Abdelkarim knew how to tell real customers apart from unwelcome guests, and he would scrutinise the intentions of the passers-by in the way one rummages through someone’s pockets, inviting customers who seemed unsure into the shop, hovering in the background so as to assist them when ordered to, or else barring the path to those visitors who were unwelcome by adopting an authoritarian tone and informing them that the master was too busy to receive them, and that they should come back some other time. Sitting at the back of the shop, Émile Chébas would hear everything without ever lifting his gaze from his ledgers. Abdelkarim’s voice was like a sixth sense that kept him informed about everything happening in the market. His voice filtered the chaotic flux of people as though he were an auto
