Astonishment registered in the men’s eyes. Then the soothsayer completed his prophecy: “The generations have never witnessed a single man who postponed a trip to find a woman. You can rest assured that you will find those you think fools become the most ferocious of men the moment they understand that the point of the raid is capturing women!”
Stillness prevailed.
Outside, the children’s weeping and the clamor of people passing in the streets echoed even more loudly.
THE RAIDS
1
“Hee, hee, hee, hee, hee — a hunt wouldn’t be called a hunt if woman wasn’t the prey. Raids wouldn’t really be raids if woman wasn’t the booty. Hee, hee, hee.”
According to accounts of informed sources, during the attacks that the tribe’s mounted warriors launched against both the tribes inhabiting neighboring deserts and the peoples lurking in dark forest recesses, the ruler liked — while directing his enigmatic eyes to the clear sky and covering his nose with his gloomy veil — to unleash repeatedly, like a lunatic, his muffled, detestable laughter, which resembled the chortles of the dreadful scarecrow that had been erected in the open fields (as if he were some demonic rebel jinni).
He also enjoyed climbing to the roof terraces of his glorious edifice to discern in the dust at the horizons the homecoming of hordes of heroes bearing this unique booty that populated the wastelands, transforming them into homelands, whereas their abduction transformed those nations into a desolate wasteland. Then he would share this good news with members of his entourage: “I wager that the horizons are sending us hunters bringing back booty!” He would remind the vassals of the circumstances of the miserable creatures who had grown languid and whose backs had been broken by the disappearance of women till they roamed the streets like idiotic wraiths. The seductive riot he had added to the raid’s goal had transformed those men. The paradise that is woman had turned the wimps into totally different creatures. He would growl his dark laugh before sharing a proverb with them: “If you wish to conquer your enemy, discontinue raids for spoils and convince your army that the goal of the campaign is paradise, that the goal of the terror is the abduction of women. Hee, hee, hee….” He would not let the opportunity escape to end his mockery with a little joke: “Once you experience the delight of the chase when the prey is a beautiful woman, you’ll be surprised to find that you have all changed into heroes.”
He descended that day from his glorious fortress to welcome the campaign’s legions of warriors as he always did. He hastened to meet the combatants — but not to greet them, check on their condition, examine them to reassure himself about their good health, or congratulate those who had returned to their homes in one piece; he sped there instead to choose his share of the booty. He approached the Oases Gate or the Gate of the Western Hammada and stationed himself at the portal, surrounded by his retinue. He stopped the warriors’ caravans at the entrance and ordered that the goods be unloaded from the pack animals. He had the women promenade in the plaza for a long time while he strutted among them, checking their figures, breasts, legs, faces, and teeth. Yes, yes…. He liked to examine their teeth with intense interest. He was said to have remarked in one of his assemblies that a woman is like a horse; her secret is located between her jaws. He finally chose his share of the booty at a rate of one head from each mounted warrior, as per the edict he had decreed for the combatants shortly before the launch of the campaign. The troops had kidded him — some referring to this as a customs tariff and others calling it a toll.
Once the governor made his pick, he ordered the cavalcade to proceed. Then the special forces troops rushed home to stash their beauties in the corners of their homes. Most soldiers were content with one woman — or two in rare circumstances. Like herders corralling goats, they drove the remaining women to the markets of the oasis to display for auction.
2
Successive generations recount that the first booty in the history of the razzia was not herds of cattle (as in the first eras when the most ancient inhabitants domesticated bovines). It was not herds of horses (as in subsequent eras when horses became treasures for the sons of the desert). It was not caravans of camels (as in the later periods when camels entered the wilderness). Instead, the trophy from day one was woman.
It was actually said that wars arose between tribes only because of her and that feuds between clans flared up only to gain control of her or to recapture her from the grip of a rival faction, because the early times witnessed a grievous shortage of the community of women for some unknown reason that baffled the soothsayers and that scholars struggled to explain. Some said this occurred pursuant to a wisdom the Spirit World intended for the tribes’ benefit, because a plenitude of women would lead to a plenitude of civil strife. That tendency diminished when there were fewer women, because one woman could satisfy all the men, whether they wished to partner with her for fun or for offspring. Another clique said that the reason for the scarcity of women had something to do with the existence of woman herself, because her existence had led to the original enmity that had induced one brother to raise his hand to kill his brother in order to master her and monopolize her for himself. When the Spirit World saw the appetite of the son of the desert and his thirst for possession and enmity, it deposited a secret in woman’s womb, restricting her to bear only male offspring in order to stock the wars with the cannon fodder they needed. Then males were born in abundance, because they would go to die in conflicts, raids, and wars; wombs rarely produced females — for fear of the suffering that this blithe creature would experience should her protectors die in the wars.
People of the desert did agree, however, that all desert dwellers were descended from the womb of a woman who had been abducted. To prove the certainty of this claim, they cited the taboo of desert people against that woman’s naming her mate, for whose origins the generations give no history, affirming that their original grandmother harbored rancor against their grandfather, because he had stolen her from her father’s home. So, in revenge, she had sworn never to reveal his name. People repeated in their epic poetry that the original grandmother would retreat from time to time to a corner of her dwelling, and succumb to a lengthy bout of weeping. She chided her man for cowardice and told him he would not have been able to retain her for a split second had her father still been alive.
From this ancient dirge the wily strategists of the various tribes derived a proverb. They instructed their mounted warriors: “A woman is like a serpent. You will never be safe from its evil unless you decapitate it, and you behead a woman by beheading the man standing behind her.”
The generations learned from experience that a man cannot enjoy a woman if a single male relative of hers remains alive.
3
The oasis relied on its sons’ swords and embraced the good life. Well-being returned to its citizens, and the columns of beautiful women — who continued to arrive at the gates of the oasis like so many head of cattle — served as a curative antidote for their uncanny ailments. Fascinating women of every color, community, and race crowded together in the interiors of all the dwellings until the walls could scarcely hold them. Houses overflowed with these incredible female treasures, and caravans set out to search for treasures only as presents for these feminine treasures. Then, as a result of the generosity of these treasures, other treasures spilled into the alleyways, which handed on a share to the streets, which granted a portion to the markets. Then merchants from passing caravans also acquired a share of this flood and traveled with mixed race, black, and white beauties to the four corners of the desert. During that period the oasis experienced a delight it had never known before, because adolescents and young men embraced foreign girls in the plazas, alleys, and streets, and farmers mated with beautiful women alfresco near the scarecrow on their return from the fields. Male poets and vocalists sang all night long outside their homes while music buffs danced. They drummed in a celebratory fashion even on nights when the moon was not visible from the oasis and its streets were inundated by tenebrous darkness.