Gold Dust

28

Ukhayyad flew toward the desert. His aim was to reach Jebel Hasawna in whose caves he would find refuge. He spent the first night after the incident out in the open wilderness. There, the vision that had abandoned him now returned. It was the same dream — with the same dark phantom that concealed itself in the folds of the shadows and in the debris-strewn rooms. It was the same decrepit house, still sealed securely though without windows and doors, and despite the fact that it was crumbling apart. The house was like a closed circle. And all the while, he searched around — through the chimeric hallways, on the roof that was always on the verge of collapse. As he searched for the being, for the secret, he felt a breeze on his skin. Now he stumbled, now he used his hands instead of his eyes to look. Now he avoided the imaginary walls. He could not see these walls, nor could he touch them, but he knew they were there — sturdy, thick, and impenetrable.

This final vision was not a dream at all. It had started while he was asleep, but continued after he awoke. He deliberately kept his eyes open during the dream so as to pass through it. But the shadows were too thick, and the roof under him continued to shake, threatening to collapse at any second. And although the invisible being made its presence felt, it never showed itself. This strange, wakeful state went on and on for what seemed like hours. When Ukhayyad finally sat up in the glow of dawn, his head ached. He lay down again and went back to sleep.

In the following days, the dream vanished once again. Throughout this time, Ukhayyad kept to the outskirts of the mountain.

The foreign invasion still threatened the road toward the Hamada desert, the merciful realms across whose western and southern edges his tribesmen had scattered. Ukhayyad knew that after all that had happened, his blood ties to them had been severed. And not just his ties to his own tribe, but to everybody. The blood he had spilled would never wash away the shame attached to him — only death would clean his slate. He had been sentenced to live in isolation forever. It would be folly for him to speak with any person now, or to look anybody in the eyes again. Now, his sole friend would be the piebald. He had wanted to remain by the piebald’s side — and now God had granted this wish and decreed it so for eternity. The piebald now belonged to him and he to the piebald — and nothing but death would pull them apart. Not even death would separate them. They would depart together, and together they would return to their original state, to what they had been before birth.

Perhaps what had happened was a blessing, and not just a curse: Yes — with this damnation was also a kind of salvation. When a curse is eternal, it contains its own form of release: it drives one toward exile, and in exile safety is found.

But this particular curse did not halt on the frontiers of exile. The victim’s kinsmen had arrived from Aïr and then fanned out across the desert, each demanding Ukhayyad’s head. Initially, they were men who claimed to be his kin so as to inherit some of the wealth Dudu had left behind. The man’s unavenged blood now stood between them and their fortune, for it was custom in the desert to insist that a murdered man be avenged before his inheritance was divided. Thus, they began to seek Ukhayyad in earnest, not out of any love for Dudu, but in order to carve up the spoils as quickly as possible. To this end, they had employed tricks borrowed from elsewhere — tricks the northern wastes had never known before: they began bribing herders and those nomads who knew every detail of the northern deserts. It is a well-known fact that gold blinds all and corrupts even the best of people. It was that accursed gold that led them to Ukhayyad. And it was gold — not really these men — that chased after him in hot pursuit. Is there any curse in this world that does not have its roots in that metal?

At first, they combed the mountain range, searching through the summits stone by stone. Then, they were led to his hideout by camel dung — the piebald’s droppings. They set up camp beneath the mountain, and then stopped climbing through the mountain stones for several days. Perhaps they were awaiting a messenger or a command from the group in the oasis? There were three groups of them: one here, another tending the flocks of camels in Danbaba, and a third quartered in Adrar oasis. The battle was led from the oasis — at least, that is what a herdsman heading west had told him.

Ukhayyad thought about the trap closing in around him. Time was now working against him. If he remained holed up in the nooks of these parts, they would find him within a day, or a few days at most. His water supply would run out in two days, and the green grasses — that gift of the merciful rainclouds — had already begun to wither and grow sparse. The summer sun had begun its labors.

He waited for twilight to fall, then stole between the rocks until he arrived at the ravine where the piebald was grazing. He saddled the camel and placed the waterskin on him, along with all the provisions he could carry. He then set out toward the mountains. The camel galloped the whole day until they approached the eastern end of the range. Ukhayyad climbed up to the highest peak, where he hid his supplies. He walked back to the Mahri and then flung himself on the animal’s neck. He gazed into the camel’s deep, merciful eyes. “Now we will separate,” he said in a plaintive voice. “We must part. They’ll kill us if we stay together. Go into the Hamada desert, as far away from here as you can. Don’t be afraid about me. No one can touch me while I’m here on these peaks. They don’t know these paths and ravines and caves like I do. They are not from here — they’re foreigners. The important thing is for you to disappear. You’ll be safe when you get to the Hamada. When this trouble passes, we’ll find each other again. After that, you and I will never be apart again, ever. Agreed?”

The camel rose to his feet. He rubbed his muzzle against Ukhayyad’s arm. He licked Ukhayyad’s cheeks behind the dark veil that covered them.

Ukhayyad delivered his last will and testament to the animal with their mantra, “Patience. Just be patient. Don’t forget the power of these magic words. Patience is life.”

The Mahri stared at the horizon where the barren waste stretched forever. Then he headed off on the long journey.

The despondence in the camel’s eyes was something Ukhayyad had never seen before.