Tuareg Read online

  ‘Sir,’ Malik repeated in a voice that was barely audible. ‘I am convinced that they’ve gone into the “lost land” of Tikdabra.’

  ‘The “lost land?” They’d have to be mad… What on earth would they do that for?’

  ‘I saw the tracks he left as they moved away from the Gerifies Fortress. Four heavily loaded camels. And there weren’t any receptacles that could have carried water left in the fortress. If the Targui was keen to get away quickly he would not have done so with four camels, nor would they have been so laden down.’

  ‘But his footprints were headed north and the “lost land” is towards the south if I’m not mistaken.’

  ‘You are not mistaken sir. But that Targui has already deceived us quite a few times. He would think nothing of losing a day by heading north if it was enough to get us off his scent and then to turn around and head for Tikdabra. On the other side he will be safe.’

  ‘No human being has ever crossed that region,’ the colonel pointed out. ‘That’s why we chose it as a border, because it doesn’t need protection.’

  ‘No other human being could survive in the centre of a saltpan for five days, but I watched how that Targui survived, colonel,’ Malik replied. ‘With all due respect, I would like to point out that we are not dealing with a normal man. His powers of endurance are beyond belief.’

  ‘But he is not alone. And Abdul-el-Kebir is an old man, considerably weakened by his last attempt to escape and from his years in prison. Do you really think he will be able to survive thirty days of thirst at a temperature of over sixty degrees? If they’re stupid enough to try it in the first place, then we needn’t bother looking for them.’

  Sergeant Major Malik-el-Haideri did not dare to contradict a man who was so above his station, so the minister answered for him.

  ‘It may well be a shot in the dark,’ he conceded, ‘but the sergeant and the lieutenant are here because they are the only ones that have had any contact with this savage and their opinion is especially important. What do you think lieutenant.’

  ‘Gazel is capable of anything, sir. Including keeping an old man alive at the expense of his own life. For him, protecting his guest has become the sole reason for his existence, even more important to him than the protection of his own family. If he considers Tikdabra the safest place to hide in, then he will go there, to the “lost land.”

  ‘Alright. We’ll look for him there then. Now,’ he paused. ‘You mentioned something about a family. What do you know about them? If we found them then maybe we could set up an exchange.’

  ‘They’ve abandoned their grazing grounds,’ the general said in a voice that revealed how disagreeable he found the entire matter. ‘And it does not seem right to get women and children involved in this. What would people think of our army if we had to stoop to those levels in order to solve this issue?’

  ‘The army doesn’t have to get involved in that, general. My people can take care of it. Although…’ he added with some deliberation, ‘I don’t think the army can come off any worse in this than it already has.’

  The general disagreed with the minister ferociously, but managed to keep it to himself. He reminded himself that for the time being Ali Madani was the President’s right-hand man and the second most influential man in the country, while he was just a simple military man, who had recently been promoted to the position of general. He believed that the current situation was more down to the ineptitude of political figures like him, rather than due to a lack of efficiency within the armed forces, but it was neither the time nor the place for such a discussion that would only get him into trouble. He bit down hard on his lip and sat there attentively. The minister would probably have disappeared from the political scene by the time he became brigadier anyway.

  ‘How many helicopters have you got?’ he heard the minister ask the colonel.

  ‘One.’

  ‘I’ll send in three more. Planes?’

  ‘Six. But we cannot spare any of them. Most of the outposts are dependent on air supplies.’

  ‘I’ll send in a squadron. I want the whole area around Gerifies searched.’ He paused. ‘And I want two regiments to position themselves at either side of the “lost land” of Tikdabra.’

  ‘But that’s outside of our borders,’ the colonel protested. ‘It’ll be seen as an invasion of a neighbouring country.’

  ‘Leave those issues to the Foreign Ministry and concern yourself more with my orders.’

