The Fetishists, page 1
MODERN MIDDLE EASTERN LITERATURES IN TRANSLATION
Series Editor
Dena Afrasiabi
Other titles in the series include Black Rose of Halfeti and Hend and the Soldiers
The Fetishists
THE TUAREG EPIC
Ibrahim al-Koni
Translated by
William M. Hutchins
CENTER FOR MIDDLE EASTERN STUDIES
The University of Texas at Austin
This English translation copyright © 2018 by the Center for Middle Eastern Studies at The University of Texas at Austin.
All rights reserved
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018952919
ISBN: 978-1477317891
Translated from Ibrahim al-Kuni (or al-Kawni), al-Majus, 4th edition (Beirut & Limassol: al-Multaka Publishing, 2001) and 8th edition (Beirut: Dar Soual, 2015)
“The Errant Twin” from Part I appeared in David Parker, Myth and Landscape (Heidelberg: Kehrer Verlag, 2014)
Sections 24–26 of “The Dervish” from Part I appeared as “The Dervish’s Purifications” and section 5 of “The Gold Bracelet” from Part II appeared as “A Dervish Returns to his Pack” in The Brooklyn Rail, May 6, 2015 and at https://brooklynrail.org/2015/05/fiction/from-al-majus-the-fetishists
The Center gratefully acknowledges financial support for the publication of The Fetishists from the National Endowment for the Arts in Washington, D.C.
FOR MUSA AL-KONI,
The Dervish of This Age
Contents
VOLUME ONE
Part I
1. The Qibli Wind
2. The Sufi Shaykh
3. The Messenger
4. The Errant Twin
5. The Bird of Paradise
6. The Apostates
7. Waw
8. The Jackals
9. The Promised Event
10. The Vision
11. The Dervish
Part II
1. The Nipple of the Earth
2. The Gold Bracelet
3. Terrestrial and Celestial Waw
VOLUME TWO
Part III
1. The Leader
2. The Churn
3. Terrestrial and Celestial Statutes
4. The Serpent
5. Thirst’s Secret
6. The Wager
7. The Vessel
8. The Veil
9. Amghar
10. The Elegies
11. Destiny
Part IV
1. The Conspiracy
2. The Diaspora
3. The Shroud
Author’s Note
Translator’s Note
Characters
Glossary
Volume One
PART I
Every nation, if it wants any prestige, must possess an epic, though not necessarily in the form of an epic poem.1
GOETHE, POETRY AND TRUTH, PART II, BOOK 7
NOTE
1. Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, From My Life: Poetry and Truth: Parts One to Three, trans. Robert R. Heitner (New York: Suhrkamp Publishers New York, Inc., 1987) p. 212.
1
The Qibli Wind
The wind blows to the south and goes round to the north; round and round goes the wind, and on its circuits the wind returns.
ECCLESIASTES, 1:6
1
Anyone who has not breathed mountain air will never savor the taste of life.
He drew near to the gods here on the bare peaks and liberated himself from his body, learning how to extend a hand to pluck the full moon or harvest the stars.
From this vantage point he enjoyed watching people down below compete with each other as tirelessly as ants. Assuming they were working wonders, he would descend to their land only to find they were wretched dervishes whose earnest endeavors won them nothing of value.
How comic and awkward their efforts seemed from these high elevations!
Two mythic mountains separated themselves from the haughty Akakus Mountains and then wandered into the desert. One threw itself down to the south, beside the mother chain. Then it looked shorter than its errant sibling, even though it stretched as high toward the heavens with two giant rock formations. The northern mountain, which lay on the far side of the plain, majestically cleft the sky with its somber, mysterious peaks and their four spires.
