Gold Dust (Modern Arabic Literature)

by Ibrahim Al-Koni

  Signs are fate—or so the desert told him.

  Like any creature exhausted from long running, Ukhayyad began to relax as soon as his problems had disappeared behind a sand dune. His actions grew careless. Troubles return quickly to those who slacken their guard against them. If they cannot beat you in fighting face to face, they melt away—and when you turn your back on them, they return to attack you from behind.

  These are lessons the desert teaches herders every day, free of charge. But this fickle advisor abandons men as soon as they begin to take up residence in oases, and arrogantly take up tilling the land.

  This is what happened to Ukhayyad. Life in the oasis had dressed his slackness in something peasants call ‘ease.’ Ease is what conceals laxity. And in laxity hides rust.

  The row woke him up at dawn. In the sweet intoxication of sleep, Ukhayyad thought he heard the bellowing of an enraged camel. He emerged from the hut to see the shadows of two camels struggling in the twilight, one attacking the other with its teeth. He rubbed his eyes in disbelief. The shadowy figure had the same frame and stature as his piebald. It was the piebald. He had overpowered his opponent, and was clinging onto him. His neck and left upper lip were spattered with blood. In the morning light, Ukhayyad discovered other bite wounds across the other camel’s body, and a serious gash under its chest.

  Two days later, one of the camel herders arrived and said Dudu had sent him after the escaped Mahri. The man’s mouth was empty, toothless. Despite that, he never stopped laughing or chewing tobacco. He sat under a low, shady palm in the field. “Praise God,” he said, taking a pouch from his pocket. “He’s let me live long enough to see tobacco become cheap as dirt. Would you believe that a peasant at the grove gave me two handfuls for free?”

  The man fell over backwards laughing, exposing his empty gums. Then he went on, “The war may have brought famine, but it also killed the price of tobacco—it’s one of the war’s genuine benefits. On the coasts, they only smoke cigarettes now. Have you ever tried a cigarette?”

  “I don’t use tobacco.”

  “Forgive me. I’m an addict. For me, tobacco comes before everything else. In the desert, I know how to live off herbs for months and years. But I can’t go one day without tobacco. You know, people like me commit heinous crimes if they can’t get it. Did you ever hear the story of that migrant who was an addict? Some peasants refused to give him tobacco, and he killed them all. He killed three men on account of tobacco leaf. Of course, that’s insanity—but it’s the sort I can understand!”

  Then he laughed again.

  That evening, the man told Ukhayyad stories about famine in the desert. He said that in recent years entire families had perished and were then buried in mass graves. In the southern deserts, only sparse rains had fallen—and drought had settled in early with the brutal summer. Everybody had fled the smell of gunpowder, abandoning the verdant pastures of the north. The northern reaches of the Hamada desert were completely empty this year.

  “Is there any sign the war might end?” Ukhayyad asked him. “Just the opposite. Weeks ago, emissaries from the resistance traveled around the desert looking to conscript men. They want to bolster their ranks in Kufra oasis and Cyrenaica.”

  He grew silent for a while. “It doesn’t seem that the war will end anytime soon,” he finally said, with a tone of dismay. The two men became lost in their thoughts, wandering far, far away. The herder chuckled, “But the upside of the war is that it has destroyed the price of tobacco. Famine doesn’t bother me, and now that tobacco is plentiful, I won’t have to kill anyone like that migrant did.”

  “Let’s not talk about that for now,” Ukhayyad interrupted, “Tell me about the piebald. What’s his life like there?”

