Ukhayyad crossed through the palm forests and drew up beside the southern sand dune. He forced the camel to kneel, then unrolled a tatter of burlap cloth. He pulled out the packet of barley and spread it before the camel. But the piebald turned his nose up with disdain and stared at the desolate horizon.
The first fiery thread of the sun’s rays now burst forth. He sat on his toes across from the camel. Leaning on his rifle, Ukhayyad stared intensely at the piebald.
And then, though he did not know how, he raised the barrel of the rifle and pointed it directly at his companion. He stood up slowly, as if being plucked up by strings, and drew the gun barrel toward the camel’s head. He took a step forward, then another, until the rifle mouth pressed against the camel’s forehead. He clutched the weapon with both hands, and placed it directly between the camel’s eyes. Ukhayyad’s hands were steady and his eyes shone with resolute determination and something dark. The piebald also surrendered to the moment. Their eyes met. There was no astonishment in the camel’s eyes. On the contrary, the camel seemed to bless what was happening. “Pull the trigger,” his eyes seemed to encourage Ukhayyad. Those deep eyes were as pure as the water in the vineyard spring, and now they were telling him: “Put out this fire, if you wish to live apart. The shadows that hang about us cannot be worse than the fire of Asyar. They cannot match the cruelty of the road to Awal. Put out this fire inside me!”
Their eyes locked for what seemed like forever. Finally, Ukhayyad’s resolve broke, and his hand began to tremble. He shoved the rifle barrel into the sand beside the camel’s folded leg and trembled there for a few moments. Then he felt the water begin to roil down his cheeks again. His breast seethed and flared with anger and rage. How would he put out the fire?
He began to bash the rifle butt against his head until his turban fell off. Blow after blow, and the blood began to pour, splattering on his hands, across the sand, and across the burlap cloth and into the barley. Blood splattered over the piebald’s face as he nervously watched the burst of madness. With each blow, the distress in his eyes developed into fear. Perhaps this was because he did not know what madness was. Perhaps it was because he believed that man alone was blessed with the gift of reason and that he had no right to lose it and behave like a beast. Ukhayyad had indeed now lost his mind. Who was this person then? What would he do to himself? How far would he go?
The camel suddenly opened his mouth and bellowed, “Aw-a-a-a-a-a-a.”
The open desert quickly swallowed the pained cry and Ukhayyad stopped and fell on the sand.
It was now late afternoon.
He found himself in a fever, drenched in sweat and blood. He did not know when or how he had passed out. The pain of the gashes split his head. The time had come for the pains of the body to vanquish those of the heart. If only there was a way for the pains of the body to absorb these others—then no one would ever feel any pain. As soon as he came to and remembered what had happened, his headache dissolved—and with it, the sufferings of his body. Heartache had consumed all other pain.
Ukhayyad went and washed in the vineyard spring. He concealed his wounds beneath his veil and rested in the shady thicket of palms that surrounded the pool of water. He drank, and drenched his chest, clothes, and head with water. He eventually got up and headed for the oasis village.
He found the man he sought sitting in the circle of sheikhs. The cadi was taking refuge from the scorching afternoon sun behind the courtyard wall and was absorbed in fighting off flies with a palm frond swatter. Ukhayyad asked to speak to the man alone, and then demanded a writ of divorce. The cadi attempted to dissuade him, and tried to postpone drafting the document. The man said, “Though frowned upon, a divorce was permitted by God’s law. There is nothing easier.” It was better—though harder, he said—to restrain one’s impulses than regret one’s actions later. But, confronted with Ukhayyad’s determination, the cadi abandoned his sermon and resorted to a trick that he thought would delay the process and muddle Ukhayyad’s passion: he demanded that a witness be present. Ukhayyad went out and grabbed the first peasant he met in the square, dragging him back to the cadi. “When Satan sets his heart on something, he makes it happen,” the cadi sighed. “When he wants to push someone over a cliff, he removes all the obstacles that stand in his way. May God prevail!” He then gave the ill-omened document to Ukhayyad, who then folded it, pressed it into his pocket, and departed for Danbaba.
