The nervous
glance of Mahmoud scans their faces, then rests upon that girl who,
with lowered eyelids, also glances quickly at him. Meanwhile the trays
are being passed among the guests.
Now the people turn to face the front door. A young man has entered
carrying a briefcase under his arm. Behind him are two boys who seem to
be his bodyguards, and are the only ones dressed in European clothes.
Both of them have their right hands under their jackets, which are old
and torn. They seem to be armed. They close the door, and remain
standing on either side of it.
The man with the briefcase walks toward the table. All present look at
him respectfully. He smiles, responds to their greetings, shakes hands
with all. But he refuses coffee and seems to be in a hurry.
He sits down, places his briefcase on the table, opens it, and takes
out a large notebook. From the open briefcase, the metallic butt of a
sub-machine gun appears.
On the cover of the notebook is written: NLF -- ALGERIAN AUTONOMOUS
ZONE. CIVIL RECORDS.
He turns the pages of the notebook until he reaches the last written
page. Then he glances up toward the people who, in the meantime, have
taken their seats. He smiles, says a few words, then calls two names.
Mahmoud walks forward stiffly, erect, his eyes staring straight ahead
of him.
The girl also walks forward, with a perplexed expression. They sit down
next to each other, but without looking at each other. The ceremony
consists of a few words. Finally the two youths look at each other.
Mahmoud tries to smile, but he cannot.
The girl's expression softens somewhat. Her glance is tender; she
lowers her face quickly. Meanwhile the others recite the verses of the
Koran in low voices.
CHORUS.
30 RUE D'ISLY. OUTSIDE. DAY. JUNE 20, 1956. 8:05 A.M.
There is a French guard, no more than thirty years old. He has a blond
mustache, his beard recently shaved. There are few people in the
street. The guard walks slowly, glancing in the shop windows from time
to time to admire his reflection. He stops, adjusts his cap, and
smiles.
An Algerian appears beside him; he is also young. The guard pretends to
be interested in the photographic equipment which is on display, then
moves on.
The Algerian's arm springs forward and returns quickly to its place. He
plunges the knife into the guard's neck.
The guard opens his mouth wide to shout, but he cannot. The blood
gurgles in his gashed throat. None of the few passersby has seen what
happened. The guard falls flat on his face. Someone sees him and
screams.
The Algerian hurls himself on top of the soldier, opens his holster,
takes his pistol, then gets up pulling the gun with him. The gun is
fastened by a leather cord. The cord gets tangled in the gashed neck of
the guard.
The Algerian pulls in vain. He panics. He looks about him with
terrified eyes.
People approach hurriedly. They are shouting. The Algerian pulls the
cord a second time, desperately.
He regains his control, picks up the knife which is lying on the
ground, and cuts the leather cord, thus freeing the pistol. The others
have almost reached him and he is surrounded, but he manages to dodge
them, and escapes.
31 BOULEVARD BRU. OUTSIDE. DAY. 8:40 A.M.
A group of zouaves on patrol, three soldiers and an officer. The street
is sloping; on the right there is a high fence covered with advertising
signs and cinematographic posters, all of them torn and full of holes;
the emptiness on the other side is visible through the holes.
The soldiers are chatting among themselves and looking at the posters.
A soldier stops because he sees something moving on the other side of
the fence.
He points to it and shouts, but not in time.
MACHINE-GUN FIRE INTERRUPTED BY SINGLE SHOTS.
The soldier falls, the others remain motionless, unbelieving. They
begin to run and scatter and look for cover.
An Algerian appears on top of the fence. He moves like a cat, and jumps
from the other side.
His invisible companions continue to shoot. He is unarmed, and runs to
the dead soldier. He grabs the machine gun and retraces his steps. The
action takes place in a second.
By now the soldiers too are shooting, but it is too late.
32 POLICE STATION. CHEMIN AIN-ZEBOUDJA. OUTSIDE/INSIDE. DAY. 9:10 A.M.
A police station in the Casbah, a small prefabricated one-story
building.
At the main door there is a police guard. A group of five Algerians is
approaching. They are talking among themselves, and gesticulating.
BUZZING.
The policeman enjoys watching them, then asks what it's about. All five
of them answer him at once, trying to outdo one another.
The policeman has to shout to make them keep quiet. Then, assuming a
very humble behavior, they enter silently. The oldest among them speaks
in a mournful voice. He seems to be crying and asks the sergeant
something.
The policeman calls a colleague, and tells him to accompany the
Algerians. Four of them go with the policeman, while another remains in
the waiting room, saying that it is better because he is afraid of
losing his control.
Then he begins to explain the reasons for the quarrel: it concerns a
will. The old man is his grandfather, but he has recently remarried.
Then from inside is heard ...
MACHINE-GUN FIRE.
The policeman reacts quickly and tries to draw his gun. But the
Algerian is faster and fires point-blank.
The four reappear. One of them is wounded. All of them are armed with
revolvers, and carry at their sides a machine gun and two sub-machine
guns that they have taken from the armory. Other cries and shots are
heard behind them.
All five of them run out in haste.
33 RUE MARENGO. OUTSIDE. DAY. 9:45 A.M.
Another police station. Two policemen are chatting in front of the
entrance.
A black Renault is passing by at a walking speed, then slows down
almost to the point of halting completely.
The right door opens and there is a burst of machine-gun fire. One of
the policemen has been, hit, and grabs the other so as not to fall.
Another burst of ...
MACHINE-GUN FIRE.
The two policemen fall down together. The car motor is accelerated, the
tires screech and the Renault shoots forward.
A military jeep arrives from the opposite direction, crashes into the
car and blocks its escape.
An Algerian flees and is pursued. Another descends from the auto with
his hands raised.
The soldiers shoot and kill him.
34 AVENUE DU 8 NOVEMBRE. OUTSIDE. DAY. 1:10 P.M.
A large garage with workshop and filling station. In front are some
automobiles and a military truck.
A scooter with two Algerian boys passes by, rumbling noisily along the
road. Then at full speed, it makes a sharp turn, retraces its steps and
turns again. The boys seem to be showing off for fun.
Meanwhile, the employees of the garage are leaving their work since it
is lunchtime. The attendant at the gasoline pumps is left alone.
The scooter stops in front of the high-test gasoline pump. The attendant
is a European, an elderly man, who approaches them holding in one hand
some bread he has just unwrapped. He detaches the pump handle of high-
test, and asks how many gallons.
One of the Algerians points a revolver at the attendant, and tells him
to pour out the gasoline on the ground all around. The other,
meanwhile, goes to the other two gasoline pumps, detaches the handles,
and fastens them in an open position in order to empty them of
gasoline. He uses two pieces of iron that he has brought with him to
clamp the handles open. He stretches the pump hoses as far as they can
go toward the garage and the parked cars.
The gasoline flows all over the large square. The two youths are again
on the scooter; they tell the European to move away. They have soaked a
rag in gasoline and they light it.
The gasoline continues to flow from the two open pumps. The European is
by now far away, the scooter is already moving away, and at the same
time, the boys hurl the lit rag into the square. It immediately bursts
into flames.
35 COMMISSIONER's OFFICE. INSIDE. NIGHT.
The night of the same day, in an office of the police commissioner's
headquarters. On the desk, photos of the day's terroristic attempts are
piled in a heap. An employee is in front of his typewriter.
The Assistant Commissioner is about forty years old, very robust. His
face is somewhat wide, ordinary, and with heavy features. He leafs
through the photos while speaking on the telephone. It is a very warm
night, and the window of the office is open. From outside is heard
the SOUND OF TRAFFIC.
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
(on telephone)
Yes, sir, but they haven't received a
search-warrant yet. Rue d'Isly? We
followed them for a while, but then we
lost track ... Yes, sir, but it is in
another precinct. No, it wasn't in
theirs ... There are some suspects for
rue Marengo ... No ... the judge hasn't
given permission yet. He is requesting a
formal investigation first. Yes, sir,
yes ... Yes, sir, yes -- But we haven't
enough men. Of course, I understand ...
If it were possible, sir, you should ...
but the Commissioner can't ... in ... But
couldn't you ... Alright, sir ... We'll
let them cut our throats then!
He slams the receiver angrily and begins to dictate his report. His
voice is harsh, filled with rancor.
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
Time: 3 P.M. Attempt at homicide against a
Patrol of the 3rd B.P.C. Place: Luciani
street at El Biar. Weapon: Revolver 7.75.
Victim: A soldier wounded in the right leg
and groin. Hospitalized. Assailants:
Unknown. ... Time: 3:35 P.M. Homicide.
Place: Chopin Street, opposite number 20.
Weapon: P.M. 38. Victim: Private
second-class Dare Jackie, born March 12,
1931. Deceased. Assailant: A moslem.
Height: five feet and seven/eights
inches. Light colored clothing. Probably
escaped in Simca. License plates unknown.
Time: Four minutes past 4 P.M. Homicide
and attempt at homicide against patrol of
border guards. Place: Intersection between
Consular Street and General Laquiere ...
Wait a minute ...
The officer stops speaking, takes a glass from his desk, and goes near
the window. On the ledge, there is a bottle of beer, left there
evidently to keep it a bit cool. He takes it, fills his glass and
drinks.
