He did not need Sheikh Musa to remind him of the significance of this message. Every young man in the desert knew that heaven opened its doors each morning to receive the prayers of fathers.
Ukhayyad had inherited his father’s obstinacy, but not the man’s desire to lead the tribe. He had taken up the man’s tenacious nature, but not his love for status among men — and stubbornness was far more useful in the struggles against the desert. From his perspective, being chief brought nothing but headache. He who has visited the houris of paradise and who has drunk from heaven’s river would never seek to inherit the title of chief!
So he made up his mind and chose Ayur. He fled the throne and plunged into the embrace of a goddess of charm and allure. He married the young refugee and repeated the very mantra his father had taken from the Prophet: “The dearest things to me in your world are three: women, perfume, and — most of all — prayer.”
He chose woman. But, in time, this same woman would be the one to bring about the piebald’s ruin. And the camel Ukhayyad had pledged to the saint so long ago, the camel he had left to fatten up in the pastures, would be the same camel he slaughtered instead for the feast on his wedding night.
15
So it was that his father disowned him. The man told Sheikh Musa, “Tell that idiot son of mine that the Tuareg are smart to pass things down on the mother’s side. Tell him to take his girl and go back to the land of sorcerers — go back to Kano and Timbuktu!”
When his father cut him off from his inheritance, Ukhayyad left the tribe. But he did not head for Aïr, the land of sorcerers — the drought there had been driving more and more refugees toward the northern Sahara. Instead, he departed toward the lower valleys that lay on the outskirts of the Fezzan oases. There he wandered during the rainy months alongside migrants from many tribes and nations. During the dry summer months, he settled in the oases until his first son was born.
At that time, foreign invaders finally broke the resistance along the coasts and began pouring across the northern desert. The area of the red Hamada desert had witnessed many bloody events. Emissaries arrived, looking to gather fighters. Ukhayyad went off with the piebald to talk in private. “What did you think — that life was one long melody?” he asked. “You need to understand: men do not have the privilege of calling themselves warriors until they have gone to war and come back. You’re not a true nobleman if you have not tasted battle. This is our chance.”
But this is not what fate had in store for them. News came that the resistance in the Hamada had been crushed, and that his father had died a martyr during the fighting. It was said he fought bravely. In fact, people throughout the desert composed odes afterwards, glorifying his courage. Perhaps they did this because they were not expecting a man who was a perennial marrier of wives — and moreover a slave to his passion for kidnapped African girls — to record such glorious deeds in fighting the Italians. One of the herders told Ukhayyad that his father had kept his head, even during a blitz attack on them. He went around the tribe recruiting fighters and fought until his camp was surrounded. The siege went on until a disagreement erupted among them. Some of the sheikhs had been broken by thirst, and thought they had all better surrender. Ukhayyad’s father and a number of loyal men went off by themselves to make their final stand on Jebel Hasawna. There, he had died of thirst. At that point, the tribe surrendered, as had many other tribes. After a long interval, Ukhayyad’s cousin became sheikh, but there was nothing in that fact for the man to enjoy, since the tribe had been scattered to the four corners of the earth. Some of the families took refuge in Ghadamès, others in Tamanresset. Others still resolved to emigrate to the Sudan. The new sheikh’s mission to reunite them came to nothing. He had failed to convince the other sheikhs to wait patiently for the calamity to pass, and was wandering about the deserts still, seeking to regather the families under his leadership. If only the tribes in the wide desert would disband completely — then power disputes would vanish, and brother would no longer have to fight brother.
At precisely that time, a relative of Ukhayyad’s wife came to stay with them as a guest. From the south, he had come with a caravan laden with gold, ivory, and ostrich feathers, all of which he had managed to sell in Ghadamès before it was overrun by the flood of invaders. With the money, he purchased herds of camels, and took up with a group of herders in the Danbaba desert.
Having remained there for a number of months, he placed the camels in the care of the other men. He then came to visit Ukhayyad and his wife in their summer quarters in the Adrar oasis. Dudu, as he was called, told Ukhayyad that Ayur was related to him on his mother’s side and that he would come to check on her as one of his kin. Ukhayyad recognized a familiar tenacity in the man’s eyes — the brutal resolve of those forced to migrate forever, a determination that concealed secrets no tongue could utter.
During the man’s stay, Ukhayyad could not restrain himself. It was not long before he divulged the extent of his attachment to the piebald camel. He sang his list of questions to the stranger: “Have you ever seen a piebald Mahri in the desert before?”; “Have you ever seen a camel with such grace, lightness, and stature?”; “Have you ever seen anything more beautiful and dignified?” The guest would smile between every question and the next, shaking his head. “No.” Inexperienced, Ukhayyad did not know that idle talk leads one to reveal secrets. And according to the law of the desert, divulging secrets to strangers can cost a refugee his life — or so say the fortunetellers, who have it on the authority of the witch doctors and soothsayers in Kano.
Dudu lodged with them in the oasis for a number of days and then asked their leave to travel. He sold a pair of camels to some peasants to supply himself with dates and barley. Then he returned to his camel herd, promising to visit them again when circumstances permitted. After the guest had left, Ukhayyad discovered that the man had left him a surprise; he had hidden a sack of dates and a sack of barley in Ukhayyad’s underground cache.
16
Two days later, the sacks were stolen from the cache. In the sand above where they had been stored, a sign had been left for him by the thief — the clear outline of a triangle traced in dry dates. The shape puzzled Ukhayyad and he asked the blind old woman from Tiba to read its hidden meaning. The soothsayer asked, “You said it was a triangle? Did you ever promise something to the goddess Tanit?”
His head split, and he leaped like someone who had been stabbed. “Tanit?” He remembered his pledge. He recollected the saint and the pyramid-shaped tomb. But he had eaten the animal and fed the offering to his bride. He had completely forgotten about his earlier promise. Was this a sign from Tanit? That was her mark. It was the same shape that was branded on the forearms of men and tattooed on the women’s abdomens. In the darkness of night, he had even seen it on Ayur’s belly. The same design was carved into sword handles and engraved on leather saddle horns and satchels. It was etched into gun barrels and embroidered into clothes. Tanit’s mark appeared everywhere and on everything. Was the disappearance of the two bags a cautionary reminder? Have mercy, Tanit! I did forget — I failed to recognize your sign on the pyramid pedestal! In my weakness, I neglected my promise!