Obabakoak (38 page)

“Why do you speak now with the voice of Aga Kubalai?” shouted Wei Lie Deshang, standing up.

“Do not speak thus to your god!”

“You’re a traitor too!” exclaimed Wei Lie Deshang, retreating to the temple exit. He was perplexed. “I’ll burn this temple down, Siddartha!”

He ran out of the pagoda and did not stop until he had reached the house that he had bought, three years before, in the To’she district. He had just lost the protection of his god, but gazing upon the stolen golden bezants and on the parchments covered in names and numbers was enough to make him forget. That night, for the first time in many weeks, he smoked opium and saw, with all the detail and clarity of a vision, the end of that path he had imagined on the day he first heard talk of the beggar Mohammed. Kiang’Si would pay for its treachery: His vengeance would be terrible.

The following morning, dressed as a merchant now, he set off on his journey to the mountainous region of Annam, mingling with real merchants and following their noisy caravan of carts and horses. But very soon, as soon as they were away from Kiang’Si, he left the group—and, asking in the villages through which he passed—he began to recruit the people he would need in order to carry out his plans. From one place, where he saw that the houses were solidly built, he would recruit carpenters and stonemasons; from the next place, young girls and cooks. His gold opened all doors.

Fifteen days later, with his journey at an end, having reached the mountains of Annam, the former servant Wei Lie Deshang chose a small valley, the one that of all others seemed most hidden and solitary. Then, he began giving orders.

“Build five palaces,” he told the carpenters and stonemasons. “Make of the whole valley a beautiful garden complete with streams and fountains,” he told the gardeners. “Watch over the young girls and the cattle and let no intruder near,” he told the mercenaries.

After listening attentively, the whole group, made up of more than five hundred people, scattered throughout the valley and began to put up tents. “Your sorrow must be very great,” said one old mercenary, coming up to him. “I never saw anyone who, being rich and capable of finding happiness among others, chose instead the seclusion and solitude you have chosen now.”

The fraternal feelings shown by the old mercenary touched Wei Lie Deshang.

“I see you are a noble man, and from now on I want you to be my lieutenant. But this is not what you think. The paradise I am going to build in this valley is not intended for me, but for the Annamites who live in this region.”

The mercenary did not understand the meaning of those words, but he remained silent.

“What do you know of the Annamites?” Wei Lie Deshang asked, looking up at the high, craggy mountains surrounding the valley.

“Only that they are excellent warriors and are unrivaled as hunters of tigers.”

“Yes, that’s what I heard in the kitchens of Kiang’Si. And that they are like children, innocent and credulous.”

“Siddartha would be pleased with them. More than he is with me!” laughed the mercenary.

“The Annamites don’t believe in Siddartha, but in a beggar called Mohammed. That’s why I want to transform this valley, to give them the paradise their prophet promised them.”

“Well, if that is your desire, they shall have it.”

The old mercenary gave a half smile. Then, returning to the other mercenaries, he hurried them to their posts.

The people who had followed Wei Lie Deshang worked for a year, raising palaces and towers, planting rosebushes and lotus trees, building fountains with four jets from which flowed water, milk, honey, and wine. Then, once the work was over, they received their promised reward in golden bezants and returned to their houses. Only the young girls and the mercenaries remained in the valley.

The moment to approach an Annamite village had arrived.

“Choose ten men and follow me,” Wei Lie Deshang said to the old mercenary.

“Are we going in search of our first Annamite?” asked the mercenary.

Wei Lie Deshang nodded gravely.

“Don’t worry, everything will go well,” said the mercenary encouragingly. But the grave expression lingered on Wei Lie Deshang’s face. He was about to face the final test. The days that followed would decide the success or failure of his years of struggle.

They walked for three hours through dense forests, keeping a close eye out for tigers and contrasting that wild landscape with the delightful valley they had just left. Toward midday they found a path and Wei Lie Deshang ordered his men to find a place to lie in ambush.

“We’ll wait here for an Annamite to pass by,” he told them. Then he gave them the orders they were to follow when that happened.

