Bahaa Taher - Sunset Oasis

Of course, I realize now — too late, as usual — that I was wrong from the beginning. I shouldn't have threatened Sheikh Sabir or insisted on taking revenge on Maleeka and her family. She is indeed, as Catherine said, a child, and insane. What sane man takes revenge on children and lunatics? And what could her family do given that she had fled without their permission and forced her way into the house in disguise behind their backs? Shouldn't all those blows and kicks, as well as the cut that Catherine gave her, have sufficed?

Now Ibraheem has assured me that, having failed to kill me and Catherine, they will shift to killing Maleeka to save themselves from the curse of the ghoul-woman. How can I or any person understand such customs? There is nothing I can do now to save Maleeka. If they are going to kill her, the cause is their superstitions about widows — even if I hadn't fired the cannon, even if I hadn't said one word to Sheikh Sabir.

If I'm convinced by all that, then why don't I feel in the depths of my soul that I'm innocent? It would be better, instead of thinking about things that I can't change, if I were to think about how to save that other madwoman, Catherine. If we survive, I will have to send her away from the oasis as soon as possible and make sure she arrives safely in Cairo. How, though?

As for myself, I will continue down the road that has been laid out for me and which I tried to avoid. I shall imprison, and possibly flog, to collect the taxes, as did my predecessors. Perhaps I shall try also to pit the Easterners against the Westerners or vice versa, following the advice, which I despised, of Mr Harvey, whom I despised for giving it.

And to what other wretched destiny shall I lower myself here?

Sheikh Yahya

Did I say I'd fight you on my own? You're raving, Yahya! You must think that time runs backwards. Even if time doesn't run backwards, for your sake, Maleeka, I'll make it start over again by force! I promise you, my child.

But the donkey refuses to move. He brays as though he were weeping and stops more than he walks, which is not his way. He hasn't yet become ancient, like me. Even I, donkey, can still run, so get a move on! Perhaps the miserable cannon shell has struck terror into you as it did the sheikhs, or the smell of gunpowder is suffocating you as it is me.

Suffocating or not, I'm coming, Maleeka!

I could smell the rottenness in this fallen palm tree every time I passed it, and the black scorpions come and go, so what fault are these things of Maleeka's?

I understand you, my child. I understand that you can't bear to be locked up now that you're divorced. You're the lone free bird among us crippled corpses. Perhaps once I was like you. No. You're better!

Move, donkey, for yesterday I was not able to see her. I went to my sister's house when I heard what had happened. It was crowded with women I didn't know, who had thrown their abayas in front of the door so that no man would enter. Maybe Khadeeja had planned it that way so that I wouldn't see Maleeka or interfere in what they were planning for her.

Hurry, donkey, for I must see her today, even if all the women of the oasis and their menfolk come to stop me!

How can you expect Maleeka to understand your customs, when I myself have reached old age without being able to fathom them? Maleeka the Beautiful, the angel of death? Black scorpions and fires in houses and trees, and sick children? You're the ones who are sick! It's just like the prophecies of Sheikh Sabir that you always used to make fun of, Maleeka. You don't understand what sin you've committed to be imprisoned, and all my life long I've never understood this superstition either.

It sends me wild, just like the wars — those celebrations of blood that begin again the moment they're finished. They live to start them for the slightest of reasons or for no reason at all. The agtvad consult each clan and then they all consult together, and the outcome is war! What is that? What does it mean? Parties with ululations and singing and drums and presents, whose bride and groom are corpses and severed limbs, but they prepare for them in high spirits. They agree on the time and choose the place and the judge. Everything has to be done according to the rules. At the appointed time, the ranks of our clan draw themselves up opposite the ranks of their clan. Each family has a place that has been set since time immemorial opposite a particular enemy family. And behind the ranks stand the women. They ululate and chant their chants and when the judge strikes his drum, the party begins. All the fighters fire one shot, no more. Then they pause so that the bodies of the slain can be removed. Then it's the drum and the shot again and the party goes on for days on end until one side is victorious over the other.

How, Maleeka, could you have wanted your uncle to restrain his anger at these insane celebrations with their chants and their ululations, their screams and their wails, their blood and their drums? It was because of these that I fought them all on my own, and for your sake too I will fight them again on my own. I still know how to use my rifle.

They didn't tell you my story. My clan ceased telling it to the young ones a long time ago, but I know they whisper to one another in secret of how Yahya went mad in his youth. Don't believe them, my child. I wasn't mad. I was trying to stop the madness.

Today I shall tell you something I've told no one else so that you can understand and so that together we can stop this insanity in our land. In my youth they considered me the champion of the Westerners and the bravest of their men, because I had never been defeated in battle and never retreated before the enemy. Day by day and war by war, though, I became more and more unhappy at these butcheries, and my conscience tortured me over all the blood I'd spilt in them. I refused to take part with my people in a certain unjust battle in which they were in the wrong. I secluded myself from them, and my brothers and my uncles came to me. How could I abandon them in the hour of war, when I was their champion? How could I accept such a disgrace? I lost my patience and told them, 'If you want it to be war, then let it be the last war of all!' 'What do you mean, Yahya?' 'I mean that we should fight them not as we always do, so that we or they are awarded the victory. We should fight them until either they or we are obliterated!' They laughed. 'Are you joking, Yahya?' 'No. But that is my condition. This business has to come to an end once and for all.' 'Your condition is strange, Yahya, but we will accept it so long as you are with us.' 'To the last man?' 'Yes, to the last man.' 'Do you swear on the

Koran?' 'Yes, we swear.'

After they had sworn this oath, I went with them to the war. On the first day, I would fire and look around to seek out the weak spots in the ranks of our enemies, thinking how we might benefit from these gaps in the next day's fighting and the fighting of the day after, until the promise that one of our clans would be obliterated was made good. Before midday, however, I saw that some or our men were defeated and withdrawing. My shouts to them reminding them of the oath did no good, and neither did the slights of the women or their insults against those who fled. By the afternoon, I found myself among a minority of my people. Then I found myself alone. I would emerge from my position and fire one drum's-worth with great precision at the serried ranks of the Easterners. Their bullets, however, always went wide. They could have killed me with the greatest of ease but they didn't do so. Then suddenly, after one of their shots, they rushed towards me, threw their weapons at my feet, and started kissing my hands and kissing my head and saying I was the bravest man the Earth had ever borne. They proposed that I stay with them and live among the Easterners as their honoured guest, but I mounted my donkey and returned neither to my house nor to my people. Instead I proceeded towards the labyrinth of the desert, determined never to return.