At that moment my tongue sprang to life with a facility that took me by surprise. I heard myself ask, “To which departure does my master refer?”
The question did not surprise him, I sensed, nor was he surprised by the liberation of my tongue. He proceeded to draw some designs on the ground. Then he replied, without looking my way, “A departure to search for a father.”
“But … who are you?”
He glanced at me for the first time, and I saw in his eyes everything that should appear in the eye of a genuine priest: mystery, sorrow, prophecy, and the pain that is said to be married to every prophecy.
He replied, “You would do well to ask yourself, ‘Who am I?’ instead of asking me, ‘Who are you?’”
I thought that the pained look in his eyes intensified then and almost turned into real suffering. I was touched by his pain but could not grasp its cause. Then I discovered he was correct: I could not say anything for certain about myself or the world, despite the precious revelation granted me that I had been born one day, had gained knowledge one day, and had been liberated one day.
I said, “You’re right, master. Who might I be?”
“I almost lost the world to return you to the world.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you remember anything at all?”
“I remember that I was free!”
I caught the gleam of a smile in his eyes. He faced toward the entrance to allow his eyes to roam the vacant wasteland. He replied, “You’re not mistaken about that. You truly were free. You were so free that you almost lost yourself on account of this freedom.”
“Does freedom cause us to lose ourselves, master?”
“Freedom, my son, is about living, not about dying.”
“But I was happy.”
“Happy like a living person or a dead one?”
“Enshrined in my memory is the treasured saying of a wise man who claimed that in happiness life becomes equivalent to death.”
“Watch out! True heroism is to live, not to die.”
“Are you saying that heroism is living, not dying?”
“Absolutely.”
“I like that, but is it possible for us to find a place for freedom in this heroism?”
“Where did you get your ability to debate? Unless he’s well along in years, it’s inappropriate for a man to pelt a priest with questions.”
“The child isn’t the author of his questions, master. The author of his questions is the freedom dormant in the child’s breast.”
“This is a malady. It’s a curse. Watch out!”
“Yes, of course, master. Freedom is always a disease, always a curse, but — like prophecy — it’s a curse we worship.”
“For boys to utter prophecy is a sign of misfortune, even if their prophecy is genuine.”
“Am I a boy?”
“Your tongue has actually made me wonder whether you are.”
Silence reigned. Outside, the light’s color faded. So I asked, “Is it dawn or dusk?”
“Late afternoon.”
“I’ve been feeling I’m experiencing my birth.”
“Yes, that’s right. You are experiencing your birth. There’s no doubt about that.”
“Is it my second birth?”
“Yes, indeed. You have every right to feel sure of that.”
“Is the second birth paradise?”
“We cannot live once without hoping we’ll be born a second time.”
I repeated after him: “‘We cannot live once without hoping we’ll be born a second time’ … but, master, you speak of the price we must pay for departing to search for our fathers.”
“The price of searching for fathers is metamorphosis.”
“Metamorphosis?”
“Yes, indeed. I had to wage a lethal combat with the most wicked jinn before I could liberate you from the evil of metamorphoses.”
“Of what metamorphoses are you speaking, master?”
“Some shepherds were peacefully pasturing their flocks in Retem Ravine when they were taken by surprise by a despicable specter that terrified their animals.”
“A despicable specter?”
“It was an ugly, composite creature, half-man, half-beast.”
“Was it a jinni?”
Ignoring my question, he continued his tale. “He was creeping on all fours, competing for grass with the livestock. Around his neck hung some talismans. Wretch, did you drink gazelle urine?”
“Did you say ‘gazelle urine’? I think I saw something wondrous in the gazelle’s eye. I drank the urine and then saw the wondrous thing. Now I remember. The despicable hare crossed my path and led me off the trail. My thirst robbed me of my reason and I drank. I admit I drank gazelle urine. Had it not been for the gazelle’s urine, I would not have been liberated. Had it not been for the gazelle’s urine, I would not have been saved. Had it not been for the gazelle’s urine, I would not have witnessed my second birth.”
“You achieved your second birth, but your departure cost you your mother.”
“What?”
“You will never see her again, from this day on.”
I remembered again. I remembered that I had burst forth from the womb of my Ma one day. I remembered that she had taught me the names one day. I remembered that she had forbidden my search for my father, explaining that the homeland of fathers is the sky, not the desert. I remembered. I remembered.
“You set forth to find your father and thus lost both your mother and father.”
“From my mother I came. By my mother I lived, and to the embrace of my mother I will return. How can I believe that I could ever lose my mother?”
“From today onwards, you will never see her again.”
“I shall never believe that. But … what happened?”
“She only forbade you to search for your father because she was afraid of being separated from you. When she was told that you had fled to search for your father, she realized that she had lost you for good. When she went with the other women to draw water from the well, she surprised them and threw herself down its shaft.”
“No!”
“You killed her.”
“No!”
“You’re not just any kind of killer; you’re a matricide.”
At that moment I liberated myself. I liberated my body this time. The oppressive weight on my chest was lifted. I sprang up like someone springing free of a nightmare.
Yes, yes, it had to be another nightmare. The nightmare had continued, and the priest crouching opposite me was just the spectral figure of one of the jinn at whom I should throw a rock or a handful of pebbles. I reached to fill my hand with pebbles, which I threw at the figure’s face, but he did not disappear or dissolve the way an apparition would have. I recited a charm so ancient I did not know the meaning of the words, but he did not budge. I crept toward him until I could almost touch his intimidating turban with my head. I stared into his eyes for a long time and then asked, “Why don’t you tell me how you liberated me from the metamorphoses?”
5 Dusk
AS DUSK DESCENDED, she chased me between the tents and pursued me out into the nearby open areas. She positioned her index finger in her mouth, just as she had so often done while a babe in the cradle. She crept after me as obstinately as a fly, just as she had done when she was still a toddler. For the twentieth time she said, “If you accompany me to Retem Ravine, I’ll tell you a secret.”