Impressions of Africa (French Literature Series) (25 page)

As long as the sound remained strong and quick, the two lovers could freely revel in their intoxication, without fear of discovery by the benighted sleeper.

A progressive decrescendo would warn them of impending danger well in advance of his awakening.

Ghiriz prepared the dish in question for that very evening and set it on a silver plate-warmer in the middle of the table copiously laid for his master.

At the sight of this new and unfamiliar delicacy, the charmed Shahnidjar lifted the serving dish in both hands and voluptuously inhaled its strange emanations.

Immediately overcome by a leaden torpor, he sank back into his chair, eyes closed and head slumped to one side.

Ghiriz uttered the triple incantation, and the serving dish, clattering back onto the table, emitted a loud and rapidly oscillating ring.

When her poet told her of the Chinaman’s efficacious ministrations, the beautiful Neddu trembled with joy and proposed a nocturnal escape into Shahnidjar’s vast gardens.

The Negro Stingo, the Mooress’s faithful serf, was placed on guard next to the merchant, with orders to warn the two lovers the moment the telltale ring gave signs of faltering.

Protected by their sentinel’s absolute devotion, Ghiriz and Neddu ran outside without a second thought.

A long night of ecstasy was theirs to enjoy, in an enchanted Eden amid the rarest of flowers; then they peacefully drifted to sleep in the rising dawn, rocked by the murmur of a waterfall.

The sun had already followed half its course when Stingo ran up to sound the alarm, warning that the magic jingling had begun slowing down and would soon stop.

Jolted awake, the two lovers, filled with voluptuous memories, envisioned in horror the prospect of a new separation.

Neddu could think only of slipping Shahnidjar’s yoke and fleeing with Ghiriz.

Suddenly a zebra appeared, having wandered there by chance.

Startled by the presence of these unexpected humans in its path, the animal tried to turn back.

But at his mistress’s order, the Negro leapt forward and seized the charger by the nostrils, quickly dominating it.

Ghiriz had understood what Neddu was thinking; lithe and light, he leapt onto the zebra, then helped his companion up behind him.

The next moment, the two fugitives, with a wave of farewell to Stingo, galloped away on their swift mount. The Mooress, laughing at her newfound poverty, brandished a purse containing a few gold pieces, the only fortune left them to meet the costs of this perilous journey. Ghiriz, having given all his savings to Keou-Ngan the day before, could add nothing to their modest nest egg.

That evening, after a mad, headlong dash, the exhausted zebra collapsed in the thick of a gloomy forest.

Convinced they had outwitted any pursuers, at least momentarily, Ghiriz and Neddu sought to appease their hunger, whetted by fatigue and the whipping wind.

The two lovers divided up the chores. Ghiriz was to gather a provision of succulent fruits, while Neddu would look for a freshwater spring where they could slake their thirst.

A certain hundred-year-old tree, its giant trunk easily recognizable, was chosen as meeting point, and each one set off in the gathering dusk.

After many twists and turns, Neddu came across the desired spring.

The young woman wanted to return right away, but in the rapidly fallen darkness she became increasingly lost and anxiously wandered for hours without managing to find the huge tree they’d designated.

Frantic with distress, Neddu began to pray, vowing to fast for ten days running if she could only get back to Ghiriz.

Comforted by this appeal to the supreme power, she resumed her walk with renewed courage.

Soon afterward, without quite knowing by what mysterious path, she suddenly found herself beside Ghiriz, who, bleary-eyed and not daring leave their appointed rendezvous, had been waiting for her while calling out her name.

Neddu fell into the poet’s arms, thanking Allah for his prompt intervention.

Ghiriz displayed his harvest of fruits, but Neddu refused to eat her portion, relating the details of her successful vow.

The next day, the two fugitives continued their path on foot, for in the night the zebra had broken its bonds and escaped.

For several days, the couple went from village to village, wandering haphazardly.

Neddu began to feel the tortures of hunger. Though desperate, Ghiriz didn’t dare urge her to break her promise for fear of calling divine fury down upon her.

By the tenth day, the young woman was so weak that she could barely walk, even when leaning on her lover’s arm.

Suddenly she stumbled and fell prostrate onto the ground.

Ghiriz, shouting for help, saw a shopkeeper come running from her grocery stand at the side of the road.

Sensing that death was about to steal his mistress, the poet made a quick decision.

At his request, the shopkeeper rushed back with various foods, and Neddu, opening her eyes, feasted with delight on this restorative nourishment. Her strength replenished, the young woman resumed her walk, hoping to elude the many agents that the wealthy Shahnidjar, whose ardent passion she knew all too well, had surely sent after them.

But one thing gnawed at her without respite: remorse over having broken her fast before the promised time.

An encounter the very next day only heightened her anxieties, which suddenly gained terrible precision.

In the middle of the countryside, an apparent lunatic accosted her, flailing his arms and sowing panic in her heart with his predictions of a dizzying fall, punishment for her betrayal.

The next several hours Ghiriz and Neddu passed in silence, stricken by the singular prophecy.