He met alone with Dudu and handed him the paper, the document of his surrender and deliverance. The writ was his emancipation from the noose, the doll, and the illusion—forever. Dudu was ecstatic. He ordered his servants to bring some tea and prepare them supper. “I knew you’d do it,” he exclaimed. “And it’s a good thing you did, too. You have broken your fetters and regained a true friend. I could see it in your eyes and his since the very first day. The truth was right there, hidden in your eyes.”
He smiled and went on, “Who would ever trade a giraffe like this piebald of yours for a woman, even if she were a goddess of beauty like Tanit? God forbid you ever did such a thing! But isn’t our entire fate inscribed on our foreheads for all to see?”
From an iron box he took out an old leather pouch engraved with magic amulets. He dipped a teacup into it twice. The gold dust flashed, blinding the eye.
The yellow rays of twilight were reflected in the yellow specks and, in seeming response, the gold appeared to radiate from within.
Dudu pushed the pouch toward Ukhayyad, saying, “Don’t think of this as a bribe. Think of it as protection from the evil of necessity until the famine has passed.”
Ukhayyad answered, “I don’t think I’ll need it. In our tribe, gold is said to bring bad luck.”
The man ignored the second half of what Ukhayyad had just said. Instead, he commented on the first part: “Not only do humans need gold, but jinn need it as well. It is the source of the struggles between humans and jinn, between humans and Satan, and also among humans. How could you not need it? Because of it, I was held prisoner and tortured by the blacks of Bambara. But also, without it, I could not have accomplished what I have.”
He waved the piece of paper in the air and smiled. Ukhayyad reminded him with naive determination, “But they say it is cursed and brings bad luck.”
“Those are myths spread by people incapable of attaining it. Gold is the goal of every person, from when they are born till the moment they die. It’s what everyone wants, everyone that is, except losers and Sufi dervishes. Losers and dervishes revile it and spread their nasty rumors about it for only one reason: they don’t know how to get it! Believe me!”
A flash sparkled in the man’s eye as he spoke.
24
In the fertile southern pastures below Jebel Hasawna, the piebald recovered his vigor.
One low-lying valley in particular had received the rains of passing clouds at the end of last spring. None of the experienced herders had gone there, because the rains had arrived so late. After leaving Adrar for the northern desert, Ukhayyad had stumbled upon this valley. He had decided to stay put there. Leaving the camel in the green pasture he took refuge in a cave on the western slopes.
He decided to settle here, not only because the place was a reward from God, a green treasure hidden from other travelers and herdsmen, but also because he had discovered another treasure there as well—desert truffles. He had not eaten them since settling in the wretched oasis. Once a man has tried such truffles, he spends the rest of his life longing to taste them again.
In those hidden fields, the piebald recovered his muscle, fat, and gleaming coat—and Ukhayyad savored truffles for the first time since his long exile in the oases. The truffles were like a reward for all his patience and suffering.
But the real compensation was not to be found in the truffles, nor in the piebald’s regained health. The prize was in the pure presence of God that can be found only in the quiet emptiness of infinite wilderness. Only those who have been shackled by life in the oasis can know
the meaning of serenity. Such serenity means nothing to those who have not experienced the fetters of family and shame, not to mention the worries of life and the machinations of men. By day, such men labor stubbornly. By night, they are insomniacs—and their chains become only tighter and more jagged. As soon as such a man breaks one knot, he discovers new fetters around his hands and feet, strangling him like serpents. They are like drowning men—however much they raise their heads and dream of rescue, strong currents tug them under. People say that in the vineyard spring there lives a demon who is skilled at this kind of sport. He does not try to drown his victims unless they come to swim alone. He never attacks those who come to swim in groups.
These are the traps of sedentary life in the oasis generally—for that demon did not just haunt the vineyard spring, but the entire oasis.
