VII
THE COUNTRY OF FEAR
"It is curious," said Morhange, "to see how our expedition, uneventfulsince we left Ouargla, is now becoming exciting."
He said this after kneeling for a moment in prayer before thepainfully dug grave in which we had lain the guide.
I do not believe in God. But if anything can influence whatever powersthere may be, whether of good or of evil, of light or of darkness, itis the prayer of such a man.
For two days we picked our way through a gigantic chaos of black rockin what might have been the country of the moon, so barren was it. Nosound but that of stones rolling under the feet of the camels andstriking like gunshots at the foot of the precipices.
A strange march indeed. For the first few hours, I tried to pick out,by compass, the route we were following. But my calculations were soonupset; doubtless a mistake due to the swaying motion of the camel. Iput the compass back in one of my saddle-bags. From that time on,Eg-Anteouen was our master. We could only trust ourselves to him.
He went first; Morhange followed him, and I brought up the rear. Wepassed at every step most curious specimens of volcanic rock. But Idid not examine them. I was no longer interested in such things.Another kind of curiosity had taken possession of me. I had come toshare Morhange's madness. If my companion had said to me: "We aredoing a very rash thing. Let us go back to the known trails," I shouldhave replied, "You are free to do as you please. But I am going on."
Toward evening of the second day, we found ourselves at the foot of ablack mountain whose jagged ramparts towered in profile seven thousandfeet above our heads. It was an enormous shadowy fortress, like theoutline of a feudal stronghold silhouetted with incredible sharpnessagainst the orange sky.
There was a well, with several trees, the first we had seen sincecutting into Ahaggar.
A group of men were standing about it. Their camels, tethered closeby, were cropping a mouthful here and there.
At seeing us, the men drew together, alert, on the defensive.
Eg-Anteouen turned to us and said:
"Eggali Tuareg."
We went toward them.
They were handsome men, those Eggali, the largest Tuareg whom I everhave seen. With unexpected swiftness they drew aside from the well,leaving it to us. Eg-Anteouen spoke a few words to them. They lookedat Morhange and me with a curiosity bordering on fear, but at anyrate, with respect.
I drew several little presents from my saddlebags and was astonishedat the reserve of the chief, who refused them. He seemed afraid evenof my glance.
When they had gone, I expressed my astonishment at this shyness forwhich my previous experiences with the tribes of the Sahara had notprepared me.
"They spoke with respect, even with fear," I said to Eg-Anteouen. "Andyet the tribe of the Eggali is noble. And that of the Kel-Tahats, towhich you tell me you belong, is a slave tribe."
A smile lighted the dark eyes of Eg-Anteouen.
"It is true," he said.
"Well then?"
"I told them that we three, the Captain, you and I, were bound for theMountain of the Evil Spirits."
With a gesture, he indicated the black mountain.
"They are afraid. All the Tuareg of Ahaggar are afraid of the Mountainof the Evil Spirits. You saw how they were up and off at the verymention of its name."
"It is to the Mountain of the Evil Spirits that you are taking us?"queried Morhange.
"Yes," replied the Targa, "that is where the inscriptions are that Itold you about."
"You did not mention that detail to us."
"Why should I? The Tuareg are afraid of the _ilhinen,_ spirits withhorns and tails, covered with hair, who make the cattle sicken and dieand cast spells over men. But I know well that the Christians are notafraid and even laugh at the fears of the Tuareg."
"And you?" I asked. "You are a Targa and you are not afraid of the_ilhinen_?"
Eg-Anteouen showed a little red leather bag hung about his neck on achain of white seeds.
"I have my amulet," he replied gravely, "blessed by the venerableSidi-Moussa himself. And then I am with you. You saved my life. Youhave desired to see the inscriptions. The will of Allah be done!"
As he finished speaking, he squatted on his heels, drew out his longreed pipe and began to smoke gravely.
"All this is beginning to seem very strange," said Morhange, comingover to me.
