"Come on, come on. Don't get excited over it."
He took me by the arm and shook me. I saw his eyes big with terror and
astonishment.
"Are you mad?" he yelled in my face.
"Not so loud," I replied with the same little laugh.
He looked at me again, and sank down, overcome, on a rock opposite me.
Eg-Anteouen was still smoking placidly at the mouth of the cave. We
could see the red circle of his pipe glowing in the darkness.
"Madman! Madman!" repeated Morhange. His voice seemed to stick in his
throat.
Suddenly he bent over the brush which was giving its last darts of
flame, high and clear. He picked out a branch which had not yet
caught. I saw him examine it carefully, then throw it back in the fire
with a loud laugh.
"Ha! Ha! That's good, all right!"
He staggered toward Eg-Anteouen, pointing to the fire.
"It's hemp. Hasheesh, hasheesh. Oh, that's a good one, all right."
"Yes, it's a good one," I repeated, bursting into laughter.
Eg-Anteouen quietly smiled approval. The dying fire lit his
inscrutable face and flickered in his terrible dark eyes.
A moment passed. Suddenly Morhange seized the Targa's arm.
"I want to smoke, too," he said. "Give me a pipe." The specter gave
him one.
"What! A European pipe?"
"A European pipe," I repeated, feeling gayer and gayer.
"With an initial, 'M.' As if made on purpose. M.... Captain Morhange."
"Masson," corrected Eg-Anteouen quietly.
"Captain Masson," I repeated in concert with Morhange.
We laughed again.
"Ha! Ha! Ha! Captain Masson.... Colonel Flatters.... The well of
Garama. They killed him to take his pipe ... that pipe. It was
Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh who killed Captain Masson."
"It was Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh," repeated the Targa with imperturbable
calm.
"Captain Masson and Colonel Flatters had left the convoy to look for
the well," said Morhange, laughing.
"It was then that the Tuareg attacked them," I finished, laughing as
hard as I could.
"A Targa of Ahagga seized the bridle of Captain Masson's horse," said
Morhange.
"Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh had hold of Colonel Flatters' bridle," put in
Eg-Anteouen.
"The Colonel puts his foot in the stirrup and receives a cut from
Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh's saber," I said.
"Captain Masson draws his revolver and fires on Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh,
shooting off three fingers of his left hand," said Morhange.
"But," finished Eg-Anteouen imperturbably, "but Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh,
with one blow of his saber, splits Captain Masson's skull."..
He gave a silent, satisfied laugh as he spoke. The dying flame lit up
his face. We saw the gleaming black stem of his pipe. He held it in
his left hand. One finger, no, two fingers only on that hand. Hello! I
had not noticed that before.
Morhange also noticed it, for he finished with a loud laugh.
"Then, after splitting his skull, you robbed him. You took his pipe
from him. Bravo, Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh!"
Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh does not reply, but I can see how satisfied with
himself he is. He keeps on smoking. I can hardly see his features now.
The firelight pales, dies. I have never laughed so much as this
evening. I am sure Morhange never has, either. Perhaps he will forget
the cloister. And all because Ceghéir-ben-Cheikh stole Captain
Masson's pipe....
Again that accursed song. "The seventh is a boy, one of whose eyes has
flown away." One cannot imagine more senseless words. It is very
strange, really: there seem to be four of us in this cave now. Four, I
say, five, six, seven, eight.... Make yourselves at home, my friends.
What! there are no more of you?... I am going to find out at last how
the spirits of this region are made, the _Gamphasantes_, the
_Blemyens_.... Morhange says that the _Blemyens_ have their faces on
the middle of their chests. Surely this one who is seizing me in his
arms is not a _Blemyen_! Now he is carrying me outside. And Morhange
... I do not want them to forget Morhange....
They did not forget him; I see him perched on a camel in front of that
one to which I am fastened. They did well to fasten me, for otherwise
I surely would tumble off. These spirits certainly are not bad
fellows. But what a long way it is! I want to stretch out. To sleep. A
while ago we surely were following a long passage, then we were in the
open air. Now we are again in an endless stifling corridor. Here are
the stars again.... Is this ridiculous course going to keep on?...
Hello, lights! Stars, perhaps. No, lights, I say. A stairway, on my
word; of rocks, to be sure, but still, a stairway. How can the
camels...? But it is no longer a camel; this is a man carrying me. A
man dressed in white, not a _Gamphasante_ nor a _Blemyen_. Morhange
must be giving himself airs with his historical reasoning, all false,
I repeat, all false. Good Morhange. Provided that his _Gamphasante_
does not let him fall on this unending stairway. Something glitters on
the ceiling. Yes, it is a lamp, a copper lamp, as at Tunis, at
Barbouchy's. Good, here again you cannot see anything. But I am making
a fool of myself; I am lying down; now I can go to sleep. What a silly
day!... Gentlemen, I assure you that it is unnecessary to bind me: I
do not want to go down on the boulevards.
Darkness again. Steps of someone going away. Silence.
But only for a moment. Someone is talking beside me. What are they
saying?... No, it is impossible. That metallic ring, that voice. Do
you know what it is calling, that voice, do you know what it is
calling in the tones of someone used to the phrase? Well, it is
calling:
"Play your cards, gentlemen, play your cards. There are ten thousand
_louis_ in the bank. Play your cards, gentlemen."
In the name of God, am I or am I not at Ahaggar?