Tuareg Read online

  This time it was not the vultures that woke him in the early hours of dawn, but the cries of the hyenas and jackals, arguing over the carcasses. He listened for a while to them fighting, to the crunching of bones and the sound of meat being torn off the carcasses.

  Gazel hated hyenas. He could put up with vultures and jackals but he had felt an uncontrollable aversion to hyenas ever since he had been a boy and found one morning that they had killed a newborn goat and his mother. They were repellent, stinking beasts that were cowards, traitors, dirty and cruel and in large groups, capable of killing an unarmed man. Why Allah had put them on this earth was something he had often asked himself.

  He went over to Abdul who was sleeping deeply and breathing normally now. He gave him some more to drink and then sat down again to wait for the day to arrive, mulling over the fact that he, Gazel Sayah, would go down in the history of the desert and become a legend, as the first man to conquer the “lost land” of Tikdabra.

  And maybe one day they would find out that he too had discovered the “great caravan.”

  The “great caravan!” They might have made it had one of their guides veered just slightly south, but Allah had not wished it so and only Allah knew what sins they were being punished for and why their lives had ended in that horrific way. He was in charge of giving out life and death and the only thing to do was accept it gracefully and Gazel thanked Him for showing such benevolence towards them and for saving him and his guest.

  ‘Insh. Allah!’

  He thought that they were probably in another country by now, out of danger, but the soldiers would still be their enemies and he did not feel that they had reached safety yet.

  But there was no escape. The last camel was now being devoured by carrion beasts and Abdul-el-Kebir would not be walking for a few days yet. Only that lump of inanimate metal would save him now and take them away from danger. He felt suddenly very angry at his ignorance and impotence.

  The simplest soldiers, the dirtiest Bedouin and even a freed Akli who had spent a couple of months with the French, knew how to get even bigger vehicles moving forward than that one and drove heavy lorries weighed down with cement. But Gazel, inmouchar, revered for his intelligence, his courage and his cunning, was like a stupid child in front of that undecipherable piece of twisted machinery. He loathed possessions, they were like the enemy to him and his nomadic life meant that he only possessed maybe two dozen objects, the bare essentials and even those he instinctively rejected. As a free man and solitary hunter all he really needed were his weapons, his water gerba and the harnesses for his mount. The days he had spent in El-Akab, waiting to capture Ben-Koufra, had been distressing, as he witnessed a world where real Tuareg men, who had once been as austere as him, were addicted to “things,” or objects that they had never previously heard of, let alone had any use for. These “things,” however, had apparently become as indispensable to them, as water and air.

  The car and being carried by it from one location to another, for no apparent reason, had become, as far as he could work out, one of those indispensable objects. Young nomads were no longer content, as their fathers had been, to journey for days and weeks across the plains, in no hurry and free of stress, aware that their destination would still be there at the end of the road, as it would be for centuries to come, however slowly they travelled.

  Now, by some strange twist of fate, Gazel who hated and despised these objects, who felt repulsed by every kind of mechanized vehicle, found himself at the mercy of a machine upon which his and his guest’s life now depended. He cursed his ignorance for not being able to make it run across the plain towards a freedom that now lay within their grasp.

  Dawn arrived. The hyenas and jackals had fled, but the vultures were still there in their dozens, invading the skies with their dance of death, using their strong beaks to rip the flesh off the two men and the beast, who only twenty-four hours ago had been full of life. Their presence, there on the edge of the hamada, was like an announcement to the world that once again, in the “lost land” of Tikdabra, there had been another human tragedy.

  ‘It was here, on this very bed that you’re sitting on now and round about this time of day, that your husband slit the throat of the captain and things started to get a little more complicated for him.’

  Laila instinctively made as if to get up from the bed, but Sergeant Malik-el-Haideri pressed down firmly on her shoulder, forcing her to stay put.

  ‘I did not give you permission to move,’ he snapped. ‘And you need to get used to the fact that at Adoras, until they send in another officer, you don’t move unless I say so.’

  He crossed the room and sat down on the old rocking chair that the recently deceased Captain Kaleb-el-Fasi used to sit on, reading for hours at a time and he pulled it towards her.

  ‘You’re very beautiful,’ he said a little hoarsely. ‘The most beautiful Targui I’ve ever seen. How old are you?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’m not a Targui, I’m an Akli.’

  ‘An Akli, the daughter of a slave!’ he exclaimed. ‘Well I never. You do like you’d be very good in bed. Are you good in bed?’

  He did not get a reply and neither had he expected one. He looked for a cigarette in the breast pocket of his shirt, lit it with the lighter that used to belong to the captain and smoked it slowly, watching the girl through a swirl of smoke, who in turn watched him, her look proud and defiant.

  ‘Do you know how long it’s been since I saw a girl naked?’ he asked, smiling creepily. ‘No, you wouldn’t know, because even I don’t know the answer to that, it’s been so long.’

