46
PARTISAN REVIEW
precautions were taken to guard him, save that he was kept among
them, one man always staying at the rear of the party. They came
within sight of the walls at dawn, and they waited among the rocks
all day. At dusk the youngest started out, and in three hours he re–
turned with a friend who carried a stout cane. They tried to put the
Professor through his routine then and there, but the man from
Fogara was in a hurry to get back to town, so they all set out on the
meharis.
In the town they went directly to the villager's home, where
they had coffee in the courtyard sitting among the camels. Here the
Professor went into his act again, and this time there was prolonged
merriment and much rubbing together of hands. An agreement was
reached, a sum of money paid, and the Chaamba withdrew, leaving
the Professor in the house of the man with the cane, who did not
delay in locking him into a tiny enclosure off the courtyard.
The next day was an important one in the Professor's life, for
it was then that pain began to stir again in
his
being. A group of
men came to the house, among whom was a venerable gentleman,
better clothed than those others who spent their time flattering him,
setting fervent kisses upon his hands and the edges of his garments.
This person made a point of going into classical Arabic from time to
time, to impress the others, who had not learned a word of the Koran.
Thus
his
conversation would run more or less as follows: "Perhaps at
In Salah. The French there are stupid. Celestial vengeance is ap–
proaching. Let us not hasten it. Praise the highest and cast thine
anathema against idols. With paint on his face. In case the police wish
to look close." The others listened and agreed, nodding their heads
slowly and solemnly. And the Professor in his stall beside them
listened, too. That is, he was
conscious
of the sound of the old man's
Arabic. The words penetrated for . the first time in many months.
Noises, then: "Celestial vengeance is approaching." Then: "It is an
honor. Fifty francs is enough. Keep your money. Good." And the
caouadji squatting near him at the edge of the precipice. Then
"anathema against idols" and more gibberish. He turned over panting
on the sand and forgot about it. But the pain had begun. It operated
in a kind of delirium, because he had begun to enter into conscious–
ness again. When the man opened the door and prodded him with
his cane, he cried out in a rage, and everyone laughed.
They got him onto his feet, but he would not dance. He stood
before them, staring at the ground, stubbornly refusing to move. The
