The Boy Who The Set Fire and Other Stories (5 page)

Sometimes he would reach a place from where he could see, far ahead, faint glimpses of another orchard where the trees were taller, and it seemed to him that he could hear a great crying of birds in the distance. The day he managed to get to the second orchard, the sight of it made him stand motionless. He watched the birds as they circled above the trees. Finally he sat down, leaning against a tree trunk, and listened for a long time to the sound of the birds.

There were two of them in the tree above his head. Soon they began to fly down and hover in front of his face without touching him. They would be there for an instant, and then they would dart up into the tree. For a long time they played this game with him. What do they want? he wondered. He got up, and the birds disappeared quickly into a hole in the tree-trunk.

That’s strange, he said.

He stood for a while looking at the hole, and soon they came out and flew away. This was the moment to look into the hole. Inside was a nest with two featherless fledgelings in it.

Allah! he cried. I was going to kill those birds if they didn’t stop their game, but they only wanted to get some food for their family.

At that moment his eyes opened. He stood up and went to the taifor, where he sat writing the entire story in a notebook. Then he went back and sat where he had been sitting before. He shut his eyes, took himself back to the orchard, and began to walk again.

After a while he came to a hillside covered with trees. There was a long path leading upward. He climbed slowly. When he got to the top he saw a field where many mongooses were running among the bushes. When they caught sight of him they all disappeared into their holes. He stood and watched, and saw their pointed muzzles appear in the openings, one by one. He sat down. Strange animals, each one in his hole. When I first saw them they were all out there playing together.

After a time he got up and walked toward the holes. The mongooses did not pull their heads in, but stayed where they were, watching him. When he stooped over they all ran inside.

These animals understand, he said to himself. I’m going to keep looking. He sat down under a tree nearby and waited. Soon their heads appeared in the holes again, and they began to watch him.

Suddenly one of the mongooses came all the way out of its hole. I wonder why he came out?

As he said this the mongoose darted forward and seized a large snake that was crawling not far from where Baraka sat. Baraka jumped up, crying:
Ay yimma!
and ran to find a stick. By the time he got back the mongoose had bitten the snake’s head off and was running away with it. Then the others came out of their holes and set to work eating the snake. When they had finished it, they went back to their holes.

Baraka opened his eyes. He got up, rolled himself a kif cigarette, and wrote down what he had just seen. After a while he returned to the mattress and relaxed, in order to get back quickly to the orchard and see what would happen next.

He found the place where the mongooses had eaten the snake. I must go further, he thought, and see what’s ahead. It can always be even better.

He cut across the hill, always walking among trees, and went downward to a river, whose course he followed until he came to a series of pools. The air was fresh and he could hear the river running nearby. He chose a pool and sat down beside it. As he looked into the water he saw two fish with brightly shining scales. He reached behind him, pulled up some plants, and tossed them into the water. The fish came up to the surface and nibbled at them.

Strange, he thought. Even fish eat weeds. Allah, what a garden! It’s what all gardens should be. I can walk here, and yet no one has been here before me. What patterns the fish have on their scales! It would be a sin to eat such fish. They should be kept where people can see them.

It was a warm day. He reached out to feel the water with his finger. There was a sudden sharp pain, and he pulled back his hand. When he looked at the finger, he saw that half of it had been bitten away. With the blood running from his finger, he went in search of a plant with a yellow blossom. When he found one, he broke its stem. A milky liquid ran out, and he let it run onto his finger. It burned. He wound his handkerchief around the finger and went back to the pool. There were clots of blood in one part of the water. As he watched, another kind of fish appeared, silvery and flat, and sucked in the blood.

Strange, said Baraka. I never thought such a thing could happen.

It frightened him, and he decided these were not fish, after all. But what else could they be?

At that moment he opened his eyes. He was clutching his wounded finger, and the sweat ran down his cheeks. When he looked closely at his finger, he saw with relief that the flesh was all there. It was a dark purple color. He stood up and went over to the taifor. He found it painful to write, but he managed to put down everything that had happened. Then he went back to his seat and shut his eyes.

This time he passed the pools by the river and continued further. Soon he came to a forest of such huge trees that there was only darkness beneath them. He was convinced that there was something even more important in here. He began to walk between the tress in the gloom, feeling his way among their trunks, and going very slowly. He continued ahead in this way for a while. Finally he saw a pale sliver of light beyond. When he got to the clearing, he realized that it would be impossible for him to go further, because the roots of the trees formed a high wall. They rose up sheer and wet, high above his head. He tried again and again to get a foothold, but he always slipped back. He walked first one way and then the other, and found only the wall of roots.

Then in the air above his head he heard a sound. A great bird was flying down upon him. As it came nearer, one of its wings hit him, and he fell headfirst to the ground, striking his forehead. He sat up, put his hand to his face, and felt the blood. Then he leaned back against a tree-trunk, feeling faint.

The bird had its nest nearby. It stayed a while there, and then it flew away. Baraka opened his eyes a little, and from where he lay, he looked around. He saw the nest and got up. There were three large eggs in it. Then he noticed that the eggs were moving. This frightened him, and he returned to the tree.

Soon he saw one of the small birds break through its shell. As he looked, the other two also hatched. Two of them were healthy, and the other was feeble.

The parents arrived. Baraka watched them feed the young birds. The two healthy ones ate hungrily, but the weak one would not touch the food. When the father saw this, he seized the weak one in his beak, and the pieces of broken shell in his claws, and flew away with them. Soon he returned, carrying nothing.