  His was interrupted by a sharp knock at the door. It opened and an orderly went in and whispered something into Anuhar-el-Mojkri’s ear. The secretary had not said a word for the entire meeting, but on hearing the news his composure changed considerably.

  He nodded, closed the door and said:

  ‘Excuse me your Excellency, but I’ve been told that the governor has just arrived back.’

  ‘Hassan-ben-Koufra?’ Madani said in a tone of astonishment. ‘Alive?’

  ‘Yes sir. He’s in a bad way, but he’s alive. He’s waiting for you in his office.’

  The minister jumped up and without even saluting anyone present, left the room, crossed the high gallery, followed by Anuhar-el-Mojkri and the astounded stares of local officials. He strode into the governor’s large, half-lit office, slamming the heavy door behind him and leaving the secretary, who had practically run straight into it, outside.

  The governor Hassan-ben-Koufra, with a ten-day growth on his chin, dirty, haggard and wide-eyed, was a mere shadow of the proud, tall and arrogant man that had left that same office on that fatal afternoon on his way to prayers. Slumped into one of the heavy armchairs, he stared out, without seeing, at the palm grove through the heavy lace curtains and it was evident that his mind was elsewhere, probably still in the cave where he had suffered the most traumatic experience of his life. He did not even lift his eyes when Madani went in, who had to sit right in front of him in order to make his presence felt.

  ‘I didn’t expect to see you again.’

  His looked up slowly, his eyes reddened with tiredness and dilated in terror, as he struggled to recognise his visitor. Eventually he muttered in a hoarse, barely audible voice:

  ‘Me neither.’ He lifted up his raw, wounded wrists. ‘Look!’

  ‘It’s better than being dead. And you are now to blame for the death of fourteen men and for placing our country in grave danger.’

  ‘I never thought he’d manage it. I was convinced that I was sending him into a trap and that at Gerifies they would kill him. We have our best men there…’

  ‘Our best?’ he exclaimed. ‘He slit their throats like chickens, one by one… And now Abdul is free. Do you realise what this means?’

  He nodded:

  ‘We’ll get them.’

  ‘How? He’s not with a young, inept fanatic any more but a Targui who knows this terrain better than any of us will ever know it.’ He sat down opposite him on the sofa and ran his fingers through his hair mechanically. ‘And to think it was me that put your name forward for this position and pushed for you to get it.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘You’re sorry?’ He let out a bitter and derogatory cackle.

  ‘At least if you were dead, we could say that you were tortured to inhumane limits. But you’re here, alive and bragging about a few wounds that’ll heal in less than fifteen days. A rebellious student would have resisted for longer against my men than you did for that Targui. You were tougher once.’

  ‘When I was young and the French paratroopers were torturing me, I believed the cause to be a good one. Maybe I’m not convinced that keeping Abdul imprisoned for life is a just cause.’

  ‘It seemed fair to you at the time you were given this study and appointed governor,’ he reminded him. ‘And you appeared to be happy with our decision. It was “Abdul the enemy” then, the devil incarnate, who was bringing the country to its knees by keeping us intimates out of government. No Hassan,’ he shook his head decidedly, ‘don’t try and pull the wool over
my eyes, I know you too well. The truth of the matter is that over the years, power and comfort have made you soft and frightened. You could play the hero and fight when you had nothing to lose except for the hope of a better future. But now you’ve got your palace and your Swiss bank account you’ve lost it. Don’t try and deny it,’ he said viciously. ‘Remember that my job is to keep myself informed and I know how much those oil companies pay you for your collaboration.’

  ‘Less than they do to you probably.’

  ‘Of course,’ Ali Madani admitted, unashamedly. ‘But for the time being you’re the one in trouble, not me.’ He walked over to the window to look at the muezzin who was calling the faithful to prayer from the mosque’s minaret and said without looking at him:

  ‘Pray that I can do something about this mess, otherwise you’ll be losing more than your job as governor.’

  ‘Are you telling me I’m dismissed?’

