Cursing, I climbed a hillock. When I reached the top, my heart almost failed: in front of us stretched the same labyrinth that had been driving us mad for days. My legs gave way and I fell to the ground. My elbows planted on my knees, my face in my hands, I looked left and right, and saw nothing but perdition. Something told me that the desert was aware of our desperate state and that when it had squeezed the last drop out of us, it would close its fist over us and reduce us to dust which the winds would then disperse among the mirages.
‘What are you looking at?’ Bruno asked, flopping to the ground beside me.
I pointed to the dereliction around us. ‘I’m looking at the loneliest place on earth.’
‘There are two of us,’ he said. ‘And we’re still alive. All is not lost. We just have to take the drama out of the situation.’
‘I don’t have the formula for doing that.’
‘The formula is in here,’ he said, tapping with his finger on my temple.
His gesture annoyed me.
Bruno let his gaze wander over the rocky ridges in the distance, then picked up a stone and weighed it in his hand. ‘Have you ever been face-to-face with your own death, Monsieur Krausmann?’
I didn’t reply, considering the question ridiculous and inappropriate.
‘The loneliest place on earth,’ he went on, ‘is when you’re facing a firing squad. You don’t know what it’s like. It’s then that you realise how long eternity lasts. It lasts the space of time between two commands: “Aim!” and “Fire!” What came before and what will come after don’t matter.’
‘You’re not going to tell me that happened to you.’
‘But it did. I was twenty-four. With a rucksack on my back and a compass in my hand, I thought I was Monod. I’d crossed the Tassili, the Hoggar, the Tanezrouft, the Ténéré. Not even Rimbaud travelled as much as I did. It was a wonderful time. Nothing like the mess things are in now.’
He put the stone down and let his memories flood back.
‘What happened?’
He smiled and opened his eyes wide. ‘A military patrol picked me up on the shores of Lake Chad. The sergeant immediately accused me of spying. That’s the mindset around here. If you aren’t a hostage, you’re either a mercenary or a spy. After some pretty rough questioning, I was court-martialled and sentenced to death the same day I was arrested. The trial was held in the refectory, surrounded by soldiers having their meal and the clatter of knives and forks. The judges were a sergeant and two corporals. I found the procedure a bit hasty and the solemnity of the court somewhat grotesque, but I was young, and in Africa the grotesque is commonplace.’
He started tracing little circles in the sand with a distracted finger. His face became blank.
‘They came for me early in the morning. They had to drag me because I couldn’t stay upright. I wanted to scream, to struggle, but I just couldn’t react. I was shaking like a leaf when they tied me to the post. It was only when I finally looked up and saw the firing squad that I realised how alone I was in the world. The whole universe had been reduced to the barrel of a rifle. The horror of it! My blood was beating louder than war drums in my temples. And it was so silent in that shooting gallery you could have heard a match being struck anywhere for miles around …’
‘I can imagine.’
‘You can’t. It’s beyond imagination. When the sergeant cried, “Take aim!” I ejaculated. Without an erection. And when he cried “Fire!” I shit myself. I didn’t hear the shots, but I really felt the bullets go through me, pulverising my ribcage, bursting open my innards. I collapsed in slow motion. I think it took me an eternity to reach the ground. I lay there in the dust, shattered, looking up at the pale sky. I didn’t feel any pain. It was as if I was gently drifting away like a puff of smoke. And just as I was about to give up the ghost, the sergeant burst out laughing. Then the firing squad also started laughing. Next, the rest of the platoon came out from behind the embankment, splitting their sides and slapping their thighs … The sergeant helped me to my feet. He told me he’d never laughed so much in his life.’
‘It was a fake execution.’
‘That’s right, a fake execution! Just a bit of fun for soldiers stuck in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do and bored out of their minds. “No hard feelings,” the sergeant said, patting me on the back. He gave me a packet of smuggled cigarettes by way of compensation and a kick up the backside to make sure I got out of his sight as quickly as possible …’
‘I hope you took legal action.’
‘Oh, of course,’ he said, ironically, getting to his feet. ‘Let’s go!’
‘No way.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m not moving from here. I don’t know where we are and I’m fed up with it. You can go if you like. But I’m staying here until fate has pity on me. One way or another.’
My decision was stupid, but I stood by it. What I said, I felt and demanded. I was at the end of my tether. It was like being on the edge of a precipice; in front was only the abyss, a sheer drop and the dreadful feeling that I was giving up. What mattered and what didn’t? The neurotic search for an unlikely salvation, or renunciation? I could no longer stand blaming myself. Bruno understood that I was going through a bad patch and was in no mood to be dissuaded. He didn’t insist, but went back to the pick-up to sort through the bags. He filled the two rucksacks with the bare essentials, placed them on a clump of grass along with the two canteens of drinking water and the automatic rifle, crouched in the shade of a shrub and took his head in both hands.