That evening, at a bend in the road, the young woman let out a cry of terror and began flailing her arms, as if trying to ward off some horrible vision.

Before her, countless eyes without bodies or faces appeared two by two, staring harshly in anger and reproach.

Little by little, these spellbinding gazes drew her toward the edge of the road, which bordered a bottomless abyss bristling with rocky protuberances.

Unaware of this sudden hallucination, Ghiriz could not understand his beloved’s horror.

All at once, without even having time to hold her back, he saw Neddu pulled toward the precipice by an irresistible force.

The poor unfortunate plummeted over the edge, her body crashing against rock after rock, pursued in her fall by the ominous eyes that seemed to blame her for her offense against the Divinity.

Ghiriz, leaning over the chasm, wanted only to share his lover’s fate, and he leapt after her into the void.

Their two bodies came to rest side by side, united for all eternity in those unfathomable depths.

Fogar had listened attentively to Sirdah’s narration.

The illustrations now took on a clear and fully coherent meaning, which confirmed his plan to use them.

At the time of his misdemeanor, the adolescent had stolen not only the folio but also, as a precaution, a school primer in which every page contained the portrait of an animal captioned by its Latin name.

As the colored scenes of the Arabic tale might prove too few in number, this second volume, in which each picture stood alone, provided a copious supplement that would fully satisfy the plant’s demand for visuals.

Armed with the folio and the back-up primer, Fogar, now a conscious and informed observer, awaited the opportune moment.

When the time came, he placed successively before the enormous white reed, whose atomic transformations he’d been awaiting, all the Oriental engravings spread out in correct order.

When this series was finished, he opened the primer just in time to record one page.

The receptive phase having come to an end, the young man could verify the complete success of his operation, watching the images parade by sharply on the delicately impressed plant screen.

All that remained was to tend the plant, which from now on would reproduce ad infinitum the delicate images that were now an integral part of it.

Fogar surreptitiously returned the two volumes to their rightful place; Juillard, absorbed in some new study, had not even noticed their temporary absence.

Now possessing all the elements of his exhibition, the adolescent found an ingenious way to coordinate them.

He decided to group everything along his bed frame, which was a convenient place to obtain the lethargic, clot-generating slumber.

Chènevillot fitted the cot with the desired attachments, each one scrupulously adapted to the particular shape of a given animal or object.

The automatic colorations of the giant reed seemed ideal for distracting the audience during the boy’s voluntary syncope, which would necessarily last a wearisome amount of time.

Since, on the other hand, the first phase of the fainting spell held some real interest due to the gradual weakening of vital signs, it was best to let Fogar be the sole attraction until his absolute prostration made him a virtual corpse.

Toward that end, Chènevillot arranged the plant like a bed canopy and placed above it a bright electric spotlight.

By choosing a sufficiently dark time of day for the experiment, they could make the changing views bright or dim, depending on the malleable strength of the adjustable current.

Fogar, who wanted to do everything himself, insisted on controlling the lights. But in order for his blood to congeal, his lethargic slumber required complete rigidity of the arms and legs. Chènevillot therefore set the electrical current to be regulated by a horizontal wand, ending in a kind of crutch designed to fit under the sleeper’s left armpit. As such, the adolescent, still lucid enough when the first image came on, could, with an imperceptible movement of his body, brighten the beacon at the desired moment.

A small recess with a special light would serve to display in all its detail the inner structure of the strange, living sponge.

When Chènevillot had finished his labors, Fogar patiently practiced bouncing his wet soap off the three gold ingots attached to the foot of his bed, held in place by three solid supports with claws.

He quickly acquired remarkable skill at this difficult sport, performing true marvels of precision and balance.

Meanwhile, he tended his plant with utmost care.

The scrupulously preserved root now rested in an earthenware pot attached to the bed frame. Regular watering maintained the vitality of the tissues, whose endlessly repeated imprints retained all their clarity.

E
VER SINCE OUR ARRIVAL
in Ejur, the Hungarian Skariovszki had practiced daily on his zither, with its pure and unsettling sounds.

Squeezed into the gypsy costume he never changed, the able virtuoso executed head-spinning compositions, which had the ability to astonish the natives.

An attentive and populous group of Ponukeleans followed all his performances.

Annoyed by this distracting audience, the great artiste looked for a solitary, welcoming retreat in which to practice, safe from unwelcome eavesdroppers.

Carrying his zither and the foldable stand designed to hold it, he reached the Behuliphruen and marched swiftly forward beneath its tall trees, with no apparent hesitation about which direction to follow.

After a fairly long walk, he halted at the edge of a spring in a charming, picturesque spot.

Skariovszki already knew of this isolated, mysterious place; once he had even tried to bathe in the limpid stream, which flowed with a million glints over shimmering mica rocks. But to his great surprise, he could not overcome the surface tension of the water, whose remarkable density prevented him from penetrating to any appreciable depth. Dropping to his hands and knees, he had managed to cross the heavy stream in both directions without wetting his body, which remained on the surface.

Ignoring the strange waterway this time, Skariovszki quickly set up his zither and stand before a low rock that could serve as his bench.

