Ghazala had accused her brother Rafiq of trying to molest her. Divine law sacrifices anyone who contradicts it. The tangle of feelings and desires, which is proof of nature’s monstrous fecundity, can’t often be clearly resolved. A young man who lived in his house had dared to break the laws Sheikh Hassan had sworn to uphold, or perhaps he had done so out of sheer ignorance. Who was guilty then? O fate, what curse was keeping Rafiq from the path of knowledge? In the deepest depths of night Sheikh Hassan, the judge, who was suspected of sorcery and satanic spells, turned into a botanist as he observed that proud young heart as though it were a colourful and powerfully fragrant flower. The mistake was illuminating something morbid and incomprehensible as though it were a beacon lost in the limitless plain. Was anything more important than the law? What was Rafiq hiding? A lifelong devotee of the other, the uncontaminated, and civilisations governed by different rules, and a steadfast friend of the tempters who revealed the infinitely distant reaches of time and space, Sheikh Hassan now found himself with an abominable monster under his roof, whom he’d nurtured and indulged, and who would now test the limits of his curiosity, or else make him regret that curiosity entirely.
Sheikh Hassan didn’t care much for the dawn – he found it very difficult to wake up because it was such an instant abatement of the nocturnal world. The morning would force on him the boring company of his family instead of the enigmatic travelling companions he enjoyed at night. He would leave his bed reluctantly and get annoyed if he heard anyone speak. He was particularly restless that morning. The man who loved to read felt that the unpleasant moment when one is forced to do what others expect of him was fast approaching. A judge is enslaved to the public will, as expressed by the law.
The door suddenly swung open and Rafiq appeared. He didn’t linger on the threshold but instead threw himself at the Sheikh’s feet. Sheikh Hassan pulled him up by his hair and gazed into his eyes – which he’d shut, out of shame – and those sealed, trembling lips. When the boy stood up, Sheikh Hassan pushed him away; nimble as an insect, Rafiq quickly headed towards the door and disappeared.
As for Zazia – who looked on those peasants as primitive and ignorant, and thus undoubtedly guilty – her wrath was powerless: Rafiq had fled, secreted away by his mother, Dhahab, who insisted her son hadn’t been the nocturnal visitor, but someone who looked exactly like him.
She had seen him on numerous occasions, and he could only be spotted at night.
The young man had definitely escaped to Benghazi. Who would catch up with him? The truce was over now, and the two sides, the Italian government and the patriots of the Sanussi Brotherhood, had taken up arms again. The Italian government was now headed by Benito Mussolini.
Rafiq entered the city through the eastern gate. The emotional impact it had on him was overwhelming, and the guards looked at him suspiciously. He was searched and interrogated, but they let him through.
It was the first time he’d seen Benghazi. He was tired and hungry. It would be difficult for the master to lay his hands on him, as they were now separated by the front line where the war was being waged. Maybe Sheikh Hassan’s son Nagi would show up instead. Then there were the family’s relatives who worked in the city, who would soon learn of the news and be hot on his heels. Feeling vulnerable, he decided to run away again, as soon as he could, and go much farther away.
The poor young man was innocent. His mother’s revelations had shocked him. If he wasn’t Anwar’s son, then who was his real father? Why had she waited so long to disclose this secret, why hadn’t she mentioned his real father’s name, who did he belong to, what new obligations did he have, and which obligations no longer applied?
He had seen his stepsister Ghazala in the fields. She knew something. But it felt as though someone were watching them. That night he’d been unable to catch a wink of sleep. Ghazala slept in a room set aside from the others, along with Sheikh Hassan’s mother. Rafiq had slipped into the room and managed to prevent Ghazala from screaming and thereby alerting the others to his presence. But having snuck into her room in order to talk to her, words had failed him. But who was this girl he was clasping in his arms? If he wasn’t Anwar’s son, then Ghazala wasn’t his stepsister. There was no holy barrier between them. His desire to have Ghazala rested on the foundations of his mother’s revelations. After all, how could he possibly desire her if she was his sister? Beneath the obvious order of things, he perceived the existence of another order. Who had led him to that place? What was he doing? The poor young man asked himself one pointless question after another. And he didn’t even notice the scratch his sister had left on his cheek.