"You can say that without exaggeration," I replied. "You remember aswell as I the passage in which Barth tells of his expedition to theIdinen, the Mountain of the Evil Spirits of the Azdjer Tuareg. Theregion had so evil a reputation that no Targa would go with him. Buthe got back."
"Yes, he got back," replied my comrade, "but only after he had beenlost. Without water or food, he came so near dying of hunger andthirst that he had to open a vein and drink his own blood. Theprospect is not particularly attractive."
I shrugged my shoulders. After all, it was not my fault that we werethere.
Morhange understood my gesture and thought it necessary to makeexcuses.
"I should be curious," he went on with rather forced gaiety, "to meetthese spirits and substantiate the facts of Pomponius Mela who knewthem and locates them, in fact, in the mountain of the Tuareg. Hecalls them _Egipans, Blemyens, Gamphasantes, Satyrs.... 'TheGamphasantes_, he says, 'are naked. The _Blemyens_ have no head: theirfaces are placed on their chests; the _Satyrs_ have nothing like menexcept faces. The _Egipans_ are made as is commonly described.' ..._Satyrs, Egipans_ ... isn't it very strange to find Greek names givento the barbarian spirits of this region? Believe me, we are on acurious trail; I am sure that Antinea will be our key to remarkablediscoveries."
"Listen," I said, laying a finger on my lips.
Strange sounds rose from about us as the evening advanced with greatstrides. A kind of crackling, followed by long rending shrieks, echoedand reechoed to infinity in the neighboring ravines. It seemed to methat the whole black mountain suddenly had begun to moan.
We looked at Eg-Anteouen. He was smoking on, without twitching amuscle.
"The _ilhinen_ are waking up," he said simply.
Morhange listened without saying a word. Doubtless he understood as Idid: the overheated rocks, the crackling of the stone, a whole seriesof physical phenomena, the example of the singing statue of Memnon....But, for all that, this unexpected concert reacted no less painfullyon our overstrained nerves.
The last words of poor Bou-Djema came to my mind.
"The country of fear," I murmured in a low voice.
And Morhange repeated:
"The country of fear."
The strange concert ceased as the first stars appeared in the sky.With deep emotion we watched the tiny bluish flames appear, one afteranother. At that portentous moment they seemed to span the distancebetween us, isolated, condemned, lost, and our brothers of higherlatitudes, who at that hour were rushing about their poor pleasureswith delirious frenzy in cities where the whiteness of electric lampscame on in a burst.
_Chet-Ahadh essa hetisenetMateredjre d'Erredjaot,Matesekek d-Essekaot,Matelahrlahr d'Ellerhaot,Ettas djenen, barad tit-ennit abatet._
Eg-Anteouen's voice raised itself in slow guttural tones. It resoundedwith sad, grave majesty in the silence now complete.
I touched the Targa's arm. With a movement of his head, he pointed toa constellation glittering in the firmament.
"The Pleiades," I murmured to Morhange, showing him the seven palestars, while Eg-Anteouen took up his mournful song in the samemonotone:
"The Daughters of the Night are seven: Materedjre and Erredjeaot, Matesekek and Essekaot, Matelahrlahr and Ellerhaot, The seventh is a boy, one of whose eyes has flown away."
A sudden sickness came over me. I seized the Targa's arm as he wasstarting to intone his refrain for the third time.
"When will we reach this cave with the inscriptions?" I askedbrusquely.
He looked at me and replied with his usual calm:
"We are there."
r /> "We are there? Then why don't you show it to us?"
"You did not ask me," he replied, not without a touch of insolence.
Morhange had jumped to his feet.
"The cave is here?"
"It is here," Eg-Anteouen replied slowly, rising to his feet.
"Take us to it."
"Morhange," I said, suddenly anxious, "night is falling. We will seenothing. And perhaps it is still some way off."
