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The False Prophet 2
heard of a black buying a Moor? That would be a topsy-turvey
kind of world!'
He wrote more and more signs on pieces of paper for people
to carry around with them, and he worked harder than ever to
hide his origins and his real aim. To increase his prestige even
more, he went so far as to declare that his body was banished
from Finahri Dianan -- from Hell. And they swallowed that
with all the rest.
As the months passed, Mahmoud saw that his hoard was
steadily increasing. And one morning, without a word to
anyone, he departed as unexpectedly as he had arrived one
evening. The elders in their wisdom said, 'If the setting sun
brings a stranger, don't look for him at sunrise.'
With his booty in a bag slung over his shoulder, Mahmoud Fall
headed briskly towards his beloved Atlas mountains. He
walked day and night, with only short rests, thinking of how
he would use his capital and taking care to avoid any doubtful
encounters. To this end, he made a detour towards the north,
which took him through the kingdom of the Tiedes, heathens
who worshipped fetishes -- though Mahmoud was unaware of
this. As he went, he kept congratulating himself: 'Thanks to
Satan, I have a great knowledge of the art of appropriating
other people's possessions.'
It was the height of the dry season. The sun's rays, like
flamethrowers, were setting fire to the sparse tufts of grass; the
wind tore at them and flung them towards the far-distant
shores, whistling as though to put an end to the unendurable
monotony of silence. From the overheated earth there issued a vapour rising to the empty sky. There were the carcasses of
animals which had been picked clean at every stage of decomposition and which the wind was gradually burying in the
sand. The birds of the air passing uttered cries which were like
complaints made to nature. A blend of serenity and unease.
As far as Mahmoud could see, there was no sign of any
living being. Only a single tree. A strange tree -- strange because of its abundant foliage. The sole survivor in that hell. A
tamarind tree.
It was almost the time for prayer. Tired out from his long trek and overcome by the heat, Mahmoud lingered by the tree,
wondering whether to pray before or after sleeping. He had to
make a decision, and finally he opted for sleep and lay down
under the tamarind tree. But what was this? Suddenly he sat
up and gave a shout, very loud, although he was alone. 'Hey!
Hey! Yes, you up there, come down!'
His words echoed around. Three times he called out, but
no reply came. Then he got up, ran to the right and the
left, towards the setting sun and to the east. But he was
quite alone. There was just him and the tree. An inner
voice, doubly suspicious, urged him to bury his treasure. He
dug down the length of his forearm; then went to investigate
the surroundings, but found nothing. He returned and dug twice as deep,
went off again; still nothing. No one at all. He shielded his eyes
to peer more clearly into the tree's thick foliage. No one was
hiding there. Then he went back to his hole and dug still
deeper. This done, he sat down in it and counted his derhems
which chinked agreeably in the silence. Pleased and reassured, he buried them all, then stretched out to sleep on top of
his hoard. But he remembered that he had not paid his due to
the Almighty, and addressed Him thus: 'I owe it to you. . .'
After all this performance, sleep was not long in coming to Mahmoud. It was accompanied by a sweet dream in which he
was drifting through the desert. As far as the eye could see
stretched a vast ocean of sand with interweaving slopes of the
dunes. Like ships of this silent sea, camels were plodding
along, heads nodding on their long necks; despite the storm
that was blowing, the reins were held in position by their brass
nose-rings. Grains of sand, harder than steel, pricked through
his clothes and stung the skin. Then the dream changed into
some sort of reality. Mahmoud Fall saw himself lifted up by a
very thin, half-naked black. The man ransacked his hoard,
then deliberately proceeded to shave his head. Mahmoud
eventually roused himself, still dazed with sleep, thanked God
and yawned.
As a good believer, Mahmoud thought of the first prayer of
the day. (If no water is available, sand ablutions are allowed.)
He first trickled some sand over his hands and arms to cleanse
them of everything unclean he had touched, then sprinkled
some over his face and head. In carrying out this ritual he had a
To be continued |