Rafiq had never seen so many people or so many houses. This mayhem was both frightening and consoling, because he was fleeing his persecutors, but felt an insurmountable sense of insecurity at being so far away from his family.
He saw an uninterrupted stream of faces and images without feeling either pleased or satiated. None of these images could be linked together, or made any sense. One image chased another away, before he’d even understood what it meant. On seeing a new face, it would immediately be replaced by another, and the first one would be consigned to oblivion. In the evening he felt so exhausted that he wanted to be found by his persecutors, seeking death as a way of restoring the old order of things. There was no room for his youth – neither in his home, nor in that city. To be condemned for a simple slip appeared to be his destiny. Where could he run to? A man belongs with his blood relatives; and if the latter decided he should die, then it would be better to perish than to abandon his native soil and be torn away from them.
The following morning Rafiq presented himself at a barracks where the new masters of the city were hiring men for various jobs that needed doing. Helping those people wasn’t an act of revenge against his kinsmen: he was merely fulfilling his destiny. Besides, all that work, which was very tiring and entirely different from the work he’d done in the mountains, helped to distract him. He evaded questions because he didn’t want anyone to discover his origins, but it was always the same faces, the same place, and his life once more acquired a sense of continuity – and continuity is already an order in its own right. The second day proved even smoother, and so forth. He was either adapting or waiting.
Sometimes, Rafiq was so prudent he even went to the lengths of hiding his face, afraid his executioner would chance upon him. At others, he would smugly walk the streets as though he were untouchable. One day, on entering a little shop in the covered market, he thought he could see himself as though he were looking into a mirror, and behind the sales desk he saw his own face – although the body’s movements didn’t correspond to his own. Feverishly, he turned on his heels and slipped away. His mother had denied that the nocturnal visitor was her son, but insisted that he was simply an abominable nightmare crazy Anwar’s daughter had conjured. When others testified that they’d heard footsteps, she told them firmly that it hadn’t been Rafiq, but a young man she’d seen several times who was Rafiq’s perfect lookalike.
On seeing that young man in the shop, Rafiq realised that his mother had been telling the truth. He became more prudent. His desire to keep living returned to him, because he now knew he would be able to return home one day. The young man behind the sales desk was a pledge that his mother had secretly offered him, after mouthing mysterious words. Rafiq bought a new shirt with that week’s wage, paid the barber a visit and washed meticulously. Once his appearance was more reassuring, he took up a position outside the little shop until he saw the owner leave. Then he presented himself before his doppelgänger.
The young clerk was rather shy, and he eyed Rafiq circumspectly as though he were a devilish apparition, trying to conceal his confusion. Reassured by the presence of this brother he could hand over to his persecutors in his stead, Rafiq on the other hand adopted a calm, almost authoritarian disposition. He was the master of his own spitting image – who was slowly beginning to conquer the stupor and insecurity his doppelgänger’s presenc
e had caused. He calmed down, albeit warily. Rafiq had won. He didn’t leave the shop until he’d become fast friends with the youth, whose name was Saad.
However, a secret fear kept Rafiq away from the house where Saad lived with his mother. If the conversation ever veered towards their respective origins, both men were overcome by an unconquerable diffidence. Rafiq was afraid Saad would discover the ignominious accusation that weighed on him. Saad didn’t know his father either, and he in turn thought this was shameful. Nevertheless, the deep-seated insecurity they both concealed actually strengthened their friendship, and when strangers saw them together and referred to them as brothers the two young men kept their mouths shut, as though they had struck a conspiratorial understanding.
Rafiq gradually convinced his friend to leave Benghazi with him. He promised him an unspoilt peaceful way of life in the mountains, and that the journey would symbolise their allegiance to the patriots fighting against the invaders who had come to steal their land. Saad let himself be swept along in these discussions, and only saw the solidarity that existed between him and the man people thought was his brother. Saad began to find life in that little shop and that hateful master of his unbearable. Rafiq converted Saad’s fear of his mother into a desire for independence and adventure. Two months later the two men walked side by side through the eastern gate and went to the mountains.