"It is hardly five hundred paces," Eg-Anteouen replied. "The cave isfull of dead underbrush. We will set it on fire and the Captain willsee as in full daylight."
"Come," my comrade repeated.
"And the camels?" I hazarded.
"They are tethered," said Eg-Anteouen, "and we shall not be gonelong."
He had started toward the black mountain. Morhange, trembling withexcitement, followed. I followed, too, the victim of profounduneasiness. My pulses throbbed. "I am not afraid," I kept repeating tomyself. "I swear that this is not fear."
And really it was not fear. Yet, what a strange dizziness! There was amist over my eyes. My ears buzzed. Again I heard Eg-Anteouen's voice,but multiplied, immense, and at the same time, very low.
"The Daughters of the Night are seven...."
It seemed to me that the voice of the mountain, re-echoing, repeatedthat sinister last line to infinity:
"And the seventh is a boy, one of whose eyes has flownaway."
"Here it is," said the Targa.
A black hole in the wall opened up. Bending over, Eg-Anteouen entered.We followed him. The darkness closed around us.
A yellow flame. Eg-Anteouen had struck his flint. He set fire to apile of brush near the surface. At first we could see nothing. Thesmoke blinded us.
Eg-Anteouen stayed at one side of the opening of the cave. He wasseated and, more inscrutible than ever, had begun again to blow greatpuffs of gray smoke from his pipe.
The burning brush cast a flickering light. I caught a glimpse ofMorhange. He seemed very pale. With both hands braced against thewall, he was working to decipher a mass of signs which I couldscarcely distinguish.
Nevertheless, I thought I could see his hands trembling.
"The devil," I thought, finding it more and more difficult toco-ordinate my thoughts, "he seems to be as unstrung as I."
I heard him call out to Eg-Anteouen in what seemed to me a loud voice:
"Stand to one side. Let the air in. What a smoke!"
He kept on working at the signs.
Suddenly I heard him again, but with difficulty. It seemed as if evensounds were confused in the smoke.
"Antinea ... At last ... Antinea. But not cut in the rock ... themarks traced in ochre ... not ten years old, perhaps not five....Oh!...."
He pressed his hands to his head. Again he cried out:
"It is a mystery. A tragic mystery."
I laughed teasingly.
"Come on, come on. Don't get excited over it."
He took me by the arm and shook me. I saw his eyes big with terror andastonishment.
"Are you mad?" he yelled in my face.
"Not so loud," I replied with the same little laugh.
He looked at me again, and sank down, overcome, on a rock opposite me.Eg-Anteouen was still smoking placidly at the mouth of the cave. Wecould see the red circle of his pipe glowing in the darkness.
"Madman! Madman!" repeated Morhange. His voice seemed to stick in histhroat.
Suddenly he bent over the brush which was giving its last darts offlame, high and clear. He picked out a branch which had not yetcaught. I saw him examine it carefully, then throw it back in the firewith a loud laugh.
"Ha! Ha! That's good, all right!"
He staggered toward Eg-Anteouen, pointing to the fire.
"It's hemp. Hasheesh, hasheesh. Oh, that's a good one, all right."
"Yes, it's a good one," I repeated, bursting into laughter.
Eg-Anteouen quietly smiled approval. The dying fire lit hisinscrutable face and flickered in his terrible dark eyes.
A moment passed. Suddenly Morhange seized the Targa's arm.
"I want to smoke, too," he said. "Give me a pipe." The specter gavehim one.
"What! A European pipe?"
"A European pipe," I repeated, feeling gayer and gayer.
"With an initial, 'M.' As if made on purpose. M.... Captain Morhange."
"Masson," corrected Eg-Anteouen quietly.
"Captain Masson," I repeated in concert with Morhange.
We laughed again.
"Ha! Ha! Ha! Captain Masson.... Colonel Flatters.... The well ofGarama. They killed him to take his pipe ... that pipe. It wasCegheir-ben-Cheikh who killed Captain Masson."
