But the others, though rigorously similar in detail, appeared unable to capture light impressions.
Apparently it was only in a certain phase of their gigantic growth cycle that the snowy reeds retained the colored impressions that struck their tissues.
The young man resolved to watch for the right moment and put it to good use.
Indeed, the views fixed in the original plant, too murky in appearance, did not satisfy him.
He wanted to create clear, sharp images, worthy of being placed before his audience’s eyes.
Alone, Fogar gathered from the Behuliphruen a provision of humus that he massed in a thick layer against one wall of his hut.
It was there that he transplanted his monstrous reeds, which, like certain amphibious algae, easily adapted to this new, purely terrestrial soil.
From then on, the young Negro remained confined to his hut, jealously watching over his flowerbed, which he tended with unwavering care.
One day, cultivating his narrow clump, he was looking at one of the plants, which, already tall and slender, seemed to have attained a certain degree of maturity.
Suddenly something occurred within the plant fibers, which Fogar studied more closely still.
The white, vertical surface renewed itself at regular intervals following a strange molecular movement.
A series of transformations then took place over a fairly prolonged period of time, after which the phenomenon changed its nature, and Fogar, who expected it this time, saw his own features vibrantly reproduced by the picture-hungry plant.
Various poses and expressions from its sole model paraded by on the screen, which was continually shaken by an inner shuffling, and the adolescent was able to confirm the enigma that he had more or less divined: his arrival at the bottom of the Tez had coincided with the recording phase in the evolution of the first plant, which had greedily soaked up the images placed before it.
Sadly, the new series of views, though perfectly clear, was absolutely devoid of aesthetic interest. Fogar, ill prepared, had merely struck a number of strange poses, and his comic grimaces filed past with tedious monotony.
Noticing that another plant seemed close to entering its period of light receptivity, the young man resolved to prepare in advance a series of images worthy of the public’s attention.
A few days earlier, crossing back through the Behuliphruen with his provision of humus, Fogar had come across Juillard sitting under the dense shade.
The scholar was in his favorite place, the same one where Adinolfa had already discovered him absorbed in his old illustrated periodicals.
This time, pursuing research of a different kind, Juillard was leafing through a precious folio embellished with sumptuously colored engravings of Oriental subjects.
After taking a few moments to enjoy the dazzling illustrations, Fogar, without even attracting the thinker’s notice, had continued on his way.
Now that book drummed on his mind, as it seemed ideal for his plan.
Unbeknownst to Juillard, he absconded with the luxurious tome. A long look at the illuminations piqued his curiosity, and he went to find Sirdah to learn the meaning of the story they told.
The young girl had Carmichael read her the fairly basic text, then gave her brother the following synopsis of an Arabic tale called “The Poet and the Beautiful Mooress.”
In Baghdad there once lived a rich merchant named Shahnidjar.
Cultivating life’s pleasures with the utmost refinement, Shahnidjar passionately loved art, women, and fine foods.
The poet Ghiriz, a member of the merchant’s staff, was charged with composing many gay or plaintive stanzas and then singing them winsomely on cleverly improvised melodies.
Determined to see life through rose-colored glasses from the moment he awoke, Shahnidjar demanded from Ghiriz a daily serenade, which would gently clear from his brain its wan procession of pleasant dreams.
Precise and obedient, the poet went every morning at daybreak to the magnificent garden that surrounded his master’s palace. Arriving beneath the wealthy sleeper’s windows, he halted near a marble basin in which a slender jet of water rose through a jade tube.
Then, raising to his lips a kind of megaphone made of dull, delicate metal, Ghiriz began singing some new elegy that had blossomed in his fertile imagination. Because of a strange echo, his lightweight trumpet doubled each note with another one third lower, and so the poet performed a veritable one-man duet that heightened still further the charm of his renowned diction.
Soon Shahnidjar, now completely awake, appeared at the window with his favorite mistress, Neddu, the beautiful Mooress he loved so well.