The journey was very long. Rafiq had grown shrewd during the few months he’d spent in Benghazi, and knew how to surmount any difficulty. He wasn’t in any hurry to reach their fated destination, and neither was Saad, for that matter, as he experienced a constant excitement at vagabonding around with his brother. They passed through the village of Tolmeta, where colossal stones indicated a glorious past. Rafiq said his master possessed a boundless knowledge of science. Just like merchants spent their lives in their shops, his patient master spent countless hours in his room with a book in his hands.
Ever since they’d left the city Rafiq had been growing more sincere. He spoke of his ancestral lands and the people who lived there. He mentioned his sister’s name for the first time and, on seeing Saad’s surprise, Rafiq promised he would see him married to Ghazala. This was what he’d decided. Saad listened to everything and accepted it unquestioningly. The promise of marriage overcame all of his apprehension, and made abandoning his mother and city a necessary and legitimate step on his road to adulthood. Rafiq was hungry for any new signs of loyalty on the part of his ‘brother,’ and constantly put his dedication to the test. The game was going to his head. Saad didn’t spare any effort, and finally said passionately that he would brave death itself in order to save his friend. They were on a remote beach, beyond the promontory of Tolmeta. Saad’s oath left Rafiq in a pensive mood. A shadow fell over his face. He was silent. Saad vainly tried to snap him out of it, but Rafiq appeared to have run away and got lost somewhere. Saad was suddenly gripped by a new fear, and was unable to hide it. As soon as Rafiq realised what was going on he came to, and reassured his friend with silky words.
In the meantime, the youths had changed direction and were heading away from the coast. After their long journey, it seemed Rafiq had become impatient to reach his ancestral lands. Saad didn’t suspect anything, and put his fate in the other’s hands.
Having reached the uplands of Barca, Rafiq grew wary. He told Saad that the uplands were divided between the conquerors and the patriots, and that they needed to be careful. Saad was a little taller than Rafiq, and more nimble. His skin was fairer. He displayed the mannerisms of a man who’d grown up in the city’s confines, and not someone who’d been born in the mountains. Rafiq was more stocky and solemn than Saad. Two models of the same person. Before leaving Benghazi, Rafiq had asked Saad to wear the same clothes as him, even down to in the same colours, in an effort to emphasise their similarity, and Saad was happy to comply. Thus, he aped his friend’s mannerisms, gait, voice, and even his accent, which was so different from his own. It was as though Rafiq wanted an exact replica of himself, and Saad diligently obliged.
Having crossed the uplands of Barca, they began to climb up once again. By now, Rafiq was no longer paying Saad much attention, and he kept looking around without growing distracted. Once they’d reached the summit of a hill, Rafiq pointed out the valley below, and his house, through the stones of an old fort: this was his homeland.
Rafiq told Saad he’d have to obey his every command, and Saad swore that he would. He was reassured by the sight of Rafiq’s house. Rafiq spoke once more about Ghazala, albeit confusedly. He ordered his friend to hide. At the first shadows, he would descend into the valley alone to speak to his elderly mother.
Saad obeyed, but couldn’t help jutting his head out from the boulders. Rafiq proceeded cautiously and soon disappeared, camouflaged by the night. He returned a few hours later. Frightened, Saad welcomed his friend with relief. Rafiq swore they would never part again.
Rafiq said that he’d spoken to his mother. Sheikh Hassan was suspicious of people from the city. They would walk down together unseen, but the guest would have to enter secretly into an empty room and stay there. Rafiq would then go and meet the master. As soon as Rafiq secured the Sheikh’s consent, Saad would be free to leave his hiding place. They would pretend Saad came from Barca. The plan left Saad feeling a little melancholy, but he didn’t know where else he could go, and thus he handed himself over to Rafiq, who cheered his friend up by saying that his new wife was waiting for him. Even though all these precautions were necessary, Saad was sure to be warmly welcomed. Saad only wanted to be consoled. When they got up, he played his part without even thinking about it.
