Malavita Read Online Free PDF

knows what else. It would just rot in the storeroom until it got past its sell-by date.”
    â€œI just wondered. So sorry.”
    Maggie went off to the back of the shop, embarrassed at having created a sense of awkwardness over something that wasn’t worth it. The peanut butter wasn’t the slightest bit urgent, her son had plenty of time to make fancy sandwiches – she had simply wanted to do something nice for him on the first day of school. She quite understood the manager’s point of view. Nothing was more exasperating than tourists with their food fads, and all those others who turned food into some sort of nostalgic icon, or stupid chauvinistic symbol. She had hated the sight of her compatriots in Paris crowding into fast-food outlets, complaining that they couldn’t find the sort of food they stuffed themselves with all the rest of the year. She saw it as a sign of terrible disrespect for the country they were visiting, particularly if, as in her case, it was providing her with an asylum.
    She thought no more of it, and continued around the shop, filling her basket, stopping at the drinks shelf.
    â€œPeanut butter . . .”
    â€œAnd then you wonder why one American in five is obese.”
    â€œAnd Coca-Cola . . .”
    The voices were close by, just behind the stack where Maggie was reaching down for a pack of beer. She couldn’t help listening to the hushed conversation between the manager and two of his customers.
    â€œI’ve got nothing against them, but they certainly make themselves at home wherever they are.”
    â€œOf course there were the landings. But we’ve been invaded ever since!”
    â€œIn our day, and for our generation, it was nylon stockings and chewing gum, but what about our children?”
    â€œMine dresses like them, enjoys the same things, listens to the same music.”
    â€œThe worst thing is the food they eat. I cook something they like, and all they can think of is to leave the table as quick as they can and rush off to McDonalds.”
    Maggie felt hurt. By treating her as a typical American, they had cast doubt on all her goodwill and efforts at integration. It was a cruel irony, particularly for somebody who had been cast out of her country and had lost her civic rights.
    â€œThey’ve got no taste in anything, that’s for sure.”
    â€œBarbarians. I know, I’ve been there.”
    â€œAnd if you tried to settle there,” the manager concluded, “just imagine how that would go down!”
    Maggie had suffered enough in the past from all the sidelong glances, the muttering behind her back, the general sarcasm when she appeared in public, the wild rumours which were impossible to disprove. This unlucky threesome had unwittingly stirred up all these memories. The paradox was that if they had invited her to join in their conversation, she would have agreed with a lot of what they said.
    â€œAnd they want to be the masters of the universe?”
    Without revealing anything, she went over to the household-goods section, added three bottles of paraffin and a box of matches to her basket, paid at the cash desk and went out.
    Outside, the last rays of the sun were disappearing and afternoon was fading into evening. The staff were beginning to feel tired, the customers were hurrying along, everything was as usual on this March evening at six o’clock, the same rituals, the same sleepy atmosphere.
    So what was that smell of burning rubber that was just beginning to reach the nostrils of the cashiers?
    One of the customers gave a great scream. The manager looked up from his order book and saw a strange curtain of fire undulating over the shop window. An impenetrable curtain of leaping flame began to spread into the shop.
    A warehouseman reacted first and called the fire brigade. The customers looked for an emergency exit. The cashiers just disappeared, while the manager, for whom the shop and