‘A radio?’ said Selznick. He sneered. ‘Well, then, it wasn’t a fair fight, Jobert. You’ve contaminated the last place on earth where a man could still be free, like a fish in the sea or a bird in the air.’
‘Free to kill, to steal, to betray . . .’
‘Just free,’ said Selznick.
THEY STARTED THEIR journey again without delay that very day and Colonel Jobert resumed his place at the head of the column.
Father Hogan approached him. ‘What do you intend to do with Selznick?’ he asked.
‘What did you expect, a summary execution without a trial? I’m an officer, not a hangman. There’s a redoubt five days from here. We’ll be able to reach it with a slight detour. It’s used to store supplies and water for our troops who are crossing through this area, and it is usually garrisoned by a small unit. I’ll turn Selznick over to them and we can proceed without worrying about him. We’ll be at the Sand of Ghosts in a week or so and he’ll be facing a court-martial . . . Who can say which is the better fate?’
They continued south, crossing first a rocky ridge that jutted out of the sand here and there, and then a flat, barren stretch of hammada that was strewn with dried thornbushes. On the fourth day they arrived at a wadi and Jobert ordered his men to follow its course from then on.
During the journey, Jobert allowed his men to remove Selznick’s bonds so he could defend himself against the flies and gnats that accompanied them, incessantly tormenting the men, horses and camels.
On the evening of the fifth day, they came within sight of the redoubt. Nothing but a low drystone wall and a flag that hung from an acacia-wood flagpole. The place appeared to be deserted. It was very small and only one of the three companies could camp inside. The others set up outside.
A strange crepuscular light hung over the desolate site. Selznick was tied to a pole and given a blanket to protect him from the chill of the coming night. Colonel Jobert entered what must have been the commander’s quarters: a hovel with no doors or windows, covered everywhere with dust. A couple of sheets of yellowed paper lay on the table and several heat-curled books sat on a shelf. Insects, big ground beetles with long legs, scrambled off to find somewhere to hide, surprised by the intruder. Jobert left that ominous place and went towards the desert to walk off his tension and anxiety. When he returned, the men had eaten and were already resting, worn out by their exertions, but Selznick was still awake.
‘Can’t sleep, my friend?’ he asked Jobert with a mocking smile.
‘Don’t call me that, Selznick. You are a murderer and a deserter. You and I have nothing in common but the uniform that you have dishonoured and I would strip that from you with my bare hands if I could.’
Selznick smirked. ‘Not what you were expecting, is it? There’s not a living soul here. What are you going to do with me? Is that what’s keeping you from sleeping, Jobert? There’s a remedy to every problem: a nice, quick summary trial and off to the firing squad. Then you can continue untroubled on your way.’
‘Shut up, Selznick. Who do you think you’re talking to? I’m not like you. I have principles. I believe in a code of ethics.’
‘Do you think that makes you better than me? Tell me, then, what are you willing to shoot and kill for? What are you fighting for here, Jobert? Why are you wearing that uniform?’
‘I . . . I’m fighting for the values of the civilization that I believe in.’
Selznick shook his head. ‘Western Christianity . . . would not exist without Judas. Tell me, Jobert, have you ever known what it feels like to be detested, to bear the weight of the contempt and hate of your fellow men? To be the wolf driven from the pack? True heroism is . . . the courage of people like me. We are the only ones who dare to face the final challenge . . .’
Jobert considered him with an expression of dismay. ‘That won’t save you from the firing squad, Selznick. I swear it.’
‘No one can foresee when or whom death will strike, Jobert. You who are a soldier should know that.’ He fell silent for a while, then looked at the rudimentary flagpole standing at the corner of the enclosure wall. ‘Have you noticed that flag? If the men here were forced to leave, why did no one lower it? How is that possible?’ A breath of wind set off a mild flutter in the torn flag that hung from the pole. ‘Haven’t you asked yourself why that flag was never lowered, Colonel Jobert?’