Soon, seated before the instrument, the virtuoso began playing a slow Hungarian melody full of tender yearning.

After several measures, although fully absorbed in the rise and fall of his hammers, Skariovszki intuited a slight movement coming from near the river.

A rapid glance revealed a giant earthworm, which, emerging from the water, began crawling onto the bank.

Without breaking his rhythm, the gypsy, with a series of furtive glances, watched the newcomer as it gently approached the zither.

Stopping beneath the stand, the worm curled up unafraid between the Hungarian’s feet, who, gazing down, saw it lying still on the ground.

Soon putting the incident out of his mind, Skariovszki continued his labors, and for three long hours waves of harmony flowed continuously from his poetic instrument.

When evening fell, the performer finally stood up; looking at the clear sky harboring no threat of rain, he decided to leave the zither in situ for his next session.

As he was leaving his retreat, he noticed the worm, which, heading back the way it came, slid toward the bank and soon disappeared into the depths of the river.

The next day, Skariovszki again settled next to the bizarre stream and began practicing a difficult slow waltz.

During the first refrain, the virtuoso was somewhat distracted by the colossal worm, which, rising from the currents, returned directly to its place from the day before, where it remained gracefully coiled until the end of the performance.

Once more, before leaving, Skariovszki watched the inoffensive, melody-sated annelid as it noiselessly slid back into the calm brook.

The same thing happened for several days running. Like a snake charmer, the Hungarian, by his talent, infallibly attracted the music-loving worm, which once captured could not tear itself away from its ecstasy.

The gypsy grew keenly interested in the creature, whose trusting nature astounded him. One evening, his day’s work over, he blocked its path with his hand in an attempt to tame it.

The worm, with no apprehension whatsoever, scaled the fingers offered to him, then wrapped itself several times around the Hungarian’s wrist as he progressively rolled up his sleeve.

The formidable load Skariovszki felt on his arm amazed him. Adapted to the dense environment provided by the water of the stream, the worm, despite its suppleness, was of considerable weight.

This first experiment was followed by many others. The worm soon recognized its master and could obey the slightest command from his voice.

Such docility inspired in the gypsy’s mind a plan that might yield valuable results.

The trick was to train the worm to produce sounds from the zither on its own, by patiently cultivating its mysterious passion for the sonorous disturbance of air currents.

After lengthy deliberation, Skariovszki imagined a device that could exploit the peculiar weight of the special waters the creature inhabited.

The rocks in the stream provided him with four solid, transparent slabs of mica, which, when sliced thin and sealed with clay, formed a receptacle well suited to certain goals. Two sturdy branches with forked ends, planted vertically in the ground on either side of the zither, supported the device that was built like a trough with a long, tapering base.

Skariovszki trained the worm to slide into the mica receptacle and stretch out, thereby stopping up a gap in the bottom edge.

Using a large fruit husk, he soon drew from the river several pints of water, which he poured into the transparent trough.

After this, with the end of a twig, he lifted, for a fraction of a second, an infinitesimal fragment of the worm’s recumbent body.

A drop of water slipped through and fell onto a zither string, which vibrated quite clearly.

The experiment, renewed several times in neighboring areas, produced a series of notes that formed a ritornello.

Suddenly the same musical formation was repeated by the worm, which all by itself created paths for the liquid through a series of tremors accomplished flawlessly in all the correct places.

Never would Skariovszki have dared count on such rapid comprehension. At this point his task struck him as simple and infallible.

Measure by measure, he taught the worm several lively or wistful Hungarian melodies.

The gypsy began by using the twig to educate the animal, which then reproduced the given fragment on its own.

Seeing that water was dripping inside the zither through its two sound holes, Skariovszki, with a pin, bored an imperceptible drain in the bottom of the instrument that allowed the excess liquid to escape in a fine stream.

Occasionally more water was collected from the nearby river, and the work continued without interruption.

Soon, driven by his growing ambition, the Hungarian, a twig in each hand, tried to obtain two notes simultaneously.

As the worm lent itself at once to this new demand, every zither composition, invariably based on the sometimes coincident strike of two hammers, was now within their reach.

Deciding to perform at the gala as a trainer rather than a performer, for the next several days the gypsy applied himself fanatically to his pedagogic task.

In the end, raising the difficulty level, he tied a long twig to each of his ten fingers and could thereby teach the worm many polyphonic acrobatics generally excluded from his repertoire.

Now certain of being able to exhibit the astonishing creature, Skariovszki thought up various refinements to improve the overall apparatus.

At his request, Chènevillot replaced the two forked branches that had until then supported the mica trough with a twin metallic mount, attached directly to the zither’s stand.

In addition, a partial felt lining was added to the instrument to gently absorb the echoing drip of the heavy water droplets.

To avoid drenching Trophy Square, an earthenware vessel with felt-lined channel would receive the thin stream escaping from the zither.

These preparations finished, Skariovszki completed the education of his worm, which every day, at the first sounds of the zither, emerged promptly from the dense river, into which the Hungarian personally hastened to plunge it again at the end of their lessons.