The smith seemed taken aback. "Verily, El Hassan has stated that the
product of the labor of the slave is accursed."
"El Hassan! Who is El Hassan and why should the work of a slave be
accursed?"
One of the tribesmen said, "I have heard of this El Hassan. Rumors of
his teachings spread through the land. He is to lead us all, Tuareg,
Arab and Sudanese, until we are all as rich as Roumas."
Omar said, "It is well known that the Roumas and especially the
Americans are all rich as Emirs but none of them ever possess slaves.
The bedouin have slaves but fail to prosper. Verily, the product of the
labor of the slave is accursed."
"Madness," Moussa-ag-Amastan muttered. "If you do not let our slave
women do your tasks, then they will remain undone. No Tuareg woman will
work."
* * * * *
But the headman of his clan was wrong.
The smiths remained four days in all, and the abundance of their
products was too much. What verbal battles might have taken place in the
tent of Moussa-ag-Amastan, and in those of his followers, the smiths
couldn't know, but Tuareg women are not dominated by their men. On the
second day, three Tuareg women applied for the position of servants, at
surprisingly high pay. Envy ran roughshod when they later displayed the
textiles and utensils they purchased with their wages.
Nor could the aged Tuareg chief prevent in the evening discussions
between the men, a thorough pursuing of the new ideas sweeping through
the Ahaggar. Though these strangers proclaimed themselves lowly
Enaden--itinerant desert smiths--they were obviously not to be dismissed
as a caste little higher than Haratin serfs. Even the first night they
were invited to the tent of Moussa-ag-Amastan to share the dinner of
shorba soup, cous cous and the edible paste _kaboosh_, made of cheese,
butter and spices. It was an adequate desert meal, meat being eaten not
more than a few times a year by such as the Taitoq Tuareg who couldn't
afford to consume the animals upon which they lived.
After mint tea, one of the younger Tarqui leaned forward. He said, "You
have brought strange news, oh Enaden of wealth, and we would know more.
We of the Ahaggar hear little from outside."
Moussa-ag-Amastan scowled at his clansman, for his presumption, but Omar
answered, his voice sincere and carrying conviction. "The world moves
fast, men of the desert, and the things that were verily true even
yesterday, have changed today."
"To the sorrow of the Tuareg!" snapped Moussa-ag-Amastan.
The other looked at him. "Not always, old one. Surely in your youth you
remember when such diseases as the one the Roumas once called the
disease of Venus, ran rampant through the tribes. When trachoma, the
sickness of the eyes, was known as the scourge of the Sahara. When half
the children, not only of Bela slaves and Haratin serfs, but also of the
Surgu noble clans, died before the age of ten."
"Admittedly, the magic of the Roumas cured many such ills," an older
warrior growled.
"Not their magic, their learning," the smith named El Ma el Ainin put
in. "And, verily, now the schools are open to all the people."
"Schools are not for such as the Bela and Haratin," the clan chief
protested. "The Koran should not be taught to slaves."
El Ma el Ainin said gently, "The Koran is not taught at all in the new
schools, old one. The teachings of the Prophet are still made known to
those interested, in the schools connected with the mosques, but only
the teachings of science are made in the new schools."
"The teachings of the Rouma!" a Tuareg protested, carefully slipping his
glass of tea beneath his teguelmoust so that he could drink without his
mouth being obscenely revealed.
Omar ben Crawf laughed. "That is what we have allowed the Roumas to have
us believe for much too long," he stated. "El Hassan has proven
otherwise. Much of the wisdom of science has its roots in the lands of
Asia and of Africa. The Roumas were savages in skins while the earliest
civilizations were being developed in Africa and Asia Minor. Hardly a
science now developed by the Roumas of Europe and America but had its
beginning with us." He turned to the elderly chief.
"You Tuareg are of Berber background. But a few centuries ago, the
Berbers of Morocco, known as the Moors to the Rouma, leavened only with
a handful of Jews and Arabs, built up in Spain the highest civilization
in all the world of that time. We would be foolish, we of Africa, to
give credit to the Rouma for so much of what our ancestors presented to
the world."
The Tuareg were astonished. They had never heard such words.
Moussa-ag-Amastan was not appeased. "You sound like a Rouma, yourself,"
he said. "Where have you learned of all this?"
The smiths chuckled their amusement.
Abrahim el Bakr said, "Verily, old one, have you ever seen a black
Rouma?"
