VI
THE DISASTER OF THE LETTUCE
As Eg-Anteouen and Bou-Djema came face to face, I fancied that boththe Targa and the Chaamba gave a sudden start which each immediatelyrepressed. It was nothing more than a fleeting impression.Nevertheless, it was enough to make me resolve that as soon as I wasalone with our guide, I would question him closely concerning our newcompanion.
The beginning of the day had been wearisome enough. We decided,therefore, to spend the rest of it there, and even to pass the nightin the cave, waiting till the flood had completely subsided.
In the morning, when I was marking our day's march upon the map,Morhange came toward me. I noticed that his manner was somewhatrestrained.
"In three days, we shall be at Shikh-Salah," I said to him. "Perhapsby the evening of the second day, badly as the camels go."
"Perhaps we shall separate before then," he muttered.
"How so?"
"You see, I have changed my itinerary a little. I have given up theidea of going straight to Timissao. First I should like to make alittle excursion into the interior of the Ahaggar range."
I frowned:
"What is this new idea?"
As I spoke I looked about for Eg-Anteouen, whom I had seen inconversation with Morhange the previous evening and several minutesbefore. He was quietly mending one of his sandals with a waxed threadsupplied by Bou-Djema. He did not raise his head.
"It is simply," explained Morhange, less and less at his ease, "thatthis man tells me there are similar inscriptions in several caverns inwestern Ahaggar. These caves are near the road that he has to takereturning home. He must pass by Tit. Now, from Tit, by way of Silet,is hardly two hundred kilometers. It is a quasi-classic route[6] asshort again as the one that I shall have to take alone, after I leaveyou, from Shikh-Salah to Timissao. That is in part, you see, thereason which has made me decide to...."
[Footnote 6: The route and the stages from Tit to Timissao wereactually plotted out, as early as 1888, by Captain Bissuel. _LesTuarge de l'Ouest,_ itineraries 1 and 10. (Note by M. Leroux.)]
"In part? In very small part," I replied. "But is your mind absolutelymade up?"
"It is," he answered me.
"When do you expect to leave me?"
"To-day. The road which Eg-Anteouen proposes to take into Ahaggarcrosses this one about four leagues from here. I have a favor to askof you in this connection."
"Please tell me."
"It is to let me take one of the two baggage camels, since my Targahas lost his."
"The camel which carries your baggage belongs to you as much as doesyour own mehari," I answered coldly.
We stood there several minutes without speaking. Morhange maintainedan uneasy silence; I was examining my map. All over it in greater orless degree, but particularly towards the south, the unexploredportions of Ahaggar stood out as far too numerous white patches in thetan area of supposed mountains.
I finally said:
"You give me your word that when you have seen these famous grottos,you will make straight for Timissao by Tit and Silet?"
He looked at me uncomprehendingly.
"Why do you ask that?"
"Because, if you promise me that,--provided, of course, that mycompany is not unwelcome to you--I will go with you. Either way, Ishall have two hundred kilometers to go. I shall strike forShikh-Salah from the south, instead of from the west--that is the onlydifference."
Morhange looked at me with emotion.
"Why do you do this?" he murmured.
"My dear fellow," I said (it was the first time that I had addressedMorhange in this familiar way), "my dear fellow, I have a sense whichbecomes marvellously acute in the desert, the sense of danger. I gaveyou a slight proof of it yesterday morning, at the coming of thestorm. With all your knowledge of rock inscriptions, you seem to me tohave no very exact idea of what kind of place Ahaggar is, nor what maybe in store for you there. On that account, I should be just as wellpleased not to let you run sure risks alone."
"I have a guide," he said with his adorable naivete.
Eg-Anteouen, in the same squatting position, kept on patching his oldslipper.
I took a step toward him.
"You heard what I said to the Captain?"
"Yes," the Targa answered calmly.
"I am going with him. We leave you at Tit, to which place you mustbring us. Where is the place you proposed to show the Captain?"
"I did not propose to show it to him; it was his own idea," said theTarga coldly. "The grottos with the inscriptions are three-days' marchsouthward in the mountains. At first, the road is rather rough. Butfarther on, it turns, and you gain Timissao very easily. There aregood wells where the Tuareg Taitoqs, who are friendly to the French,come to water their camels."
"And you know the road well?"
He shrugged his shoulders. His eyes had a scornful smile.
"I have taken it twenty times," he said.
"In that case, let's get started."
