Ibrahim al-Koni - Gold Dust

Froth began to fly all over the women in gleaming sprays. Then a throng of strong men on foot hurried over and caught him in ropes. The piebald struggled against them too, so that they were forced to knock him down.

Together, Ukhayyad and the piebald were thrown to the ground on the dance arena.

That was not the first time.

The camel had entangled Ukhayyad in far worse humiliations many times before. In the past, he had been in the habit of embarking on late night romantic forays into the nearby encampments. He would saddle up the camel after sunset and depart for his lover’s camp, to arrive only after midnight. He would tether the thoroughbred in the nearest valley and then steal through the shadows to the ladies’ tents. There, he would flirt and chat all night, stealing kisses until the first light broke on the horizon of the desert. Then he would slip back to the valley, leap into saddle, and rush headlong home.

These forays kept up until he realized that his graceful camel had himself become smitten with a lovely she-camel owned by a tribe that spent each spring in the valley of Magharghar. Ukhayyad used to visit a beautiful daughter of that noble clan. He let the piebald graze in the valley floor with the herd while he dallied with the girl in her tents. The tender feelings of his Mahri had not gone unnoticed by him. In fact, from the first visit, he had recognized his steed’s passion for a white she-camel. He became more certain about it after he saw how the piebald flew to Magharghar, seeming to burn with longing for night travel. Ukhayyad gave him a hard time, asking, “Why hide it from me? Admit it — you’re not racing me toward my beloved, you’re flying to get to yours! Admit it — there’s no reason for you to rush there this time. There must be a female behind it. Women are always the reason!”

Leaning forward, spitting, and chewing at his bridle in his joyous rush, the thoroughbred would respond, “Aw-a-a-a-a-a-a.” And Ukhayyad would laugh and slap him.

Then came the day the broom trees burst into bloom with their sad white flowers. He tethered the camel in the valley and left him to graze next to the fragrant broom, not realizing that broom blossoms were a sign that spring had come to the desert valleys. And when spring arrives, it brings with it the mating season — and madness seizes the beasts and sends them into a frenzy. That is what happened on that day.

Ukhayyad had only been murmuring in the girl’s ear a short while when he heard the roar of the rutting beast. At first, he thought it was distant thunder, and he went on stroking her face and flirting. The roar repeated itself even more furiously. He leaped from the tent and rushed to the valley. There, the piebald was crashing into a ferocious gray camel in a terrible battle. Their fight, of course, was over a she-camel. As the dawn split the horizon, the Mahri’s wounds appeared in the feeble light. His opponent’s teeth had shredded his neck and lower jaw and had seriously wounded his left thigh. But the horrible gray adversary had also been wounded, and was bleeding profusely. His entire body was covered in blood.

The commotion awoke the whole tribe. Shepherds rushed into the valley armed with sticks. It was only after a long struggle that they managed to separate the two opponents. The sun burst forth and Ukhayyad realized he had been caught, completely exposed. When the tribe’s young men arrived at the scene, he could sense their scorn. Their eyes told him that they knew everything. Then they led him to the sheikh of the tribe, a tall, lean, old man who held an elegant cane made of lote wood crowned by leather straps embossed with delicate patterns.

Deep wrinkles laced his cheeks, though his glance radiated lively health and an enigmatic sense of mischief. He ordered tea to be prepared and indicated that Ukhayyad should sit down on the kilim inside the tent. He then turned the lote wood cane over in his hands before finally speaking. “There’s no shame in a noble man being in love, or embarking on journeys to clandestine meetings. But what’s wrong with abiding by Muslim law and entering houses by their front doors?”

He smiled and added, “It delights us to receive the son of the sheikh of Amanghasatin in our parts. He earned the honor of having stopped the foreign attackers and halting their intrusion into the desert.”

Ukhayyad understood that the clever sheikh intended to smooth things over and calm the young men with his talk about romantic adventures, and his gesture to the role Ukhayyad’s father had played in repelling foreign invaders from the Sahara. Tribal sheikhs never utter a single word they do not mean — and they express themselves through allusion rather than plain speech.

One of his men brought out the piebald, now exhausted from his injuries. He was covered in blood and spit and sweat and dust.

The astute sheikh took in the mark and build of the camel, then called to his men, “My God! What is this?! Why didn’t you tell me that our noble guest possessed a thoroughbred of such perfection? He’s a piebald Mahri as graceful as a gazelle. This line became extinct throughout the desert a hundred years ago. By God, where did you come by him?”

Glad for the chance to cover himself, Ukhayyad said, “From the chieftain of the Ahaggar. He gave it to me when I reached manhood.”

“Ahh. The chief of the Ahaggar. Ibrahim Bakda. This is a kind of animal that befits a hero like him. No one but he could give such a gift. Those old tribes — they’ve always got surprises and secrets.

“We always say that the Mahri is the mirror of his rider. If you want to stare into the rider and see what lies hidden within, look to his mount, his thoroughbred. Now that I look at you more closely, I can see you’re a young man who’s got everything. Whoever owns a Mahri like this piebald will never complain for want of noble values. You’ve honored our homes, O noble youth descended from noble men!

“But I’m sorry to say, you have little chance of inheriting your father’s position in the tribe. From what I know, your father has three nephews, each of whom is more ready to take over than you. . But who knows? Maybe a miracle will happen. The door to miracles is always open.”

A gigantic youth with grim cheeks and rough hands began to serve the first round of green tea.

The sheikh blew on the head of foam on the tea. He placed his cup on the ground and said, “Our noble guest should also allow us to treat his Mahri with generosity. Riders often grumble about having to enter our homes through the front door. But there’s no harm in his thoroughbred doing that.”

He smiled and most of those present smiled along with him. Ukhayyad did not understand the signal. He could not grasp what the sheikh was alluding to. The sheikh continued aloud, “A rider might escape the women of the tribe, but a rare thoroughbred shouldn’t be allowed to escape its she-camels. I see how our she-camels want to claim him as their own. Having piebald Mahris among our herds will be the envy of all the tribes. It’s our duty to resuscitate the piebald line and preserve it from extinction. What does our guest think?”

The sheikh did not wait for his guest’s opinion. He ordered that she-camels be brought before the Mahri. That day, Ukhayyad witnessed for the first time how males impregnate females. They led in a white she-camel and forced her to her knees on the open ground. They hobbled her fore and hind legs. Then they led the rutting piebald to her and gathered around them. The camel kneeled down on top of her until it seemed to Ukhayyad that the poor she-camel’s ribs would break. She frothed and squealed and vomited frothing spit. When her tail blocked him from entering, one of the men wrenched it out of the way. The wailing rattled the houses, causing the women and children to come out and gape. In front of the houses, they lined up in deep rows. Every now and then the old man would chuckle and point his cane into the air, repeating, “The rider might fly, but this piebald shall not.”