XX
THE CIRCLE IS COMPLETE
At the foot of the valley of the Mia, at the place where the jackalhad cried the night Saint-Avit told me he had killed Morhange, anotherjackal, or perhaps the same one, howled again.
Immediately I had a feeling that this night would see theirremediable fulfilled.
We were seated that evening, as before, on the poor veranda improvisedoutside our dining-room. The floor was of plaster, the balustrade oftwisted branches; four posts supported a thatched roof.
I have already said that from the veranda one could look far out overthe desert. As he finished speaking, Saint-Avit rose and stood leaninghis elbows on the railing. I followed him.
"And then...." I said.
He looked at me.
"And then what? Surely you know what all the newspapers told--how, inthe country of the Awellimiden, I was found dying of hunger and thirstby an expedition under the command of Captain Aymard, and taken toTimbuctoo. I was delirious for a month afterward. I have never knownwhat I may have said during those spells of burning fever. You may besure the officers of the Timbuctoo Club did not feel it incumbent uponthem to tell me. When I told them of my adventures, as they arerelated in the report of the Morhange--Saint-Avit Expedition, I couldsee well enough from the cold politeness with which they received myexplanations, that the official version which I gave them differed atcertain points from the fragments which had escaped me in my delirium.
"They did not press the matter. It remains understood that CaptainMorhange died from a sunstroke and that I buried him on the border ofthe Tarhit watercourse, three marches from Timissao. Everybody candetect that there are things missing in my story. Doubtless they guessat some mysterious drama. But proofs are another matter. Because ofthe impossibility of collecting them, they prefer to smother whatcould only become a silly scandal. But now you know all the details aswell as I."
"And--she?" I asked timidly.
He smiled triumphantly. It was triumph at having led me to think nolonger of Morhange, or of his crime, the triumph of feeling that hehad succeeded in imbuing me with his own madness.
"Yes," he said. "She! For six years I have learned nothing more abouther. But I see her, I talk with her. I am thinking now how I shallreenter her presence. I shall throw myself at her feet and say simply,'Forgive me. I rebelled against your law. I did not know. But now Iknow; and you see that, like Lieutenant Ghiberti, I have come back.'
"'Family, honor, country,' said old Le Mesge, 'you will forget all forher.' Old Le Mesge is a stupid man, but he speaks from experience. Heknows, he who has seen broken before Antinea the wills of the fiftyghosts in the red marble hall.
"And now, will you, in your turn, ask me 'What is this woman?' Do Iknow myself? And besides, what difference does it make? What does herpast and the mystery of her origin matter to me; what does it matterwhether she is the true descendant of the god of the sea and thesublime Lagides or the bastard of a Polish drunkard and a harlot ofthe Marbeuf quarter?
"At the time when I was foolish enough to be jealous of Morhange,these questions might have made some difference to the ridiculousself-esteem that civilized people mix up with passion. But I have heldAntinea's body in my arms. I no longer wish to know any other, nor ifthe fields are in blossom, nor what will become of the humanspirit....
"I do not wish to know. Or, rather, it is because I have too exact avision of that future, that I pretend to destroy myself in the onlydestiny that is worth while: a nature unfathomed and virgin, amysterious love.
"_A nature unfathomed and virgin_. I must explain myself. One winterday, in a large city all streaked with the soot that falls from blackchimneys of factories and of those horrible houses in the suburbs, Iattended a funeral.
"We followed the hearse in the mud. The church was new, damp and poor.Aside from two or three people, relatives struck down by a dullsorrow, everyone had just one idea: to find some pretext to get away.Those who went as far as the cemetery were those who did not find anexcuse. I see the gray walls and the cypresses, those trees of sun andshade, so beautiful in the country of southern France against the lowpurple hills. I see the horrible undertaker's men in greasy jacketsand shiny top hats. I see.... No, I'll stop; it's too horrible.
"Near the wall, in a remote plot, a grave had been dug in frightfulyellow pebbly clay. It was there that they left the dead man whosename I no longer remember.
"While they were lowering the casket, I looked at my hands, thosehands which in that strangely lighted country had pressed the hands ofAntinea. A great pity for my body seized me, a great fear of whatthreatened it in these cities of mud. 'So,' I said to myself, 'it maybe that this body, this dear body, will come to such an end! No, no,my body, precious above all other treasures, I swear to you that Iwill spare you that ignominy; you shall not rot under a registerednumber in the filth of a suburban cemetery. Your brothers in love, thefifty knights of orichalch, await you, mute and grave, in the redmarble hall. I shall take you back to them.'