  ‘Of course!’ he replied. ‘And I can assure you that if I don’t get Abdul, I will have you tried for treason.’

  The governor Hassan-ben-Koufra did not answer, but just continued to stare at the sores on his wrists, meditating on the fact that only some days beforehand he had been doing the same thing that Madani was doing right now: judging a man harshly for something that was actually the Targui’s fault. The Targui who was fast becoming a national obsession.

  His mind drifted back to the days he had spent in the cave. They were days that had been wracked with worry and anguish as he had wondered whether the Targui would actually send someone for him or leave him there to die like a dog, of terror and thirst.

  He also thought about how clever the Targui had been to find his weak spot so easily and extract the information he needed, without so much as laying a finger on him.

  He hated the Targui for all of that, but above all he hated him for having kept his promise to send someone in to save him.

  ‘Why?’ Ali Madani asked, turning to look at him again, as if he had been reading his thoughts. ‘Why did this man who has killed in such cold blood, set you free?’

  ‘He promised me he would.’

  ‘Yes and a Targui always fulfils a promise, I know that. Still I find it hard to understand how he finds it lawful to slit the throats of I don’t know how many sleeping men, but unlawful to break a promise made to the enemy.’ He shook his head and went to sit down behind the large table, in the chair that used to belong to his subordinate. ‘It makes me wonder how we can all be so different yet still live in the same country,’ he continued, half talking to himself. ‘This part of our heritage is what we have to thank the French for. They mixed us up like a great big pudding and then cut us up into tiny pieces, dividing us up as they saw fit. Now, twenty years later, we are sitting here still trying, without much success, to understand our own people.’

  ‘We knew all that already,’ Hassan-ben-Koufra said wearily.

  ‘We all reached the same conclusion, but nobody thought to renounce the part which didn’t belong to us and be content with a smaller, more homogenous country.’

  He opened and closed his hands slowly and painfully. ‘We were blinded by ambition and the desire to conquer as much territory as we could, even though we knew we wouldn’t ever be able to govern it. Then our politics decided that if the Bedouins were unable to adapt to our way of life we must destroy them. What would we have done if the French had tried to destroy us simply because we wouldn’t adapt to their way of life?’

  ‘What we ended up doing — becoming an independent nation. Maybe that is the future for the Tuaregs, perhaps they should become independent of us.’

  ‘Can you imagine them being independent? The French probably thought the same of us, that is until we started throwing bombs and showing them that we really could be independent. This Gazel, or whatever you want to call him, has demonstrated that he can beat us. If they all joined forces, I can bet you that they would conquer the desert from us and half the world would be ready to lend them a hand in exchange for the petrol in their terrain. No,’ he said with an air of finality. ‘We won’t so much as give them the opportunity to find out that they could swap their camels for gold Cadillacs.’

  ‘Is that why you are here?’

  ‘For that and to finish off Abdul-el-Kebir once and for all.’

  The landscape was like a sea of naked women lying in the sun, their skin golden, sometimes bronzed, at times burned, and the tips of the oldest ladies tinged with red. They were enormous, their breasts often rising to over two hundred metres high, with buttocks that were sometimes over a kilometre wide. They had long, never-ending legs, inaccessible legs, through which the camels climbed, clumsily, and heavily, shrieking and biting with each step as they struggled not to fall back down to the bottom of the dune and be devoured by the sand once and for all.

  The gassis, the paths that ran between the dunes, would often lead them into windy labyrinths that led them nowhere or right back to the beginning and it was only thanks to Gazel’s incredible sense of direction and personal conviction that they managed to advance south, day by day, without once retracing their steps.

  Abdul-el-Kebir, who prided himself on how well he knew the country that he had governed for a number of years and who had lived in the heart of the desert, would never have imagined, not even in his worst nightmares, that such a vast sea of dunes could actually have existed. It was like an erg that you could not see the end of, even from the highest of ghourds.

