The Colonial Conquest: The Confines of the Shadow Volume I

by Alessandro Spina

  When he received this sort of letter, Émile would read it, holding it at an oblique angle, and then shake his head as he folded the sheet and filed it in the folder pertaining to the branch’s business, resigning himself to drafting a reply on purely laudatory lines, filled with affectionate statements. He would then try to guess the sales trajectory via the spyhole afforded him by the numbers of returns. He decided that he would pay the branch a visit at the end of November. He sent news to his uncle of his forthcoming arrival, trying to specify the exact date, despite the fact that communication lines were unsafe and one should expect any sort of surprise along the way. On the appointed day he saddled his horse and, followed by Abdelkarim, a guide and a convoy of ten camels, he headed into the interior of the country for the first time.

  II

  ‘But dear uncle, it wasn’t such a bad trip,’ Émile muttered, already irritated. Mikhail’s welcome had been suffocating. ‘We left Benghazi five days ago and we only arrived today – just like I’d warned you.’

  ‘You don’t understand the dangers you have just exposed yourself to. The trip could have ended very differently.’

  ‘Let us offer our grateful prayers to God and exalt him, then speak about it no more. In a war like this, merchants must be as brave as soldiers: otherwise they’ll grow poor and vanish. You’ll not catch me either hypnotised or held to ransom by thoughts of danger, let alone see me holed up in the house, waiting for the clouds to clear.’

  ‘Truth be told, I don’t stay holed up at home either,’ his uncle replied bitterly.

  ‘Did I insinuate that? You just don’t seem to take into account that I too might run some risks.’

  ‘The family couldn’t cope without you. It has pinned its hopes on your ever since you were a boy, and it has waited patiently all along. I hate this village you sent me to. But because it was in the company’s interests, I came here without protests and shall stay as long as you need me to. I think I’m also on a mission to represent the business in the most ungrateful of places and thus spare you the task. I couldn’t bear to see you exposed to all these dangers: but have I become useless? Feel free to tell me! You must always remember what the family expects from you, and thus the duties you have towards it, which are proportional to the patience it’s had and the hopes it has placed in you.’

  ‘Your confidence in me is like a noose around my neck. You repeatedly tell me that I am essential to the family, that these days the family only stays afloat because of me and the work that I do. It’s like you’re robbing me of my individual destiny, that I owe my presence on Earth to the role that has been assigned to me in this group, to which I must subordinate all my choices, and that all the paths I’ve taken must necessarily lead to where the family’s interests are best served. In fact, I have the impression they’re trying to erect specific confines around my destiny.’

  ‘Don’t mock our family bonds in my presence. The paths you must travel don’t need much imagination or ideas: they’ve already been plotted out, by the family’s interests and emotions on the one hand, and by religion, which is all-pervasive, on the other. You must work within these schemes, and employ all the intelligence, willpower, strength and constancy that you can muster. You must fulfil a destiny that has already been plotted out for you, and which also belonged to our ancestors. There is room for personal values and individuality along that path, so long as you reach its end. Nobody expects anything original from you, aside from achieving the goals your qualities have led us to believe you can attain. If you choose another path, no matter where it leads you, the family will think of you as lost to them. You can only play out this parable by marrying well. Indeed, the family demands it. Remaining a bachelor past a certain age just isn’t appropriate. Am I boring you? Are we too limited when compared to your intelligence and experience? Despite this being the first time we’ve seen each other in nine months, you’re already growing intolerant. The prospect of spending an evening with me seems to disappoint you, as though your trip here had been so much more alluring.’

  ‘I only want to chat with the other merchants: this is the liveliest market in the province, the only truly free one in the uplands. I’m interested in the swaying of prices, not the swaying of girls’ bodies. You force me to say unpleasant things, but one cannot manage a business in such an adventurous setting if one doesn’t keep informed about market trends on a daily basis. Or am I wrong?’

  ‘If you need information about the market, I can give it to you myself, there’s no need for you to turn to strangers, who have a thousand reasons to try and trick you.’

  ‘But I kept asking you for your opinion … ’

  ‘And didn’t I give it to you?’

  ‘You certainly doled it out. You wrote more about the family than the market. Besides, I have the right to see things with my own eyes and hear them with my own ears. What would be the point of coming here if all I did was listen to what you’d already told me in your letters?’

  ‘So you mean to say I’m useless. If the owner doesn’t take any interest in the person who’s been running his branch for nine months, it means that this person is unfit for the job. I’d already understood the situation from the tone of your letters.’

  ‘But even if we belong to the same family and work for the same business, it doesn’t mean we’re a single organism, we’re still two distinct people, each one endowed with a brain, eyes and ears. I can’t stay shut inside a room with my eyes closed, while you stay by the window and tell me what’s happening in the street. You can’t seek to replace my senses, I need – and have a right – to look out of the window myself. And if there’s two pairs of eyes instead of one at the window, it doesn’t necessarily mean it’s a monster.’

  ‘But it’s pointless to have two pairs of eyes.’