They did not have long to wait, for that path was very close to a village of hunters. They saw the man approach carrying his bow and arrows on his back.

When he drew level with them, they raised their swords and ten mercenaries knocked him to the ground.

“Die!” they cried. But they did not kill him. Instead they had him inhale a narcotic that rendered him unconscious.

Once back in the valley and still following Wei Lie Deshang’s orders, they left the sleeping Annamite by a fountain surrounded by rose trees. By then, it was evening and the sky seemed to be composed of tiny fragments of blue crystal. The north wind ruffled the petals of the flowers.

Wei Lie Deshang and the old mercenary stationed themselves at a window in the main palace to watch over the Annamite’s sleep.

Just before nightfall, the Annamite regained consciousness. He got up from the ground and looked at each of the four sides of the valley with their groves of trees, their fountains and palaces. Then, leaning over the fountain, he plunged his hand first into the milk and then into the honey. He did not need to know any more; bursting with happiness, he raised his arms to heaven and began singing hymns of praise.

A smile lit up Wei Lie Deshang’s face. After all his efforts, time had proved him right. The Annamite believed himself to be in the paradise promised him by the beggar Mohammed.

“Bring him to my presence,” he said to the mercenary. Both of them were dressed all in white.

Believing himself to be before the prophet, the hunter prostrated himself on the ground as soon as he entered the hall of the main palace.

“La ilaha ila Ala,”
Wei Lie Deshang said to him. He had not forgotten what he had learned in the kitchens of Aga Kubalai.

The hunter nodded, trembling, and called him Mohammed. Then he thanked him for the death he had chosen to give him.

“I did not deserve it, Lord, just as I did not deserve paradise, for I have been a sinner.”

“Mohammed does not see you as a sinner and welcomes you to paradise. Now enjoy the reward I have chosen to give you.”

Through the window of the palace could be seen a sky full of stars. But Wei Lie Deshang saw only the star that pointed to Kiang’Si.

“Kiang’Si,” he thought, “the first grain of sand measuring out your time has fallen.”

“What shall we do now?” asked the old mercenary once the Annamite had been led to another palace full of young girls.

“I want two hundred more men like him.”

“It will take me a month.”

“I can wait,” replied Wei Lie Deshang.

But the old mercenary did not need that much time. After only fifteen days, there was already a large group of Annamites in the palaces and the gardens, laughing and singing and, when night fell, lying with the young girls.

Every evening they murmured: “Allah, beloved God, we thank you with all our heart.” Not one of them suspected the truth.

Sometimes an angel came to them and asked them to go and see Mohammed, their good prophet.

“Fear not,” Wei Lie Deshang told them when he saw how they trembled, “you have committed no sin and I will not take away your happiness.” He would talk to them of a city on earth, Kiang’Si, filled with iniquity and disrespect for Allah.

“They deserve to be punished, Father,” the Annamites would say.

Then Wei Lie Deshang showed them the name of a sinner in Kiang’Si. Next to the name was a drawing that—having been copied from the numbers on his parchments—indicated the place where the sinner lived.

“You will be the bearers of the divine punishment of Allah. This angel will guide you once you are outside paradise. Prepare your arrows with the poison you used to employ to kill tigers. May the will of Allah be done.”

The old mercenary, the angel, nodded. He would accompany them to the city, he would bring them back to paradise once they had carried out the punishment. Relieved that the sin to be punished was not theirs, the Annamites expressed a desire to leave as soon as possible.

“Tonight you will sleep in my palace,” said Wei Lie Deshang, “and early tomorrow morning, when you wake, you will look about you and you will see the path that will lead you to Kiang’Si.”

“May the will of Allah be done,” that was the maxim constantly repeated by the Annamites. And the divine will was always done. Death, the most terrible of punishments, spread throughout the city of Kiang’Si: a judge and his whole family; five captains in Aga Kubalai’s army; three merchants, all were found at the door of their houses slain by poisoned arrows.

The Annamites returned from Kiang’Si laughing, happy that they had been able to punish the sinners who scorned Allah.