The officer shuddered at the thought of what Selznick was implying. He went back, nearly fleeing, to the miserable hovel at the end of the camp. He lit a candle stub and put it inside a lantern, then left the compound to reconnoitre the desert to the east and the south, where the scouts had not yet been. He finally found a little group of mounds, nearly flattened by the wind. On one side were the unburied remains of an officer. A Legion captain’s uniform still dressed the mummified body.
Jobert felt a wave of panic rising. What could have exterminated that garrison if not an epidemic? There were no signs of fighting either inside or outside the camp. Just the traces of abandonment; of a slow, inexorable agony.
He went back to the redoubt and walked slowly among the slumbering men, holding the lantern high to illuminate their faces. Perhaps they’d already been contaminated; perhaps some incurable disease was already worming its way through their bodies. Perhaps he himself was doomed.
Jobert walked towards the pole that Selznick was tied to. He seemed to be drowsing, but as soon as Jobert passed, he opened his eyes and stared at him with a contemptuous expression. ‘An epidemic,’ he said, shrugging. ‘You’ve no hope.’
Jobert regained his composure. ‘That may be,’ he admitted. ‘But you’ll have no chance to celebrate, Selznick. You’re going back with them and if for any reason the unit does not reach Bir Akkar, I’ll order the commander to kill you.’
‘You’ll have to kill me now,’ said Selznick. ‘Because I shall accuse you of having abandoned them to their destiny, fully realizing that they would all die on the way back of the same disease that wiped out this garrison. I’ll say that you did not eat and drink with them because you didn’t want to risk contagion. You’ll be lynched, Jobert. Don’t forget what sort of men these soldiers were before they joined the Legion. Under the present circumstances, they have nothing to lose. Unless . . .’
‘Unless what?’
‘Unless you agree to take me with you.’
‘Where?’
‘To Kalaat Hallaki and the Sand of Ghosts.’
‘You’re mad, Selznick! I am not . . .’
‘Spare me your lies, Colonel. On such a long, boring journey, men talk, and I’m neither stupid nor deaf. There are only two roads leading away from here. One that goes back to Bir Akkar and another that leads into the heart of the south-eastern quadrant, towards Wadi Addir and Kalaat Hallaki. If you’re sending your men back to Bir Akkar without you, that means you intend to proceed south.’
‘Kalaat Hallaki does not exist. It’s a legend, like so many others that the peoples of the desert tell tales of.’
‘You forget that I worked with Desmond Garrett. Kalaat Hallaki exists and that’s where you’re going. Why? And why this deployment of forces?’
Jobert realized that he had no choice. He either gave in to blackmail and took an extremely dangerous man with him on a mission that was already high-risk to start with, or he finished him off then and there. After all, if he chose to do so he would just be carrying out an act of justice which would not be long in coming in any case. He could free Selznick of his chains and kill him, and tell his men that he had managed to get loose and was trying to escape. He slipped behind the pole, released the man’s bonds and put his hand on his holster.
Selznick understood his intent immediately. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘this is surely the wisest decision. But are you sure that you’re not murdering me in cold blood? Are you sure you want to commit the most shocking injustice of all?’
‘I would have preferred to hand you over to the law, Selznick, but you’ve left me no choice,’ said Jobert, pointing his revolve
r at him.
Selznick stared straight into his eyes without a tremor, without the slightest hesitation. ‘Death cannot be worse than life,’ he said, ‘but before you pull that trigger, answer me one last question, Colonel. You know the true reason my superiors have hunted me down so tenaciously, don’t you? That’s why you want to kill me.’
‘Desertion. The massacre of General LaSalle and his men.’
‘Don’t be naïve, Jobert. If you allow me five more minutes of life I’ll tell you the real reason. A reason that will set your heart at ease if you’re cynical enough, or that will torment you with remorse and shame for all the rest of your days if inside you there is the merest hint of that decency that you like to flaunt so much.’