  ‘What’s the point of discussing this further? Dear Uncle, you need to get used to seeing me talk to other people, you need to put up with my curiosity for the rest of the world, and you need to acknowledge my refusal to keep to the confines of the role that the family has allotted me, in other words, you must accept my right to an individual destiny and thus that I have objectives that lie outside the family remit – even if this amounts to a waste of time.’

  ‘Outside the family remit – this means you’re forsaking your origins.’

  ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. I have the greatest respect for our customs, our language, and our religion, in fact for our entire way of being in the world, and I love our family deeply. But Uncle, our family and the Maronite community aren’t an island unto themselves. As a community, as a family, as individuals, we’ll always need to come into contact with others, even occasionally to clash with them.’

  ‘Nobody’s forbidding you from being in contact with the outside world. We’re not as stupid as you think. But as a member of a group, the door of your house shall be open only to those who belong to that group or the wider community. Whoever has another religion or belongs to another group should never set foot in your house.’

  ‘So this means you should be my only source of information on market trends, and if anyone else gives me some information it will be useless?’

  ‘That you feel spending an evening with me would be a waste of time has nothing to do with your wanting information about the market – what you’re really seeking is human contact outside the family.’

  ‘But Uncle, is that a sin?’

  ‘We’ve always considered this a worrying and negative indicator. What value do you think you’ll extract from forming bonds with outsiders? You’ll only find traps.’

  ‘Uncle, maybe you haven’t realised that I’m twenty-six years old. Everything you said may have been valid ten years ago; these are the teachings families instil in their young ones. They’re like a wall we erect between boys and the outside world in order to protect them until they’ve grown up, like when a farmer ties a plant to a stick of wood to keep it straight until it’s strong enough to stand alone. But when that boy becomes a man, one
should let him go, like when those plants are allowed to stand on their own; they follow their own patterns of development while still being a part of the community, in the case of man – or part of a species, in the case of plant.’

  ‘Family is the community, and it protects its laws and values. Don’t make the mistake of thinking – or believing, or pretending – that you can move freely about in this foreign land as though it belonged to you or your people, or of thinking you can overcome their different religion and customs. They are confines that one should respect. To do otherwise would mean opposing the way of the world. Why are you smiling now? Not respecting your elders is to break one of our community’s rules.’

  ‘Rest assured, it’s a rule that can be found in many other communities, and I honour it. If I’m smiling it’s because I was thinking about the strange role I’ve been playing in the family: what you’ve been telling me is more or less what I’ve been telling that good-for-nothing Armand, and now here you are saying the same to me, as though you held the same opinion of me that I do of him. So I’m playing both roles at the same time. I play the tutor with Armand, and the unruly boy with you. The principles I believe in when I speak to Armand seem exaggerated when I speak to you. The teachings espoused by families and communities are to keep adventurous youths like Armand from taking the wrong path. That’s when those rules become clear and incontrovertible. This may be presumptuous, Uncle, but I don’t think I really deserve your admonishments!’

  ‘You don’t deserve them because of what you do, you know all too well that you’re on the right path. You deserve them because of your pride. Those rules are there to keep you heading in the right direction, and perhaps circumscribe your ambitions. As for Armand, I don’t want to hear you talking about your brother like that. It’s as if your only goal were to distinguish yourself from him and make your disdain of him known to all. If you seek the company of strangers, like Muslim merchants or Italian officers, it means there are other dangers lurking in your head that are far worse than the fusillades of the Italians or the rebels, and far worse than Armand’s mistakes and escapades. Your intentions are what worry me.’

  ‘Thus, when I learn the current price of rice, I should just get up and leave, completely disregarding the customs of civilised life?’

  ‘Isn’t that what I do?’

  ‘And if I couldn’t abide by these rules? What if my curiosity proved too great?’

  ‘If I’d lost all hope, I would’ve already got up and left, going back to what you call a ‘group,’ which you were the first to leave – then followed by me – with the intention of going back to help raise its social status. If that were the case, I would go back alone and announce that Émile had been lost in a shipwreck. You didn’t come all the way here with the sole purpose of adding to the family’s riches – you simply fled the family’s principles and its time-hallowed traditions. You only wanted to free yourself, to go off on a soul-searching adventure that is fatally destined to contradict our values and religion. If this is the case, then I don’t even want to know what your intentions are because I could never abide by them, and I’ll never be your accomplice.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’re exaggerating, Uncle? As they say, I have a good head on my shoulders.’

  ‘But our family knows only one way to keep a good head on one’s shoulders.’

  ‘Tomorrow, at first light, even our thoughts will have grown clearer. We’ll have plenty of work to do, and maybe we’ll even find ease and happiness in the decisions we make and the conversations we have.’

  ‘Our family is our centre of gravity, and if you choose to ignore that, every move you make will be a blunder.’

  ‘Uncle, I’m afraid you’re a little deluded. Perhaps you see me going down new paths that are different, adventurous and completely different to the ones you’d foreseen. But that doesn’t mean I can’t still be a good son to our family, nor that I can’t still be a good Christian.’