Omar ben Crawf, the headman of the smiths, went on. "El Hassan has
proclaimed great new beliefs that spread through all North Africa, and
eventually, _Inshallah_, throughout the continent. Through his great
learning he has assimilated the wisdom of all the prophets, all the
wisemen of all the world, and proclaims their truths."
The Tuareg chief was becoming increasingly irritated. Such talk as this
was little short of blasphemy to his ears, but the fascination of the
discussion was beyond him to ignore. And he knew that even if he did his
young men, in particular, would only seek out the strangers on their own
and then he would not be present to mitigate their interest. In spite of
himself, now he growled, "What beliefs? What truths? I know not of this
El Hassan of whom you speak."
Omar said slowly, "Among them, the teachings of a great wise man from a
far land. That all men should be considered equal in the eyes of society
and should have equal right to life, liberty and the pursuit of
happiness."
"Equal!" one of the warriors ejaculated. "This is not wisdom, but
nonsense. No two men are equal."
Omar waggled a finger negatively. "Like so many, you fail to explore the
teaching. Obviously, no man of wisdom would contend that all men are
equally tall, or strong, or wise, or cunning, nor even fortunate. _No_
two men are equal in such regards. But all men should have equal right
to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, whatever that might mean
to him as an individual."
One of the Tuareg said slyly, "And the murderer of one of your kinsmen,
should he, too, have life and liberty, in the belief of El Hassan?"
"Obviously, the community must protect itself against those who would
destroy the life or liberty of others. The murderer of a kinsman of
mine, as well as any other man, myself included, should be subject
equally to the same law."
It was a new conception to members of a tribal society such as that of
the Ahaggar Tuareg. They stirred under both its appeal and its negation
of all they knew. A man owed alliance to his immediate family, to his
clan, his tribe, then to the Tuareg confederation--in decreasing degree.
Beyond that, all were enemies, as all men knew.
One protested slowly, seeking out his words, "Your El Hassan preaches
this equality, but surely the wiser man and the stronger man will soon
find his way to the top in any land, in any tribe, even in the nations
of the Rouma."
Omar shrugged. "Who could contend otherwise? But each man should be free
to develop his own possibilities, be they strength of arm or of brain.
Let no man exploit another, nor suppress another's abilities. If a Bela
slave has more ability than a Surgu Tuareg noble, let him profit to the
full by his gifts."
There was a cold silence.
Omar finished gently by saying, "Or so El Hassan teaches, and so they
teach in the new schools in Tamanrasset and Gao, in Timbuktu and Reggan,
in the big universities at Kano, Dakar, Bamako, Accra and Abidian. And
throughout North Africa the wave of the future flows over the land."
"It is a flood of evil," Moussa-ag-Amastan said definitely.
* * * * *
But in spite of the antagonism of the clan headman and of the older
Tuareg warriors, the stories of the smiths continued to spread. It was
not even beyond them to discuss, long and quietly, with the Bela slaves
the ideas of the mysterious El Hassan, and to talk of the plentiful
jobs, the high wages, at the dams, the new oases, and in the
afforestation projects.
Somehow the news of their presence spread, and another clan of nomad
Tuareg arrived and pitched their tents, to handle the wares of the
smiths and to bring their metal work for repair. And to listen to their
disturbing words.
As amazing as any of the new products was the solar powered, portable
television set which charged its batteries during the daylight hours and
then flashed on its screen the images and the voices and music of
entertainers and lecturers, teachers and storytellers, for all to see.
In the beginning it had been difficult, for the eye of the desert man is
not trained to pick up a picture. He has never seen one, and would not
recognize his own photograph. But in time, it came to them.
The programs originated in Tamanrasset and in Salah, in Zinder and Fort
Lamy and one of the smiths revealed that the mysterious waves, that fed
the device its programs, were bounced off tiny moons which the Rouma had
rocketed up into the sky for that purpose. A magic understandable only
to marabouts and such, without doubt.
At the end of their period of stay, the smiths, to the universal
surprise of all, gave the mystery device to two sisters, kinswomen of
Moussa-ag-Amastan, who were particularly interested in the teachers and
lecturers who told of the new world aborning. The gift was made in the
full understanding that all should be allowed to listen and watch, and
it was clear that if ever the set needed repair it was to be left
untinkered with and taken to Tamanrasset or the nearest larger
settlement where it would be fixed free of charge.