Dusk flooded the western labyrinth with purple light while ragged, dry clouds spread the length of the horizon. A caravan came into view on the plain that stretched between these two mountains. In front, men on foot guided a magnificent howdah that swayed back and forth on a camel surrounded by slaves. Other camels, which were laden with goods, followed the splendid howdah, but—seen from the peak, which seemed suspended in the air—the grand procession made for a comical sight. He noticed that the mountain turned everything that appeared grand and august on earth into a toy. The Mehri riding camels became mice, and the dread, veiled men, who were puffed up like peacocks, became puppets that evoked laughter or pity. From his summit, he viewed even the noble leader of the tribe in his awe-inspiring blue garments as an impotent little puppet, and that made him laugh a lot. He also noticed that the liberties the peak took with people’s sizes and activities grew ever crueler the more people exaggerated their importance and their arrogant displays. He frequently told himself when greeting the tribe’s haughty nobles: “Wait! I’ll climb the mountain, and then I’ll see if you’re truly gods or just mice.” This secret excited and astonished him. Why did this heavenly peak single out the great and the haughty for transformation into miserable dervishes? A hunch, however, inspired in him the notion that the summit was infallible. If it portrayed haughty men as puppets, then that was the truth. The plain, on the other hand, distorted people and turned them into illusions. People whose efforts were more ambitious and energetic than the others’ appeared risible, because they had entrusted their spirits to the devil by fantasizing more than other men.
Earnest folk are a tidbit Satan swallows whole.
The mountain is a prayer niche for gods, and the plains are the kingdom of demons.
2
They established their camp by the mountainside. One group of blacks drove camels out through the eastern valleys, while another crew was hard at work laying the foundations for a settlement.
Tenere roamed through the wasteland to restore her legs’ circulation and to recover the ability to walk. A long confinement in the howdah had almost deprived her of the strength to walk, paralyzing her. She stumbled as she followed the narrow tracks descending from the mountain’s heights. She was surprised by the difficulty she had walking and merrily laughed out loud. Then she heard his voice, which seemed to issue from the Unknown, remark: “This is first time I’ve seen a beautiful woman laugh alone.”
She glanced around anxiously but saw nothing. After whispering some talismans, she asked, “Are you Satan?”
“No, I’m an angel.” He guffawed.
When he emerged from his hiding place behind the boulder he apologized politely.
She stood gazing at him for a long time without returning his greeting or accepting his apology for the prank, although the hint of a smile appeared on her lips. She was in no hurry to cover her lovely face.
This face was illuminated by an astonishing expression, the daring one seen on faces of people with a secret.
Her smile disclosed two orderly rows of teeth. She said pertly, “Only a phantom or an accursed Satan springs from the mountain.”
“Satan lives on the plain, and phantoms live on the northern mountains, over there.”
He pointed toward Mount Idinen to the north. Then he adjusted the end of his turban around his mouth and punctuated this gesture with a laugh. A large, black braid rebelled and escaped from its hiding place beneath her head wrap. It slid down and came to rest on her swelling bosom, but she seemed in no hurry to conceal it. She continued to study him inquisitively. Then she started climbing the hill. Overcoming her weakness, she straightened herself and walked easily and proudly. Udad realized that he was walking beside a woman from the world of legends—a heavenly maiden or a she-jinni. Trembling, he felt both rapturous and embarrassed.
Without looking at him, she said, “I didn’t think I’d meet a human being in this wasteland.”
“People can be found everywhere, even under rocks and on mountain peaks.”
“I won’t doubt that any more. Do you live at the summit or in the caves?”
“Whenever I decide to settle down, I’ll find no better place than the summit. The caves are suffocating.”
She laughed, suppressed her laugh, and then asked, “Like Barbary sheep?”
He twisted a piece of green muslin around his face. Beginning to shake off his embarrassment, he agreed almost childishly: “Like Barbary sheep.”
As the incline grew steeper, her pace slowed. Then she sat down on a boulder by the path and asked, “Do you live alone?”
Pointing to the west, where the sun—a great red disc—knelt, he said, “The tribe’s camp is there.”
He was silent for a moment and then suddenly added, “If you would condescend to accept my hospitality at the summit, I would remain there forever.”
She cast him a look but made no reply. Her enigmatic expression became even more enchanting.
Finally she commented, “You’re like a child, but I’ve never met any children like you.”
“I’d rather be a child than a pompous man living on the plain. The people of the plains are adults but slaves. Which is better: to be a slave or a child?”