We rode for two hours. I did not exchange a word with Morhange. I hada clear intuition of the folly we were committing in risking ourselvesso unconcernedly in that least known and most dangerous part of theSahara. Every blow which had been struck in the last twenty years toundermine the French advance had come from this redoubtable Ahaggar.But what of it? It was of my own will that I had joined in this madscheme. No need of going over it again. What was the use of spoilingmy action by a continual exhibition of disapproval? And, furthermore,I may as well admit that I rather liked the turn that our trip wasbeginning to take. I had, at that instant, the sensation of journeyingtoward something incredible, toward some tremendous adventure. You donot live with impunity for months and years as the guest of thedesert. Sooner or later, it has its way with you, annihilates the goodofficer, the timid executive, overthrows his solicitude for hisresponsibilities. What is there behind those mysterious rocks, thosedim solitudes, which have held at bay the most illustrious pursuers ofmystery? You follow, I tell you, you follow.
* * * * *
"Are you sure at least that this inscription is interesting enough tojustify us in our undertaking?" I asked Morhange.
My companion started with pleasure. Ever since we began our journey Ihad realized his fear that I was coming along half-heartedly. As soonas I offered him a chance to convince me, his scruples vanished, andhis triumph seemed assured to him.
"Never," he answered, in a voice that he tried to control, but throughwhich the enthusiasm rang out, "never has a Greek inscription beenfound so far south. The farthest points where they have been reportedare in the south of Algeria and Cyrene. But in Ahaggar! Think of it!It is true that this one is translated into Tifinar. But thispeculiarity does not diminish the interest of the coincidence: itincreases it."
"What do you take to be the meaning of this word?"
"_Antinea_ can only be a proper name," said Morhange. "To whom does itrefer? I admit I don't know, and if at this very moment I am marchingtoward the south, dragging you along with me, it is because I count onlearning more about it. Its etymology? It hasn't one definitely, butthere are thirty possibilities. Bear in mind that the Tifinar alphabetis far from tallying with the Greek alphabet, which increases thenumber of hypotheses. Shall I suggest several?"
"I was just about to ask you to."
"To begin with, there is [Greek: agti] and [Greek: neos], _the womanwho is placed opposite a vessel_, an explanation which would have beenpleasing to Gaffarel and to my venerated master Berlioux. That wouldapply well enough to the figure-heads of ships. There is a technicalterm that I cannot recall at this moment, not if you beat me a hundredtimes over.[7]
[Footnote 7: It is perhaps worth noting here that _Figures de Proues_is the exact title of a very remarkable collection of poems by Mme.Delarus-Mardrus. (Note by M. Leroux.)]
"Then there is [Greek: agtinea], that you must relate to [Greek: agti]and [Greek: naos], _she who holds herself before the_ [Greek: naos],the [Greek: naos]
of the temple, _she who is opposite the sanctuary,_therefore priestess. An interpretation which would enchant Girard andRenan.
"Next we have [Greek: agtine], from [Greek: agti] and [Greek: neos],new, which can mean two things: either _she who is the contrary ofyoung_, which is to say old; or _she who is the enemy of novelty_ or_the enemy of youth_.
"There is still another sense of [Greek: gati], _in exchange for,_which is capable of complicating all the others I have mentioned;likewise there are four meanings for the verb [Greek: neo], whichmeans in turn _to go, to flow, to thread_ or _weave, to heap_. Thereis more still.... And notice, please, that I have not at mydisposition on the otherwise commodious hump of this mehari, eitherthe great dictionary of Estienne or the lexicons of Passow, of Pape,or of Liddel-Scott. This is only to show you, my dear friend, thatepigraphy is but a relative science, always dependent on the discoveryof a new text which contradicts the previous findings, when it is notmerely at the mercy of the humors of the epigraphists and their petconceptions of the universe.
"That was rather my view of it," I said, "But I must admit myastonishment to find that, with such a sceptical opinion of the goal,you still do not hesitate to take risks which may be quiteconsiderable."
Morhange smiled wanly.
"I do not interpret, my friend; I collect. From what I will take backto him, Dom Granger has the ability to draw conclusions which arebeyond my slight knowledge. I was amusing myself a little. Pardon me."
Just then the girth of one of the baggage camels, evidently not wellfastened, came loose. Part of the load slipped and fell to the ground.
Eg-Anteouen descended instantly from his beast and helped Bou-Djemarepair the damage.
When they had finished, I made my mehari walk beside Bou-Djema's.
"It will be better to resaddle the camels at the next stop. They willhave to climb the mountain."
The guide looked at me with amazement. Up to that time I had thoughtit unnecessary to acquaint him with our new projects. But I supposedEg-Anteouen would have told him.
"Lieutenant, the road across the white plain to Shikh-Salah is notmountainous," said the Chaamba.
"We are not keeping to the road across the white plain. We are goingsouth, by Ahaggar."
"By Ahaggar," he murmured. "But...."
"But what?"
"I do not know the road."
"Eg-Anteouen is going to guide us."
"Eg-Anteouen!"
I watched Bou-Djema as he made this suppressed ejaculation. His eyeswere fixed on the Targa with a mixture of stupor and fright.