  III

  The next day, the young Maronite woke up early, but Mikhail was ready and waiting for him already. Mikhail gently scolded him for waking up so early: ‘There was no need for that.’ Émile didn’t pay him any heed. He picked up the branch’s ledgers and began studying them. He wanted to know more about each customer before going to meet them. He didn’t need to make notes, and was able to memorise everything simply by scanning his eyes across it.

  His uncle felt ill at ease, and was unable to conceal his irritation and embarrassment. His nephew had opened up the ledgers without asking him; in fact, he seemed to have forgotten Mikhail was even in the room, and wasn’t sharing his thoughts and reactions with him. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked in that bitter tone his nephew found particularly bothersome. But Émile was adrift in a sea of numbers and was so distant – or at least pretended to be – that he didn’t answer. He was adding, subtracting, multiplying and dividing at an extraordinary speed, and even though he was standing right behind him, Mikhail was unable to fathom what sums he was working on. The sheer multitude of numbers was being worked out so rapidly that the Maronite eventually slowed down and lingered over three or four sums, whose origins Mikhail was at a loss to explain. ‘So?’ he asked with a hint of trepidation in his voice. His nephew was blackmailing him with the science of accounting.

  ‘As far as I’m concerned,’ Émile said as he stood, slipping the sheet into his pocket, ‘being excessively prudent is a mistake, it won’t pay off. We must extend more credit to established merchants. Then we can double sales without running more risks. Whereas, from what I can tell, we’re treating all customers in the same way – stingily. The credit we’re giving them is piddly. So long as this is the case, we won’t achieve much.’

  ‘You want to throw your money away.’

  Refusing to answer, Émile left, with Mikhail in tow. But instead of heading into this or that shop, he contented himself with giving the market a look and then headed straight for the sea. Mikhail would point out a customer’s shop and remind Émile of its name, but he seemed distracted and didn’t reply. His uncle couldn’t help asking: ‘Why are you avoiding them now, when you were so impatient to see them yesterday? Have you come all this way just to breathe a little air and look at the sea?’

  ‘The location is magical, those naked hills so close to the beach, the little port, the sea, a beautiful blue sky: it’s a simple, temperate landscape and the little fort over there looks like an ancient building, a relic of a forgotten civilisation.’

  ‘I can’t stand it when you make fun of me. You should remember that even though you’re the owner, I’m still your uncle.’

  ‘And so, as the owner,’ Émile retorted, ‘I’m telling you that for the time being, all I need to do is show myself, and that I don’t intend to rush into anyone’s shop, nor make any inspections or solicit orders: the merchandise can wait. People will come to me. We’ll drink the ritual cup of coffee, chat about this or that, and then in the end even talk a little business.’

  ‘Do we have to keep strolling for much longer? You’re just indulging your own vanity. Oh, Émile! You can’t content yourself with simply making money, having your family love you and God’s merciful forgiveness. No, instead you chase what’s frivolous: the admiration of others. The prestige you seek might initially advance the business’s interests, but then it will inevitably sink into ruin when those interests become secondary to your social standing. The difference between you and those Italian officers who have come here in search of glory is getting smaller and smaller – one day you too will wind up in a uniform: you’ll become a soldier of the devil’s army.’

  ‘As far as you’re concerned, a good man is someone who locks himself up in a storage room in the dark, while anyone who wants to go for a stroll in the fresh air must have lost his path. In any case, cheer up, the stroll is over. I want to see how the little port functions. I’m convinced the political situation will soon deteriorate, the hinterland will become ungovernable and this little market’s importance
will continue to grow, meaning we’ll have to ship goods to it via sea, just as though it were an island.’

  ‘If it becomes isolated, there won’t be any need for that.’

  ‘You’re wrong. The merchandise will be exposed to too many risks if you try to cross the interior, where the locals are fighting against the conquerors’ advances. But any goods sold here will be easily transported in and out, even if they have to pass through barbed wire. Cut off from the rest of the country, and in open revolt, the rebels in the interior will have to replenish their supplies somewhere.’

  IV

  The customers wanted news from Benghazi. The Maronite cautiously answered their questions. He knew there was a flourishing mob of informers.

  But Émile wasn’t embarrassed at all. He was uniquely gifted in making every conversation both vague and banal, to the point that he could easily confuse any police informer. Having sensed a trap, Émile would skilfully evade it and, like an experienced juggler, would bring the question of European powers into play, talking about the contrasts between them and the glories of the Islamic golden age, and using stories and characters from ancient fables to play on the dichotomies of life: glories and farces, violence and tenderness, the familiar and the barbaric, tolerance and fraud – all of which lent themselves to various interpretations and were easily interchangeable. Like a spectator at a theatre, the police informer would find himself imprisoned in a labyrinth. Émile would simplify everything as though telling a children’s story and yet simultaneously paint a wide panorama. Although he wasn’t a learned man, he had a gift for conciliating disparate elements: he would take ancient facts and refashion them into a breezy story. His mere presence allowed the distance between the past and the present to fade before his dazzled audience’s very eyes. Like a priest, he would forge a connection between the past and the occult. Although his sermons were brief, their ramifications were all-embracing – like when water flows smoothly along a rugged slope.