Then he speaks in a lowered voice, while looking outside, without even
giving any directions to the employee who waits with his hands poised
about the keyboard of his typewriter.
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
I want to see the newspapers tomorrow. If
they're still talking about pacification
of our Moslem brothers!
He returns to his desk.
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
Where were we?
EMPLOYEE
Intersection, between Consular Street and
General Laquiere Avenue ...
36 VARIED FLASHES. POLICE STATIONS. OUTSIDE. DAY.
In front of police stations: Ain-Zeboudja ... rue Marengo ... and all
the others ... in the Casbah ... in the European quarters ... sandbag
entrenchments are being prepared, barbed wire is being stretched,
metallic lookout turrets are being set up. It is very hot. Workers and
policemen work in silence. There is an oppressive atmosphere.
SPEAKER
"Ordinance of the Prefecture of Algiers:
All police stations in Algiers, without
exception and until further notice, are
required to prepare and maintain external
protection devices. The shifting of guards
outside must continue uninterrupted
twenty-four hours a day. Sentinels must
be equipped with automatic weapons ..."
37 EUROPEAN AND CASBAH PHARMACIES. MUSTAPHA HOSPITAL. OUTSIDE/INSIDE. DAY.
View of pharmacies in the European quarters and in the Casbah.
The shelves, medicines; people who are buying. The Mustapha hospital,
reserved for Algerians. The wards: hospitalized Algerians.
SPEAKER
"The Governor-General of Algiers decrees:
Article No. 1 -- The sale of medicinal
and pharmaceutical products, effective
for the cures of gunshot wounds, can be
made only to those who present written
authorization from the Commissioner of
Police.
Article No. 2 -- Directors of all
hospitals and clinics must produce to the
police authorities an immediate listing
of all patients admitted to their
institutions for the care and treatment
of gunshot wounds."
38 CASBAH ROAD BLOCKS. OUTSIDE. DAY.
The Casbah is being closed off. Every point of entrance, every alley,
every street that joins the Casbah and the European quarters has been
blocked off with wooden horses and with barbed wire nine feet high.
There are also workers, policemen, and soldiers who are working at the
barricades.
Beyond them, on the other side of the barbed wire, the Algerians seem
to be encaged.
SPEAKER
"The Prefecture of Algiers states: In
the course of these last few days, dozens
of assaults have been committed in this
city. We have reason to believe that the
assailants originate in the Casbah, and
that they have always found a speedy and
easy refuge in the alleys of the Arab
quarters. As a result, and in order to
alleviate without delay the insecurity
that now reigns in the city, the
Prefecture of Algiers has decided that
entrance to the Casbah can only he
permitted at those points in the blockade
under military control, where citizens in
transit must exhibit their documents at
request, and submit to eventual searches."
The Casbah is imprisoned, like a huge concentration camp. Only five
streets have been left open, the widest streets. There are five exits
where the wooden horses serve to restrict passage, and where some
wooden posts for the guards are being built.
Every exit is marked by a sign with large lettering.
39 BLOCKADE MARENGO. OUTSIDE. DAY. AUGUST 10, 1956.
At each blockade, there are two ramps, an entrance and an exit to the
Casbah. The Algerians and some Europeans crowd around in both
directions. The soldiers are wearing fatigues with helmets and machine
guns. The Europeans are not requested to show identity papers.
The Algerians are often frisked, and accept this fact silently,
patiently, without any sign of intolerance. But if the soldiers attempt
to search a woman, then, it is different.
A woman begins to shout, while waving her arms wildly, and pushes away
the soldier who had tried to search her. A stream of incoherent words.
Other Algerians intervene; they push forward threateningly. The soldier
is young; he is timid and frightened. He looks over his back for help.
A police officer approaches. He has a different tone, and a very self-
assured manner. He shouts at the Algerians to calm down.
OFFICER
Are you mad, touching one of their women?
Go on, go on, alright ... Go ahead, keep
moving!
The woman passes the blockade, but still continues her protest with a
shrill and unbearable voice.
40 RUE PHILIPPE. OUTSIDE. DAY. 8:35 A.M.
An Algerian woman walks along the sidewalk. She is elderly, fat, and is
wearing a traditional costume with her face veiled. She walks slowly
toward a bar, which has its tables outside, and already some customers.
Near the bar, leaning against a wall, there is an Algerian who now
begins to move and goes to meet the old woman. They greet one another
with much warmth, like a mother and son who haven't seen each other for
a long time.
They embrace, and the man searches at her breast among the folds of her
veil. He finds a revolver which is hung by a cord, and grabs it. They
are at ten or twelve feet distance from the bar. At a table, there is a
French soldier having coffee with cream, croissant, and an open
newspaper.
The Algerian continues to embrace the old woman, and aims from above
her shoulders. Only one shot; the newspaper rips, the soldier tries to
get up again, his face full of blood. Then he collapses on the table.
The Algerian has hidden the revolver in the woman's veil. The two
separate from their embrace. They seem terrified and surprised, and
move away from each other in different directions while the people are
rushing about and SHOUTING.
41 DE LA LYRE MARKET. OUTSIDE. DAY. 9:10 A.M.
The cries of the peddlers are loud and incoherent. An Algerian is
squatting on his heels in front of his wares scattered on the ground:
clusters of aromatic herbs, jars of spices. A youth is in front of him,
and from time to time, he looks around him. He seems to be waiting.
Now he bends down and begins to rummage through the herbs. He selects a
bunch of mint, weighs it in his hand, and argues the price with the
peddler.
A policeman in the market passes nearby and watches. The youth waits a
second, then turns toward the back of the policeman, and stretches out
his arm.
He has in his hand the bunch of mint; a revolver is hidden among the
greens. He shoots twice.
The French policeman falls down. The youth drops the mint with the
revolver among the other herbs, and moves away in the midst of the
crowd.
42 RUE DE BAR-EL-QUED. OUTSIDE. DAY. 10:15 A.M.
In front of the police station there are sandbags and a police guard at
duty with helmet and machine gun. The policeman jumps to attention and
salutes. An officer has come out of the station and returns his salute.
He moves away and walks along the sidewalk.
There are few people. An Algerian seems to appear from nowhere, and
walks behind him. He is very young, is wearing a short-sleeved shirt
and blue jeans.
The officer turns at the first corner. Further on, there is a row of
cars and a metallic sign which warns that the parking space is reserved
for police vehicles only.
The officer hears the steps of the boy behind him, and summons him in a
brusque manner.
OFFICER
What are you doing here? Where are you
going?
The boy shrugs his thin, shoulders and lowers his head.
BOY
(in servile tone)
I'm going for a swim; my friends are
waiting for me.
The officer curses under his breath and proceeds. He stops in front of
a Dyna-Panhard, parked not too far away.
The boy moves on a few yards past the automobile until he reaches a
metallic wastebasket which is fastened to the pole of a street lamp. He
stops there, then glances around.
The officer is not far behind him; he has taken his car keys from his
pocket, and is about to open the car door. The boy plunges his hand
into the basket, rummages among the torn papers, then suddenly turns,
points a revolver at the officer's back, and shoots.
The man tries to clutch something, but slips and falls down. The boy
shoots again at the man on the ground, then plunges his hand again into
the wastebasket, drops the revolver, and glances around him. He breaks
into a run.
The policemen come out of the police station hurriedly.
WHISTLES, ORDERS, EXCITED CRIES.
They turn the corner. Some rush to the man lying on the ground. Others
jump into a jeep. Four of them jump on motorcycles that are lined up in
the rack. They move off in two directions.
At the same time, wails of police sirens moving nearer are heard in the
distance. The street is deserted. There is no trace of the boy.
People are seen at their windows. The officer is lifted by his arms.
An ambulance arrives and stops, its siren at full blast, its doors wide
open. The officer is placed inside.
The motorcycles are racing through the sidestreets. The jeep converges
on them, then reverses its direction, moving while balanced on two
wheels.
Passersby stop to watch, all of them Europeans. The siren's wail is at
a high pitch.
43 ADJACENT STREETS. OUTSIDE. DAY.
A deserted street, recently covered with wet asphalt.
A Moslem road worker is sitting on the ground next to a steamroller.
He is eating his lunch. The combined sounds of the siren's wail and the
rumbling of the motorcycles are heard approaching.
Two motorcyclists appear in the street, passing by the road worker.
One of them stops and turns around.
The road worker moves backward to the street corner. He breaks into a
run. His eyes are burning with fear, his face is anxious, undecided.
From the windows, the people point to him, and shout after him.
A jeep appears in the street in front of him.
The motorcyclist approaches from the opposite direction.
The Algerian stops running; he doesn't know what to do.
From the windows, continuous SHOUTING.
The Algerian leans against the wall, watches the scene, and begins to
cry. The policemen jump down from the jeep and leap at him. The
Algerian isn't able to speak, but only shakes his head.
44 POLICE STATION. INSIDE. DAY.
A room inside the police station. The Algerian's face is beaten from
right and left by a series of slaps.
The room is filled with policemen. All of them are practically on top
of the Algerian; all of them are shouting. In the confusion can be
heard SHOUTS.