At that very instant, Ghiriz felt his agitated heart pound violently. In a state of intoxication he looked at the divine Neddu, who for her part cast him long looks filled with burning desire.
When the serenade was over, the window pulled shut, and the poet, wandering beneath the azure sky, carried in his heart the dazzling vision—too fleeting, alas! Ghiriz passionately loved Neddu and knew he was loved by her.
Every evening, Shahnidjar, earnest admirer that he was, climbed a certain sandy monticule with his favorite to view the sunset, at a place where the vista stretched endlessly toward the west.
Reaching the crest of the arid outcropping, the good-natured merchant reveled joyfully in the magical spectacle offered by the bloodstained horizon.
Once the opulent fireball had completely disappeared, Shahnidjar climbed back down arm-in-arm with his companion, already dreaming of the delectable foodstuffs and choice wines that very soon would procure his well-being and jubilation.
Ghiriz watched for the moment of this retreat when, finding himself alone, he ran to kiss ardently the traces freshly embossed in the soft sand by Neddu’s diminutive feet.
These were the poet’s most intense joys, as he had no means of communicating with the Mooress whom Shahnidjar so jealously guarded.
One day, weary of pining from afar without the hope of approaching his beloved, Ghiriz went to consult the Chinaman Keou-Ngan, who practiced in Baghdad the dual trade of fortune teller and sorcerer.
Asked what the future could be of so star-crossed an intrigue, Keou-Ngan led Ghiriz into his garden, then released a large bird of prey that began describing majestic and widening curves in the skies above them.
Studying the paths of the powerful creature, the Chinaman predicted the forthcoming realization of the poet’s desires.
The bird came back to rest on the shoulder of its master, who returned to his laboratory with Ghiriz in tow.
Inspired by numerous documents spread before him, the Chinaman wrote certain instructions on parchment that the poet had to follow in order to reach his goal.
Taking the instructions, Ghiriz handed Keou-Ngan several gold coins in recompense for the consultation.
Once outside, the hopeful poet hastened to decipher the precious grimoire.
He found the recipe for a very complex culinary dish, the mere steam from which would plunge Shahnidjar into a deep and lasting sleep.
In addition, a magic formula was clearly inscribed at the bottom of the sheet.
Pronounced three times aloud, this incoherent string of syllables would give the dish laden with soporific ingredients a crystalline hum in harmony with the importunate chaperone’s drowsiness.
As long as the sound remained strong and quick, the two lovers could freely revel in their intoxication, without fear of discovery by the benighted sleeper.
A progressive decrescendo would warn them of impending danger well in advance of his awakening.
Ghiriz prepared the dish in question for that very evening and set it on a silver plate-warmer in the middle of the table copiously laid for his master.
At the sight of this new and unfamiliar delicacy, the charmed Shahnidjar lifted the serving dish in both hands and voluptuously inhaled its strange emanations.
Immediately overcome by a leaden torpor, he sank back into his chair, eyes closed and
head slumped to one side.
Ghiriz uttered the triple incantation, and the serving dish, clattering back onto the table, emitted a loud and rapidly oscillating ring.
When her poet told her of the Chinaman’s efficacious ministrations, the beautiful Neddu trembled with joy and proposed a nocturnal escape into Shahnidjar’s vast gardens.
The Negro Stingo, the Mooress’s faithful serf, was placed on guard next to the merchant, with orders to warn the two lovers the moment the telltale ring gave signs of faltering.
Protected by their sentinel’s absolute devotion, Ghiriz and Neddu ran outside without a second thought.
A long night of ecstasy was theirs to enjoy, in an enchanted Eden amid the rarest of flowers; then they peacefully drifted to sleep in the rising dawn, rocked by the murmur of a waterfall.
The sun had already followed half its course when Stingo ran up to sound the alarm, warning that the magic jingling had begun slowing down and would soon stop.