  “Ah. He’s no camel, you know. He’s a human being in a camel’s skin. I’ve spent my entire life around camels, but I’d never seen one like him before. When Dudu first fetched him, he refused to graze. I saw the sadness in his eyes. I knew he was pining for you. The ability to feel longing is what sets the rare breeds apart from others. Did you know—he even refused to kneel! He’s been standing on his feet throughout these past weeks. I tethered him in a nearby pasture, but he broke the cords and raced off toward you. We caught up with him after a fierce chase, and brought him back to the pastures. That time around, we tied him with palm rope instead of camel-hair cord. I’m sorry I had to be so rough with him, but there was no other solution. Do you know what he did? When he couldn’t break the rope with his legs, he chewed through it. Then he bolted. We never caught him. He is no camel—he’s a human being.”

  In the darkness Ukhayyad said, “I told him that patience is the only talisman that can protect us from disaster. He must have lost it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Ukhayyad mumbled some incomprehensible words. To which the herder replied, in a knowing tone, “I don’t understand how you allowed yourself to pawn him. A Mahri like him should have never been put up for anything.”

  In his mind, Ukhayyad answered, “I did it because of my family. My wife. What do you know about children or wives?”

  Ukhayyad envied this unfettered man who had no cares beyond his handful of tobacco. He had once been as free as the herder and even freer—needing nothing at all, not even tobacco. With the piebald, he had wandered God’s wide desert. But then woman appeared and separated him from tribe and companion. Didn’t Sheikh Musa say that it was woman who drove Adam from the garden of paradise?

  19

  Less than a month later, the piebald returned again and the same herder came looking for him.

  The third time he came back, Ukhayyad asked the faqih to write an amulet that would protect the camel from harm. After hearing the man’s story, the faqih said, “This camel will not forget, and I do not know how to erase memories. You need someone else.”

  The black slaves told him to go see one of the African magicians. But the soothsayer from Tiba, the one who had left shortly before the famine, had been the last witch in the oasis. And now that on account of the war the desert caravans had stopped moving, he had little hope in finding the sorcerers that used to accompany them.

  He took two handfuls of barley while Ayur was not looking and decided to go himself to Danbaba. While they were alone on the road, Ukhayyad began to scold the animal: “Don’t you realize you’re wearing me out? Didn’t we agree that our separation would be just temporary? You have forgotten how to be patient—and you’ve made us the laughing stock of everybody.”

  The animal’s eyes glistened with tears, but Ukhayyad showed no mercy: “You run after me like a puppy. That’s something that dogs do, not camels!”

  Then, softening his tone: “The war will end soon and our life will return to how it was before. Nothing lasts forever, so be patient. Until you do, nothing will straighten out. That was the deal we made!”

  He took out his surprise gift. He spread out the barley in front of the Mahri, but the animal turned away, grumbling and fixing his gaze on the horizon.

  Ukhayyad knew that the animal did not like what he had said. The piebald began to chew without swallowing, churning up a shiny froth around his mouth. He drooled bits of froth on Ukhayyad’s face and limbs, and the young man realized that the camel was burning with anger. Whenever rage ate at him, he vomited up frothy mucus.

  He fastened the cord around the camel’s forelegs. He forced each leg until it bent, and hobbled each with palm rope so the animal would not get away during the night and attack the other camel. This precaution was necessary since every time the piebald returned from exile, he had viciously pounced on the camel that had taken his place.

  Ukhayyad left him there and returned to his gear. He lay down on his arm and tried, without success, to sleep. All through the night he listened to the piebald as he nervously chewed, chomping jerkily at nothing but air and spit. That night, when he discovered he was no longer able to stand their being apart, Ukhayyad decided to retrieve the camel, whatever the cost.

&nbs
p; He thought it strange that he had not allowed himself to make this decision before now. But he finally realized, as he rested on the bed of the endless desert, that he would never forgive himself if he failed to retrieve the camel on this trip. The calamity that brought them together in the past had joined their lives in a bond that would last forever. Their bond would surely withstand the famine that today tried to break them apart.