VARIED VOICES
Do you know he's dead, you bastard? Do you
know you killed him?
They try to reach him, pushing against one another in order to get
closer and hit him. The Algerian is crying and speaks in broken-off
phrases, half Arabic and half French. His continual efforts to repeat
certain words are heard:
ALGERIAN
No, no, no, no, ... me no ... Viva
France ...
An officer arrives making his way.
OFFICER
Get out, go on, outside ... Get out of
the way! Go away ...
They make way for him; he reaches the Algerian who tries to smile at
him, continually shaking his head:
ALGERIAN
Sir ... sir ... sir ...
OFFICER
What's your name?
The Algerian's mouth is dry; he tries to swallow.
ALGERIAN
Sir ... sir ... sir ...
OFFICER
What's your name?
ALGERIAN
(straining, still
trying to swallow)
Lardjane Boualem, sir ...
45 COMMISSIONER'S OFFICE. INSIDE. NIGHT.
In the Commissioner's office, the Assistant Commissioner dictates:
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
Guilty: Lardjane Boualem, manual worker,
married with three children. Resident in
rue de Thèbes, number eight ... So? How
many today?
The employee removes the copies from the typewriter and begins to put
them in order.
EMPLOYEE
Seven assaults, three dead.
Then he moves to the desk, and hands over the various copies for
signature.
EMPLOYEE
Here, one for the Commissioner ... the
press offices ... the archives ... and
one for you, sir.
The Assistant Commissioner signs.
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
Good, thank you, Corbiere... . See you
tomorrow.
EMPLOYEE
Good evening, sir.
The employee salutes, then moves toward the door. He is about to go out
when the Assistant Commissioner stops him.
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
Tell me ... Where is this rue de Thèbes?
EMPLOYEE
Rue de Thèbes? In the Upper Casbah, I
think ...
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
All right. See you tomorrow, Corbiere.
EMPLOYEE
Good evening, sir.
The employee leaves and closes the door. The Assistant Commissioner
crosses the room to the large map of Algiers which covers the entire
wall. He moves his finger along the Casbah zone; as he moves it, he
follows it with his glance in that tangle of streets.
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
(to himself)
Rue de Thèbes ... de Thèbes ...
He has found it. He observes it for a minute, then moves his finger
along the road leading to the European quarters. He finds the right
route, then concentrates in order to memorize it.
He returns to the desk, lifts the receiver, and dials a number.
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
(on the phone)
Hello, Engineer Henry Amaud, please ...
He's already left? Alright, yes, yes,
alright ... I have the number.
He clicks the receiver, then dials another number. At the other end of
the line, a feminine voice is heard. The Assistant Commissioner
abandons his usual peremptory tone.
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
Hello, Bernadette...Yes, right away. I'm
going to change my clothes first, and I'll
be right there. My wife is already there,
right? No, it's not important. But call
Henry for me. Just for a minute ...
Alright ... thanks ...
He places the receiver on the desk, then puts on his jacket which is on
the back of his chair. He straightens his tie. Now from the receiver a
muffled voice is heard; the Assistant Commissioner picks up the
receiver.
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
Hello, Henry? ... Everything's okay.
Good. What are we going to tell our
wives? The club? Good idea, yes. I'll be
there right away. Just give me time to
change my clothes ... Ah, I've found the
address. No, it's better to talk in
person. Yes, it's the right place ...
Okay. Bye.
He puts down the receiver, then goes to the coat-hanger and takes his
beret. He goes out after glancing again at the photos of the day's
assaults.
46 HENRY ARNAUD'S HOME. INSIDE. NIGHT.
Two small children are kneeling in front of their beds.
CHILDREN
Notre Père, dans le ciel ...
Two children, five or six years old, blond, charming, but not affected.
They seem to be twins, and are wearing identical pajamas.
At the same time, a servant is preparing their beds for the night. She
is about fifty years old, her apron clean and ironed; she has gray
hair, her face that of a good woman. She is Algerian. When the
children falter in their prayers, she helps them. When they have
finished she says with an Algerian accent:
SERVANT
Now, let's go to say good night.
In the dining room, there is a large open window. The beach, the sea,
and the sound of the surf are outside, not too distant. It is a starry
night. At a table, there are four men and four women, all of them well
dressed and tanned. It is the home of Henry and Bernadette Arnaud. The
Assistant Commissioner is in plain clothes. He and his wife seem ill at
ease, somewhat out of place.
The maid and children have entered the room.
BERNADETTE
Come here, children. Say hello ...
CHILDREN
Good evening ...
The others smile. The servant accompanies the children to their
parents.
CHILDREN
Good night, daddy. Good night, mommy.
BERNADETTE
Good night, dear.
They kiss. At the same time the women make the usual delighted
exclamations. One of the men attracts the Assistant Commissioner's
attention, points to his watch, and makes a sign.
The Assistant Commissioner nods his head affirmatively.
47 ALGERIAN STREETS. OUTSIDE. NIGHT.
A DS Citroen is crossing the city at high speed.
The four men are inside. Arnaud is at the wheel. The Assistant
Commissioner is sitting in the back seat.
48 CASBAH ENTRANCE. OUTSIDE. NIGHT.
The automobile arrives at Place du Gouvernement, takes a turn around
the square, then turns toward the blockade, and slows down.
One of the soldiers moves to the center of the ramp, and raises the
phosphorescent flag. The car lowers its headlights and stops.
The soldier goes to the driver's window. In his right hand, he is
holding a machine gun which hangs from his shoulders. He greets them.
He bends to window level:
SOLDIER
Good evening ...
Arnaud responds in an innocent, cheerful tone:
ARNAUD
Good evening ... Can we pass?
SOLDIER
It's too late. No one is allowed to enter
the Casbah at this hour. It's impossible.
ARNAUD
But it's not even midnight yet!
SOLDIER
It's ten minutes past midnight. Curfew
begins at midnight.
ARNAUD
Please, we just want to take a short ride.
A friend of mine has never seen the
Casbah.
SOLDIER
I'm sorry. Tomorrow. Tonight is out of
the question.
The Assistant Commissioner intervenes with the self-assured and
somewhat arrogant tone common to all policemen. He stretches his arm
toward the window and hands the soldier a card.
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
It's alright, they're with me.
The soldier examines the card by the glare of the headlights, hands it
back, and bringing his hand to his visor, he salutes.
SOLDIER
Okay, sir. Go ahead.
The Assistant Commissioner salutes with his hand.
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
Let's go, Henry.
ARNAUD
(he changes gears)
Thank you. Good evening.
The soldier steps aside, and salutes again.
The automobile begins to move, steadily increasing its speed.
49 CASBAH STREET. OUTSIDE. NIGHT.
The streets of the Casbah are deserted, almost completely blackened.
Some cats are frightened by the headlights and run close to the walls.
Inside the car the four men are silent. They keep their eyes fixed
straight ahead of them, their faces concentrating, taut.
ARNAUD
This way?
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
Yes, it's the first intersection ... or
the second.
50 RUE DE THÈBES. OUTSIDE. NIGHT.
The automobile slows down at the first intersection. Arnaud leans out
the window and looks. There is an enamel nameplate -- RUE DE THÈBES.
ARNAUD
Right or left?
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
Try going to the right.
The car turns right, moving slowly.
On one side of the street, the even numbers are getting higher: 26 ...
28 ... 30 ...
ARNAUD
What number is it?
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
Eight.
The man next to the Assistant Commissioner says:
FRIEND
Let's park here. It doesn't matter.
ASSISTANT COMMISSIONER
(in sharp tone)
It does matter. Go back, Henry. Let's go
to number eight.
Arnaud puts the gears in reverse; the car moves back quickly and passes
the intersection: 16 ... 14 ... 12 ... 10 ... 8... it stops.
Arnaud puts it in neutral. With the motor still running, he presses the
cigarette lighter on the dashboard.
The Assistant Commissioner takes a large package that he is holding
under his legs on the car floor. It is wrapped in pieces of newspaper.
He lifts it forward. The man who is next to Arnaud takes it, leans it
against the back of his seat, touches it until he finds the right spot,
unwraps it from that part, and straightens a small plastic tube which
appears at the opening. It is a fuse.
ARNAUD
How long do you want the timing device?
FRIEND
Five minutes. Give me a match ...
Arnaud takes the cigarette lighter from the dashboard.
The other man has opened the car door. He takes the lighter and touches
it to the fuse which ignites immediately. The door of number eight is
very near, almost directly opposite the car door.
The man places the package in a shady area and returns to the car in a
run. Arnaud has already changed gears, releases the clutch, and the
automobile shoots forward.
51 RUE DE THÈBES. EXPLOSION. OUTSIDE. NIGHT. AUGUST 11, 1956. 12:20 A.M.
The explosion is very violent. The fronts of buildings number eight,
ten, and twelve explode and collapse.
EXPLOSION.
The echo of the explosion has ended. There is a long pause, only some
isolated noises resound. They are stressed, recognizable: a burning
beam, the thud of falling debris, broken glass ...
Then suddenly and almost simultaneously with the other sounds, after
the shock, the human voices, the shouts and weeping are heard.
