The whole operation was awful. Whenever Ukhayyad remembered it, he was filled with fury and embarrassment.
4
The camel continued his adventures in desert pastures where she-camels roamed loose. But eventually his blind virility cost him. One day he returned, the spark of mischief extinguished from his large eyes, his bottom lip drooping. He stood on the open desert, still and silent, casting a sad gaze across a horizon that danced and flickered with tongues of a celestial mirage.
Ukhayyad noticed the camel’s sullenness, but for some days did not discover the reason. He was inspecting the camel’s lustrous coat, checking for ticks and pulling out a lote thorn from his speckled skin. There, on his hide, beneath the pelt, a disease and inflammation had taken hold. He scratched at it with his fingers and the Mahri winced and bellowed in pain. He brought out the shears and chose a place to cut away the thick hair. Underneath, the beast’s skin had turned black and the flesh had been eaten away.
In the coming days, he saw that the mange was spreading and devouring new spots on the piebald’s body. He went to the wise men of the tribe, the doctors, asking for advice. They agreed that there was little hope for a cure: “When mange takes hold of a camel, expect the worst.” But Ukhayyad did not lose faith. He could not allow himself to believe that there was a power capable of stealing his piebald from him. One blind man, an expert of animal diseases, shook his head and answered him skeptically: “Son — after laughter come tears. Just as sorrow follows happiness, so too does death intrude into the foolishness of life.”
But the young man would not be reconciled. The piebald was not a mortal creation. Ukhayyad recalled how he cared for his steed and how he had raised the camel after receiving him, still a colt, from the great chieftain. During famine, he would sneak barley from the tent, placing it in the palms of his hands to offer it to the camel. His secret was soon discovered and the black servant woman complained about it to his mother. This was all before his mother had died. His mother told his father, who scolded him, saying, “At a time when not everybody has grain to eat, you go and give it to the livestock!” That day he answered his father: “The piebald is not livestock. The piebald is the piebald.” His father, who hardly ever smiled, chuckled and shook his finger at the boy, perhaps pleased by the cleverness of the boy’s answer.
In those days the young Mahri would wander with Ukhayyad from tent to tent, following on his heels like a dog. He would trot after him, even when he went to stay out at all-night gatherings in barren regions, and he would not sleep until Ukhayyad had lain down first. He even escorted the young man when he wandered into the desert to relieve himself. These things made Ukhayyad’s cohort laugh at him, but he did not care. He submitted to the caresses and tendernesses of the camel and retorted: “Sheikh Musa says that animals are superior to humans and make the best friends. I heard him say that.” Sheikh Musa was a man who read books and recited the Qur’an and led the people in prayer. He was all alone in the world, without wife, children, or relatives, and wandered around with the tribe even though he was not of the tribe. It was said he came from the western ends of the desert, from Fez, the land of teachers and scholars of Islamic law. Sheikh Musa was the one who whispered to him the secret that saved his piebald: “This must stay between us, but only silphium can cure your camel. Don’t be an idiot, listen to what I say. Go to the desolate fields of Maimoun next spring. Since the fall of Rome, silphium grows nowhere but there. Secure the Mahri well so he cannot escape and let him graze one or two days. You’ll see.” Then he repeated enigmatically, “But don’t forget to secure him well.”
Among the tribe, silphium was another name for the fury of jinn and madness itself. Whoever tasted it, whether beast or man, lost their senses and went mad. Dread of this legendary plant was passed down from generation to generation. As soon as a child became mature enough to herd goats, he was told, “Don’t graze the goats in the fields of Maimoun. There’s silphium there. There may be a thousand cures in that weed, but each one passes by the door of jinn. If silphium takes to you, it will cure you of any ailment. But what is the use of restoring health if you then lose your wits? He who loses his reason has lost his soul!” His mother had recited this very warning when he had grown old enough to herd the goats in the valleys.
Sheikh Musa’s injunction frightened him. Would the piebald really become possessed? Would he lose his wits? And how exactly does an animal lose his reason? Do his eyes bulge and turn bloodshot? Does froth drool from his lips? Does he beat his head against stones like men who have become slaves to passion during late-night revelries, or like dervishes who join the Sufi brotherhoods and rove through the encampments and deserts, beating tambourines and wandering all night, every night?
This would be a fate more wretched than mange. Rather than submitting to the sage’s advice, Ukhayyad roamed the encampments searching for others knowledgeable in animal diseases. He could not bear seeing his steed suffer the cruelty of the other shepherds. They had separated him from the camel herd, fearing the contagion, and left him to graze, isolated and alone in the pastures. Ukhayyad preferred to accompany him in his tribulation, setting out with him in the pastures from dawn, not returning until night. Sometimes, Ukhayyad himself was harsh with the Mahri and scolded him, “This is all the result of your recklessness. What have you gained now from your adventures? Didn’t you listen to what Sheikh Musa said, ‘Females are the most dangerous trap males can fall into.’ Adam was led astray by his woman and God condemned him to be expelled from the Garden. If it were not for that damn woman, us men would have remained there, blessed with an easy life, left to wander freely about paradise.
“There are serpents and scorpions lurking in every hole, ready to sting any idiot who sticks a limb in. What did your sweet she-camel do to you? It turns out she was also a serpent. She’s lovely, but she bites. And the germ you carry is the price of it. You must bear your situation and be patient for the time being.”
The beast lowered his eyelids and answered in shame, “Aw-a-a-a-a-a-a.”
“Oh, now you regret it,” Ukhyayyad smiled bitterly. “Regret won’t do you any good. What will we do with your disease? Don’t you understand how serious this is? Mange is more contagious than smallpox or the plague. God save us from it. Don’t you know, life contains nothing but pitfalls and traps. If you don’t pay attention to where you put your foot, you’ll step right into one. Good God — it was I who raised you to become so heedless! Your mother didn’t get to enjoy seeing you as an adult when the great chief brought you to me. But tell me, by God, how am I supposed to enlighten your mind if I myself, no less than you, need someone to enlighten me? Living blindfolded is our lot, and only traps can teach us wisdom. How reckless we are!”
The Mahri drew near and nuzzled Ukhayyad with his shoulder. Ukhayyad regretted his tirade and changed his tone: “It does not matter. Don’t worry. Thoughtless she-camels may have infected you, but pay them no mind. We’ll find a way out. We have to find a way. Just be patient. You must be very patient if you want to get out of this mess. Life consists of nothing but patience, as old men say.”