Jolted awake, the two lovers, filled with voluptuous memories, envisioned in horror the prospect of a new separation.
Neddu could think only of slipping Shahnidjar’s yoke and fleeing with Ghiriz.
Suddenly a zebra appeared, having wandered there by chance.
Startled by the presence of these unexpected humans in its path, the animal tried to turn back.
But at his mistress’s order, the Negro leapt forward and seized the charger by the nostrils, quickly dominating it.
Ghiriz had understood what Neddu was thinking; lithe and light, he leapt onto the zebra, then helped his companion up behind him.
The next moment, the two fugitives, with a wave of farewell to Stingo, galloped away on their swift mount. The Mooress, laughing at her newfound poverty, brandished a purse containing a few gold pieces, the only fortune left them to meet the costs of this perilous journey. Ghiriz, having given all his savings to Keou-Ngan the day before, could add nothing to their modest nest egg.
That evening, after a mad, headlong dash, the exhausted zebra collapsed in the thick of a gloomy forest.
Convinced they had outwitted any pursuers, at least momentarily, Ghiriz and Neddu sought to appease their hunger, whetted by fatigue and the whipping wind.
The two lovers divided up the chores. Ghiriz was to gather a provision of succulent fruits, while Neddu would look for a freshwater spring where they could slake their thirst.
A certain hundred-year-old tree, its giant trunk easily recognizable, was chosen as meeting point, and each one set off in the gathering dusk.
After many twists and turns, Neddu came across the desired spring.
The young woman wanted to return right away, but in the rapidly fallen darkness she became increasingly lost and anxiously wandered for hours without managing to find the huge tree they’d designated.
Frantic with distress, Neddu began to pray, vowing to fast for ten days running if she could only get back to Ghiriz.
Comforted by this appeal to the supreme power, she resumed her walk with renewed courage.
Soon afterward, without quite knowing by what mysterious path, she suddenly found herself beside Ghiriz, who, bleary-eyed and not daring leave their appointed rendezvous, had been waiting for her while calling out her name.
Neddu fell into the poet’s arms, thanking Allah for his prompt intervention.
Ghiriz displayed his harvest of fruits, but Neddu refused to eat her portion, relating the details of her successful vow.
The next day, the two fugitives continued their path on foot, for in the night the zebra had broken its bonds and escaped.
For several days, the couple went from village to village, wandering haphazardly.
Neddu began to feel the tortures of hunger. Though desperate, Ghiriz didn’t dare urge her to break her promise for fear of calling divine fury down upon her.
By the tenth day, the young woman was so weak that she could barely walk, even when leaning on her lover’s arm.
Suddenly she stumbled and fell prostrate onto the ground.
Ghiriz, shouting for help, saw a shopkeeper come running from her grocery stand at the side of the road.
Sensing that death was about to steal his mistress, the poet made a quick decision.
At his request, the shopkeeper rushed back with various foods, and Neddu, opening her eyes, feasted with delight on this restorative nourishment. Her strength replenished, the young woman resumed her walk, hoping to elude the many agents that the wealthy Shahnidjar, whose ardent passion she knew all too well, had surely sent after them.
But one thing gnawed at her without respite: remorse over having broken her fast before the promised time.
An encounter the very next day only heightened her anxieties, which suddenly gained terrible precision.
In the middle of the countryside, an apparent lunatic accosted her, flailing his arms and sowing panic in her heart with his predictions of a dizzying fall, punishment for her betrayal.
The next several hours Ghiriz and Neddu passed in silence, stricken by the singular prophecy.
That evening, at a bend in the road, the young woman let out a cry of terror and began flailing her arms, as if trying to ward off some horrible vision.
Before her, countless eyes without bodies or faces appeared two by two, staring harshly in anger and reproach.
Little by little, these spellbinding gazes drew her toward the edge of the road, which bordered a bottomless abyss bristling with rocky protuberances.