VOICES, SHOUTS, WEEPING.
52 RUE DE THÈBES. OUTSIDE. DAWN.
The dawn's light is clear and white. It dispels every shadow and
designs precisely every outline. Here and there, in the middle of the
sky, there are numerous clouds of dust, strangely motionless. In the
light, the human figures seem black. Seen from a distance, they seem to
be ants upon heaps of debris. There are women, motionless, weeping
softly, their voices similar to prayer. From time to time, there is a
sudden scream, a despairing sob, someone running.
Another corpse is pulled out from the rubble, bodies mutilated or still
intact -- they are all dead.
The people continue to rummage through the debris and to wait around
pitifully.
53 CASBAH STREETS. OUTSIDE. DAY.
But there is no pity in the other streets and alleys of the Casbah, or
at the top of the steps. There is anger and hatred. The people are
running and shouting.
They are shouting from their windows and balconies:
JU-JU.
They smother every other sound. The excitement increases. They run
where there is more shouting, more people. They don't know what to do
yet, but want to be together. Until there is a voice stronger and
clearer than the others which gives them a goal and direction.
Ali la Pointe points below beyond the slopes of the alleys and
stairways. There below are the European quarters which widen near the
sea.
The crowd is shouting, pushing, rushing forward with him, like a raging
stream, tumultuous and unrestrainable. Ali is together with his men,
five boys, one of them older than twenty. All of them are armed. The
crowd forces them to quicken their step to a run.
Petit Omar is furthest in the rear. He is wearing a pair of short
pants, his chest bare; he is barefoot. He calls Ali with all his might,
but in vain.
He tries to join Ali, to make his way through the legs of the others;
he runs, clinging to the others, pushes, passes near the walls; then,
turning into a side-street, he rushes into an alleyway, and finally
arrives in front. He runs to Ali, almost out of breath.
PETIT OMAR
(shouting)
Kader says to stop them! He says we've
got to stop them!
Ali slows down as much as he can with the crowd pushing him from
behind.
ALI
Where's Kader?
PETIT OMAR
With the others. They are trying to stop
the people.
ALI
Go away.
Their voices can hardly be heard or understood amid the loud noises.
PETIT OMAR
But he says that if we go on like this,
we're playing their game, and they'll
murder everyone ... Stop, Ali!
Ali continues to run. His face is sullen, frowning, as always when he
must choose between instinct and reason. Omar calls him again. His
voice is hysterical, repeating again to stop. He is hanging on one of
Ali's arms. Ali jerks himself free violently; he strikes the child.
Omar sways and falls against the wall.
With this movement, Ali seems to release his anger at not being able to
carry out his actions.
He slows down, speaks to his men, a few words in Arabic, his voice cold
and bitter.
Ali extends his arm and the others imitate him. Each man grabs another
by the arm, forming a chain. They check the flow behind them and hold
back the crowd that is pressing forward.
54 KADER'S HOUSE. INSIDE. DAY. SEPTEMBER 30, 1956.
Djamila, the girl who in January, in rue Random, gave the revolver to
Ali la Pointe, is now standing in front of a large mirror. She removes
the veil from her face. Her glance is hard and intense; her face is
expressionless. The mirror reflects a large part of the room: it is a
bedroom. There are three other girls.
There is Zohra, who is about the same age as Djamila. She undresses,
removing her traditional costume, and is wearing a slip ...
There is Hassiba who is pouring a bottle of peroxide into a basin. She
dips her long black hair into the water to dye it blond.
Every action is performed precisely and carefully. They are like three
actresses preparing for the stage. But there is no gaiety; no one is
speaking. Only silence emphasizes the detailed rhythm of their
transformation ...
Djamila's lightweight European dress of printed silk ...
Zohra's blouse and short skirt to her knees ... make-up, lipstick,
high-heeled shoes, silk stockings ...
Hassiba has wrapped her hair in a towel to dry it ... a pair of blue
jeans, a striped clinging tee-shirt ...
Her blond hair is now dry. She ties it behind in a ponytail. Hassiba
has a young, slim figure. She seems to be a young European girl who is
preparing to go to the beach.
Continual silence. Djamila and Zohra have finished their preparations
and sit down to wait. Hassiba is still barefoot. She is putting on her
sandals, when someone knocks at the door.
Djamila gets up and goes to open it.
It is Kader.
A quick attentive glance; Djamila ... Zohra ... Hassiba ...
Hassiba responds to his look with a gay and somewhat coquettish
expression; she says, stressing her French:
HASSIBA
Ça va, monsieur?
Kader smiles for a second, without any gaiety, but to please her. Then
he speaks briefly and harshly in Arabic. And turning one at a time to
each of the three, he gives them three addresses.
KADER
(to Djamila)
Number three rue de Chêne.
(to Zohra)
Number fourteen rue Monseigneur Leynaud.
(to Hassiba)
Number twenty-one rue de l'Hydre.
Each one of the girls repeats, in turn, the address which he has given
her. Each one of the three responds emotionally. The atmosphere is
tense. Kader bids them farewell according to the Algerian custom, first
bringing his right hand over his heart. Then he embraces them.
They look at him for a moment; they are embarrassed. Kader tries to
ease their discomfort, smiles, and answers Hassiba's previous remark.
KADER
Ça va ... Et bonnes chances!
55 RUE DE L'HYDRE. OUTSIDE/INSIDE. DAY. 5:45 P.M.
At number twenty-one rue de l'Hydre, there is a bread store. Hassiba
has again covered her face with a veil, and is also wearing a white
cloak which covers her whole body.
She enters the store. There are other women who are buying bread.
Hassiba waits for them to leave, then says in Arabic to the shopkeeper:
HASSIBA
I've come to take the package ...
The shopkeeper empties half a basket of bread; at the bottom, there is
a beach bag with a shoulder-strap, and he gives it to Hassiba.
Hassiba hides it under her cloak, bends her head in a sign of farewell,
and leaves.
56 RUE MONS. LEYNAUD. INSIDE. DAY. 5:45 P.M.
At number fourteen rue Monseigneur Leynaud, there is a tailor shop and
clothing store. Zohra is also wearing the veil and white cloak. She
enters.
ZOHRA
I've come to take the package ...
The tailor accompanies her to the back of the shop, where there is a
workroom and young girls who are sewing. He rummages in a closet, takes
out an Air France utility bag and gives it to Zohra who hides it under
her cloak, greets him, and leaves.
57 RUE DU CHÊNE. INSIDE. DAY.
Inside number three rue du Chêne, an Algerian craftsman is working in
filigree. Djamila takes a small leather cosmetic case.
Djamila hides it, greets the man, and leaves.
58 ALLEY AND BLOCKADE. RUE MARENGO. INSIDE/OUTSIDE. DAY. 6:05 P.M.
At an intersection of rue Marengo, an alley, Hassiba enters a large
door, and shuts it. In a second, she has removed her veil and cloak.
Her face is made up; she is wearing pants and a jersey top. She places
the strap of her bag on her shoulder.
Inside the bag, a towel and bathing suit are visible.
Hassiba goes out the door, proceeds down the alley until she reaches
rue Marengo. She approaches the blockade.
It is Saturday evening; there is a hurried bustle of Algerians and
Europeans. Soldiers and policemen, are very busy with their usual
requests for documents.
Hassiba's arrival is quickly noticed for she is very pretty and
attracts much attention. Some soldiers whistle.
An elderly Algerian woman looks at her with dislike. Hassiba is
indifferent and waits her turn. A French soldier approaches her.
SOLDIER
I'd like to search you, Miss ...
For an instant, Hassiba is dismayed; then, she glances down at her
clinging shirt and pants.
HASSIBA
(innocently)
Where?
The boy is young, handsome, and cheeky.
SOLDIER
Not here. There's too many people.
HASSIBA
But you don't understand. I was saying
that there's nothing to search.
SOLDIER
That's what you think!
Some Europeans laugh, the Algerians seem not to see or hear, but it is
evident that they are scornful.
SECOND SOLDIER
Are you going for a swim, Miss ... all by
yourself?
HASSIBA
No, with some friends.
At the same time, she passes the blockade.
SECOND SOLDIER
Lucky them. Next Sunday I'm free .... Shall
we go together?
Hassiba shrugs her shoulders, smiles again, and moves away.
59 BLOCKADE RUE DU DIVAN. OUTSIDE. DAY.
At the rue du Divan blockade, Zohra too is dressed like a European, and
seems to be calm.
There are not too many people. A soldier makes a sign for her to pass
in a hurried manner, and the girl passes.
60 BLOCKADE RUE DE LA LYRE. OUTSIDE. DAY.
Djamila is tense, pale, her features are strained. Her eyes seem even
larger with make-up. Now, at the blockade at rue de la Lyre, the Casbah
exit is blocked. An Algerian has been discovered without documents. He
argues, shouts, and says that he wants to go back.
INCOHERENT VOICES.
The soldiers try to catch him, he struggles to get free.
Meanwhile the people push forward in protest. Two soldiers catch the
Algerian, and drag him bodily into the guard posts. The flow of people
continues.