Here, on the other hand, demons die of thirst, leaving two expanses to reveal themselves—that of the open desert and that of the heart. Here, there was a stillness of the ears, and a stillness of the heart. There was God’s presence in the desert, and His presence inside a man’s chest. And while the waters of the vineyard spring may wash clean the body, only the desert can cleanse the soul. In the desert, the soul empties and clears and becomes free and brave in the process. And so it enables you to defy the endless open space, challenge the horizon, and explore the emptiness that leads beyond the horizon, beyond the desert void. It invites you to face the other world, the hereafter. It was here, only here, in the labyrinths of never-ending desert plains, that the extremes converge—open expanse, horizon, and desolation—to form a firmament that expands outward, toward eternity, toward the afterlife.
This celestial union weaves together the threads of God’s presence, and plants stillness and calm in the heart. He had heard Sheikh Musa repeat this mantra so often that Ukhayyad began to think it was a sura from the Qur’an—the Sura of Serenity. He had never known what it meant until now—after tasting life in the oases, after wrapping himself in devilish chains like everybody else does in the world. He had traded his freedom for a noose and a doll and an illusion, and told himself the same story as everybody else, “This is what we found our forefathers doing.” Now, he grasped the meaning of this mantra. When he heard it from Sheikh Musa and learned it by heart, he never realized that he would someday be traveling down the road it described: Abraham’s people stubbornly insisted on worshiping idols simply because they inherited the custom from father to son. Meanwhile, Ukhayyad had done the same: he married and begot a child and built a special place in his heart for shame—so as to confine himself with fetters stronger than any iron chain.
He forgot about the verse, the sura, the magic spell. He forgot about the words that opened up secrets—serenity, freedom, the presence of God. He had forgotten them simply because he had left the desert and placed his neck in the shackles of settled life in the oases. The inhabitants of the oases were nothing but slaves. No one but a slave would agree to live behind walls or under a mud roof. And Ukhayyad had been a unique kind of slave—a blind one. He had been unable to recognize that his own soul was being enslaved. He had not been slave to another man, but slave to a devil, which was surely worse. A man who is slave to other men arouses pity, but a slave to demons makes you cringe with disgust. The piebald had saved Ukhayyad from this repugnant form of slavery—he was a divine messenger. Were it not for the pure animal, he would have continued following in Satan’s tracks, and perished along with so many other lost souls. The piebald was his savior, the vessel that would deliver him to freedom. And here they were, racing like gazelles across God’s wide desert—that everlasting desert stretching from here to the hereafter.
Goodbye broken chains. Goodbye to the cage whose bars were stronger than those of the prisons the last Ottoman governor left behind when they evacuated the oasis.
The honor of breaking from that cage went to the piebald. And now God had rewarded the camel for his patience and led him to this treasure—to these hidden pastures. The pastures that the passing clouds had made so verdant. The green was heaven’s gift in the desert. Even the barren desert knew how to hide surprises to reward those who are patient. It had rewarded the Mahri with sweet grasses, and Ukhayyad with truffles.
If truffles were not precious treasure, then what was? A fruit that fell from heaven? It is nothingness that brings truffles forth in great abundance. The earth splits apart to let them come up. Their strong earthy scent wafts across the land. The winds scatter them and carry them back to earth. Then lightning mixes with thunder and suddenly the magical fruit is born again in the heart of the void. To enjoy truffles at the outset of summer—that was a mercy from heaven. This was paradise on earth.
But had paradise lasted even until the days of the ancients? And had God’s blessings survived even into the age of the Prophets?
25
One day, one of the deep desert herdsmen stumbled into Ukhayyad’s paradise. The man rode in at nightfall on a stout, disheveled camel. He tethered the beast in the field and called out, “Praise God!” three times before greeting Ukhayyad. He said he was looking for his lost camels. He also said that Ukhayyad must be a saint beloved of God, since he had been blessed above all others with such pasturage—especially with the other parts of the desert world suffering from such drought.
Ukhayyad invited him to share tea. “It’s best if you say nothing about this to anyone,” Ukhayyad said.
“I’ll keep it a secret if you let me graze my camels here,” the stranger laughed, and then added, “That is, if God helps me find them in His wide desert!”
“God willing, you will find them.”
“No doubt I will. God answers the prayers of His saints.”
He wiped his beard and leaned back contentedly on the pebbles beneath them. “I’ll keep it a secret if you let me graze,” he repeated. “As you can see, I don’t ask for much in exchange for my silence!”