  While they were on that immortal journey—going from the tribe’s encampments to the fields of Maimoun, from the pastures to the well, and finally from the abyss back to the mouth of the well again—they had purchased life at severe cost. With pain equal to death, with death itself, they had bought their lives and were born anew. Today, how could he let family and famine betray this divine gift that had joined their fates? How had the woman so blinded him from seeing his foul deed for what it was? If not for her, he would not have forgotten to fulfill his pledge to Tanit. If not for her, the curse would not have fallen on him—the curse that blinded him from seeing what he was doing. If not for her, his son would never have come into this world to shackle his neck and hands and feet with chains stronger than iron. This son had not just shackled limbs, but had paralyzed his mind and cloaked his heart. Sons may be the security of fathers—but they are also their undoing.

  For those who love, life exists only in death. You cannot hold the heart of the beloved without having first lost your own.

  Jalal al-Din al-Rumi, from the Couplets

  20

  You hear the strangest things from the mouths of strangers. “I knew this was going to happen,” Dudu told him at the outset. “I saw it in your eyes. I saw it in his eyes.”

  “The hardship we shared transformed us from two creatures into one. I hope you can understand when I say that he and I should not be apart from one another.”

  “Why didn’t you say so when the hunger began to gnaw at you?”

  “It’s in a father’s nature to lose his mind when he hears his son cry. And now the matter rests in your hands. Don’t forget that he’s the one who pulled me out of the well. He’s the one who gave me my life. Put yourself in my place.”

  The man was silent for a while. Then he said, “I’ll send you my response tomorrow.”

  The next day, Ukhayyad heard the most incredible thing, though not directly from the mouth of the man himself. Instead, it was delivered by a messenger—the same laughing, toothless herder as before. The old man sat, stirring his evening tea. “He’ll give the piebald back to you on the condition that you divorce his kinswoman,” he said, with the studied foolishness of herders. He said it just like that, without preface or sense of shame.

  Ukhayyad didn’t understand at first. So the herder repeated his master’s pronouncement a second, then a third time.

  After a long silence, Ukhayyad asked, “What’s the one thing got to do with the other?”

  “Since he made it a condition, there must be some connection. Only God knows the intentions of foreigners.”

  “Imposing conditions on other people may be permitted by holy law, but only barely so. Is this how Muslims should treat one another?”

  “Depending on the circumstance, Islam and holy law can be disregarded.”

  “If I had my rifle with me, he would not have dared to send this message.”

  “Even if you were holding your rifle in your hands this very minute, you couldn’t do a thing. His money has brought him servants and slaves and herdsmen—an entire retinue gathered with gold. He’s more powerful than you—and he’s got the piebald.”

  The herder offered Ukhayyad a cup of tea. “You should not have pawned this jewel to him,” he repeated with the same brusque tone as before. “If you had pawned him to me, I’d have done the same, I’d think up devilish tricks to steal him away from you.” He smiled mysteriously and blew on his tea. “Always treat a foreigner as an opponent. Men never go into exile without good reason. And in the heart of every foreigner sleeps a secret.”

  Ukhayyad did not blow on his tea, but let the cup sit buried in the sand. He listened to the bubbles of the foam as they scattered and popped. In the excruciating silence, even this sound could be clearly heard.

  The herder said, “The truth is he told me something else I never thought to tell you before.”

  “You can speak frankly with me. Nothing will shock me like this proposition he’s made.”

  “Then don’t be surprised by what I say—strange things come from strangers.” Before going on, the man blew on his tea cup with an annoying sound. “He wants to marry her according to the customs of God and His Prophet.”

  Ukhayyad shot him a look of utter disbelief. The herder looked down and closed his eyes. “Marry his kin,” he said, pretending to busy himself with the teacups. “He said he’d marry her according to the custom of God and His Prophet. There’s no shame in that, is there?”

  “But I love her,” Ukhayyad shouted. “Did someone tell him I didn’t love her?”

  “And he also loves her. That’s what he said. And blood relatives, by custom, have precedence—he also said that.”

  “If only I had my rifle . . . ”

  “You wouldn’t do a thing. He’s got his men and bodyguards, his servants, and slaves. With his money and his gold, he’s bought everything.”