  He nodded towards an old calendar that was hanging above his bed. ‘That fat bitch, who must be about one hundred years old by now, is all I’ve had to look at all this time and I’ve spent hours looking at her, jerking off and dreaming of the day I would have someone in the flesh again.’ He found a dirty handkerchief and started to dab at the sweat that was running down his neck. ‘But now you’re here, as if my prayers had been answered; more beautiful and younger than I could ever have imagined…’ He paused and finally, without raising the tone of his voice, said softly, but firmly: ‘Undress.’

  Laila did not move, as if she had not heard him and only a trace of fear flickered across her huge black eyes as she dug her fingers into the thick, dirty mattress.

  Malik-el-Haideri waited for a few seconds, finished his cigarette, put it carefully on the floor under the rocking chair, rocked forward onto it then lifted his face to look at her straight on.

  ‘Listen!’ he said. ‘We can do this in two ways: in a pleasant way or an unpleasant one. I would prefer the first personally because it’s more fun for both of us. You collaborate, we have a nice time and I’ll make your stay here a bit more comfortable. If you resist then I’ll have to do it by force and I won’t bother to look after you or your people.’ He smiled cruelly. ‘Your husband’s two sons are very pretty. Lovely adolescents! Have you seen how some of my men look at them? They’ve also been imprisoned here for years and there are at least eight of them who’d be very happy, were I to give them the go ahead, to get their dirty hands on those kids, while everyone’s asleep.’

  ‘You dirty pig.’

  ‘No more than any other man who’s spent as long as I have in this accursed desert.’ He stopped rocking and leant back, looking at the high dunes that enclosed the oasis, through the small window. ‘Things are different when you’re out here because as the years go by you lose hope that you’re ever going to get out of it. As soon as you realise that nobody will ever give a damn about you again or care a jot for you, you start to lose any caring instinct you might have once had and stop giving a damn about anyone else.’ He turned to look at her again. ‘They’re not going to give me anything. What I don’t take, nobody will offer me and I can assure you that as soon as the others see you, they’ll try on the same. Undress!’ he repeated and this time it was an order.

  Laila hesitated.

  She was still trying
to hold off, as every bone in her body cried out against his request, but she had known from the minute she had set eyes on Sergeant Major Malik-el-Haideri, that he was capable of anything, which included letting his men enjoy themselves with her husband’s sons, who he had taught her to love as if they were her own.

  Finally and very slowly she got up, crossed her arms, lifted up the edges of her simple dress, pulled it over her head and threw it into a corner.

  Her body was firm, young and dark, with small breasts and strong buttocks. Sergeant Malik looked at her, standing naked before him, for some time, as he rocked back and forth, prolonging the moment for as long as possible as he entertained himself with lurid thoughts, before finally getting undressed himself.

  The sun was very high and the smell of rotting corpses had become unbearable. The vultures were gathered in the sky like a dark cloud and he was powerless to anything about it.

  He saw the first column of dust rising up from the west and approaching fast and as he got into the jeep to try and work out how the machine-gun worked, he saw the grey outline of another slower, heavier vehicle coming from the south. This second one had a light, rapid-firing canon raised on top of a small turret.

  He knew that it would be hopeless to try and put up any resistance, when he was up against that type of a weapon. He tried to console himself with the fact that he had managed to cross Tikdabra, the desert of all deserts and had only been caught because he had remained loyal to his guest.

  He picked up his rifle and walked to the edge of the hamada, without seeking protection from the rocks or bushes, leaving Abdul-el-Kebir behind him and out of range of the bullets.

  He got his gun ready and then waited, trying to work out how far away the jeep would be from him, when it came into range. But just as the soldiers came into view and he lifted his gun to take aim, unsure whether to shoot the driver first or the one manning the machine gun, there was a loud crack as a mortar bomb flew through the air and hit the vehicle. The jeep stopped dead, as if it had struck an invisible wall and simultaneously exploded into tiny pieces.

  One mangled corpse flew for almost forty meters, the other disintegrated as if it had never even existed and a few seconds later there was nothing left of the jeep other than a pile of smoking scrap metal.

  Gazel Sayah, inmouchar of the Kel-Talgimus people, also known as “the Hunter,” stood rooted to the spot, surprised and perhaps, for the first time in his life, unsure of what do to next.

  Finally and very slowly, he turned round to face the second vehicle, the caterpillar tank that was still approaching him steadfastly. It stopped about twenty metres away at the exact point where the hamada and the “lost land” met.

  A tall man with a well-groomed moustache, a sandy coloured uniform and stars on his cuff got out quickly and walked resolutely over to the Targui.

  ‘Abdul-el-Kebir?’ He enquired.

  Gazel pointed behind him.

  The officer smiled as if a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

  ‘In my own name and in the name of my government I would like to welcome you to our country. It will be an honour for me to escort you to the military post and to personally accompany President Kebir to the capital.’

  They started to walk slowly over to the vehicle and as they did so Gazel could not help looking over his shoulder at the remains of the jeep that was still smoking in the distance. The new arrival noticed and shook his head.

  ‘We are a small, poor and passive country, but we don’t like people invading our borders.’

  When they reached the body of Abdul-el-Kebir, who was still unconscious, he examined him carefully, checked that he was breathing regularly and then, once he seemed certain that the man was out of danger, lifted his face and turned to look at the infinite plain that opened up before them.