"A _mysterious love_. Shame to him who retails the secrets of hisloves. The Sahara lays its impassable barrier about Antinea; that iswhy the most unreasonable requirements of this woman are, in reality,more modest and chaste than your marriage will be, with its vulgarpublic show, the bans, the invitations, the announcements telling anevil-minded and joking people that after such and such an hour, onsuch and such a day, you will have the right to violate your littletupenny virgin.
"I think that is all I have to tell you. No, there is still one thingmore. I told you a while ago about the red marble hall. South ofCherchell, to the west of the Mazafran river, on a hill which in theearly morning, emerges from the mists of the Mitidja, there is amysterious stone pyramid. The natives call it, 'The Tomb of theChristian.' That is where the body of Antinea's ancestress, thatCleopatra Selene, daughter of Mark Antony and Cleopatra, was laid torest. Though it is placed in the path of invasions, this tomb has keptits treasure. No one has ever been able to discover the painted roomwhere the beautiful body reposes in a glass casket. All that theancestress has been able to do, the descendant will be able to surpassin grim magnificence. In the center of the red marble hall, on therock whence comes the plaint of the gloomy fountain, a platform isreserved. It is there, on an orichalch throne, with the Egyptianhead-dress and the golden serpent on her brow and the trident ofNeptune in her hand, that the marvelous woman I have told you aboutwill be ensconced on that day when the hundred and twenty niches,hollowed out in a circle around her throne, shall each have receivedits willing prey.
"When I left Ahaggar, you remember that it was niche number 55 thatwas to be mine. Since then, I have never stopped calculating and Iconclude that it is in number 80 or 85 that I shall repose. But anycalculations based upon so fragile a foundation as a woman's whim maybe erroneous. That is why I am getting more and more nervous. 'I musthurry,' I tell myself. 'I must hurry.'
"I must hurry," I repeated, as if I were in a dream.
He raised his head with an indefinable expression of joy. His handtrembled with happiness when he shook mine.
"You will see," he repeated excitedly, "you will see."
Ecstatically, he took me in his arms and held me there a long moment.
An extraordinary happiness swept over both of us, while, alternatelylaughing and crying like children, we kept repeating:
"We must hurry. We must hurry."
Suddenly there sprang up a slight breeze that made the tufts of thatchin the roof rustle. The sky, pale lilac, grew paler still, and,suddenly, a great yellow rent tore it in the east. Dawn broke over theempty desert. From within the stockade came dull noises, a bugle call,the rattle of chains. The post was waking up.
For several seconds we stood there silent, our eyes fixed on thesouthern route by which one reaches Temassinin, Eguere and Ahaggar.
A rap on the dining-room door behind us made us start.
"Come in," said Andre de Saint-Avit in a voice which had becomesuddenly hard.
The Quartermaster
, Chatelain, stood before us.
"What do you want of me at this hour?" Saint-Avit asked brusquely.
The non-com stood at attention.
"Excuse me, Captain. But a native was discovered near the post, lastnight, by the patrol. He was not trying to hide. As soon as he hadbeen brought here, he asked to be led before the commanding officer.It was midnight and I didn't want to disturb you."
"Who is this native?"
"A Targa, Captain."
"A Targa? Go get him."
Chatelain stepped aside. Escorted by one of our native soldiers, theman stood behind him.
They came out on the terrace.
The new arrival, six feet tall, was indeed a Targa. The light of dawnfell upon his blue-black cotton robes. One could see his great darkeyes flashing.
When he was opposite my companion, I saw a tremor, immediatelysuppressed, run through both men.
They looked at each other for an instant in silence.
Then, bowing, and in a very calm voice, the Targa spoke:
"Peace be with you, Lieutenant de Saint-Avit."
In the same calm voice, Andre answered him:
"Peace be with you, Cegheir-ben-Cheikh."
[Transcriber's Notes:1.In the original books, there were handwritten characters for theGreek words used in the discussion of the Tifinar engravings; theapproximate Greek transliterations have been substituted.2. Another inscription was hand-drawn in the book, and the centersymbol looks like a capital W, rotated 90 degrees counter-clockwise. Iplaced notes to that effect where the symbol appears.]
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