The Magician's Wife (18 page)

Deniau rode up to ask if she would like to make a stop. She shook her head and said, ‘I just want to reach wherever it is we sleep tonight. To be inside, away from the sun. How big is this desert? It frightens me.’

‘The Sahara? Three hundred thousand square miles is the figure we have calculated. And yes, it can be frightening. But it is also a spiritual landscape. To enter it you must become, like it, a
tabula rasa
.’

He spurred his horse, moving ahead of her. ‘Emmeline,’ he called back. ‘Believe me, it will change your life.’

She looked to where Lambert rode in tandem with his servant, Jules. ‘And my husband,’ she asked. ‘Will it also change his?’

‘I doubt it,’ Deniau said. ‘He is a great magician. But is there magic in his soul? What do you think?’

She did not answer.

Shortly before sunset she saw, ahead, a cluster of Moorish dwellings, rising like a ghostly castle in the surrounding wilderness. Within minutes, two Arab horsemen came galloping towards them, called out a greeting to Deniau, then, wheeling their mounts, reined up to Lambert and Emmeline and chanted something which Deniau translated.

‘They are saying, “Be you welcome, you who have been sent here by God.” This is Ben-Gannah, our host for this evening. The young man is his son.’

An hour later, bathed and refreshed with perfumed rose-water, her hair arranged more or less to her satisfaction, Emmeline and the others were ushered into a large reception room where they sat facing their host on a carpeted floor as two servants, their feet bare as a mark of respect, served a meal of mutton and roast fowl which, in Arab fashion, was eaten without utensils. Afterwards, bowls of water with soap and towels were brought to allow them to wash their hands. When this operation was completed the sheikh rose and led Emmeline and Lambert to a small elegantly decorated room furnished only by two divans. He smiled and said something which Deniau translated as: ‘This is the room for our most honoured guests. May you sleep in peace under my roof.’

The sheik withdrew. Deniau signalled to servants to bring in their luggage and then, as Lambert gave orders as to where the trunks should be placed, Deniau joined Emmeline on the balcony which looked down on an inner courtyard. He pointed to a balcony on the ground floor at right-angles to theirs. ‘That is my room.’ He smiled. ‘I hope you sleep well.’

He turned and went back into the room. ‘Good night, Henri,’ he said to Lambert. ‘You must be tired.’

‘My bones ache,’ Lambert said. ‘I’ll be glad when we reach Milianah.’

She heard Deniau’s footsteps on the stone staircase as he went down to the ground floor. She undressed, put on a nightgown and laid her dressing gown on the end of the divan. Lambert was already stretched out on the divan across the room. She lay listening to the night sounds within Ben-Gannah’s compound. Sheep and horses quartered inside the walls to protect them from raiders bleated and neighed as though disturbed. Camels uttered their hoarse complaints. After a time these noises diminished. She heard someone beat a flat drum, accompanying the high reedy music of a flute. Then there was silence. She lay, drowsy, remembering Deniau’s words. ‘That is my room.’ An invitation? If she were to go outside now looking down into the moonlit courtyard, would he come from the shadows inviting her to run down the stone staircase and join him? He would be wearing the white robe he wore in his apartment in Algiers. He would lead her past the squatting figure of his giant slave who, guarding the door of his room, would close it behind them, shutting them in. Then in the half-shadows Deniau’s arms would encircle her waist. His mouth would find her lips, his hand baring her shoulder as, moving down from her neck, his tongue licked the nipple of her breast. And then as she strained against him he would lift her up and carry her to a divan, laying her down on its cushions, smiling as he let drop his robe. Then, avid and reckless in the drunkenness of passion, she would be his willing partner in what he did to her until at last, sated, she lay by his side on the divan. Smiling, he would retrieve her nightgown and place it on her naked body. When she had put it on, he would rise and walk with her to the door, opening it to reveal the great sloping back of Kaddour who, bowing, would lead her back across the courtyard to the stone staircase which led to this, her room.

She lay, her body soaked in sweat. She looked across the room to where her husband slept, his arms crossed over his chest in his usual posture. She turned her face to the wall.