Unaware of this sudden hallucination, Ghiriz could not understand his beloved’s horror.
All at once, without even having time to hold her back, he saw Neddu pulled toward the precipice by an irresistible force.
The poor unfortunate plummeted over the edge, her body crashing against rock after rock, pursued in her fall by the ominous eyes that seemed to blame her for her offense against the Divinity.
Ghiriz, leaning over the chasm, wanted only to share his lover’s fate, and he leapt after her into the void.
Their two bodies came to rest side by side, united for all eternity in those unfathomable depths.
Fogar had listened attentively to Sirdah’s narration.
The illustrations now took on a clear and fully coherent meaning, which confirmed his plan to use them.
At the time of his misdemeanor, the adolescent had stolen not only the folio but also, as a precaution, a school primer in which every page contained the portrait of an animal captioned by its Latin name.
As the colored scenes of the Arabic tale might prove too few in number, this second volume, in which each picture stood alone, provided a copious supplement that would fully satisfy the plant’s demand for visuals.
Armed with the folio and the back-up primer, Fogar, now a conscious and informed observer, awaited the opportune moment.
When the time came, he placed successively before the enormous white reed, whose atomic transformations he’d been awaiting, all the Oriental engravings spread out in correct order.
When this series was finished, he opened the primer just in time to record one page.
The receptive phase having come to an end, the young man could verify the complete success of his operation, watching the images parade by sharply on the delicately impressed plant screen.
All that remained was to tend the plant, which from now on would reproduce ad infinitum the delicate images that were now an integral part of it.
Fogar surreptitiously returned the two volumes to their rightful place; Juillard, absorbed in some new study, had not even noticed their temporary absence.
Now possessing all the elements of his exhibition, the adolescent found an ingenious way to coordinate them.
He decided to group everything along his bed frame, which was a convenient place to obtain the lethargic, clot-generating slumber.
Chènevillot fitted the cot with the desired attachments, each one scrupulously adapted to the particular shape of a given animal or object.
The automatic colorations of
the giant reed seemed ideal for distracting the audience during the boy’s voluntary syncope, which would necessarily last a wearisome amount of time.
Since, on the other hand, the first phase of the fainting spell held some real interest due to the gradual weakening of vital signs, it was best to let Fogar be the sole attraction until his absolute prostration made him a virtual corpse.
Toward that end, Chènevillot arranged the plant like a bed canopy and placed above it a bright electric spotlight.
By choosing a sufficiently dark time of day for the experiment, they could make the changing views bright or dim, depending on the malleable strength of the adjustable current.
Fogar, who wanted to do everything himself, insisted on controlling the lights. But in order for his blood to congeal, his lethargic slumber required complete rigidity of the arms and legs. Chènevillot therefore set the electrical current to be regulated by a horizontal wand, ending in a kind of crutch designed to fit under the sleeper’s left armpit. As such, the adolescent, still lucid enough when the first image came on, could, with an imperceptible movement of his body, brighten the beacon at the desired moment.
A small recess with a special light would serve to display in all its detail the inner structure of the strange, living sponge.
When Chènevillot had finished his labors, Fogar patiently practiced bouncing his wet soap off the three gold ingots attached to the foot of his bed, held in place by three solid supports with claws.
He quickly acquired remarkable skill at this difficult sport, performing true marvels of precision and balance.
Meanwhile, he tended his plant with utmost care.
The scrupulously preserved root now rested in an earthenware pot attached to the bed frame. Regular watering maintained the vitality of the tissues, whose endlessly repeated imprints retained all their clarity.
XVI
EVER SINCE OUR ARRIVAL in Ejur, the Hungarian Skariovszki had practiced daily on his zither, with its pure and unsettling sounds.
Squeezed into the gypsy costume he never changed, the able virtuoso executed head-spinning compositions, which had the ability to astonish the natives.
Impressions of Africa (French Literature Series) Page 24
