THE RENEGADE
13
enveloping snow, no, it's a rather grayish yellow, the ugly moment
before the great resplendence. Nothing, still nothing from here to
the horizon over yonder where the plateau disappears in a circle of
still soft colors. Behind me, the trail climbs to the dune hiding
TagMsa whose iron name has been beating in my head for so many
years. The first to mention it to me was the half-blind old priest who
had retired to our monastery, but why do
I
say the first, he was the
only one, and it wasn't the city of salt, the white walls under the
blinding sun that struck me in his account but the cruelty of the
savage inhabitants and the town closed to
all
outsiders, only one of
those who had tried to get in, one alone, to his knowledge, had lived
to relate what he had seen. They had whipped him and driven
him
out into the desert after having put salt on his wounds and in
his
mouth, he had met nomads who for once were compassionate, a
stroke of luck, and since then
I
had been dreaming about his tale,
about the fire of the salt and the sky, about the House of the Fetish
and his slaves, could anything more barbarous, more exciting be
imagined, yes, that was my mission and
I
had to go and reveal to
them my Lord.
They all expatiated on the subject at the seminary to discourage
me, pointing out the necessity of waiting, that it was not missionary
country, that
I
wasn't ready yet,
I
had to prepare myself specially,
know who
I
was, and even then
I
had to go through tests, then they
would see! But go on waiting, ah, no I-yes, if they insisted, for
the special preparation and the try-out because they took place at
Algiers and brought me closer, but for all the rest
I
shook my pig–
head and repeated the same thing, to get among the most barbarous
and live as they did, to show them at home, and even
in
the House
of the Fetish, through example, that my Lord's truth would prevail.
They would offend me, of course, but
I
was not afraid of offenses,
they were essential to the demonstration, and as a result of the way
I
endured them I'd get the upper hand of those savages like a strong
sun. Strong, yes, that was the word
I
constantly had on the tip of
my tongue,
I
dreamed of absolute power, the kind that makes people
kneel down, that forces the adversary to capitulate, converts him in
short, and the blinder, the crueler he is, the more he's sure of himself,
mired in his own conviction, the more his consent establishes the
royalty of whoever brought about his collapse. Converting good folk