Laughing again, he said, “To be content with what we have. The faqihs all agree in their condemnation of greed—and who am I to say otherwise? To hell with wealth! Did you hear the story about that man in Adrar oasis who sold his wife and child for a handful of gold dust?”
The blood froze in Ukhayyad’s veins. “What!” he gasped.
“The story is on everyone’s tongue. The man surrendered his wife and child to one of the rich foreigners for a handful of gold dust. Gold—it blinds the eye! Not until I heard that story did I realize how cursed that yellow copper truly is.”
Ukhayyad held his tongue. Cold sweat poured across his shoulders, soaking the skin. His hands trembled and tea spilled onto the ground. Soon, the perspiration began to seep from his forehead and from around his mouth. Beads of it dripped into the cups, mixing into the frothy crown of the green tea. Blood began to seep from his heart.
In that single instant, he forgot all about the burdens sons inherit from their fathers—the nooses that choke, the dolls that bring ruin, and the empty, empty illusions. The things of the world began to take on their old meanings again. The noose went back to being a beloved wife. The doll became, once more, his progeny and heir to his mantle. The sham illusion became, once again, shame—actual shame.
In the blink of an eye, the beautiful dream melted away. In the blink of an eye, a harsh, wretched truth settled in. As the vision disappeared, freedom dissolved and the shackles returned.
It seemed to him now that all he had thought about during his daring escape had been no more than a fantasy. His wife was no noose, but a refuge; his son, no plaything, but the awaited messiah. The illusion too was revealed for what it was. In an instant, every sign turned on its head.
There was nothing strange about this turn of events. When a person decides to oppose Satan, he should never let his guard down. In order to converse with another living creature, a person has to speak in the Devil’s tongue. And in that moment, all vision of the divine vanishes, and all signs of heaven disappear.
How did this wretched nomad know how to banish inspiration? How
did that accursed man know so well how to drive him mad?
26
For three consecutive nights he dreamed of the same decrepit house.
He did not actually sleep. The burning that filled his heart left no room for slumber. But with the glow of each new dawn, he managed to drift off for a short spell. And there, in his sleep, he saw the wretched ruins. Though he knew this fitful sleep would be fleeting, his wanderings through the wrecked dwelling would last the whole night.
The dream was not new.
In his childhood, it had tortured him again and again, returning to torment him during the first years of his youth. At that time, he had not yet visited the oases, nor ever once seen a house built with adobe or stone. Even so, the vision haunted him. The dark, foreboding house had two stories, and was built of mud brick. Its roof was made of palm trunks, over which rested a layer of palm fronds, and clay mixed with earth. The ground floor was a shambles. A wall, and some of the rooms too, had partly collapsed. There was something else about the house: it was completely abandoned and had neither windows nor doors. It was strange: Ukhayyad always found himself trapped inside without knowing how he had got in. He was on the second floor walking along dark hallways looking for a way out—a door or window or even a glint of light. The ground beneath him shook and threatened to collapse, and he would step faster, holding his breath for fear of falling. At the same time, he instinctively felt the presence of a specter that never actually appeared, neither as substance nor shadow. In the dream, these two fears were always with him, that he would fall and that he would enrage the phantom being.
Later in his youth, the dream abruptly stopped. After that he forgot all about it.
This was the dream that came back the first night after talking with the traveler. That night, something snatched his sleep away. And now, only now, could he clearly make out the three things that had so frightened him: the obscurity, the rickety ceiling, and the shadowy being that had never—not in the past, nor in the latest visitations—announced itself by word or by sign. Ukhayyad knew that it was present somewhere in the house, at the end of one of the hallways, in the corner of one of the rooms, in the ceiling, on the rooftop, or on the ground floor below amid the debris and piles of fallen bricks. He dreaded this being—its mere presence filled his heart with a terror, a dread that made him feel ashamed upon awaking. He had never experienced this kind of fear in his waking life. Even death never aroused feelings like this in him. What was he afraid of? Who, or what was this being? Was it human or jinn? Angel or devil?
Gold Dust (Modern Arabic Literature) Page 9
