I truly long to see all that and understand it and I am convinced that the oasis will meet my longing with its own. I don't suppose anyone like me has visited it. All those who visited it before me were content to describe its ancient ruins from the outside, and some of them drew them, but which of those could read the language of the Ancient Egyptians or of the Greeks? Even those who copied the carvings from the temples made horrible mistakes, because they copied the hieroglyphs as though they were just pictures. I could tell the mistakes just by looking at them. Only I am capable of revealing your secrets, Oasis!
A modicum of modesty, Catherine!
Why? Isn't that the truth? Nevertheless, I shall hold my tongue, lest I be afflicted by that hubris which the Greeks believed to be the origin of all life's tragedies. Let me be humble, then. I have no need of new tragedies. All I need to do is open my eyes to the grandeur of this desert.
The mounds and hills have disappeared now and we are moving through soft sand stretching to a horizon in whose expanse only the blue shimmerings of the mirage can be seen. Despite this, as we cross these flat reaches of yellow sand, we are surprised by vast lakes of white sand, or by round dunes like little shrines or jutting breasts on the desert's bosom. I sense that the camels' pace increases when passing over these smooth sands and that the ground gives way beneath their hoofs, the camels moving forwards nimbly and energetically, as though skating over the sand. Do their hearts beat hard to the joltings of the descent, as mine does? I realize that we have entered at last the large depression that leads to the oasis and which centuries and centuries ago was a part of the great blue sea. For the last three days we haven't come across anything green on our path, not even those little cacti that defy the dryness and get their water from the drops of dew. At the last well that we passed, the guide said we should take all the water we needed because we wouldn't see another until we reached the oasis.
On the appointed morning, I heard a view halloo and sudden shouting among the Bedouin and traders of the caravan. At last, in the distance, the far distance, the sands gave way to reveal the tops of palms, and everyone waved, myself along with them, at the life that had suddenly been born out of what was dead, and the exhausted camels ran, sharing in the clamour and understanding that they had at last reached the end of their toils.
As we arrived, men of the small village on the outskirts of the oasis came to meet us in an open courtyard surrounded by walls. I noticed that they were wearing neither the flowing robes of the Bedouin nor the trailing gallabiyas of the peasants. Their gallabiyas were white and short, like wide shirts, and under them they wore long drawers, and most of them were barefoot. They surrounded us and offered us sugary dates and almonds from baskets of palm fronds, then gave us milk to drink in vessels of earthenware.
Mahmoud was standing by my side with the soldiers around him. I noticed that whenever they came close to us looks of hostility, which they attempted to hide by lowering their eyelids, darted from the eyes of the natives, who were exchanging conversation and laughter with the Bedouin and traders, and that they would hasten their steps so as to get past us as fast as they could, then move away muttering angrily. Sergeant Ibraheem told us in embarrassment that they were astonished and perplexed because this was the first time they had seen an unveiled woman, dressed like a man, in the oasis. I smiled into their faces and raised my hand in greeting but they gathered far from me in small knots from which they directed surreptitious looks towards me and whispered to the Bedouin of the caravan, who had likewise avoided me throughout the journey. I supposed that they were most probably asking them about me, and I noted that a few of the people of the oasis spoke Arabic with the Bedouin, though among themselves they loudly spoke their own language, which we could not understand. They went on muttering, shaking their heads, and shifting their glances from me to Mahmoud. He noticed this and remained by my side, holding on to my arm the whole time, the soldiers in attendance. I myself paid no attention.
I started moving around from place to place in the crowded courtyard, my inescapable guard sticking close, and I enquired of Ibraheem what was going on between the traders and the village men who had gathered around them. I asked him, 'Why are the traders offering only perfume bottles and bead necklaces and not selling anything else from their stock of goods?' and he whispered to me that they postponed their real work until they reached the main market of the town and met with its traders. Here, however, they might sell some clothes, for this was the custom of the oasis from ancient times: they wore only clothes that were made especially for them in Kerdasa and brought to them in the caravans.
Evening came and it was decided that we should spend the night in the village to rest the exhausted camels, which they drove off to be watered from a nearby spring. Mahmoud ordered the men to set up the usual tent in this space with its surrounding walls.
I asked Mahmoud, 'Have you noticed that we haven't seen any of the women of the village? Even the children were all boys.'
Mahmoud smiled and said, 'I'm not thinking about women at the moment.'
Then his face turned serious and he said, 'We have to think about work now.'
He called Ibraheem and told him, 'Ask if any of the agwad are present in this village for me to speak with.'
Ibraheem laughed and said, 'What village, Your Excellency? There's no village here.'
I asked him in confusion, 'And these men who came to meet us, then, where do they live?'
'These, madame, are cultivators, zaggala. They work and sleep in the gardens around here, which are enclosed behind walls. The agwad and great men who own the gardens live in the large town which we shall be making for tomorrow morning, and that's where we'll see them. They will certainly have sent one of the zaggala by now to inform them of the caravan's arrival, and of that of His Excellency the district commissioner.'
Mahmoud said, 'Brigadier General Saeed Bey wasn't wrong when he told me that you knew a lot about the people of the oasis.'
'No one knows much about them, Your Excellency. I came here, as you know, with an army expedition twenty years ago and stayed a while, during which all I saw was war and fighting…'
Smiling, Mahmoud asked him, 'Why, then, did you come back?'
'I told Your Excellency that too,' said Ibraheem. 'For the sake of the little ones.'
Ibraheem was truly an old man. His face indicated that he was past sixty, though his leanness and agility might make one think that he was younger. So what did he mean by 'the little ones'?
I interrupted and asked, 'But surely your children are grown now, Ibraheem.' He avoided answering me directly and said after a moment of silence, 'They're my grandchildren, madame.'
I sensed that there was something there, so I stopped talking, but Mahmoud asked quite simply, 'And where are their fathers?'
Ibraheem raised his face and said in his village accent, 'Fate and fortune!' Then he fell silent once more.
Mahmoud fell silent too, but Ibraheem resumed quite naturally,'As Your Excellency can see, they choose as they will. My children went in the prime of youth. I wish I could have taken the place of even one of them when the plague struck our town, but it was Divine Providence. They left me a tribe of grandchildren that the cholera passed over just as it did me. It may be for their sake that God has given me long life. It's for them that Brigadier General Saeed Bey, God protect him, helped me to get work with you here, so that I could put a little money aside for them.' Then Ibraheem attempted a smile and said, 'As you can see, I survived the cholera, and the war of the oasis and the war of the British that they call "the Riots", and here I am before Your Excellency, as strong as a horse.'