Six months later, when the whole city was in a state of terror, a patrol captured two Annamites during the tremendous confusion that ensued after Siddartha’s pagoda had been set on fire. The captain of the patrol carried the news to the governor’s island.

The mighty Aga Kubalai was greatly relieved when he heard the captain’s words and he ordered the two men to be brought to him, for he burned with desire to see the faces of the murderers. He wanted to know where they came from, who had sent them, why they were attacking him.

And he gave another order too:

“Seek out all the merchants and lords of the city and bring them to me. Let them hear the confessions of the murderers too.”

Aga Kubalai was concerned about the rumors that cast doubt on his abilities as governor and he wanted to show them his first triumph.

They all gathered in the cellar of the palace, the merchants, the great lords, the Annamite assassins. And the executioner began the torture.

“Who sent you?” asked Aga Kubalai after the first cries of agony from the Annamites.

“Mohammed, our prophet,” replied the Annamites.

“Where are you from?”

“From paradise.”

The governor made a sign to the executioner and the torture grew bloodier, more agonizing.

“Now tell me the truth. Who sent you?” he asked when the executioner had finished his work.

“Mohammed, our prophet!” cried the two prisoners.

One of the merchants observing the scene went over to the Annamites and wiped away the blood.

“I’ll give you money, a lot of money. Tell us who your chief is,” he said in a gentle voice.

“Allah is our one true God,” said one of the Annamites weakly. The other was already dead.

Aga Kubalai was gesticulating like a madman. He threatened the executioner. But it was all in vain, for shortly afterward the second Annamite also fell silent forever.

The disquiet among those gathered in the cellar grew even more intense with the arrival of the palace guard.

“Lord Governor,” said the guard, bowing his head. “Your eldest son has died. With a poisoned arrow through his heart.”

Those who had been present at the torture exchanged glances. Aga Kubalai covered his face with his hands. Then, in groups, they all hurried back to their houses.

“IT LOOKS LIKE
the story about the lizard has kept you pretty busy,” our uncle said when we’d told him all about the lsmael affair. By then it was half past eight at night and the three of us were sitting in the library. Exhausted after his night spent on the grass, Mr. Smith had retired to his room once he’d told us his Wei Lie Deshang story.

“It certainly has. It’s kept us busy and made us look pretty foolish,” we admitted.

“How could it be otherwise, boys?” said my uncle with an exaggerated sigh.

“What do you mean, Uncle?”

“What I mean is, that it couldn’t have turned out otherwise, given the weakness of your literary theories. For what happened to you has nothing to do with your alleged desire to get to the bottom of things, nor, indeed even less so, with the great powers of imagination you believe you possess. All that is involved here is your mistaken interpretation of the little story about lizards.”

“You’re being very strict and severe, my friend,” Mr. Smith would have said had he been there.

“Explain yourself, Uncle,” we said.

“It’s obvious! You both consider literature to be a game without any practical use. And believing that, you were incapable of unearthing the clue hidden in the story your parents used to tell you. Because, if we look at it closely, what is the moral of the story? What does it tell children? What do you think it says to children? Well, it tells them that it can be very dangerous to go to sleep on the grass and that they should be very careful. ‘If you fall asleep, a lizard will come along and crawl into your ear,’ the mother tells the child. But what is the mother really worried about? What is the real danger? The lizard? Of course not! Not at all!”

“What can it be then? Snakes?” my friend said.

“Snakes are a possibility. But not just snakes. It could be the dampness of the grass, or a mad dog, or a maniac, anything. There could be many dangers, so many that listing them one by one to the child would be absurd. That’s the whole
raison d’être
of the fable of the lizard because it sums up, in the form of a metaphor, every possible danger. Bear in mind too that the lizard is like a small dragon and in traditional stories dragons are always a symbol of evil. So everything in the fable fits, it’s very logical.”

“What is less logical, Uncle, is what you said before, about how, for us, literature is just a game. But we’d best leave that argument for another time. Returning to the subject, Uncle, tell me something, why a lizard and not a snake? I think a snake would be a much more suitable protagonist.”