by Tim Kindberg
“I struggled but I kept going. And then the whole scene — the dunes and the fragments of other places dotted around — it all faded. You know the splotchy lights in the darkness when you go through the carpet, they descended over everything ahead of me. I could still feel my feet trudging through the sand but I couldn’t see where I was headed. The splotches of light looked as though I could touch them but my hand passed through. And some of them had definite shapes, like clouds sometimes do, but then they shifted and the form was gone. It’s like closing your eyes and looking at the after-lights, as though you were looking inside yourself, trying to find where you are.”
Gazing into the distance with his frizzy afro hair, his chocolate skin and his lanky robed frame still topped with the goggles, he looked as though he was, right now, at that present moment, stepping on the shifting sands in his blindness.
He continued. “I looked back to where I’d come from — at least, to where I thought I’d come from — but the curtain of lights had come down over everything around me. I became very afraid. I hadn’t even counted how many steps I’d taken, it hadn’t occurred to me. There was nothing to get my bearings by, only the changing lights that seemed to jump slightly with my heartbeat.”
Deobia stopped, completely lost in his re-telling. The other two may as well not have been there. The youth’s face was cast like the moon atop the tall tree of his dangling body.
“Well for heaven’s sake don’t stop!” Akimbe let out a smacking tut of disapproval.
“I closed my eyes. And I realised I could feel a warm breeze on my skin. I listened to it and realised I had walked into that wind. So I held up my licked finger to tell its direction, and followed it back. As I walked, those splotchy lights started to disappear and I realised I could see everything in front of me. I could see cracked Marrakech and the square I’d left. It was like arriving at an island from a boat, with the dunes like waves. I climbed a higher dune and looked back. In the distance was one of the other fragments. Just one. If I’d kept my eyes closed, I think I could have walked to it. But I was so terrified. I lost my nerve. I shouldn’t have. I should have turned and headed out to it. Why just the one place? It might have been where I’d been raised by these people,” he pointed to the photograph, “but I kept on and walked over the edge of the square, which remained when I opened my eyes again. The old woman’s head was still drooping so low you couldn’t tell whether she’d seen me leave or return.”
“So,” Chemchi stood up, “that’s quite a tale. But it doesn’t match something I know.”
“Really?”
“No, there was a captive family I freed there, who walked off from that same square. Who walked off into the same desert. I watched them disappear. They seemed to be headed for one of the fragments.”
“But how long did you watch them for? You don’t know whether they came back, do you?”
“No, I suppose that’s true.”
“You wanted to believe you had freed them.”
“Yes,” she admitted.
“But they might have been turned back, unable to see ahead as well, if only you’d waited to see.”
“It makes me want to go back and try closing my eyes,” said Akimbe, “in case there is somewhere out there I should visit. Where that man who schooled me was. Somewhere where my parents are.”
“What about you?” Deobia looked at Chemchi. It was the first time he had emerged from his own story, the first time he’d shown interest in either of the other two since he’d begun his tale. “You and your torch. What is it you do with it, exactly? Is it like an eye, even though it’s light?”
“First please tell us the rest of your story.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
DEOBIA PUSHED THE goggles a little further so as to rest a little deeper in his hair. He was sweating, there was a sheen on his face which made him a little more human, a little less unearthly.
“So, you tried again, right?” said Akimbe.
“No, I was too afraid.”
“Anyway,” said Chemchi. “Let’s not think about that now. How did you arrive here?”
“Yes, here. I found a book. A maths book, actually, about geometry. And there was a chapter about shapes that can’t exist in our three dimensions — I mean, you couldn’t physically make them because they would intersect with themselves or have a surface that nothing material could have. But they can exist in four or more dimensions. And there was something strange about one of the chapters, as though someone had hacked it — had stitched in extra pages. They’d done it so you couldn’t tell that pages had been inserted, and the writing on each page made sense given the writing at the bottom of the previous page. But something wasn’t right, the text didn’t really fit. And there was a diagram, except it was more of a map than a diagram. And when I looked at it as a map I could tell where it was. So I went there and found the chamber. And I walked on the carpet.
“It felt good when the threads pulled at me. The prospect of spending my days feeling so alone among the others, even with the old woman — what was the point of that?”
“But I didn’t go through, I tore myself off and left. Later I asked the old woman about it and showed her the book. She took it from me, found the same pages even though I’d not told her they were there, and handed it back to me without a word. Then she uncurled herself. It was like watching a plant unfurl in the sun. She uncurled herself and lay on her side, then curled back up and hunched by the wall again. All without a word. She was telling me something she wasn’t allowed to say.
“So I went back to the carpet and lay down as she had. And the rest you know.”
“Hold on,” said Chemchi. “No, we don’t know. You emerged, in the chamber, here. Then what?”
“I thought I was still where I’d started, at first. But soon I noticed there were differences, especially that the sun had moved. It was amazing after the constant noon, the way shadows grew and then darkness fell. The souks emptied. I couldn’t possibly sleep so I walked and walked beyond the souks that night, in the moonlight, and I never came to an edge. I kept thinking I would encounter it any minute but it never came, the city just kept going and I found myself in the countryside. Then I slept in a field for a while and walked back the way I had come. The fields and everything else beyond the edge didn’t seem strange but at the same time I couldn’t think where I’d seen it all before. Maybe it was like wherever I was before.