Jobert’s finger was already curled around the trigger, but something stopped him. He knew that Selznick had been used during the war by his own motherland, sent out on secret missions. He had neither known nor cared to know any more, assuming that Selznick’s fierce, ruthless character made him suitable for such work.
Selznick realized what was going through his mind and kept talking. ‘I was assigned by your government, during the war, to command the units in charge of executing individuals who had been accused of cowardice before the enemy. Thousands of young men, Jobert, whose only fault was refusing to submit to butchery without a reason, unlike the hundreds of thousands of their companions mown down by machine guns, forced to advance in suicidal attacks by obtuse, incompetent generals. This is the true reason why they’ve been searching for me since I fled the Legion. They want to find me and execute me, and bury this whole story. This is the true reason why you, now, will pull that trigger.’
Jobert lowered his weapon and returned Selznick’s wild stare. ‘You’ll come with me,’ he said, replacing the other man’s handcuffs. ‘Killing you now would only serve to lock the past up for all time.’
He returned to the little cemetery that he had discovered behind the redoubt and dug a grave for the unburied body, then covered the remaining mounds with sand so that his men would not see them at daybreak. When he had finished, he leaned against the wall to reflect on what he would do when the sun came up, evaluating all his possible options. He could not send his men back to Bir Akkar because he wouldn’t be able to justify such a decision, but nor could he take them with him. If they’d become infected, the disease could spread to the entire contingent. He would order those camped inside to remain at the fortress to repair it and act as a garrison there while he proceeded with his mission. If the source of infection was no longer active and they survived, he would join up with them again on his return journey. If they were condemned to death, at least they would have a shelter in which to await their end.
He dozed off shortly before dawn, seeking a little respite for his tormented mind and spirit.
14
THE FLAMES OF THE little campfire cast the only light in the immense, empty expanse; the voice of the jackal the only sound in the vast silence.
Philip got up and joined his father, who was adjusting his sextant to a precise point in the clear winter sky. ‘What are you looking for in that constellation?’ he asked.
‘How much time we have left.’
‘Can you predict how long we have to live?’
‘No. I’m trying to calculate how much longer our journey will last. I have seen the Stone of the Constellations in the most secret archives of Rome and I’ve read the testament of Baruch bar Lev. I am the last hunter of the man of the seven tombs. The last tomb can be destroyed when the star of Antares mirrors its vermilion light in the spring of Hallaki, when Acrab in Scorpio enters the centre of the firmament over the Tower of Solitude.’
A neighing rang out in the dark and Philip turned to see El Kassem, who had just mounted his horse and was riding towards a little rise north of them in order to scan the horizon. He was waiting for Selznick to reappear, so that the final duel could be fought. His silhouette was clear and still against the basalt hill, and his Arab charger seemed an enchanted Pegasus poised to take flight.
Philip turned towards his father again. ‘You know where the spring of Hallaki is, don’t you? It’s there that we’re going, isn’t it?’
Desmond laid the sextant on the ground. ‘Finding Hallaki was my dream as a young man, my secret Utopia. I pictured it in my mind’s eye for years, as I spent days and nights in my study, and I always refused to consider it a legend. I saw it as the last remnant of a natural world which had ceased to exist, the last memento of an ancient state of bliss. During my expeditions, I would wander for months through the desert at the edge of the south-eastern quadrant, searching for it, but more than once I was prevented from going on by a sandstorm . . .’
‘How did you finally manage to find it?’
‘It was when I understood that the sandstorm was a sort of permanent barrier, a shield that the desert had raised in protection of that last paradise. El Kassem had prepared my way by leaving water supplies along the entire route, the same that we’ve been using on this journey, and I decided I would attempt a crossing. I risked death that day. I forged ahead through that burning wall in a kind of delirium, and even after I had lost my horse I continued to advance for hours and hours with the sand scratching at my face and hands until they were bleeding. The wind was so strong it was stripping off my clothes. All at once, my strength abandoned me and I collapsed to the ground. I covered my head with the edge of my cape and, before I slipped into unconsciousness, I sought the face of your mother, the only woman I ever loved, and I thought of you, Philip. I thought I would never see you again.’