Eg-Anteouen's camel was a dozen yards ahead of us, side by side withMorhange's. The two men were talking. I realized that Morhange must beconversing with Eg-Anteouen about the famous inscriptions. But we werenot so far behind that they could not have overheard our words.
Again I looked at my guide. I saw that he was pale.
"What is it, Bou-Djema?" I asked in a low voice.
"Not here, Lieutenant, not here," he muttered.
His teeth chattered. He added in a whisper:
"Not here. This evening, when we stop, when he turns to the East topray, when the sun goes down. Then, call me to you. I will tellyou.... But not here. He is talking, but he is listening. Go ahead.Join the Captain."
"What next?" I murmured, pressing my camel's neck with my foot so asto make him overtake Morhange.
* * * * *
It was about five o'clock when Eg-Anteouen who was leading the way,came to a stop.
"Here it is," he said, getting down from his camel.
It was a beautiful and sinister place. To our left a fantastic wall ofgranite outlined its gray ribs against the sky. This wall was pierced,from top to bottom, by a winding corridor about a thousand feet highand scarcely wide enough in places to allow three camels to walkabreast.
"Here it is," repeated the Targa.
To the west, straight behind us, the track that we were leavingunrolled like a pale ribbon. The white plain, the road to Shikh-Salah,the established halts, the well-known wells.... And, on the otherside, this black wall against the mauve sky, this dark passage.
I looked at Morhange.
"We had better stop here," he said simply. "Eg-Anteouen advises us totake as much water here as we can carry."
With one accord we decided to spend the night there, beforeundertaking the mountain.
There was a spring, in a dark basin, from which fell a little cascade;there were a few shrubs, a few plants.
Already the camels were browsing at the length of their tethers.
Bou-Djema arranged our camp dinner service of tin cups and plates on agreat flat stone. An opened tin of meat lay beside a plate of lettucewhich he had just gathered from the moist earth around the spring. Icould tell from the distracted manner in which he placed these objectsupon the rock how deep was his anxiety.
As he was bending toward me to hand me a plate, he pointed to thegloomy black corridor which we were about to enter.
"_Blad-el-Khouf!"_ he murmured.
"What did he say?" asked Morhange, who had seen the gesture.
"_Blad-el-Khouf. This is the country of fear._ That is what the Arabscall Ahaggar."
Bou-Djema went a little distance off and sat down, leaving us to ourdinner. Squatting on his heels, he began to eat a few lettuce leavesthat he had kept for his own meal.
Eg-Anteouen was still motionless.
Suddenly the Targa rose. The sun in the west was no larger than a redbrand. We saw Eg-Anteouen approach the fountain, spread his blueburnous on the ground and kneel upon it.
"I did not suppose that the Tuareg were so observant of Mussulmantradition," said Morhange.
"Nor I," I replied thoughtfully.
But I had something to do at that moment besides making suchspeculations.
"Bou-Djema," I called.
At the same time, I looked at Eg-Anteouen. Absorbed in his prayer,bowed toward the west, apparently he was paying no attention to me. Ashe prostrated himself, I called again.
"Bou-Djema, come with me to my mehari; I want to get something out ofthe saddle bags."
Still kneeling, Eg-Anteouen was mumbling his prayer slowly,composedly.
But Bou-Djema had not budged.
His only response was a deep moan.
Morhange and I leaped to our feet and ran to the guide. Eg-Anteouenreached him as soon as we did.
With his eyes closed and his limbs already cold, the Chaamba breatheda death rattle in Morhange's arms. I had seized one of his hands.Eg-Anteouen took the other. Each, in his own way, was trying todivine, to understand....
Suddenly Eg-Anteouen leapt to his feet. He had just seen the poorembossed bowl which the Arab had held an instant before between hisknees, and which now lay overturned upon the ground.
He picked it up, looked quickly at one after another of the leaves oflettuce remaining in it, and then gave a hoarse exclamation.
"So," said Morhange, "it's his turn now; he is going to go mad."
Watching Eg-Anteouen closely, I saw him hasten without a word to therock where our dinner was set, a second later, he was again beside us,holding out the bowl of lettuce which he had not yet touched.
Then he took a thick, long, pale green leaf from Bou-Djema's bowl andheld it beside another leaf he had just taken from our bowl.
"_Afahlehle,"_ was all he said.
I shuddered, and so did Morhange. It was the _afahlehla,_ the_falestez_, of the Arabs of the Sahara, the terrible plant which hadkilled a part of the Flatters mission more quickly and surely thanTuareg arms.
Eg-Anteouen stood up. His tall silhouette was outlined blackly againstthe sky which suddenly had turned pale lilac. He was watching us.
We bent again over the unfortunate guide.
"_Afahlehle,"_ the Targa repeated, and shook his head.
* * * * *
Bou-Djema died in the middle of the night without having regainedconsciousness.