“I slept rough for the first few nights. But I didn’t feel safe. Some people here looked at me with curiosity. I needed somewhere to be where I could feel safe and collect my thoughts. I went to the riad I had stayed in. No one was about, so I headed for what would have been my room. The concierge came out of nowhere and stopped me, dragged me by the scruff of my neck and was about to kick me out when someone came out of one of the rooms. It was Camel-breath. He questioned me, in Arabic, French, English and many African tongues. I could understand them all. He must have realised there was something not quite right about me. What did I know of those countries where the languages were spoken? Only what I’d read and remembered. He didn’t seem to mind that. He said he needed help. I didn’t like him. How could I like a creepy man like that? But it seemed better to go along and give him a chance than to be alone again.
“They let me have a bit of money, and my moped. I found a place to stay — the riad where you found me, Akimbe. And, a few days later, when I reported to them as I had been instructed, they gave me a bag, told me not to open it, and pressed an address in my palm.
“I ran simple errands at first and later they gave me the money and the guns to take. They also left me with the slaves and the captives in transit to find out more about where they came from and to learn more of their languages.”
“And you just went along with all of that?! You saw how miserable and beaten those people are!” said Chemchi.
“I thought I was helping. They liked having someone take an interest in them. It was a kind of relief for them. Secretly I
tracked down other slaves they knew and told them where one another were. And I didn’t tell the gangs everything. They could see I was —”
“Not a really bad person like the enslavers?” she said. “Aren’t you kidding yourself? You were part of it. Who did you report to, Camel-breath?”
“Yes, he was decent to me but the others treated me almost like a slave and laughed at me.”
“And Morchid?” said Chemchi.
“I knew no more than what you seem to know about him. Few dealt with him directly.”
“And you can find relatives,” said Akimbe, “but you can’t find mine?”
“I haven’t had a chance to help you, have I? We were looking for Chemchi.”
“We’ll get to that, Akimbe, let’s hear what he has to say,” said Chemchi.
“Anyway, one day Camel-breath told me to go through the carpet and look for something. Of course he didn’t know I came from there and I didn’t tell him. He said I needed to find a baby. Well, I racked my brains to think of where this baby could be. I’d never seen one there but perhaps I’d missed something.
“I went through and was met by the same man and woman at the gates. And as I scoured the souks, I pretended to myself I’d never been there before, so that I would spot something unusual even though I’d been taking it all for granted for so long. I searched and searched and came up with nothing. After two days, I rendezvoused with Camel-breath’s men at a cafe, as agreed. My mind was crystal clear and I could remember everything about both places. But I feigned a little loss of memory and returned with them, because Camel-breath had warned that would happen to me. He wasn’t at all happy when I came back empty-handed. They sent me back several times but it was always the same.”
“This baby you were looking for is Morchid’s son,” said Chemchi.
“How do you know that?” Deobia asked.
“Because Morchid told me. He sent him through the carpet and he wants him back. He can’t go through. He’s tried but it won’t take him. He wants me to find him. And I think I must, because then I can bargain with him.”
“You can find him,” said Akimbe. “You found the carpet and Ibtissam with your torch.”
“The thought of going back gives me the creeps,” said Chemchi. “But Morchid believes I can find him there. So I am valuable to him. I must hide. It’s crazy being here, exactly where they might look for me.”
“No one thinks you’d be stupid enough to hide where you live,” said Akimbe.
“I’m going to lay low for a while,” said Chemchi, “until Ali comes back. I want to know what Morchid wants with him. But not here. And not with you two.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“DO YOU EXPECT me to believe you don’t know where she is?” Morchid stood with his arms folded. People talk about smouldering eyes in a romantic setting usually, but his smoked with a suppressed rage, a power station of wrath.
“I wish I knew but I don’t. You’ve got to believe me.” Ali’s only power was to charm and that was useless with Morchid.
“You know I’ll have you tortured. So why don’t you save yourself.”
“I promise you, I’ve been fretting over her.”
Morchid didn’t look at the cringing man. It was probably true that he knew nothing. Two voices spoke within his head. One, that knew the son must be found, said to relent. It was wiser to keep him alive. There might be a way to use him to force the girl to reveal herself. The other said to put this useless wretch straight in a box. It mortified him to be dependent on these creatures.
“You will let it be known that her mother is coming back. You are the only one who knows the mother’s whereabouts. And the girl doesn’t. Correct?”
“I’ve never told her, I swear.”
“Go and get the mother. Bring her to me. Let it be known that she is in Marrakech.”
****
But Ali could not get Chemchi’s mother. She was dead. Stupid fool — why hadn’t he told Morchid? He’d panicked, said whatever would get himself away from there quickly. All he’d had to do was say her mother was dead. But then his usefulness might have ceased. You had to think quickly.