"It was Cegheir-ben-Cheikh," repeated the Targa with imperturbablecalm.
"Captain Masson and Colonel Flatters had left the convoy to look forthe well," said Morhange, laughing.
"It was then that the Tuareg attacked them," I finished, laughing ashard as I could.
"A Targa of Ahagga seized the bridle of Captain Masson's horse," saidMorhange.
"Cegheir-ben-Cheikh had hold of Colonel Flatters' bridle," put inEg-Anteouen.
"The Colonel puts his foot in the stirrup and receives a cut fromCegheir-ben-Cheikh's saber," I said.
"Captain Masson draws his revolver and fires on Cegheir-ben-Cheikh,shooting off three fingers of his left hand," said Morhange.
"But," finished Eg-Anteouen imperturbably, "but Cegheir-ben-Cheikh,with one blow of his saber, splits Captain Masson's skull."..
He gave a silent, satisfied laugh as he spoke. The dying flame lit uphis face. We saw the gleaming black stem of his pipe. He held it inhis left hand. One finger, no, two fingers only on that hand. Hello! Ihad not noticed that before.
Morhange also noticed it, for he finished with a loud laugh.
"Then, after splitting his skull, you robbed him. You took his pipefrom him. Bravo, Cegheir-ben-Cheikh!"
Cegheir-ben-Cheikh does not reply, but I can see how satisfied withhimself he is. He keeps on smoking. I can hardly see his features now.The firelight pales, dies. I have never laughed so much as thisevening. I am sure Morhange never has, either. Perhaps he will forgetthe cloister. And all because Cegheir-ben-Cheikh stole CaptainMasson's pipe....
Again that accursed song. "The seventh is a boy, one of whose eyes hasflown away." One cannot imagine more senseless words. It is verystrange, really: there seem to be four of us in this cave now. Four, Isay, five, six, seven, eight.... Make yourselves at home, my friends.What! there are no more of you?... I am going to find out at last howthe spirits of this region are made, the _Gamphasantes_, the_Blemyens_.... Morhange says that the _Blemyens_ have their faces onthe middle of their chests. Surely this one who is seizing me in hisarms is not a _Blemyen_! Now he is carrying me outside. And Morhange... I do not want them to forget Morhange....
They did not forget him; I see him perched on a camel in front of thatone to which I am fastened. They did well to fasten me, for otherwiseI surely would tumble off. These spirits certainly are not badfellows. But what a long way it is! I want to stretch out. To sleep. Awhile ago we surely were following a long passage, then we were in theopen air. Now we are again in an endless stifling corridor. Here arethe stars again.... Is this ridiculous course going to keep on?...
Hello, lights! Stars, perhaps. No, lights, I say. A stairway, on myword; of rocks, to be sure, but still, a stairway. How can thecamels...? But it is no longer a camel; this is a man carrying me. Aman dressed in white, not a _Gamphasante_ nor a _Blemyen_. Morhangemust be giving himself airs with his historical reasoning, all false,I repeat, all false. Good Morhange. Provided that his _Gamphasante_does not let him fall on this unending stairway. Something glitters onthe ceiling. Yes, it is a lamp, a copper lamp, as at Tunis, atBarbouchy's. Good, here again you cannot see anything. But I am makinga fool of myself; I am lying down; now I can go to sleep. What a sillyday!... Gentlemen, I assure you that it is unnecessary to bind me: Ido not want to go down on the boulevards.
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br /> Darkness again. Steps of someone going away. Silence.
But only for a moment. Someone is talking beside me. What are theysaying?... No, it is impossible. That metallic ring, that voice. Doyou know what it is calling, that voice, do you know what it iscalling in the tones of someone used to the phrase? Well, it iscalling:
"Play your cards, gentlemen, play your cards. There are ten thousand_louis_ in the bank. Play your cards, gentlemen."
In the name of God, am I or am I not at Ahaggar?