Ibrahim al-Koni - New Waw, Saharan Oasis

The virgin whispered with a virgin’s curiosity, “But does my master think that my master will show himself?”

“He may if he feels like it, but what’s important is what he says. Remember that the bee’s buzzing will precede it. In any event, pay attention!”

6

The diviner arrived at first light and was surprised to find people hovering around the tent. He assumed they were curiosity seekers from the hoi polloi. When he made out the features of the hero, however, he shouted, “I thought only diviners were entitled to stay up nights; reading the news in the hordes of stars is their calling.”

The hero jokingly replied, “But my master forgets that the tribes don’t wake the diviner when danger threatens the campsite. Instead they rush to the hero’s tent.”

The diviner inquired anxiously, “Danger?”

“The bride of our master, the leader, has had a mishap.”

“A mishap?”

“Her body is feverish, there is a crazed look in her eyes, and her breathing is so labored she seems to be taking a bitter last gasp.”

The diviner rushed at the group blocking the tent’s entrance. They parted ranks for him. Inside, women were gathered around the girl, and a few old men sat off in a corner. The tent’s air was stifling. Foul-smelling, acrid salves mixed with the stench of suspect herbs the old women had squirreled away in their belongings for a long time — the way amulets are tucked away — till they had acquired the musty smell of old bones burning. The only scent he could identify in this upsetting potpourri was wormwood. He felt suffocated by the smoke, and the burning incense made him dizzy. He confronted the women and scolded them loudly, “Stop this! Get this out of here!”

They made a path for him through the group, and he scrutinized the girl. Her face’s pallor resembled a corpse’s, but her whole body was burning with fever. She was shaking, stretching, and trembling violently. Thick foam oozed from her lips, and trails of saliva ran from her mouth. Her charming plaits hung loosely down, and her braids had divided into matted little hairs covered with dust.

The women surrounded her. One morose old lady was pressing the girl’s body with thin, twiglike hands crisscrossed by many braids of veins. By the girl’s head stood another equally stern woman from whose hands dangled a ceramic censer. Long use had marked it and the burning incense had charred it, turning it as black as a piece of coal. Lethal, legendary fragrances emanated from this pottery vessel. The sullen woman went back and forth between the hearth at the entrance and the group of women each time the incense burned out.

He shot a threatening glance at this woman and said in a harsh voice, “Go away!”

The old woman took a step back and replied just as threateningly, ‘‘Would the diviner interfere when he knows better than anyone that when morning comes and the bride leaves her husband’s tent she becomes the women’s responsibility?”

“But the husband whose home the virgin has left isn’t just any husband. When the virgin leaves the dwelling of a slumbering leader she becomes the diviner’s responsibility, because you know that the fruit of the union in this case is a prophecy, not a child.”

“See what the diviner’s prophecy has done to the tribe’s virgin! She went to seek a prophecy and returned from the Spirit World crazed.”

“People like you can become crazed even when loitering in the open countryside — why should you criticize the possession of someone begging for a prophecy from a man who resides in the Spirit World?”

“But she, Master, will die. The girl will soon join the leader and live in the tomb if you don’t bring a sorcerer to free her from captivity by the jinn.”

“Has she said anything? Anyone who got here before me must repeat every word she said, even if it seems nonsense or idle chatter.”

“She has been raving; the poor dear hasn’t stopped raving since her first scream woke us.”

The diviner leaned over the old woman’s head till the end of his turban touched the covers. In a self-controlled voice like a whisper he asked, “What did she say while she was raving? If you collect your wits and remember one statement from what you call raving, I will reward you handsomely.”

The old woman’s eyes glowed in the firelight. They gleamed mysteriously, and her upper lip, which was a network of wrinkles, rose. She remarked, “It’s really hard to recall a dying person’s delirious words, the words of a person who has left the land of games and dolls and reached the far side of the valley.”

The diviner drew closer to the old woman’s ear and insisted in a voice like a hiss, “In delirium the secret is concealed. In the nonsensical raving of a possessed person is hidden the prophecy.”

He whistled and added with all the certainty of a diviner, “In the prattle of a possessed person is hidden the supreme prophecy. So watch out!”

The old woman was silent. She lowered her eyelids, which were also covered with wrinkles. But her hands never stopped massaging the girl’s body. Finally she spoke; she spoke without opening her eyes. She spoke like a real diviner: “Tekrahame eddaragh.”

She stopped. Her face’s wrinkles trembled and its folds expanded. The veins of her slender neck bulged and became a web of veins. She said with the girl’s voice, with the voice of prophecy: “Tekrahame eddaragh. Ekaoankrahagh ammutagh. You possessed me when I was alive. Now that I’m dead, I’ll possess you.”

The diviner repeated numbly, “Tekrahame eddaragh. Ekaoankrahagh ammutagh.”

He repeated this prophecy once, twice, several times. Then he straightened himself and lifted his head to look up. As if addressing the heavens he said, “The prophecy! This is the prophecy. We slaughter sacrificial offerings and race off to search for it across the generations, forgetting that it lies between the lips of a possessed person or is hidden in the mouth of a creature we call crazed, for what would become of the desert’s tribes if the desert lacked prophecy? What would happen to settlements if the desert lost its leaders and if leaders from the realm of the Spirit World didn’t send prophecies via the tongues of possessed people to provide illumination for their tribes’ path during the leaders’ occultation? Have you finally heard your leader’s voice? Isn’t this his language? Didn’t he always like to speak in riddles?”

He moved to the other corner, where the elders were huddled, and said as though addressing all of them or no one at all — because at that moment he was preoccupied by addressing the tribes of the Unknown, “Isn’t what you just heard the wise answer befitting a leader? Hasn’t he told you something he wasn’t able to tell you while among you? Didn’t we possess him while he was alive? Didn’t we prevent him from marrying his beloved poet? Didn’t we require him to accept the position of leader, which was a shackle for him? Didn’t we visit him with groups of people to force him to take trips through the wasteland against his will? Weren’t we too stingy to let him enjoy the bird’s song? Do you doubt now that the voice we heard is your former leader’s? Will you doubt again the power of the dead to carry out a threat? Do you intend to disdain a promise? Or will you heed the advice of wisdom and accept the leadership of a man whom you possessed while he was alive and who has sworn to possess all of you now from behind the curtain? Do you still doubt that your leader will remain your leader forever?”

He turned to the crowd gathered at the tent’s entrance and screamed a command: “Slaughter a sacrificial beast! How can a prophecy be taken seriously unless the blood of sacrificial offerings is shed? How do you expect the goddess of this prophecy to recover from the grip of the Spirit World before she’s been washed by blood? Bring a black goat if you want the girl to recover. Bring your blackest goats, if you want a real cure that has nothing in common with grannies’ nasty incense.”