Djamila steps forward, holding the cosmetic-case with both of her
hands. She doesn't know how to carry it, and from time to time she
changes her position. She realizes that she looks awkward.
It's now her turn. The soldiers' tone is arrogant. The previous scene
has made them nervous. An officer signals her to pass, then points to
the cosmetic-case.
OFFICER
What's inside?
Instinctively, Djamila lifts the case and looks at it; she feels
herself failing, but makes an effort to answer.
DJAMILA
Here?
OFFICER
There ...
Djamila uses all her strength to smile and she succeeds. Her eyes light
up defiantly.
DJAMILA
(provocatively)
Nothing.
The officer signals her to pass.
61 FISH-MARKET. INSIDE. DAY. 6:15 P.M.
A large warehouse in the fish-market. There are enormous iceboxes with
cartons of frozen fish and tubs with running water and live fish. The
three girls are next to one another.
The three bags are on top of the counter, a few steps away. With them
is a thin Algerian about twenty-five years old. He has thick black
hair, straight and combed neatly. He is wearing glasses. With his rough
and nervous hands, he pulls out the towel and bathing suit from
Hassiba's bag, then delicately and carefully, a square wooden box. He
opens it, and turning to the girl, signals her to move away a bit. The
girl steps back. In the box, there is a huge iron tube, sealed at both
ends by two clock dials. Inside the tube, two batteries with wires are
attached to the dials. The youth glances at his wristwatch, then
adjusts the hands of the dials to six forty-five. He puts the bomb back
into the box, closes it, and places it in the bag. He replaces the
towel and bathing suit, then hands the bag to Hassiba. He is smiling
slightly.
Hassiba takes the bag and goes away.
The box fits perfectly into Djamila's cosmetic-case. The youth opens it
without removing it from the case, adjusts the two dials to six fifty,
puts everything back in its place, and hands the case to Djamila. He
smiles at her and she moves away. In the Air France bag, there are
newspapers and magazines on top, and the same box. The youth adjusts
the bomb to six fifty-five, arranges it again inside the bag, closes
the zipper, and hands the bag to Zohra. He smiles at her. His smile is
more genuine, less mechanical. There is less tension than before.
The youth smiles at the girl and says in Arabic:
ALGERIAN
May Allah protect you.
Zohra thanks him in a whisper, bends her head, and moves away. The
youth takes a cigarette from his shirt pocket, places it between his
lips, and lights it. His hand is trembling a little.
62 CAFETERIA RUE MICHELET. INSIDE. DAY. 6:30 P.M.
Cafeteria, rue Michelet 1. The club is very crowded. There are two
rooms; one at the entrance with an American-style bar, and one at the
back with tables. It is Saturday, and at this hour many European
families go out to have an ice cream. There is not too much confusion
or uproar. The people are calm, they take their places at the bar and
small tables, and eat their ice cream while chatting quietly.
Hassiba enters, glances at the large clock above the cash register. It
is half past six. She goes to the register and waits her turn. The
different orders mingle; she orders a Coca-Cola. They give her the
check. She pays.
She goes to the bar; all the seats are taken. She gives her order and
the ticket to the waiter.
A man moves aside, looks at her, then steps down from his stool and
offers it to her.
Hassiba tells him that it doesn't matter, but the man insists. Hassiba
thanks him and sits down. The man is about fifty, well groomed. He
smiles again, and turns to chat with some friends.
Hassiba settles herself more comfortably on the seat, then removes the
bag from her shoulder. Holding it by the strap, she places it on the
floor below the counter behind the brass railing used to lean one's
feet.
The waiter has brought her the drink. Hassiba drinks slowly, from time
to time glancing at the clock. She finishes drinking. The bag is in a
vertical position.
Moving her feet slowly and carefully, Hassiba lets the bag slip on its
side.
She gets down from the seat, and points it out to the man who is
standing next to her.
HASSIBA
I'm giving your seat back.
MAN
Are you already leaving, Miss?
Hassiba smiles, nods yes.
HASSIBA
Good evening ...
The man sits down.
MAN
Good evening ...
63 MILK BAR. RUE D'ISLY. OUTSIDE/INSIDE. DAY.
Milk Bar, rue d'Isly, at the corner of Place Bugeand. The jukebox is
playing full blast. It is a bar for young people. There is much bustle
and confusion, much laughter. The girls are making plans for Sunday.
Djamila enters and moves to the jukebox which is in the corner near the
door. There are playbills for various theater performances hanging on
the wall. Djamila stops to look at them and reads the bottom lines. She
places the cosmetic-case on the floor. Rising again she looks around
her, and pushes the case behind the jukebox with her foot ...
64 AIR FRANCE. IMMEUBLE MAURETANIA. INSIDE. DAY.
Maison Blanche, Immeuble Mauretania. The entire ground floor is filled
with ticket counters and a waiting room for the airlines. There are
some employees, stewardesses and some travelers.
Zohra passes through the large glass door at the entrance, goes to the
Air France counter, takes a time schedule, then goes to sit down on a
sofa which runs along the opposite wall. She sits down and places the
airline bag on the ground in front of her, and begins to leaf through
the timetable, from time to time glancing around. Using her heels, she
pushes the bag under the sofa.
She looks at the large electric clock which is hanging in the center of
the room; it is forty minutes past six.
65 CAFETERIA RUE MICHELET. INSIDE. DAY.
It is six forty-four by the cafeteria clock. The second hand is moving.
There are more or less the same people. The old man is still seated on
the barstool, and continues to chat.
Hassiba's bag is still at his feet; the second hand is racing. A five-
year-old child hands a coin to the waiter:
CHILD
Ice cream ...
The father and mother are watching him, delighted. The waiter smiles at
the child and points to the cash register. He speaks to the child in
the usual tone of a grownup when speaking to children:
WAITER
You have to go there first ... and then
come back to me.
The second hand reaches twenty-five, then thirty. The child goes to the
cashier and pays. The cashier smiles at him and gives him the check.
CASHIER
What a good boy ...
The child returns to the counter. The waiter has already prepared the
ice cream for him, and hands it to him. The child is standing on
tiptoes.
66 CAFETERIA MICHELET. EXPLOSION. INSIDE. DAY.
The second hand, the explosion: bodies flung into the air, arms, legs,
white smoke, screams.
Bodies thrown outside, the doors unhinged, the windows broken, empty.
The people watch from their windows, the passersby move closer, they
bend down to look at those who are writhing on the ground.
Astonished and incredulous faces. No one speaks. Only screams and
weeping. Sirens which are drawing nearer. Firemen and police
arriving ...
67 MILK BAR. RUE D'ISLY. OUTSIDE. DAY.
The ambulance sirens on rue d'Isly, one car after another.
At the Milk Bar, the people go to the doors to look at the ambulances
which are racing toward Place Bugeand. The sirens fade in the distance
and move away. The jukebox is again loud: "Brigitte Bardot, Bardot ..."
The people re-enter the bar, chattering, to have their apéritifs. It is
six fifty: the explosion.
68 MILK BAR. EXPLOSION. OUTSIDE. DAY.
The jukebox is flung into the middle of the street. There is blood,
strips of flesh, material, the same scene as at the Cafeteria; the
white smoke and shouts, weeping, hysterical girls' screams. One of them
no longer has an arm and runs around, howling despairingly; it is
impossible to control her. The sound of sirens is heard again. The
crowd of people, the firemen, police, ambulances all rush to the scene
from Place Bugeand.
The ambulances arrive at rue Michelet.
They are already loaded with dead and wounded. The relatives of the
wounded are forced to get out. The father of the child who was buying
ice cream seems to be in a daze: he doesn't understand.
They pull him down by force. The child remains there, his blond head a
clot of blood.
The policemen try to bring order to the chaos, are forced to shout,
push, threaten. The wounded swarm around the ambulances. A Commissioner
sends off the first one.
COMMISSIONER
What time is it?
POLICEMAN
A quarter to seven.
The Commissioner goes to the second ambulance, pulls down a man who is
trying to enter by force, slams the door, and shouts to the driver. His
face is pale and drawn; the veins of his neck are swollen.
COMMISSIONER
Go away, for God's sake!
The auto leaves and now, the third explosion resounds in the distance.
It is heard clearly and violently from the Mauretania section.
The Commissioner stops midway in his last gesture, and likewise, all
the others, who are paralyzed with fright, incapable of taking action
again, of accepting such reality for a third time.
In Place Bugeand, there also, the people are motionless. All of them
are looking in the same direction. Their faces are alike in their
terror, alike in their sense of impotence, alike in their deep sadness.
69 STREET. EUROPEAN CITY. OUTSIDE. DAY.
The sun appears, then hides behind black clouds. There is a cool wind.
It is ten in the morning, and the European city has its usual rapid and
efficient rhythm of every day at this hour, only there is terror
written on the face of every person. That same terror has remained, and
suspicion, and despairing impotence.
Patrols of soldiers and policemen move around the city, search
Algerians and some Europeans, stop automobiles, trucks, buses, and
trams that they block at both doors.
At the entrance to every shop, the owner searches every customer before
letting him enter.
He does so politely with a drawn smile, and methodically rummages
through every handbag, every package.