He burst out laughing.
Arranging her head wrap around her face, she replied, “All men are children. All people are slaves.”
The horizon’s flush grew dark. Black clouds advanced from the south. Udad said, “The weather suggests rain. Your arrival is a good omen.”
She replied nonchalantly, “I don’t think so.” Then she smiled sadly.
After a silence, he asked, “Forgive me for being slow to ask: do you come to us from Aïr?”
“Are you a diviner too?”
The question disconcerted him, and she saved him with a jest: “I come from Aïr, seeking refuge from the wind. Will you find me a cave to protect me from the Qibli wind?”
He struck his chest and responded with a jest of his own: “Here’s a refuge that will shelter you better than any cave. The only place the wind can’t enter is inside this ribcage.”
She ignored his joke and gazed at the gloomy horizon.
3
Once he had drained his last glass of tea and concluded a lengthy discussion about nobility and war, the leader mentioned the need to build barriers around the well.
He delegated this task to Okha.
Okha, a nobleman related to the leader, was tall, slender, and talented—a poet and songwriter. A veritable knight on a Mehri camel, he had participated in three raids to the Kawkaw River. Tribal chiefs praised him and lauded his exploits, and all the young women were in love with him. They were simply waiting for him to descend from his high horse so they would win him as a spouse.
Surrounded by companions who were puffed up like a flock of peacocks, he crossed the valley and ascended the ridge. On the southern hills, to the right of the encampment, slaves and vassals were spread out, calling back and forth to each other loudly. They congregated there, carrying mattocks and axes. Some were organized in a long line, one behind the other, like migrating gazelles.
The desert grew parched, and the horizon scowled for the second day. The sky was colored by alternating pale and dark bands, and the towers of Mount Idinen to the north were lost in a turban of clouds.
Trained observers affirm, however, that when the desert is veiled by darkness and mourning, most of the rain-rich clouds quickly lose their resolve and yield to the Qibli. Old people relate that these two eternal foes divided the desert long ago. The southern desert fell to the Qibli’s sphere of influence, while rain won the Northern Hammada. The two sides have broken this agreement only on the rare occasions, which are engraved in the hearts of the wasteland’s people, who use them to date events. It is also said that the drumbeats of the Unknown in the grains of sand are the desert’s cry for rain and its forlorn yearning for water and life. At times, this sad refrain lasts for several nights in a row. At dawn it frequently changes into a lament and a wail, and pious men pray that God will grant each grain of sand the patience to endure its hideous destiny. Some sacrifice animals to free the southern desert from the unjust pact that deprives them of life and rain clouds.
The hearts of the gods in the heavens do not soften, however, and thirst’s curse is eternal. Thus the instances—which are few and far-between and by which communities date their lives—when the heavens are generous—have occurred either on account of some error the fates have committed or because of a brief struggle between two deserts: the sandy one and the mountainous one. On very rare occasions, it is caused by a lethal, conspiratorial enmity between the two adversaries. In such confrontations, the sandy deserts become so saturated that wadis flow with water; then the dusty ridges are flooded. If the battle ends with the Qibli’s victory, the deserts will have harsh years to endure. At such times, the Qibli becomes flustered and dominates the desert for weeks and months. It may even attack the ridges of the Hammada in vengeful forays that include the Nafusa Mountains and traverse them to the plain of Jefara, even striking the northern seashores, so that the remaining clouds are scattered for many years.
At the well, Okha was surprised to find a massive caravan gathered by the pool, crowding around the water. A tribe of black men with thin bodies and emaciated faces bustled near the caravan. Some were busy drawing water from the well while others tended to the camels, distributing water to them. Okha’s vassals and blacks caught up with him and encircled the hill above the well to create a silent cordon of men.
A dignified shaykh emerged from the strangers’ caravan. He was tall too, and his cheeks were emaciated. He headed straight for Okha and adjusted his veil but remained silent for a long time. When he spoke at last, he said he was a messenger from the princess and wished to meet the leader.