He fell silent for a while, straining to hear in the darkness, lifting his head as if he could pick up his enemy’s scent on the night breeze. El Kassem had vanished, but he soon appeared again, at a different spot, for a moment, in the shadow of a dune.
‘When I opened my eyes again, I found myself in the greenest, most lovely meadow that you can imagine. I was stretched out on the grass, bathed in the light of a golden sunset. The bleating of sheep and the songs of birds filled my ears. Brightly coloured creatures soared over my head in a violet sky.
‘When I saw that place, I swore I would never leave. Your mother was already gone and you were practically a man. I thought I had found the mythical land of the Lotus Eaters, where Ulysses’ companions sought rest after their endless journey and found oblivion instead. I would live in that inaccessible refuge and serenely await my last hour. I deluded myself into thinking that a man can flee from his past, from the people he has loved and those he has hated. I wanted to believe that there was a place in the world where a man could utterly forget himself.
‘Until I discovered that that gorgeous hideaway was a citadel at war. I realized that a terrible threat loomed over those gardens and orchards, that that enchanted oasis was the last outpost, beyond which the undisputed reign of a mystery darker than any nightmare was to be found – a mystery that I myself had tried in vain to flee many a time. Hallaki is the metaphor of our human destiny, my son. We’ll never stop searching on this earth for the paradise that we have lost, but each time we think we’ve found it we discover ourselves before an ocean of darkness. There is no day without night, no heat without cold. There is no reign of love that does not share a border with the empire of hatred.’
‘But then why struggle at all?’ asked Philip. ‘Why face risk and hardship and pain to take on an impossible challenge? When you’ve destroyed the last tomb, if you ever manage to do so, will you have tricked destiny? Will you have halted the fist of God that looms over us? You’re chasing after some magic ritual that will satisfy your thirst for adventure, your curiosity about the unknown.’
‘Perhaps. But it’s a war we can’t avoid, a fight without quarter. The battlefield is everywhere. There’s nowhere for deserters to seek shelter. The only possible course of action is choosing sides. And since you’re here with me, it means that you have decided what side you’re on. That’s the answer to your question.’
Philip looked
up towards the starry vault and the movement of his eyes gave him the sensation for a moment that the stars were falling down, were being sucked into a vortex.
‘But . . . mightn’t the power of suggestion have something to do with it? This wouldn’t have happened back in Paris . . .’
‘No. There are things that happen only in those places where the work of creation has not been interfered with. Have you ever crossed a forest on your own at night? You can call upon all your rationality but you’ll always be spooked, you’ll always feel that something is after you. The ancients believed that the boundless solitude of the desert, the forests and swamps, the never-melting ice fields, were the exclusive domain of the gods. They were right. Avile Vipinas truly saw what he described; he could not have lied on the brink of death. He took up his pen with his heart pounding and his breath being sucked from his throat . . .’
‘Tell me what your ultimate objective is. Where will we have to fight this battle?’
‘Reading the words of the Etruscan haruspex convinced me. What the inhabitants of Kalaat Hallaki call the Tower of Solitude must be the last resting place of the man of the seven tombs. If I’m right, we have to look for an object that resembles a cylinder topped by a hemispherical cap, the petasus that Avile Vipinas speaks of.’
Philip sat on the still-tepid sand, watching the flames of the campfire as they blazed, creating a small island of light in the dominion of night. He searched for El Kassem among the uncertain shapes of the landscape.
‘What do those words you told me mean?’ he asked his father all at once. ‘What did you mean when you said, “When the star of Antares mirrors its vermilion light in the spring of Hallaki, when Acrab in Scorpio enters the centre of the firmament over the Tower of Solitude”?’
‘I think that those words allude to a particular astral configuration. The tower can be destroyed when Antares is at its zenith directly above Kalaat Hallaki—’
The Tower Page 27