So too in the bars, in the offices, in workshops ... And now that it is
already late afternoon, also outside the brothels, the cinemas, the
theaters.
70 LEMONS STREET. OUTSIDE. SUNSET.
A young Algerian boy thirteen or fourteen years old, wearing sandals
without socks, trousers that reach to his ankles, walks quickly
carrying a cardboard box tied with a cord. It is dusk.
A European woman sees him pass in front of her, looks at him, and
follows him with her glance.
On the sidewalk there are some youths. The woman points to the Algerian
boy, says something. The traffic is heavy. Her words are unclear. One
youth calls to the boy who is by now thirty feet away:
YOUTH
Hey, little rat ...
The boy turns around for a second, his face frightened, and quickens
his step. The youths follow behind him and the boy begins to run. The
youths too begin to run and others join them, people who are passing.
They form a small mob and are shouting. The boy shoots into a
sidestreet, drops his box, and races ahead.
While some chase the boy, others stop around the box, make way, look
for a policeman, a soldier, an officer. A circle continues to form
around the box. A patrol arrives. One of the soldiers has a Geiger
counter. He moves near the box, carefully placing the counter above it,
then ceasing to be prudent, he takes his bayonette, cuts the cord, and
tears open the box: lemons.
71 STREET CORNER. OUTSIDE. SUNSET.
The boy has been cornered, surrounded, pinned down, kicked, hit with
umbrellas, until he is exhausted and can no longer defend himself. He
is no longer moving. He is lying on the ground, dead. The air is gray
now, and slowly all the colors unite to form gray. Lights are lit in
the city and contrast with the whiteness of the Casbah high above. The
sky is still clear, the black profiles of the mountains, the straight
coasts on the sea, the sea itself that seems to be land until it
reaches the horizon where the moon rises between the clouds.
SPEAKER
"Following a lengthy discussion, the
General Assembly of the United Nations has
decided its agenda for the forthcoming
debates:
(1) re-unification of Korea
(2) disarmament
(3) the Algerian question.
Colombia has proposed that only the first
two points be discussed for the day.
However, the Afro-Asian nations opposed,
underlining the importance they attribute
to the Algerian question ..."
72 SEA-FRONT. OUTSIDE. DAY. JANUARY 10, 1957.
The European crowd applauds, their eyes aglow, their mouths wide open,
shouting and yelling, their teeth flashing in the sun. Clapping of
applause on the sea-front of Algiers. Children, are held up to see,
waving small flags. The paratroopers of the Tenth Division march past.
SPEAKER
"Mr. Raymond Lefevre, Inspector General
of the Administration, has presided over
a meeting in which important decisions
have been taken with the aim of securing
public order and the protection of
persons and their property. In particular,
it has been decided to recall the 'Tenth'
Division of paratroopers to Algiers that,
until now, has been employed in the
antiguerrilla operations on the Cabiro
plateau. The Commander General of the
Tenth Division will assume responsibility
for the maintenance of order in Algiers,
and will have at his disposal in order to
achieve this goal, all civil and military
means provided for the defense of the
zone."
Massu and the authorities are standing on the balconies of the
Prefecture building.
The paras are marching, their sleeves rolled up, their faces sunburned.
Machine guns, bazookas, crew-cuts, the eyes of singing boys, silent
steps, one battalion after another.
The dragon "black berets" pass by ...
The "red berets" of the 2nd Regiment of colonial paratroopers ...
"Les casquettes" of the 3rd Regiment parade by; "les hommes-peints,"
Mathieu's paras.
Colonel Mathieu is at the head of the regiment. He is tall, slender,
over fifty. He has thinning gray hair, a lean face, blue eyes, and a
wide forehead. His face is lined with many wrinkles. Were it not for
the uniform, the weapons, his tanned skin, his manner of walking, and
his energetic voice when giving orders, he wouldn't seem a soldier, but
an intellectual.
The 3rd Regiment colonial paratroopers are now before the Commissioner.
Mathieu turns his head slightly and:
MATHIEU
3rd Regiment! Attention à droite ...
Droite!
SPEAKER
Family name: Mathieu; Name: Philippe;
Born in Rennes May 3, 1906; Rank:
Lieutenant Colonel; Schooling:
Politechnique-degree in Engineering;
Campaigns: Second World War, Anti-Nazi
Resistance Movement, Italian Campaign,
Indochinese War, Algerian War ...
73 VILLA HEADQUARTERS. INSIDE. DAY.
In a villa in the military headquarters, a reception room is visible
through a large window on the first floor. There are about twenty
officers seated in rows of chairs as if for a lecture. Mathieu is in
front of them and he is speaking while standing next to a desk. At his
back there is a blackboard, and near it, a large map with pyramid
graphs, cells, arrows, crossmarks, and, above them, the title:
STRUCTURE NLF AUTONOMOUS ZONE OF ALGIERS.
Mathieu's voice has nothing of the military and traditional. His tone
is neither harsh nor cold, but rather kind and pleasing; from it
emanates a superior authority imposed by reason and not by position.
MATHIEU
The result is that in the last two
months, they have reached an average of
4.2 assaults per day, including
aggression against individuals, and the
explosions. Of course, the conditions of
the problem are as usual: first, the
adversary; second, the method to destroy
him ... There are 80,000 Arabs in the
Casbah. Are they all against us? We know
they are not. In reality, it is only a
small minority that dominates with
terror and violence. This minority is
our adversary and we must isolate and
destroy it ...
While speaking, he goes to the window, and pulls down the shade. He
interrupts his speech, points to the rest of the window:
MATHIEU
Draw it down there too ...
Two or three officers stand up to perform the task. At the back of the
room there is a movie projector.
Next to it there is a para who is preparing to operate it.
The other shades are drawn, and gradually the room is darkened.
Mathieu, meanwhile, has resumed speaking:
MATHIEU
He is an adversary who shifts his
position above and below the surface with
highly commendable revolutionary methods
and original tactics. ... He is an
anonymous and unrecognizable enemy who
mingles with thousands of others who
resemble him. We find him everywhere: in
the alleys of the Casbah; in the streets
of the European city, and in working
places.
Mathieu interrupts himself again and makes a signal to the back of the
room which is completely darkened.
MATHIEU
Go ahead, Martin.
Martin turns on the projector. On the white wall next to the map and
graph appear pictures of the Casbah. There are the blockades, the
barbed wire, the metal screens, the Algerians who exit and enter, the
policemen and soldiers who examine documents and frisk someone. From
time to time, close-ups of the pictures are shown, enlarged to the
minutest details, close-ups of faces, motionless images that last only
for a few seconds.
MATHIEU
Here is some film taken by the police.
The cameras were hidden at the Casbah
exits. They thought these films might be
useful, and in fact they are useful in
demonstrating the usefulness of certain
methods. Or, at least, their inadequacy.
Hassiba is now seen and the soldiers who are wooing her, while she
laughs, jokes, flirts in a provocative manner, and passes the blockade.
MATHIEU
I chose these films because they were
shot in the hours preceding some recent
terroristic assaults. And so, among all
these Arabs, men and women, there are the
ones responsible. But which ones are they?
How can we recognize them? Controlling
documents is ridiculous: one who has
everything in order is most likely to be
the terrorist.
An Algerian is being dragged away while protesting, kicking, and trying
to free himself. And then the scene changes. There is another Casbah
exit, and an Algerian who is being searched.
MATHIEU
(smiling)
Note the intuition of the cameraman. He
realized that in that box, there had to
be something of interest, and he paused
to focus it.
The picture is enlarged. The small box which the Algerian is carrying
on his shoulder is seen in detail. It is opened. The box is swarming
with snakes; the soldier who had wanted to examine it jumps backward.
The officers in the room burst into laughter.
MATHIEU
(laughing)
Maybe the bomb was hidden right there, in
a double bottom. Who knows? We'll never
know.
Using the barrel of his machine gun, a soldier has closed the box. A
snake has managed to jump out, and fallen to the ground. The people are
terrified and move away. Others laugh, among them, Petit Omar, who
seems to be an ordinary child enjoying himself.
MATHIEU
That's enough, Martin ...
The lights are again switched on in the room. Mathieu is again next to
the desk, and waits a second until the buzz of comments subsides.
MATHIEU
We must start again from scratch. The only
information that we have concerns the
structure of the organization. And we
shall begin from that ...
He takes a wooden pointer from the desk in order to illustrate the
graph, while he speaks with the tone and precision of a university
professor.
MATHIEU
It is a pyramid-like organization divided
into a series of sectors. At the top of
the pyramid is their General Staff.
He has moved near the blackboard, and taken some chalk, and slowly as
he speaks, he illustrates his speech.
MATHIEU
The military commander responsible for
the executive body finds the right man
and nominates him to responsibility for
a sector: number one. Number one in his
turn, chooses another two: number two and
number three ... And so they form the
first triangle.
He has written high on the board a number one and below it, with some
space between them, the numbers two and three. He unites the three
numbers with lines and forms a triangle.
MATHIEU
Now number two and number three choose,
in their turn, two men each ... number
four and five, and so on ...
Mathieu writes the new numbers, spacing them on the next line. Then he
unites two to four and five, and three to six and seven, forming two
new triangles.