4
Tamghart told the female diviner, “He beat me. He says the plain is a nest of demons, though the real demons are in his head. He claims he lost the late jurist’s amulets, even though I’m sure he deliberately destroyed them. Heeding the counsel of wise women, I wanted to shackle him with the only chain that will tie a man to the earth—a woman! I married him to Amma’s daughter. She’s a tempting girl who lacks nothing but experience. She allowed him to slip away even before even seven days had passed. Using the camels as his excuse, he stayed in Tadrart for two months. In the whole desert, have you ever heard of a man fleeing to the mountains from his nuptial bed before the seven days have elapsed?”
After tightening her black cloth round her head and drawing her palm-frond basket closer, she continued, “I told the stupid girl that a woman doesn’t keep her man with beauty and flirting, but with these!”
She slapped her hands against her slender thighs, and the dispirited face of the diviner lit up with a naughty smile. As she removed items from the basket and placed them before the old black woman, Tamghart continued, “Now I want you to devise a talisman that will bring him back down from the mountain spires and return him to the earth and his senses.”
The diviner wanted to object, but Tamghart did not give her a chance: “Not a written amulet! He would destroy it the way he did the late jurist’s talismans. Another kind of amulet that he can consume with water, tea, or milk . . . something he could eat with his food.”
The diviner watched as her guest spread gifts on a cloth. Then she said dryly, “I stopped handing out those things a long time ago. You know that.”
Her guest would not listen to this objection, though: “The girl returned to her family’s home and he’s not seen her since. I asked him to apologize to her family and retrieve her, but he was headstrong, and his head’s more twisted than a ram’s or a Barbary sheep’s. He says a woman binds even the strongest of men with a chain seventy cubits long! God preserve us!”
“My memory has grown rusty and weak, my eyesight is veiled by blindness, and it’s been such a long time that I’ve forgotten the craft.”
“If he continues and the mountain claims him, I will lose him forever.”
She shoved the basket aside to display her presents: a bottle of perfume, a mirror, incense, and four eggs. Tamghart had been the first person who dared to raise chickens in the desert and consequently had suffered the tribe’s disapproval a long time. When the camp prepared to migrate, she would bribe boys with eggs and other secret promises to entice them to work as a team and capture the hens the day before their departure. Then she would restrain them in palm baskets till the next morning so she could transport them on the camels with other supplies.
Ignoble Tamghart knew the diviner liked eggs better than anything else in the desert. So she had brought four eggs to convince her to prepare the prophylactic. She said encouragingly, “The jurist has died, and I’m no tattletale.”
The diviner kept looking at the white eggs. Then she stretched out her hand and pulled the cloth toward her. “God’s mercy on the deceased, but I never feared him.”
The tent flaps fluttered and slapped suddenly.
A dust storm passed, and the dervish darted from a corner of the tent.
2
The Sufi Shaykh
Beware of false prophets, who come to you in sheep’s clothing but inwardly are ravenous wolves.
MATTHEW 7:15
1
The first thing the jurist did to sow the seeds of truth was to launch an attack against astrologers, diviners, and Fetishist rituals.
He came with a caravan from Murzuq on his way back to his homeland in Touat. He said he was a member of the Qadiriya Brotherhood and that his goal was to provide guidance for people on the path of liberty. When introducing himself, he did not neglect to emphasize his opposition to orthodox jurists. He told the leader, Adda, who entertained him in his home, “I don’t highlight my differences with the jurists to ingratiate myself with you or to flatter myself. I know the looting and theft the desert tribes have suffered at their hands in the name of religion, but we differ in our approach. They have stripped religion of its allegorical language, reducing its teachings to literalism and legalism. They have removed Satan from his bunker in the soul and invited simpletons to pursue him in this world out of a desire to slay him. Thus he has gained control of them, and they have lost the most precious jewel God has granted any creature: freedom, which He used to shape the essence of every religion.” The shaykh thought this error had perverted the message, allowing Satan to vanquish them and direct their course in life. They had all acted sinfully and become tyrants like Nimrod. Religion then became a stranger to itself.