There were many strange features about the smiths, as each man could
see. Among others, were their strange weapons. There had been some soft
whispered discussion among the warriors in the first two days of their
stay about relieving the strangers of their obviously desirable
possessions--after all, they weren't kinsmen, not even Tuareg. But on
the second day, the always smiling one named Abrahim el Bakr had been on
the outskirts of the _erg_ when a small group of gazelle were flushed.
The graceful animals took off at a prohibitive rifle range, as usual,
but Abrahim el Bakr had thrown his small, all but tiny weapon to his
shoulder and _flic flic flic_, with a sound no greater than the cracking
of a ground nut, had knocked over three of them before the others had
disappeared around a dune.
Obviously, the weapons of the smiths were as great as their learning and
their new instruments. It was discouraging to a raider by instinct.
Then, too, there was the strangeness of the night talks their leader was
known to have with his secret _Kambu_ fetish which was able to answer
him in a squeaky but distinct voice in some unknown tongue, obviously a
language of the djinn. The _Kambu_ was worn on a strap on Omar's wrist,
and each night at a given hour he was wont to withdraw to his tent and
there confer.
On the fourth night, obviously, he was given instruction by the _Kambu_
for in the morning, at first light, the smiths hurriedly packed, broke
camp, made their good-byes to Moussa-ag-Amastan and the others and were
off.
Moussa-ag-Amastan was glad to see them go. They were quite the most
disturbing element to upset his people in many seasons. He wondered at
the advisability of making their usual summer journey to the Tuareg
sedentary centers. He had a feeling that if the clan got near enough to
such centers as Zinder to the south, or Touggourt to the north, there
would be wholesale desertion of the Bela, and, for that matter, even of
some of his younger warriors and their wives.
However, there was no putting off indefinitely exposure to this danger.
Even in such former desert centers as Tessalit and In Salah, the
irrigation projects were of such magnitude that there was a great labor
shortage. But always, of course, as the smiths had said, if you worked
at the projects your children must needs attend the schools. And that
way lay disaster!
The five smiths took out overland in the direction of Djanet on the
border of what had once been known as Libya and famed for its cliffs
which tower over twenty-five hundred feet above the town. Their solar
powered, air cushion, hover-lorries, threw up their clouds of dust and
sand to right and left, but they made good time over the _erg_. A good
hovercraft driver could do much to even out a rolling landscape,
changing his altitude from a few inches here to as much as twenty-five
feet there, given, of course, enough power in his solar batteries,
although that was little problem in this area where clouds were
sometimes not seen for years on end.
This was back of the beyond, the wasteland of earth. Only the interior
of the Arabian peninsula and the Gobi could compete and, of course, even
the Gobi was beginning to be tamed under the afforestation efforts of
the teeming multitudes of China who had suffered its disastrous storms
down through the millennia.
* * * * *
Omar checked and checked again with the instrument on his wrist, asking
and answering, his voice worried.
Finally they pulled up beside a larger than usual wadi and Omar ben
Crawf stared thoughtfully out over it. The one they had named Abrahim el
Bakr stood beside him and the others slightly to the rear.
Abrahim el Bakr nodded, for once his face unsmiling. "Those cats'll come
down here," he said. "Nothing else would make sense, not even to an
Egyptian."
"I think you're right," Omar growled. He said over his shoulder, "Bey,
get the trucks out of sight, over that dune. Elmer, you and Kenny set
the gun up over there. Solid slugs, and try to avoid their cargo. We
don't want to set off a Fourth of July here. Bey, when you're finished
with the trucks, take that Tommy-Noiseless of yours and flank them from
over behind those rocks. Take a couple of clips extra, for good
luck--you won't need them, though."
"How many are there supposed to be?" Abrahim el Bakr asked, his voice
empty of humor now.
"Eight half-trucks, two armed jeeps, or land-rovers, one or the other.
Probably about forty men, Abe."
"All armed," Abe said flatly.
"Um-m-m. Listen, that's them coming. Right down the _wadi_. Get going
men. Abe, you cover me."
Abe Bakr looked at him. "Wha'd'ya mean, cover you, man? You slipped all
the way round the bend? Listen, let me plant a couple quick land mines
to stop 'em and we'll get ourselves behind these rocks and blast those
cats half way back to Cairo."
"We'll warn them as per orders."