Mathieu has written other numbers and unites them to those of the
preceding line and thus forms other triangles. Now the blackboard is
covered by a series of triangles that form a large pyramid.
MATHIEU
The reason for this geometry is so that
every militant will know only three
members in the entire organization: his
commander who has chosen him, and the two
members that he himself has chosen ...
Contacts take place only by written
instructions ... That is why we do not
know our adversaries: because, in
practice, they do not even know each
other.
Mathieu leaves the blackboard and moves near the officers. The tone of
his voice changes. The explanation is now finished. He gives
directions ...
MATHIEU
To know them means to eliminate them.
Consequently, the military aspect is
secondary to the police method. I know we
are not fond of this word, but it is the
only word that indicates exactly the type
of work that we must perform. We must
make the necessary investigations in
order to proceed from one vertex to
another in the entire pyramid. The
reason for this work is information. The
method is interrogation. And
interrogation becomes a method when
conducted in a manner so as to always
obtain a result, or rather, an answer.
In practice, demonstrating a false
humanitarianism only leads to the
ridiculous and to impotence. I am
certain that all the units will
understand and react accordingly.
However, success does not depend solely
on us. We need to have the Casbah at our
disposal. We must sift through it ... and
interrogate everyone. And here is where
we find ourselves hindered by a
conspiracy of laws and regulations that
continue to be operative, as if Algiers
were a holiday resort and not a
battleground. We have requested a carte
blanche. But it is very difficult to
obtain. Therefore, it is necessary to
find an excuse to legitimize our
intervention, and make it possible. It
is necessary to create it ourselves --
this excuse. Unless our adversaries will
think of it themselves, which seems to be
what they are doing.
74 ALLEY UPPER CASBAH. OUTSIDE. DAY.
It is not a song, but a type of spoken chorus, an assembly of young
voices, words whispered from the throat, both high and low, and sudden
silent pauses. It is monotonous; but it is just such a repetition,
always with the same pattern of tones -- high, low, then, silent --
that manages to transform itself into a motif, reach an excited pitch,
and acquire breadth and solemnity. The sound fills the alleys, rises
toward the long rectangle of sky, and moves farther away as if it were
meant to be heard by all.
The alley is narrow and sloping, with crumbling walls, tufts of grass,
and refuse. It is located at the outer periphery of the Casbah -- the
countryside is in the background. An Algerian is walking with large
steps; a five-year-old child is behind him, moving quickly, stumbling
from time to time on the pavement; although he does not cry,
occasionally he calls to his father, who proceeds forward, and does not
turn around. The chorus arises from behind them. It is incoherent. They
stop in front of a door; they have arrived. The door gives way and they
enter.
75 KORAN SCHOOL. INSIDE. DAY.
A large room, like a shop or stable. Here too, on the ground and
pavement, there are tufts of grass. It is cold. The walls are
unplastered, the windows boarded. The roof is in sight, but not the
beams. The roof is made of tiles and covered with a coat of whitewash.
There are about twenty children, five to eight years old, seated on the
floor. The teacher is in front of them; he too is seated. He is
prompting the verses in a low voice, almost in a whisper, and the
chorus repeats it.
The Koran School: a bare, wobbling place.
The Algerian who has entered takes the child by his hand, and
accompanies him to the teacher who is now standing; the chorus
continues; the other children, do not look at the two who have just
entered.
The Algerian and the teacher greet each other, bringing their hands to
their hearts, and then to their mouths. At the same time, the teacher
takes an envelope from under his tunic, and hands it over to the other.
SPEAKER
"To all militants! After two years of
hard struggle in the mountains and city,
the Algerian people have obtained a great
victory. The UN Assembly has placed the
Algerian question in its forthcoming
agenda. The discussion will begin on
Monday, January 28. Starting Monday, for
a duration of eight days, the NLF is
calling a general strike. For the
duration of this period, all forms of
armed action or attempts at such are
suspended. We are requesting that all
militants mobilize for the strike's
organization and success."
The Algerian has hidden the envelope inside his tunic, then presents
the child to the teacher, who makes him sit down with the other
children The teacher also returns to his place and sits down, and
suggests a new phrase; the chorus continues. The Algerian leaves the
school.
76 ALLEY UPPER CASBAH. OUTSIDE. DAY.
Having passed through the door, he again moves along the alley, this
time descending, with hurried steps. The chorus continues, again heard
from without, but its echo is now different.
77 VARIOUS VIEWS CASBAH. OUTSIDE/INSIDE. DAY.
Bars, stores, market stalls, "Arab baths." Typewritten pieces of paper
are used to wrap purchases, or slipped inside bags, or used on the
blank side to add up bills and then handed to the customers.
78 VARIOUS VIEWS EUROPEAN CITY. OUTSIDE/INSIDE. DAY.
In the European city the Algerian workers: at the docks, the central
gas company; on the trams; the waiters in the restaurants, in the bars;
the shoeshine men
SPEAKER
"Algerian brothers! A great hope has
arisen for us. The world is watching us.
The next few days may be decisive for our
future and our freedom. The colonial
powers will attempt to demonstrate to the
UN that the NFL does not represent the
will of our people. Our response will be
unanimous support of the general strike."
79 SEA-FRONT. OUTSIDE. DAY.
At the sea-front, there is a newspaper boy, about twelve years old,
barefoot. His voice is shrill yet cheerful. He is smiling.
NEWSBOY
Le Monde! Le Monde! General strike! ...
Strike!
Some Europeans buy the newspaper, half-heartedly, grumbling
disagreeably. The boy remains cheerful, places the change inside the
bag strapped to his shoulder, thanks them.
Now he passes in front of a beggar, an elderly Algerian who is leaning
against a railing.
The boy winks at him, while he continues to shout:
NEWSBOY
Strike!
SPEAKER
"During the eight days of the strike, do
not frequent the European city, or leave
the Casbah. Provide lodgings in your
homes for the poor, the beggars, the
brothers who do not have homes. Store
provisions of food and water for eight
days!"
80 CASBAH STREETS AND SHOPS. INSIDE/OUTSIDE. DAY.
There is a strange atmosphere in the Casbah. People are greeting each
other in the streets; a thick buzz of voices, a festive mood, a sense
of brotherhood, and the children, who are taking advantage of the
situation and play and run everywhere.
The shops are unusually crowded. The people enter and exit, loaded with
supplies. In the shops too, there is the same festive mood, almost as
if the supplies were for a trip to the country. The shopkeepers are
also cheerful.
And the poor customers, instead of paying, hand over a ticket stamped
NLF.
81 CASBAH BLOCKADE. OUTSIDE. DAY. SUNSET. SUNDAY. JANUARY 27, 1957.
Late afternoon, at the blockades of rue de la Lyre, rue du Divan, and
rue Marengo. The Casbah exit ramps are deserted, while the entrance
ramps are overflowing with people. Here too, there is an intangible air
of gaiety, witty remarks, laughter, ironic glances toward the soldiers
and policemen with cold faces, immobile -- helmets and machine guns --
who stand at the entrances without intervening.
The image is shortened and focused through the lenses of binoculars.
82 GOVERNMENT PALACE. OUTSIDE/INSIDE. SUNSET.
A paratrooper officer looks at the blockades of rue du Divan from a
Government Palace balcony. Mathieu is beside him.
MATHIEU
No one is leaving, eh?
The officer hands him the binoculars.
OFFICER
No. They continue to enter, the rats.
Mathieu looks through the binoculars, and comments in a low voice,
smiling:
MATHIEU
Rats in a trap, we hope ...
OFFICER
But do you believe that the strike will
be widespread?
MATHIEU
Without a doubt.
Behind the two officers, through a large open window, a room is
visible. There is a large table, and around it, other high officers of
the various armed forces, and some important officials in plainclothes.
A general, who has his back to the balcony, turns and calls Mathieu:
GENERAL
Mathieu! Mathieu, a name ...
MATHIEU
A name?
GENERAL
Yes, a name for the operation.
Mathieu moves the binoculars from the blockades and turns slowly around
the Government square, until he reaches an advertising sign for a brand
of champagne which now, in the dusk, lights up with a sporadic rhythm:
CORDON ... ROUGE.
Mathieu pauses then turns toward the room, and enters smiling:
MATHIEU
Champagne ... All right?
The general repeats absent-mindedly:
GENERAL
Champagne ... Champagne.
(then, in a convinced voice)
Operation Champagne, yes, alright.
83 RUE DU DIVAN BLOCKADE. OUTSIDE. EVENING.
At the rue du Divan blockade, there is an incoherent, monotonous, and
irritating chant. There is a blind beggar. He is light-complexioned,
tall and thin, his beard long, his arms stretched out, a cane in his
hand. He arrives at last at the entrance ramp, tries to find the way,
but cannot. He tries again and again with his cane, continually
repeating his sorrowful chant, until a policeman takes him by his free
hand, placing the hand roughly on the metal screen.
POLICEMAN
Go on! Go on!
The beggar protests and waves his cane in a way that the policeman has
to duck to prevent himself from being hit. The policeman curses,
spitefully, coarsely.
