Black Diamond

to calm them down. They’ll listen to me.”
    “Let’s hope so, monsieur.” Bruno moved on to greet Alphonse, the elderly hippie from the commune in the hills above the town, and the first Green to have been elected to the town council.
    “Can I count on you to keep things calm when the men come out, Alphonse?” Bruno asked, shaking the hand of the man who made the best goat cheese in the district.
    “We don’t want trouble, Bruno,” said Alphonse, a hand-rolledcigarette bouncing on his lower lip. “We’ve won this battle.”
    “I don’t know some of these people you’ve gathered here,” Bruno said, surveying the crowd behind Guillaume and Alphonse.
    “It’s mostly the usual Green campaigners from Périgueux and Bergerac, plus a couple all the way from Bordeaux. It’s been a big campaign for us in this region. Don’t worry, Bruno. It’s just that we haven’t had too many successes lately and this one’s important.”
    There was a sudden alertness in the crowd, and Bruno turned to see the door of the sawmill office open. The employees, or rather the ex-employees, filed slowly out. The first ones paused as they saw the crowd at the gate, and a couple began to wave when they spotted their wives and children. Bruno walked across to the small side gate and gestured to the men to use it, thinking the sooner the men mingled with their families the less chance there would be of a scene. But Marcel the foreman shook his head and advanced to the main entrance, where he unlocked the padlock and began to slide open the big iron gate.
    “It’s the last day, Bruno. We leave by the main gate,” Marcel said. “We didn’t start this damn mess and we aren’t slinking out by the side door.” He moved on to embrace his wife and then turned, his hands on his hips, to stare grimly at the
écolos
.
    Bruno moved to block Marcel’s view and solemnly shook hands with each of the workers as they left the premises, murmuring briefly to them by name and suggesting it was time to go home with their families. Most of them shrugged and moved on to the waiting women and children. The mayorappeared at Bruno’s side, following his example and shaking hands, and taking by the arm two of the younger men who were looking aggressively at the
écolos
to steer them gently away from any confrontation. It seemed to be working, the mood more mournful than angry, some of the married men taking children in their arms and starting to drift away.
    Then the main door of the showroom opened and Pons himself appeared, straight-backed and powerful despite his seventy years. His heavy shoulders bulged in his jacket, reminding Bruno that Pons had in his youth captained the town’s rugby team. He still served on the club’s board. He looked every inch the prosperous businessman in his suit, white shirt and bow tie, his bald head shining in the winter sun. Pons nodded courteously as two women who worked in the office left the building quickly and scurried away through the side gate. He locked the door of the business he had inherited and expanded and then turned to gaze impassively at the crowd.
    “Pons out, Pons out,” came the first, almost hesitant chant from the
écolos
, not amplified with any bullhorn. Bruno saw that Pons’s son was gazing silently back at his father, their poses almost identical. But the bullhorn was by his side, and Guillaume didn’t move as the Greens behind him began a chorus of boos and jeers at the solitary businessman.
    Bruno walked quickly through the gate toward Pons senior and spoke to him as a friend of many a rugby club dinner rather than as the chief of police of St. Denis. “Your car is parked around the side,
mon vieux
. I’d strongly advise you to get into it and leave now before we have trouble. There are women and kids here.”
    “Don’t tell me what to do, Bruno, not on my own property,” Pons said quietly, not bothering to shift his gaze fromthe crowd at his gate. “I didn’t start this
bordel de merde
, but I’m walking out with my head high.”
    “I’m going to have to walk with you then,” Bruno said.
    “Suit yourself.”
    Pons began striding toward the gate. The boos increased in volume, and some of the
écolos
began a surge forward, only to be restrained by Pons’s son, who stretched out his arms to hold them back. There was a cold smile on his face as his father approached him.
    Too fast for Bruno to intervene, the older man didn’t even break stride as he slapped his son