  “God damn him and his gold. Does he think he can buy me—me!—and buy my wife with his gold?”

  “He did buy you. He bought you the day you placed your piebald in his hands. As for your wife, he’ll get her from you too. He’s related to her, he’s kin. He’ll get her back from you and go back to Aïr with her. And he’ll do all this according to the law of God and His Prophet. What in this could anger God or mankind?”

  “Did he say he was going to take her back to Aïr?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about my son? The boy is my son.”

  “He’ll live in Dudu’s care as if he were his own son. He’ll live in comfort ever after. And, when he grows up, you can go retrieve him if you wish. That’s what Dudu said. He’s left nothing out of his proposition, as you can see. Didn’t I tell you that foreigners hide great secrets?”

  “I’ll fight him. I’ll take back the piebald by force. When there’s no more sense of shame, force becomes the law of the desert. You know what I mean.”

  “Force won’t accomplish anything. With his money and his men, he is much more powerful than you are.”

  “Don’t forget I’ve got my tribe. The most powerful tribe . . . ”

  “Your tribe was scattered by the Italians—and he knows that. He also knows that your father, mercy on his soul, wasn’t pleased when you married his kin. I overheard Dudu repeating your father’s curse more than once, ‘Marry her and be damned.’ I don’t know where he heard it. But, as you know, nothing remains hidden forever, not even in the desert. Didn’t I tell you there was a great secret sleeping in the man’s heart?”

  But Ukhayyad was to hear another strange thing a few moments later.

  “I forgot to ask him what exactly their relationship is,” Ukhayyad said as darkness began to shroud the expanse of the horizon. “I never asked her either.”

  The herder blurted out, “She’s his paternal cousin.”

  “His cousin?”

  “Yes. Dudu has been in love with her since they were children. The two fathers had a falling out and the two were separated from one another. It’s not surprising that her father would refuse to let her marry him. When her father died, her clan left for Azjar. During that time, Dudu was being held prisoner among the Bambara tribes. He had gone on a raid to steal gold and fell into an ambush. Years later, he managed to escape. He returned to Aïr and discovered that she had gone. He gathered his vassals and attacked the Bambara—and took that cursed gold as his prize. He then sold it in Ghadamès, and you know the rest of the story. He said that the reason he had gone after the gold was to secure a dowry. This is only part of the man’s secret. As for the rest, it remains concealed and only God knows what it is.”<
br />
  Ukhayyad was utterly astonished. He doubled over low, like a dervish in the throes of ecstasy. “You were right,” he said. “A man doesn’t leave his country without good reason. You were right—secrets sleep in the heart of the foreigner.”

  21

  The piebald caught up with Ukhayyad less than a week after he returned to the oasis. This time the camel arrived in a much worse state. Ukhayyad had never seen him in this condition before. He had become so emaciated his ribs stuck out. His eyes were sunken in hollow sockets. His forelegs were covered with deep gashes, the wounds of palm rope, the coarsest kind of rope there is. They had rebranded the camel on his left shank as well, changing the ‘+’ brand of his tribe to ‘11+,’ the mark used by the tribes of Aïr.

  This was a sign from Dudu, the clever fox. It was a provocation. Dudu wanted to say that the Mahri did not belong to Ukhayyad anymore. Allowing the camel to come after him was itself a sign from one who wanted to put a flame to Uhkayyad’s heart.

  When your beloved is far away, separation is bearable. Out of sight, out of mind. But to see the beloved is for passion to rekindle. This was the trick Dudu was playing. The herder had been right, the heart of the stranger is the refuge of unknowable schemes. When they parted, the herder told him, “You should not have pawned a Mahri like this to a foreigner. The likes of him should be kept hidden from the eyes of strangers. But what’s done is done.” The man spat out some of his chewing tobacco as he left to rejoin his herd.