The Lost Army (4 page)

‘The army arrived as night was falling and the sight left everyone stunned: old people and young, women and children. I dare say that the entire population of the five Villages of the Belt had run to see what was happening. No one had ever seen the like. Thousands of warriors on horseback dressed in tunics and long trousers, carrying sabres, pikes and bows, advancing from the north and heading south. At the head of every division were officers wearing the most extravagant outfits, their weapons glittering in the setting sun. At the head of them all, surrounded by bodyguards, was a tall, slender young man with olive skin and a black, well-groomed beard. I wouldn’t learn until later who he was, and I’d never forget him: he was one of the two brothers I told you of. Brothers and enemies. Their bloody struggle would overwhelm the destinies of countless human beings, sweeping them away like logs in a raging river.

‘There was one division of that army that struck me most of all: men dressed in short tunics with bronze breastplates. They held enormous shields made of the same metal and wore red cloaks over their shoulders. I would later learn that they were the most powerful warriors in the world: no one could stand up to them in battle, no one could hope to beat them. They never tired and were heedless of hunger and thirst, heat and frost. They advanced on foot with a cadenced step, singing softly to the rhythm of flutes. Their commanders marched alongside them, and the only way you could tell them apart from their men was because they walked outside the ranks.

‘New divisions kept arriving, hour after hour, and when the first had already pitched their tents and eaten, the last were still on the march towards their rest stop: our peaceful villages.

‘This unfolding of events made my crazy plan possible: the village men were so overcome with curiosity that no one wanted to return home for dinner; they had their women bring the food to them so that they wouldn’t miss an instant of what was happening. No one noticed when I slipped off, or maybe my mother did, but she said nothing.

‘The moon was out that night and the chorus of crickets sang louder and louder as I drew further away from the villages and the vast camp that continued to expand in every direction, gobbling up any free, open space. I had to keep far away from the well because there was an unending line of men, asses and camels laden with jars and skins, waiting to quench the thirst of that huge army. I could see the palm grove in the distance by the river, its fronds swaying in the evening breeze. The water glistened in the moonlight, hurrying to join the great Euphrates, far to the east.

‘Every step that brought me closer to that place made me tremble with emotion. I was filled with a sensation I’d never felt my whole life: an anxiety that took my breath away and a heady excitement that made me so light-footed that I might take flight at any time. I ran over the last stretch that separated me from the palm trees and looked around.

‘No one was there.

‘Maybe I’d imagined the whole thing, or maybe I had misinterpreted what the young man had wanted to say with his gestures and signs, in those few words spoken in a language that wasn’t his own. Maybe he wanted to trick me and was hiding behind the trunk of a palm tree and would pop out and frighten me. I looked and looked but there was no sign of anyone. I couldn’t believe that he hadn’t come. I waited. I don’t remember how long, but I watched the moon sink towards the horizon and the constellation of the lioness disappear behind the distant peaks of the Taurus. No use waiting any longer. I’d been wrong about him and it was time to go back home.

‘I sighed and began to start back when I heard the sound of galloping to my left. I turned and in a cloud of dust shot through with moon beams I distinctly saw a horse ridden by a young man urging him forward at great speed. In a moment he was there before me. He pulled on the horse’s reins and jumped down.

‘Perhaps he too had been afraid he wouldn’t find me? Maybe he felt the same apprehension, the same desire, the same restlessness that poured through me? We ran into each other’s arms and kissed with an almost delirious feverishness . . .’

Abira broke off, remembering that she was talking to young girls who had never known a man, and she looked down, confused. When she lifted her head she was weeping with heartfelt abandon, eyes misting over then spilling with tears as big as raindrops. She must have loved him more than we could even imagine. And suffered, tremendously. But a wave of modesty seemed to have come over her, and stopped her from telling the story of her passion to such inexperienced, innocent girls. We sat there and watched her for a long time, not knowing what to say or how to console her. At last she raised her head. She dried her eyes and returned to her tale.

‘That night I understood what my mother had meant. I knew that if I stayed in the village, if I gave in to my destiny and married an insignificant man, undeserving of a spirit as passionate as my own, I would end up being offended by the mere thought of him, and intimacy would be absolutely unbearable. I understood what it meant to be loved, swept away by another’s passion, our bodies and souls vibrating with the same intensity. This young warrior had made me touch the face of the moon and ride the back of the torrent.

‘We loved each other every night, for those few days that the army stayed encamped, and with each passing hour my anguish grew at the thought of how soon we would part. How could I live without him? How could I resign myself to the goats and sheep of Beth Qadà after mounting that spirited steed? How could I bear the sleepy lethargy of my village after knowing the heat that sets your flesh on fire and injects the light of folly into your eyes? I wanted desperately to talk to him, but he couldn’t have understood me. When he talked to me in his language, so smooth and soft and sweet, all I could hear was music.

‘Our last night.