A soldier starts to laugh. The old man takes up his chant again, and
moves forward leaning on the metal screen. On the other side of the
blockade, behind the square, there is a group of veiled girls who have
seen the old man, and seem to be waiting for him.
Two of them go to meet him, and each one takes one of his arms. At the
touch of their hands, the old man is again infuriated. Even the girls
laugh. Then, one of them speaks to him slowly in a loud voice.
It seems that the old man has understood. He is convinced. He mumbles
something kindly and lets them accompany him.
84 CASBAH ALLEY. FRONT DOOR. OUTSIDE. NIGHT.
A poorly lit alley. A group of unemployed men and beggars are standing
in front of a door.
One of the three companions consults a list, then points to two in the
group. He signals them to enter.
85 KADER'S HOUSE. INSIDE. NIGHT.
Inner courtyard.
In the inner courtyard, there is an elderly man who awaits them and
receives them kindly.
They greet each other in the customary Algerian manner.
Courtyard and balcony.
On the terrace also, someone is looking toward the courtyard. Kader is
on the terrace together with a man about forty years old, dressed in
European clothes, he has narrow shoulders and a sunken chest. His face
is sensitive, his forehead high, and his hair and eyes black. His eyes
are kind and thoughtful and twinkle with irony.
He is Ben M'Hidi, one of the four members of the CCE, the Central
Executive Committee.
KADER
(to him)
They are beggars and unemployed, homeless.
We have organized things in such a way
that during the strike they will be
guests of other families who have homes
and will provide shelter in the event of
possible reprisals ... But I didn't know
that they would be brought to this house
too. It is a mistake.
BEN M'HIDI
Why?
KADER
Because you are here too. It would be
better for you to move to another house.
Ben M'Hidi moves away from the parapet.
BEN M'HIDI
All right ... You're the one who must
decide.
Kader follows him along the terrace.
KADER
No, if I were the one to decide, you
wouldn't be in Algiers now.
Ben M'Hidi looks at him, smiling.
BEN M'HIDI
Why? Isn't it wise?
Kader smiles too, and repeats:
KADER
It isn't wise.
At the end of the terrace, there is a construction raised to a level
with the stairs that lead to the floor below. There is a large room;
through the open door, the lighted interior is visible. The walls have
high brick baseboards, and at the bottom of one of the four walls there
is a square opening that leads into a hiding place. The closure of the
hiding place, a square of very thick wall, is placed to one side. Ali
la Pointe is covering it with bricks.
On the other side of the room next to the door, there are some cement
wash-basins, and a shed for rain water. Kader appears at the door.
KADER
Ali, you must accompany Ben M'Hidi to the
Maison des Arbres.
Ali doesn't answer immediately. He finishes placing the last brick then
turns to Kader.
ALI
Why? Isn't he sleeping here?
KADER
No, it's better if he doesn't. The house
is filled with new people.
Ali gets up, wipes his hands on his trousers, at the same time
inspecting the work that he has just completed.
ALI
Here's another one ready. What a hideout!
It really looks like a wall. I'll dirty
it a bit, and it's perfect. Want to give
a look inside?
Kader has taken a machine gun from one of the basins, and he tosses it
to Ali, who catches it.
KADER
No, go now. It's already late.
They go out on the terrace. Ali releases the catch of his machine gun
so that the bullet slips into the barrel.
KADER
(to Ben M'Hidi)
They are a family of militants from way
back. Everything will work out well,
you'll see ... C'mon, Ali, hurry up.
BEN M'HIDI
Alright. See you tomorrow.
They say good-bye, embracing one another. Ali has already climbed over
the terrace wall, and has jumped to the next one.
Ben M'Hidi follows him; he is less agile and moves with a bit of
trouble.
From the parapet, Kader says to him:
KADER
Passing along the terraces only takes
five minutes ... and with Ali la Pointe,
you'll be safe ...
While jumping, Ben M'Hidi loses his balance, and has to grab on to Ali
to prevent himself from falling.
BEN M'HIDI
But it's he who won't be safe with me ...
The two figures move away from terrace to terrace, and disappear in the
dark.
86 CASBAH VIEWS AND TERRACES. OUTSIDE. NIGHT.
In the dark in front of them, a metallic reflection is visible and the
sharp and aggressive sound of an Algerian voice is heard.
Ali responds to the password.
A youth steps out from the shadows. He too is carrying a machine gun,
recognizes Ali, and greets him. Ali and Ben M'Hidi continue ...
87 MAISON DES ARBRES, TERRACE. OUTSIDE. NIGHT.
Until they arrive at a terrace which is separated from the next one by
an alley about ten feet wide.
ALI
Here it is ... we've arrived ...
Ben M'Hidi glances at the emptiness beneath them, looks at Ali, and
takes a deep breath.
BEN M'HIDI
Not yet ...
Ali has climbed onto the parapet, looks around him concentrating
attentively for a moment, and then jumps into the void, reaching the
opposite side. He bends, searches for something in the dark, and lifts
a type of gangplank.
He hands it over to Ben M'Hidi, and together they place it between the
two terraces.
ALI
Be careful now. Unless you know how it
works, it's better if you sit on the plank
and move forward like this ...
BEN M'HIDI
Let's try ...
He tries to stand up on the gangplank, but he lacks the necessary
steadiness. He can't hold his balance. He does as Ali has advised him;
he sits astride on the plank, and using the force of his arms, he
pushes himself forward. He stops halfway to rest for a minute.
BEN M'HIDI
It's good nobody is following us ...
ALI
It's a question of habit ...
And when Ben M'Hidi is closer, Ali helps him to get down to the terrace.
ALI
It's better if I go first, to make sure
everything's okay ...
Without waiting for an answer, he moves toward the stairway that leads
to the floor below; his movements are silent and graceful.
Ben M'Hidi leans out from the terrace, and looks toward the European
city and the sea. At the port, two searchlights are lit, and their long
bright rays move slowly toward the Casbah ...
When Ali la Pointe returns, Ben M'Hidi is still leaning on the railing.
He seems not to hear the sound of Ali's footsteps, or his voice.
ALI
Everything's okay ... They're waiting for
you ...
Ali moves near him, and Ben M'Hidi turns and looks at him.
BEN M'HIDI
What do you think of the strike, Ali?
ALI
I think it'll be a success ...
BEN M'HIDI
Yes, I think so too ... It's been
organized well ... But what will the
French do?
Both the question, and the answer seem obvious to Ali.
ALI
(shrugging)
It's clear. They'll do everything
possible to make it fail.
BEN M'HIDI
No, they'll do even more. We've given
them the opportunity to do a lot more ...
Do you understand what I mean? Starting
tomorrow, they won't be groping in the
dark any more; every shop and every
worker who strikes will be a known enemy,
a self-confessed criminal ... And they
will be able to pass to the offensive.
Have you thought of this?
Ali has listened attentively. The effort with which he is trying to ask
himself the meaning of these words is visible on his face.
ALI
(shaking his head)
No ...
BEN M'HIDI
But Kader told me that you weren't in
favor of the strike.
ALI
No, and neither were my men.
BEN M'HIDI
Why?
ALI
Because they told us that we mustn't use
weapons, now, when the time is right.
BEN M'HIDI
That's true ... Wars aren't won with
terrorism, neither wars nor revolutions.
Terrorism is a beginning but afterward,
all the people must act ... This is the
reason for the strike, and its necessity:
to mobilize all Algerians, count them and
measure their strength ...
ALI
To show them to the UN, right?
BEN M'HIDI
(smiling slightly)
Yes ... yes. The problem also involves the
UN. I don't know what it's worth, but this
way, we'll give the UN the possibility of
evaluating our strength.
Ali breathes deeply, instinctively, unrestrainedly, Ben M'Hidi watches
him, smiles, and says:
BEN M'HIDI
Do you know something Ali? Starting a
revolution is hard, and it's even harder
to continue it. Winning is hardest of all.
But only afterward, when we have won,
will the real hardships begin.
He pats Ali's back fondly with his hand and continues, smiling:
BEN M'HIDI
Anyway, there's still a lot to be done
... you aren't already tired, Ali, are
you?
Ali looks at him, and without reacting to his irony:
ALI
(with conviction)
No!
88 VARIOUS HOUSES. CASBAH. OUTSIDE. DAWN. JANUARY 28, 1957.
It is gray and smoky dawn, a slow reabsorption of the night, an opaque
light which is diffused, sprayed, frozen, to transparency, and
rediscovers its outlines and perspectives; and finally, the sun, golden
light, awakens all Algiers. To the north, the sea. To the south, the
mountains and the Casbah, situated halfway along the coast. The Casbah,
still, inert, expectant, on this first day of the strike ...
The paratroopers are already at their places, one after another, at
equal distances like links of a very long chain, strung through every
alley, spreading to every sidestreet, twisting through the squares,
climbing up the stairways, dividing, joining, and lengthening again.
The silence is perfect; the camouflaged immobile forms seem to be part
of the landscape.
Then a brief and sharp hiss, a hundred whistles together.
A signal releases the still forms: the attack begins.
Doors are beaten down, shots, screams, rifle fire, machine gun fire;
the doors opened or broken