When he came to take Chemchi away, Ali had made her mother, Lalla, promise never to contact her. It was an old debt she owed him and Lalla had had to pay. It was true he genuinely needed a maid but he had to admit he’d enjoyed taking payment. And he’d never touched the girl. He’d given her a good life. So what was the problem? And how could he have known how sick Lalla was anyway, that she was going to die six months later? Chemchi was better off with him than being some orphan in the mountains. After a long while, Chemchi had stopped bothering him, stopped imploring him to drive her back.
Well, there was no mother to find. And no mother to produce for Morchid. Or was there?
****
“So, you and Morchid must have a plan,” Chemchi said as soon as Ali walked up. She had let him know the meeting place, an obscure corner of the souks under darkness, through Akimbe. Deobia and Akimbe were also there. They all looked exhausted from the strain they were under. “He wouldn’t have let you come away without a plan, and a task for you. What is it?”
“I’m to fetch your mother. To lure you out of hiding.”
“You’ll do no such thing. How could you agree to that? How could you?”
Ali’s voice was muted. “You ask that, when we’re talking about Morchid?”
“Why does he need you, anyway, why doesn’t he just have her fetched?”
Ali shrugged. “I suppose because he thinks she wouldn’t cooperate. Or that his men might not be able to find her. You know what those fools are like.”
“And now you’re going to do for him what you’ve always refused to do for me.”
“No, I won’t do it. I’ll find someone to stand in for her. Then he’ll see that I’ve been true to my word. But you won’t appear, of course, it’ll do no good. We’ll say that you must have gone looking for her, must be lost in the mountains by now.”
“Are you really that stupid? This is Morchid we’re talking about. He’ll know he’s being tricked.”
“I’ll find someone,” said Deobia. “A slave. A tuareg, like Chemchi. I can arrange it. We’ll find someone to say she’s your mother, then we’ll release her when it hasn’t worked and Morchid has moved on to his next plan. I’ll make sure she’s safe.”
“What the hell are you doing?” said Chemchi. “You’re solving Ali’s problem — Ali who was stupid enough to get my mother involved in this, and now you want to risk someone else’s life to boot. It’s insane and it’s wrong. You’ll be finding some poor innocent to send to the slaughter. Morchid is looking for me, expecting me to find his son. Well, I’m going to do that. I’m going to find his son. And I’m going to kill Morchid.”
“You don’t know what you are saying,” said Ali. “No one could do that. He has so many enemies but he’s existed for — no one knows how long.”
“But he ate with me — alone for some of the time. He allows me to get up close. I could do it then. I could poison him.”
“Get a grip, Chemchi. What has happened to you? What happened to the girl who’s lived with me so quietly and cooperatively for so many years, someone I took into my home and looked after?” said Ali.
“You really want an answer to that? You’re not my father. I have no father. And you are nobody. So stop telling me what I should or shouldn’t do.”
Ali ignored her. No one else could make her feel so powerless.
“Yes, we’ll find someone to be Chemchi’s mother,” he said. “I’ll coach her and introduce her to Morchid. Everyone will get to know she is staying as my guest in the riad. Morchid’s men can come and visit as many times as they like. When she doesn’t show up, Morchid will conclude that she has run away, that’s all. We’ll all be frantically looking for her.”
Chemchi couldn’t believe how she had become a pawn all of a sudden. And some poor
soul was to be put in danger as a stand-in for her mother, however Deobia thought he could keep her safe. This was to save Ali’s skin from a mauling by Morchid. She ran out. Ali tried to grab her arm but she wrenched it free without stopping. Ibtissam followed her, zipping past Ali’s feet. Then Akimbe came after her.
“What are you doing?” Ali called after her. “You’ll be picked up in no time! We have to hide you.”
She didn’t answer. She knew a place that none of them knew.
“Please don’t follow me. Try to understand and look out for yourself. I’ll be in touch,” she said to Akimbe as drew up beside her.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
DEOBIA PUTTERED ALONG on his moped through the souks and out beyond greater Marrakech, to a farm that lay in a shallow valley. He hadn’t told the others but there was someone he had in mind all along to stand in for Chemchi’s mother. Her name was Radia. Deobia didn’t know how old Chemchi’s mother would be, exactly, but Radia looked about right. And she was a tall and statuesque tuareg like Chemchi, nice and elegant. He had noticed her as soon as she had stepped from one of the trucks, captured somewhere in the Sahara. She had a dignified air as she climbed out of that stinking carriage into the melee, the dappled slave market filled with the smells of human sweat. She looked, he thought, a bit like the old woman might have looked many years ago. Normally he didn’t notice anyone in particular, let alone someone old enough to be his mother. But she was different and he wondered at himself for thinking so.
The gap-toothed farmer could have no objections since Deobia was, as far as the man knew, on Morchid’s business. But Deobia had to be careful. He told the farmer not to worry, that he needed to interrogate her in private, and led the woman away from the house beneath the shade of a tree. He didn’t really feel like someone who could tell people what to do, but he found it easy when on such a definite mission. The man had looked him up and down but he had to admit that the boy knew what he was talking about.