Chapter 9

Shortly after dawn she heard a sound of knocking on the door, then her husband’s voice as he spoke to someone in the corridor. She could not hear what was being said but soon he came to her side, asking if she was awake, telling her they must dress and go downstairs.

‘Deniau wants to see me,’ he said. ‘It seems there is trouble brewing in Kabylia. An officer from the
Bureau Arabe
in Milianah has just arrived here after riding through the night. Captain Hersant says the situation has grown dangerous. They will tell us more at breakfast. Can you be ready soon, my darling?’

Coffee, dates, flat loaves of bread and a jar of honey had been laid out for breakfast in the central courtyard below. The meal was served by Deniau’s servants. The sheikh and his son were not present. As Emmeline walked into the courtyard accompanied by her husband, Deniau, Captain Hersant and a junior officer rose to greet them. ‘Good morning,’ Deniau said. ‘May I present Lieutenant Dufour? He has come from Milianah with, I am afraid, disturbing news.’

The young lieutenant smiled and bowed. She looked, not at him but at Deniau who returned her look with one of bland, friendly neutrality as, with a flick of his wrist, he signalled Kaddour to bring a tray on which were tiny cups of Arab coffee. The black slave went first to her. When she took the coffee, he turned to Lambert who, as usual, took a spoon and heavily sugared his cup. As he did this he asked Deniau, ‘Disturbing? How? I hope my performance has not been cancelled?’

‘On the contrary, Henri,’ Deniau said. ‘Your performance may be the only way to avoid what looks like serious trouble. We are told that certain sheikhs who will be attending your soirée have urged Bou-Aziz to call for a holy war to start next month. Lieutenant Dufour who knows them well, as, indeed, he knows Bou-Aziz, tells us that your performance in Algiers greatly alarmed them and they now fear that your feats in Milianah will convince the native populace that you are a greater sorcerer than any of theirs. If you succeed, then Bou-Aziz may not be obeyed if he asks the country to rise against us.’

‘And what if I fail?’ Lambert said. ‘I know I had a great success in Algiers. But I spent days preparing my performance and it was given in a proper theatre. There is a magic to performances in a theatre, a magic which can be greatly diminished when I perform in some desert fortress, surrounded by Arabs who see me as an enemy.’

‘My dear Henri, I don’t understand your hesitation,’ Deniau said. ‘A magician of your talents will always make the rest of us believe he has some supernatural power. Even in Paris, before a sophisticated audience, your feats produce uneasiness and bewilderment. That is why we brought you to Africa. Most of the so-called “miracles” of these native marabouts are circus tricks – playing with serpents, eating pounded glass, walking on red-hot coals, etcetera. You’ve told me yourself that you know the origin of such tricks. But they, or we, do not know the secret of your illusions.’

As he finished speaking Deniau looked briefly in her direction, as though trying to gauge her reaction. It was no longer the complicit, amused look he had exchanged with her in the past but the appraising stare of a participant in discussion. And in that moment she remembered the closed door of last night’s reverie. Was it possible that the attraction she assumed they both felt was, for him, part of his plan to make her his ally?

Lambert, his confidence restored by Deniau’s remarks, now turned to Dufour. ‘Tell me, Lieutenant – this marabout, Bou-Aziz – you know him well. What sort of man is he?’

‘Well, first of all he is, perhaps, sixty years of age. His wife is dead and he lives with his daughter Taalith, who is herself a saintly woman and his interpreter because in her youth she learned our language. Bou-Aziz is not war-like, rather, I should say he is a scholar, a peacemaker, who works to prevent acts of violence within the Kabyle community. I have seen him, at the risk of his life, step between two men who were about to kill each other. At sight of him their swords are lowered and peace is made. What is also relevant is his background. Traditionally, the Mahdi will come from the South, from the Sahara, as does Bou-Aziz. And when he proclaims himself the Madhi, he will take the name Muhammad b. ’Abd Allah. All of the would-be Mahdis have used this name. But none has succeeded in ridding the country of us infidels. That’s why, even now, with his great prestige, many of the sheikhs doubt that he will be the new saviour of Islam.’

‘And, as I told you, every one of them will doubt it when they have seen Henri’s performance,’ Deniau said.