  Sand and wind were the only things to exist out there, on the outskirts of the great “lost land” and he could not believe, as the Targui had told him, that there was something even worse out there than the petrified landscape he now found himself in.

  They spent the days sheltering from the wind and sun in the shade of a roomy, wide, yellow-coloured tent that they shared with their camels, only resuming their journey in the early evening and continuing through the night to the light of the moon and the stars. Dawn would arrive suddenly and never failed to take their breath away, as the shadows scurried away across the sabre-shaped sifs, running from crest to crest, the grains of sand on those fine, blade-like tips, somehow defying the rules of gravity.

  ‘How much longer?’ he asked at dawn on the fifth day, as he realised with the first light that he still could not make out the start of the great plain.

  ‘I don’t know. Nobody has ever crossed this. Nobody has ever counted the days of travel across these sands or the time it takes to cross the “lost land.”’

  ‘So we are headed for a certain death then.’

  ‘By saying nobody has done it, does not mean that it cannot be done.’

  He shook his head incredulously.

  ‘I am flabbergasted by the unerring faith you seem to have in yourself,’ he said. ‘I myself am starting to feel scared.’

  ‘Fear is your main enemy in the desert,’ came his reply. ‘Fear leads to desperation and madness and madness leads to stupidity and death.’

  ‘Are you ever afraid?’

  ‘Of the desert? No. I was born here and spent my life in it. We have four camels and the females have enough milk for today and tomorrow and there are no signs of a harmatan coming. If the wind respects us, there is hope.’

  ‘How many days of hope?’ Abdul asked himself.

  He went to sleep trying to calculate how many days of hope they had left, how much longer they would have to endure the suffering but was awoken at midday by a buzzing sound overhead. He opened his eyes and saw the silhouette of Gazel, kneeling at the corner of the tent and looking up at the sky.

  ‘Aeroplanes,’ he said without turning round.

  Abdul crawled over to him and looked up to see a small reconnaissance plane circling overhead that was about five kilometers away and approaching them slowly.

  ‘Can they see us?’

  Gazel shook his head, but even so he went over to the camels and tied up their feet to stop them from getting up.

  ‘The noise will startle them.’ he said. ‘And if th
ey bolt they’ll give us away.’

  When he had finished, he waited patiently until the plane had disappeared behind the tip of the nearest dune on one of its circuits, then left the tent and covered up the most visible parts of it with sand.

  The animals bayed nervously and one of the females tried to bite them several times, but after about fifteen minutes, having only flown directly over them once, the buzzing noise started to fade away and the plane became a small dot on the horizon.

  Gazel, who was sitting half in the shade, leaning against one of his mounts, took out a handful of dates from a leather bag and started to eat them as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened and looking as relaxed as he might have been, were he sitting comfortably in his own jaima.

  ‘Do you really think you can remove them from power if we manage to cross the border?’ he asked, although it was clear that he was not actually that interested in the answer.

  ‘That’s what they think. Although, I’m not so sure. Most of my people have died or been imprisoned. Others betrayed me.’ He took some dates that the Targui was offering him. ‘It won’t be easy,’ he added. ‘But if I manage it, you can have anything you ask for. I will owe it all to you.’

  Gazel shook his head slowly:

  ‘You will not owe me anything and I will still be in your debt for the death of your friend. Whatever I do and however many years pass, I will never be able to give him back the life that he entrusted me with.’

  He looked at him for some time, trying to understand the man from the depths of his deep, dark eyes, which were still the only part of his face that he had seen up to that point.

  ‘I keep wondering why some lives mean so much to you, while others mean so little. There was nothing you could have done that day, but your guilt has pursued and tormented you. But you seem completely indifferent to the deaths of the soldiers whose throats you slit.’

  He did not receive an answer. The Targui just shrugged his shoulders and continued to put dates into his mouth, under his veil.

  ‘Are you my friend?’ Abdul suddenly asked out of the blue.