  ‘I would never have believed that anyone, at least anyone from this world, was capable of crossing that accursed place!’

  Gazel smiled.

  ‘A piece of advice,’ he said. ‘Stay away from Tikdabra.’

  After they had been on the road for about three hours, he tapped

  the officer’s arm lightly.

  ‘Stop,’ he said.

  The other man did as he had asked and stopped the jeep, holding up his arm to tell the tank to stop as well.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ll get out here.’

  ‘Here?’ he said in a tone of surprise, as he looked uncertainly around him at the stony, bushy plain. ‘What are you going to do here?’

  ‘Head home.’ the Targui said. ‘You’re going south. My family is over there, far away, to the northwest in the Huaila mountains. It’s time I went home.’

  The army man shook his head, almost as if he were unwilling to believe that he really wanted to get out there.

  ‘On foot and alone?’

  ‘Someone will sell me a camel.’

  ‘It’s a long journey that borders the “lost land” all the way.’

  ‘That’s why I have to set off as soon as possible.’

  The officer turned around and nodded towards the sleeping body of Abdul-el-Kebir.

  ‘Aren’t you going to wait until he wakes up? He’ll want to thank you personally.’

  Gazel shook his head as he got out of the jeep, taking his weapons and water gerba with him.

  “He’s got nothing to thank me for.”

  He paused briefly. ‘I wanted to cross the border and I’ve done that. He’s your guest now.’ He looked over at him affectionately. ‘Wish him luck from me.’

  The other man realised that his decision was final and that nothing was going to persuade him otherwise.

  ‘Do you need anything?’ he asked.

  He shook his head and pointed to the plain: ‘I’m a rich man now and there’s good hunting here. I don’t need anything.’

  He stood very still as the vehicles drove passed him, heading south and only once the dust had settled and the noise of the motors had become a distant hum, did he finally take a look around him. He searched for direction, even though there did not appear to be any natural pointers on that wide and empty plain. Then set off, unhurriedly, with the air of somebody who was taking a gentle stroll in the countryside in the soft afternoon sun, taking time to admire his surroundings, to appreciate every bush, every rock, every mosquito and every slithering snake.

  He had water, a good rifle and ammunition. This was his world, the heart of the desert that he loved and he was ready to enjoy the long journey ahead that would eventually take him to his wife, children, slaves, goats and camels.

  A light breeze blew and as darkness fell the animals on the plain ventured out of their lairs to scamper around the low thicket. He shot a beautiful hare for his supper, which he ate by the light of a fire he had built using wood from the Tamarisk shrubs. He looked up at the stars that were gathering to keep him company and allowed wave after wave of pleasant memories to wash over him. He pictured the face and body of Laila and the smiles and games of his sons. He thought about his friend Abdul-el-Kebir’s meaningful and intelligent words and the beautiful, passionate and unforgettable adventure he had just experienced at the very threshold of his maturity. An adventure that would mark his life forever and that the old men would tell of for years to come, enthralling their listeners with the stories of his heroic deeds and the fact that he was the only man to have ever challenged an army and the “lost land” of Tikdabra, all in one go.

  He would tell his nephews how he had felt on the day that he had spent with the spirits of the “great caravan” and how he had spoken to them of his fears and of how scared he was that he might die, as they had, on that plain. He would tell them of how the drowned voices of the mummies with their bony fingers, had showed him the right way and how he had carried on for three days and three nights without stopping once, since he knew that if they stopped during time, then neither himself nor the camel would have been capable of resuming their journey. Thanks to their insuper
able will, they had become like automatic, mechanised beings, immune to the heat, to thirst and to fatigue and had made it out of the inferno.

  Now, there he was, lying down on the white sand, feeling the sweet contact of his damp gerba filled with water under his hand, the remains of the hare still smoking next to the fire and a bag of gold hanging from his belt. He felt at peace with himself and with the universe that surrounded him, for having proved that nobody, not even the government, could get away with breaking his people’s laws and customs.

  He thought about what the future might now hold for him, far away from the grazing grounds and places he had known as a child. The idea of emigrating over the border did not bother him, since the desert was the same for thousands of kilometers all around, whichever country one chose to live in. He did not worry either that someone might come and challenge his authority, or move him on from the sands, rocks and stony plains that he chose to inhabit, because he was quite aware that the number of people who chose the desert as a way of life was diminishing by the day.

  He did not want any more wars or struggles and he yearned for the peace of his jaima, the long days of hunting and the beautiful evenings spent by the light of the fire listening, each one of them, to old Suilem’s stories. Those stories that he had heard as a child and that he would continue to listen to and never tire of until his faithful slave was silenced forever.

  In the afternoon of the third day, he discovered an encampment of jaimas and sheribas next to a well.

  They were Tuaregs, spear people, who were poor, but friendly and hospitable people. They agreed to sell him their best mehari and then sacrificed a lamb in his honour, which they added to one of the best couscous dishes he had tasted for some time and then invited him to a party the following night.

  He knew that he would offend them if he turned down their offer and so he took a heavy gold coin out of the red leather bag that hung around his neck and put it down in front of him.