Gold Dust: A Modern Arabic Novel PDF
Preview Gold Dust: A Modern Arabic Novel
Gold Dust Gold Dust Ibrahim al-Koni Translated by Elliott Colla First published in 2008 by The American University in Cairo Press 113 Sharia Kasr el Aini, Cairo, Egypt 420 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10018 www.aucpress.com Copyright © 1990 by Ibrahim al-Koni First published in Arabic in 1990 as al-Tibr Protected under the Berne Convention English translation copyright © 2008 by Elliott Colla All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher. Dar el Kutub No. 20184/07 ISBN 978 977 416 143 8 Dar el Kutub Cataloging-in-Publication Data al-Koni, Ibrahim Gold Dust / Ibrahim al-Koni; translated by Elliott Colla.— Cairo: The American University in Cairo Press, 2008 p. cm. ISBN 977 416 143 2 1. Arabic fiction I. Colla, Elliott (trans.) II. Title 813 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 12 11 10 09 08 Designed by Sally Boylan/AUC Press Design Center Printed in Egypt Gold Dust For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; even one thing befalleth them: as the one dieth, so dieth the other; yea, they have all one breath; so that a man hath no preeminence above a beast: for all is vanity. All go unto one place; all are of the dust, and all turn to dust again. Ecclesiastes 3:19–20 Among those owing fealty to the sultan of this kingdom are the peoples of the deserts of gold dust. The heathen savages who live there bring him gold each year, and when the sultan wishes, he seizes them as his slaves. But as the rulers of this kingdom know from experience, no sooner do they conquer one of these cities than the gold begins to dwindle. No sooner do they establish Islam there, and no sooner does the call to prayer go out, than the gold dries up completely. Meanwhile, throughout the neighboring heathen countries, the gold continues to grow and grow. Ibn Fadlallah al-‘Umari (1301–1349) The Kingdom of Mali and its Surroundings 1 When Ukhayyad received the camel as a gift from the chief of the Ahaggar tribes, he was still a young colt. Back then, on moonlit nights, Ukhayyad liked to brag about the thoroughbred camel to the other young men of the tribe, taking pleasure in posing questions to himself and then answering them. “Have any of you ever seen a piebald Mahri before?” “Never!” “Have you ever seen a thoroughbred so graceful, so light of foot and so well proportioned?” “Not until now.” “Have you ever seen a Mahri who could compete with him in pride, fierceness, and loyalty?” “Not like this one.” “Have you ever seen a gazelle who took on the form of a camel?” “Of course not.” “Did you ever see anything more beautiful or noble? “No, no, no! Admit it—you’ve never seen such a thing before and you never will again!” He would leap into the open skipping like a dancing madman until, exhausted, he would collapse on his back on the sand. There, he would raise his voice, singing one of those bewitching songs, like charms against loneliness that riders take refuge in whenever they travel across waterless deserts. He would sing his sad ballad and close with well-known lines taken from the epic of Amud’s war against the French invasion of the desert: How well did we receive Amud when he approached! We gave him thoroughbreds dressed for war And lent him riders who never miss their mark . . . Ukhayyad’s passion for the piebald thoroughbred grew so intense that he finally sought out a famous poetess of the Kel Abada tribes. He asked her to compose a poem glorifying the Mahri’s innate qualities and extolling his talents, likening him to warrior heroes. All night long the young man sat enumerating the qualities of the piebald: “He’s piebald. He’s graceful and long legged. He’s well bred. He’s fierce and loyal.” “It’s not wrong for a rider to laud the qualities of his mount or to sing about him like an angel,” the experienced poetess abruptly interrupted. “But when you decide to commit praise to verse, you must follow convention. Poetry has its rules, after all! Your Mahri has never raised a battle cry nor made a name for himself at dancing festivals.” Confused, Ukhayyad tried to hide his embarrassment behind his veil. “But he’s piebald,” he blurted out. “It’s enough that he’s piebald. Did you ever see a piebald Mahri before?” In the past, he had entrusted the vassals of the tribe with the job of breaking in the Mahri and getting him used to the bridle. But that had to change now—it would be wrong for him to rely on vassals to teach him to dance too. In the desert, only noblemen trained camels to dance in front of the womenfolk. 2 Before entering the ring, Ukhayyad wanted to fit out the camel in style. He borrowed most of the necessities, from the saddle and saddlecloth to the bridle, reins, bag, and even the whip. His old dressings were pale and dull-colored, bleached by the sun and unfit for adorning a Mahri that was preparing to dance in front of women, swaying back and forth to the rhythm and melody of music. He spent an entire day fitting out his equipage. The saddle had been crafted by the cleverest of the Ghat smiths. The dressing was an embroidered kilim rug brought from Touat by merchants. The bridle had been braided by old women of the Ifoghas tribe in Ghadamès. The travel bag had been stitched by the fingers of Tamenrasset noblewomen. The whip was a rare piece, covered by strips of leather on which hands in Kano had once engraved magical charms. After the whip played its role in bringing about Ukhayyad’s disgrace, some elders guessed that it had been supplied to him by the envious young men of the tribe. He entered the clearing after noon. In the small valley, the women sat in a circle around their drums. The younger women made a wider ring around them. The sheikhs took their place on the rise to the south, the men and boys stood across from them, their heads wrapped in lavish blue turbans. When they strode, they swaggered with the pride of peacocks. The Mahri thoroughbreds were hitched together in a long line on the two sides of the open space, one set to the west, another, facing it, fixed to the east. Soon a wedding procession made its way into the valley. The celebration was for one of the tribe’s vassals—a habitual divorcer and marrier who had decided this time to take a beautiful mulatta, choosing to savor the taste of Tuareg blood mixed with the heat of Africans. The entertainment now began with the secondary formations. Two sleek riders from the western line went first, then two set off opposite them from the east. They met beside the dance arena and galloped off to a torrent of ululations. Ukhayyad got ready. Beside him gleamed one of the vassal youths, crowned with a Tagolmost turban and girthed with a shiny leather belt. He sat on an
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