Ibrahim al-Koni - Gold Dust

Ukhayyad whispered, “Ay — don’t try to do that again. You’ll split your muzzle wide open. You’ll destroy yourself. Be patient. Patience. Brave warriors can tread across coals without shedding a tear. They know how to walk through fire without complaint. Just bear the fire in your belly for one or two nights, then you’ll be cured of your disease forever. Agreed?”

The Mahri would not listen to his pleadings. For good reason— He whose foot is in the fire hears nothing , as they say.

Ukhayyad leaped into the open desert and prayed: “Go easy, Lord! Be gentle! Lord, give him strength to face the jinn.” He returned and wiped the lather off the piebald, addressing him. “What wouldn’t I do for you? If I could, I’d share your pain. But God created us as we are, weak and impotent. No one can bear someone else’s pain for them.”

He turned away and cried out, “Lord, divide his share of pain. Let me be the one to lighten his burden. He has already suffered so much. It is not fair that he should suffer by himself all these months — he is mute and unable to express his complaint. But he comprehends. And he feels pain, excruciating pain — otherwise he would not be howling. Purebred creatures do not cry out unless the pain is unbearable. Take away some of his load and place it on my shoulders. He’s carried me on his back for years, so why can’t I carry his burden for just a few hours? Why shouldn’t I bear his cares for just a few days?”

In the white lather on his skin, blood and pus now mixed with sweat. Black sweat and black water — the black torrent of his dream. Was this now also a vision?

The beast continued trying to escape. The rope dug a deep gash in his forelegs, and the blood ran down his shins. Above his foot, the front hobble loosened and the palm rope broke apart. Ukhayyad leaped toward him, grabbing the reins. The beast opened his jaws as far as they would go, and froth, mucous and black bile spilled out. Ah, black bile — sign of the evil eye. The soothsayers all agree on that. So, he had been envied for his piebald. The evil eye had been behind everything that had happened. According to the teaching of soothsayers, envy is stronger than poison. And the eye of the envier is deadlier than a poisoned arrow, the blow of a sword, or the thrust of a dagger. It’s deadlier than any weapon. So when did the envious thugs cast their eye on him? The Mahri split the silence of the waste: “Aw-a-a-a-a-a-a.”

The cry rent the never-ending horizon. The desert reverberated with it, echo upon echo, before it was swallowed up again by the transcendent silence.

Ukhayyad became frantic, moving about and talking without knowing what he was saying. “Enough already. The jinn have possessed him. Endure the jinn, and you’ll triumph over them. Patience. Patience is life itself.”

Yet Ukhayyad maintained his grip on the reins. “Lord, will he die? And what will I do if he does?” he called out one more time. “My God — You gave me the most loyal friend and now You’re taking him from me like this, between one day and the next, leaving me to face my enviers by myself? Don’t take him from me, Lord! You are not cruel, Lord. You are ever merciful. You. . ”

A flood of tears poured from his eyes, hot as embers. He felt the fire in his eyes, and sighed. “If it must be done, then take me with him. Take us together.”

At that moment, the Mahri bolted, snatching Ukhayyad up off the ground. The camel galloped across the empty waste. Together they ran. Ukhayyad clung to the reins, trying, without much success, to steer the piebald and to return him to his senses.

On the horizon to the far west, a purple shroud of thin clouds wrapped themselves around a lonely mountain summit. Behind it, the sun began to disappear and die.

The camel rushed for that mountain. He crossed a plain thick with wild grasses, climbed a ridge, then plunged into a valley crowded with lote trees. There, he flew into a thicket of thorns, shredding his body. More and more blood began to flow. It seeped from Ukhayyad’s limbs as well. His robes were ripped at the sleeves, lote thorns tearing at the light fabric up to his right shoulder. Blood flowed from shoulder to forearm. He pleaded with the crazed animal: “What do you think you’re doing? Do you think you can run away from yourself? Do you think you can escape your fate? Brave men do not try to run from themselves. Wise men do not try to flee from fate. In the end, to succeed in escaping means only this: cowardice. And even if you manage to escape, it will only catch up to you one day. The jinn are your fate now. Didn’t I tell you that patience is life?”

But the animal would not heed the pleading of his friend. His stomach ached terribly, and blazed with fire. He whose foot is in the fire. . he whose belly is on fire .

The furious chase continued. Ukhayyad dripped with sweat, and he panted for breath. Blood poured from his arms and legs. For his part, the Mahri was drenched in a lather of sweat, pus, and blood. The fire raged in his guts and he flew through the air with increasing frenzy. A veil now covered his eyes. Reason had flown, and blindness had taken its place. Shadows descended all around, robbing him of all sense of time and matter. He was no longer conscious of whether he was galloping or standing still in the pasture. He could no longer feel his body, breath, or limbs. The pain had even consumed all sense of pain. Nothing remained but the madness in his head. He charged through the valley of lote trees, and climbed another ridge. Unable to hold on, Ukhayyad fell to the ground.

The Mahri dragged him a short distance, then his upper lip tore away from the bridle. The camel had broken his reins. Ukhayyad rolled down the slope, the leather strap still in his hands. With effort, Ukhayyad struggled to his feet. If the camel got away from him now — at the height of his madness — Ukhayyad would never catch him again. The two would be parted forever. Had God ordained that he would say farewell to his old friend by the fall he had taken on this desolate slope? Had the time come to say goodbye forever? Ukhayyad sprang up and ran, scaling the ridge on all fours, still holding onto the reins. His lungs were splitting, his limbs tearing apart. Froth now began to appear around the young man’s lips as well. Spit flew as he launched himself down the other side of the ridge. Plummeting down into the valley was his only chance. If he did not catch the camel on this slope, he would be gone forever. He marshaled everything in him that was manly, brave, and noble, he recalled all the stories of heroism he could and rushed across the slope. He flew downhill, falling, then getting back up in the blink of an eye. He fell and did not fall. In a flash, and without knowing how it happened, he found himself gripping the camel’s tail. He could not believe it. Had a miracle taken place? Had he really caught the animal? Had the old stories about shame really helped? Had he triumphed over himself, over his weakness and impotence? Then it was true — it was possible to vanquish powerlessness with patience! Patience is the only talisman that can protect against the vicissitudes of fate. Patience is life itself. It was no illusion. He had just found that out. Lord, give me a bit more patience so I can get through the rest of this journey!

He clung to the camel’s tail with his right hand. With his left, he held the reins. Weariness had sapped his strength and, despite his will to go on, his movements began to slacken. The camel yanked him and pulled him along the open desert. He found that this allowed him to catch his breath, and so he surrendered to it. He dangled from the camel’s tail, his feet plowing furrows across the rich soil. They seemed to plow forever as the piebald climbed through ravines, and plunged over hills. The rocks tore away Ukhayyad’s leather sandals and shredded his feet and legs. The wild plants gouged his thighs and ripped at his clothes. Ukhayyad came back to his senses and began to move his legs without letting go of the tail. With great plodding strides, the camel dragged him along.