A dog barked in the night and then suddenly appeared beside them, but Rafiq shut it up. They nevertheless remained motionless for a moment before resuming their journey. Rafiq stopped in front of a cluster of trees, holding the dog by the scruff of its neck. The house could be clearly distinguished, thanks to the arrival of moonlight. Rafiq pointed out the wall Saad needed to climb and the window through which he could slip into the empty room. Saad was so eager to put all the mysteries to an end that he agreed to everything. Rafiq promised he would quickly join him. As soon as Saad climbed through the window, Rafiq would incite the dog, make his presence known, and enter the house.
Saad left. He climbed the wall and disappeared into the house. A few minutes later a scream was heard, the dog began to bark, and Rafiq let him loose. Then there was a gunshot.
Thus, order was restored and justice done. Dhahab showed everyone the body of the man who looked like her son and had once more tried to enter the room where Ghazala slept with the Sheikh’s old mother. Sobbing, Ghazala said she recognised him, that this was the same devil who’d tried to molest her the first time, and that she’d unjustly accused her brother. Rafiq was innocent.
The men carried the demon’s body away.
When peace was restored to the house later that night, the Sheikh’s old mother rolled out the prayer mat. Sheikh Hassan walked past her and asked her to remember him in her prayers. She replied that she always did so. ‘What more do you want?’ she said. Sheikh Hassan’s feet were already on the threshold. He was so tall that he had to stoop in order to pass through the door. He turned and replied, ‘Pray that my fall be bearable.’
Rafiq returned home a few days later. He threw himself at Sheikh Hassan’s feet and asked for his forgiveness, and because he was innocent, he was granted it.
The triumph of justice allowed life in Sheikh Hassan’s house to resume its serene quotidian flow in its lawful riverbed.
Ghazala was married off the following spring. Zazia said it was their duty to invite Fatima, who was the bride’s mother, to the wedding. As the laws of hospitality demanded it, Sheikh Hassan consented, despite the obvious unhappiness that it caused Anwar’s second wife, who was the bride’s stepmother. The wedding was therefore postponed to give a messenger enough time to go to the city and invite that silent woman, who’d never been seen after the divorce had been granted. Fatima hadn’
t set eyes on her daughter since the girl was nine years old.
Fatima worked in the house of an Italian government functionary.
She listened to the messenger and replied that she would come after a few days, but that the wedding would need to happen quickly, and that there could be no further delays since her job in the city would be waiting for her. Exceedingly thin, she spoke in a hurry, as though engaged in swordplay. The Italian functionary often laughed with friends who came to visit, because the stern woman who opened the door didn’t allow anyone to enter without the master’s permission, and didn’t hesitate to throw anyone out if they dared cross the threshold. Fatima often hummed interminably long lullabies from the mountains. She didn’t display the slightest curiosity for her new masters’ lives, nor did she ever confide in them. She didn’t try to learn their language and never touched anything that wasn’t offered to her, finding pride in her frugality. She indulged the master’s children, but didn’t hesitate to scold or beat them if they made too many mistakes, such as going out into the street. She thought of them as pets that only needed to be fed and confined so they wouldn’t run away.
Three days later Fatima reached Sheikh Hassan’s house. She greeted everyone in the same manner, regardless of whether they were strangers, masters or servants. She even kept the same reserve when hugging Ghazala.
Ghazala left the house where she’d grown up on the back of a camel, in a sumptuous ceremony that crowned the bride’s departure from her family’s home. Many accompanied her procession, including a man who’d been accused of a terrible murder, Rafiq. The groom’s family had sent a few relatives to escort the bride to her new abode. Ghazala was seated on a high-backed multicoloured throne. The morning was bathed in a gleaming light and the sky was an unblemished blue. Drenched by recent rains, the soil promised a happy bounty come harvest time. The camel proceeded along the plain, followed by people on foot and magnificently attired horsemen.
The Colonial Conquest: The Confines of the Shadow Volume I Page 28