Baraka opened his eyes. He was sitting forward on his mattress, holding his forehead and sweating. He got up and went into the bathroom. There he stood in front of the mirror, looking to see if there was blood on his forehead. The pain where he had fallen was so strong that he expected to see a great amount of blood. However, there was only a drop.

He went back to his mattress saying: Strange. Such things don’t happen. Wait while I fill a cigarette with kif.

He made the cigarette. While I smoke it I’ll drink a glass of tea. And then back to my place to see what happens next.

He put the teapot onto the mijmah to heat. When it was ready he poured himself a glass of tea and lighted his cigarette. Afterward he shut his eyes. Quickly he was back in the darkness of the forest, near the wall of tree-roots. He found the nest, and looked at it as he passed. There was nothing in it.

And now he discovered a way of getting past the wall of roots, into the other part of the forest. It was a narrow winding passage. As he pushed ahead, he became aware of a red light flickering in the distance. He watched it moving, and knew it was fire. After a while he came to where he could see the flames. There was a cave ahead, and in its floor was a huge hole, full of fire. As he stood looking, there was an explosion, and the fire belched up like red water out of the hole, higher and higher, until the roof of the cave was a glowing crescent.

This sight delighted Baraka, for he felt that he had come upon something marvellous. He walked on through the maze of roots. The passage led him out onto open ground at the top of a steep cliff. Far below there was another forest, but he would have needed a two-hundred-yard rope to reach the bottom. He saw that if he went for miles along the edge of the cliff he might find a way down.

Baraka stood for a while, letting his eye run over the landscape. Then he turned and looked down at the earth near his feet. Not far away squatted a large spider, covered with black hairs. Its eyes were bright blue. As he watched, it began to move toward him. Fear seized him, and the skin tightened all over his body.

Baraka began to run, back into the maze of roots. Several times he looked over his shoulder and saw the spider coming along behind him. When he got to the darkest part of the forest he stopped looking back, and merely ran. It took him hours to get to the orchard where the roses grew. Then he turned again to see, but as he was looking back he ran full tilt into a tree. There was a terrible crash, and he opened his eyes.

He was sitting upright on his mattress, staring ahead of him. His breath came in gasps and his clothes were drenched with sweat. He looked at the table. The spider was there, on the edge of the bowl of
jduq jmel
paste. Now that he had made it real, he was no longer afraid of it. He thought: Other men dream and return with nothing. But I’ve learned how to bring things back.
Hamdoul’lah!

T
HERE WAS A POOR MAN
named Bouqoudja who had seven children. He was a
nchaioui
who smoked kif day and night. His habit was to go fishing at Achaqar on the Atlantic coast, at the place where there is a cave. Outside the entrance there is a hole in the rocks where the fishermen get fresh water.

One night when he was fishing Bouqoudja went to the hole to get some water, and he set down a large candle on the rocks. His head was full of kif, and after drinking he went away, leaving the candle burning. The following morning when he returned, it was still burning. He went into the cave and sat down in the dark.

A family arrived at Achaqar to spend the day on the beach, and they came upon the waterhole with the lighted candle beside it. Oh, an altar! they cried. Then they looked into cave and saw the man sitting in the darkness inside. He was smoking kif, but they did not notice that. They said nothing, in order not to disturb him, and went back to leave some coins beside the candle. These were for the saint who they thought was living in the cave. When Bouqoudja came out he saw the money. He put it into his pouch and went fishing.

That night he had good luck there at Achaqar. As he caught each fish, he tossed it up onto the rocks so that it fell near the water-hole beside the cave. The fish spattered drops of blood onto the rocks. At dawn he left the beach and went back to the town to sell the fish. He did the marketing for his family and went home.

What do you think? he said to his wife. And he told her how he had found the money by the water-hole. He decided to buy an oil lamp and put it there, instead of a candle.

When he returned to Achaqar, he discovered a hen with its throat cut, lying on the rocks. People had come and found the spots of blood there, and said to each other: Aha! They bring chickens here to sacrifice!

They began to carry fowl and kill them by the water-hole. Each time they came, they left money lying there on the rocks. Sometimes they left a whole chicken with its throat cut, or even a live one tied by its leg. There was so much to eat that Bouqoudja no longer fished. He began to wear a white turban. Then he bought a white djellaba and a white tchamir. And he let his beard grow long. He whitewashed the rocks all around the water-hole, and spent all his time in the cave.

One day a man and a woman came to see him. Sidi, they said, we have a son who is very sick. We’d like you to look at him, and write out some words for him.

Bouqoudja took a bottle and washed it thoroughly. He filled it with the water from the hole, and said to them: Give the child a spoonful of this three times a day. The people handed him a blessing of money and went away. At home they gave the boy the water as Bouqoudja had instructed. The boy got well, and they came back to see the saint.

Here’s the boy. He’s well. Hamdoul’lah! And now we want to give you a baraka.

He thanked them and they went away.

A khalifa who had heard of the shrine of Sidi Bouqoudja came to visit it, bringing his soldiers with him. They prepared a feast there on the rocks, and the khalifa went to the cave to talk with the saint.

Bouqoudja was sitting in the darkest part of the cave. The kif smoke was very strong.

What are you doing in here? demanded the khalifa, sniffing. Where’s the saint?

Bouqoudja did not reply, and the khalifa went out of the cave, and left nothing on the rocks for the saint.