"Crazy man, like you're the boss, Homer," Abe growled. "But why'd I ever
leave New Jersey?" He made his way to the right, to the top of the
wadi's bank and behind a clump of thorny bush. He made himself
comfortable, the light Tommy-Noiseless with its clip of two hundred .10
caliber, ultra-high velocity shells resting before him on a flat rock
outcropping. He thoughtfully flicked the selector to the explosive side
of the clip. Let Homer Crawford say what he would about not setting off
a Fourth of July, but if he needed covering in the moments to come, he'd
need it bad.
The chips were down now.
The convoy, the motors growling their protests of the hard going even
here at the gravel bottomed wadi river bed, made its way toward them at
a pace of approximately twenty kilometers per hour.
The lead jeep--Skoda manufacture, Homer Crawford noted cynically--was
some thirty meters in advance. It drew to a halt upon seeing him and a
turbaned Arab Union trooper swung a Brenn gun in his direction.
An officer stood up in the jeep and yelled at Crawford in Arabic.
The American took a deep breath and said in the same language, "You're
out of your own territory."
The officer's face went poker-expressionless. He looked at the lone
figure, dressed in the garb of the Tuareg, even to the turban-veil which
covers all but the eyes of these notorious Apaches of the Sahara.
"This is no affair of yours," the lieutenant said. "Who are you?"
Homer Crawford said very clearly, "Sahara Division, African Development
Project, Reunited Nations. You're far out of your own territory,
lieutenant. I'll have to report you, and also to demand that you turn
and go back to your origin."
The lieutenant flicked his hand, and the trooper behind the Brenn gun
sighted the weapon and tightened his trigger finger.
Crawford dropped to the ground and rolled desperately for a slight
depression that would provide cover. He could have saved himself the
resultant bruises and scratches. Before the Brenn gun spoke even once,
there was a _Goetterdammerung_ of sound and the three occupants of the
jeep, driver, lieutenant and gunner were swept from the vehicle in a
nauseating obscenity of exploding flesh, uniform cloth, blood and bone.
[Illustration]
To the side, Abe Bakr behind his thorn bush and rock vantage point
turned the barrel of his Tommy-Noiseless to the first of the half
tracks. Already Arab Union troopers were debouching from them, some
firing at random and at unseen targets. However, the so-called Enaden
smiths were well concealed, their weapons silenced except for the
explosion of the tiny shells upon reaching their target.
It wasn't much of a fight. The recoilless automatic rifle manned by
Elmer Allen and Kenny Ballalou swept the wadi, swept it of life, at
least, but hardly swept it clean. What few individuals were left, in
what little shelter was to be found in the dry river's bottom, were
picked off easily, if not neatly by the high velocity automatics in the
hands of Abe Bakr and Bey-ag-Akhamouk.
Afterwards, the five of them, standing at the side of the wadi, stared
down at their work.
Elmer Allen muttered a bitter four-letter obscenity. He had once headed
a pacifist group at the University in Kingston, Jamaica. Now his teeth
were bared, as they always were when he went into action. He hated it.
Of them all, Bey-ag-Ahkamouk was the least moved by the slaughter. He
grumbled, "Guns, explosives, mortar, flame throwers. If there is
anything in the world my people don't need in the way of _aid_, it's
weapons."
"Our people," Homer Crawford said absently, his eyes--taking in the
scene beneath them--empty, as though unseeing. He hated the need for
killing, almost as badly as did Elmer Allen.
Bey looked at him, scowling slightly, but said nothing. There had been
mild rebuke in his leader's voice.
"Well," Abe Bakr said with a tone of mock finality in his voice, as
though he was personally wiping his hands of the whole affair, "how are
you going to explain all this jazz to headquarters, man?"
Homer said flatly, "We were attacked by this unidentified group of, ah,
gun runners, from some unknown origin. We defended ourselves, to the
best of our ability."
Elmer Allen looked at the once human mess below them. "We certainly
did," he muttered, scowling.
"Crazy man," Abe said, nodding his agreement to the alibi.
The others didn't bother to speak. Homer Crawford's unit was well knit.
He said after a moment. "Abe, you and Kenny get some dynamite and plant
it in this wadi wall in a few spots. We'll want to bury this whole mess.
It wouldn't do for someone to come along and blow himself up on some of
these scattered land mines, or find himself a bazooka or something to
use on his nearest blood-feud neighbor."