‘And now  –  ’ He turned to Emmeline. ‘This lady has not had her breakfast. ‘Come with me, Madame. Let us eat and be on our way.’

At that he put his hand on her arm, his fingers increasing then decreasing their pressure on her bare skin in a touch which brought back the ecstasy of last night’s reverie. Lambert, Dufour and Captain Hersant followed them to the stone slab on which the food was laid. Jules, Lambert’s servant, came forward, offering her a dish of dates. She saw that his hand shook, and that his fair French skin was blistered by the sun. ‘How are you, Jules?’ she asked. ‘Are you not well?’

‘I don’t know, Madame. I may have a touch of fever.’

‘We’ll give you tablets for that,’ Deniau said. ‘Kaddour, fetch my medicine box.’

He turned to her. ‘We must take good care of him. He will be needed for the performance.’

The performance. Always, the performance. She watched Deniau open a leather satchel, intent on picking out the tablets from an array of medicines. Again, she had been forgotten. She watched as Kaddour poured water from a pitcher and Jules swallowed the pills. She saw Deniau go over to Lambert, and heard him ask, ‘What if your man becomes ill? Will you be able to carry on without him?’

‘He is not ill, is he?’ Lambert said, alarmed.

‘A touch of dysentery, perhaps. Those tablets will help. But, tell me. If you had to, could you manage without him?’

‘Absolutely not. I need someone on stage, someone who knows what I am doing and when I will need assistance.’

She saw Deniau lean towards her husband and whisper. Lambert turned and looked back at her. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Let’s just hope that your tablets work.’

The road to Milianah was a desert track, monotonous under a burning sun. As the day wore on, Deniau, riding around the fringes of their caravan, kept urging the camel drivers to whip up their beasts, afraid that their party might not arrive before nightfall. And then towards sunset, after a day of Saharan solitude, Emmeline saw coming towards them an extraordinary assemblage of sheep and dromedaries guarded by horsemen armed with long rifles. Other armed men were on foot leading the dromedaries, some of which were loaded with folded tents made of animal skins wrapped around long tent poles, others swaying under the weight of huge brown-and-white-striped sacks which, Hersant told her, contained the furniture and provisions of these nomadic people. But it was the dromedaries loaded with palanquins which caught her attention, for as they came towards her she saw that the palanquins were closed in front with a black cloth which was suddenly drawn aside to reveal women and children, laughing and chattering excitedly as they pointed to her, the children waving as though she were one of them. The women, of all ages but mostly young, were unveiled. Many of the younger women were handsome. They wore white wool tunics, held at the shoulder by a clasp, belted at the waist and opening on one hip. Their turbans of camel hair were carefully arranged to display long black locks which framed their cheeks. At each movement a multitude of bracelets, some iron, some silver, jangled on their necks and arms. Enclosed in their palanquins peering out at her, they reminded her of actors in a puppet show, exaggerated and vivacious and, as their caravan receded into the desert dust amid a hubbub of bleating sheep, the shouts and crackling whips of the men and the yelping of their pack of starveling dogs, it came to her that she knew no more about this country than on the first day of her arrival and that in a few days, following Deniau’s plan, she would be forced to leave Africa, never to see again these people who travelled with all their worldly goods in a few bundles, who daily knelt prostrate in prayer before a god whose decisions, terrible or merciful, were met by them with the acceptance of total faith.

And now, as the nomad caravan disappeared over the horizon, Emmeline heard a sudden shout behind her. Turning, she saw Deniau and Lieutenant Dufour wheel their horses around and leap from the saddles. A riderless horse cantered past her, reins loose over its neck. The camel drivers brought their animals to a kneeling position and it was then that Emmeline saw Jules, lying face down in the sand. Deniau and Kaddour lifted him up and placed him on the back of a camel, where he was supported in a sitting position by one of the camel drivers. His head lolled. She rode over to Lambert who was speaking to Deniau.

‘What happened? Did his horse bolt?’

‘It’s probably the dysentery,’ Deniau said. ‘I’m afraid he is quite ill.’

‘This dysentery,’ Lambert said. ‘What form does it take?’