‘We lay on the dried grass under the palms watching the myriad stars twinkling between the leaves, and I could feel the need to weep welling up in me. He was leaving, and would soon forget me. His life would oblige him to forget me: he’d see other villages, other cities, rivers, mountains, valleys and many, many other people. He was a warrior, betrothed to death, and he knew that every day could be his last. He would enjoy other women, why shouldn’t he? But what would become of me? How long would the memory of him torment me? How many times would I leave my bed on a hot summer night, dripping with sweat, awakened by the wind hissing over the rooftops of Beth Qadà?

‘It seemed that he could read my thoughts, and he put his arm around my shoulders and drew me close, filling me with his warmth. I asked him what his name was, but he answered with a word so difficult I would never even be able to remember it. I told him that my name was Abira and he repeated it easily, “Abira.”

‘I remember every instant of that night, the rustling of the leaves, the babbling of the river. Every kiss, every caress. I knew I’d never have anything like that again.

‘I was home before dawn, before my mother woke, when the wind still covered every other sound.

‘As I slipped under the rugs I heard a strange noise: the muffled pawing of thousands of horses’ hoofs on the cobblestones, a low neighing and snorting, and the drumroll of the war chariots. The army was striking camp! They were leaving!

‘I opened the window a crack in the hope of seeing him one last time. I watched and watched as thousands of infantry and cavalry men marched by, with their mules, asses and camels. But he was not among them!

‘My eyes searched the ranks of the mysterious red-cloaked warriors, but their faces were covered by strange-looking helmets that only let their eyes and mouth be seen, like a grotesque mask. If he were one of them, I’d never be able to recognize him. I gathered my courage and went outside. I leaned against the wall of my house, hoping that even if I couldn’t recognize him, he would recognize me and look my way, stop to say a word. Even a small gesture would enable me to keep him in my sights until he disappeared completely.

‘Nothing happened.

‘I went back to lie on my mat and I wept in silence.

‘The army filed by for hours. The people of our villages lined up on both sides of the road so as not to miss a moment of the spectacle. The elderly would compare this vision to others from their youth, the young would remember it as long as they lived and would tell the story to their grandchildren when they were old. I couldn’t care less about the parading troops. Of all of those thousands of men, only one was important, no, vital, to me.

‘Where was that army going? Where would they wreak death and destruction? I thought of how terrible men are, of how cruel, violent and bloodthirsty they can be. But the young man I’d known had a gentle look, a warm, deep voice: he was different from the rest, and the idea of not seeing him again knifed through me.

‘Would I forget him? Would this pain ever end? I would find other reasons to live, I tried to tell myself, I’d have children one day who would love me and keep me company and give meaning to my life. Did it matter who I had them with?

‘When the soldiers were gone the wind stirred up a dense cloud of dust and the last traces of the army dissolved into the mist.

‘I felt my mother’s eyes on me all that day, suspicious and cross. She must have sensed trouble in the way I was acting, in my look, in my dishevelled appearance, although what had happened was beyond her imagining. She asked me once or twice, “What’s wrong with you?”, not to have an answer but to gauge my reaction.

‘ “Nothing,” I replied. “There’s nothing wrong with me.” But the very tone of my voice, hinting that I might burst into tears at any moment, belied my words.

‘The wind calmed towards evening. I took my jar and went to the well to draw water. I went later than usual so I wouldn’t have to put up with my friends’ chatter and their curiosity. When I got there the sun was nearly touching the horizon. I filled my jar and sat on the dry stump of a palm tree. The solitude and silence gave me some solace from the turmoil of my emotions. I couldn’t stop hot tears from falling, but it was good for me to cry, I told myself, I needed to let myself go so I could heal. Cranes were soaring overhead, a long line of them, flying south and filling the air with their cries.

‘How I wished I were one of them.

‘It was getting dark. I lifted the jug onto my head and turned around to go back to the village.

‘He was there in front of me.

‘At first I thought it was a hallucination, a vision I’d created out of my longing, but it was truly him. He had got off his horse and was walking towards me.

‘“Come away with me. Now,” he said in my language.

‘I was amazed. He’d said those words without a moment’s hesitation, without a single mistake, but when I answered him. “Where will we go? And my mother, can I go to say goodbye?” he shook his head. He couldn’t understand me. He’d learned those words in the right sequence and the right pronunciation because he wanted to be sure I’d understand him.

‘He repeated them again and I – who would have done anything just a few moments earlier to hear them, who was so desperate about his departure – was afraid, now, to make such a drastic, sudden decision. Leaving everything – my house, my family, my friends – to follow a stranger, a soldier who might die from one instant to the next, at his first skirmish, his first ambush, his first battle. What would happen to me then?

‘But my fear lasted just for a moment. The agony of never seeing him again rushed to take its place and I replied at once, “I’ll come with you.” He must have understood because he smiled. So he’d learned those words as well! He mounted his horse then gave me his hand so that I could get on behind him. The horse set off at a lope, heading towards the path that led south, past the villages, but soon we were spotted by a girl walking towards the well with her jug. She recognized me and started shouting, “A soldier is kidnapping Abira! Run, hurry!”

‘A group of farmers returning from the fields ran towards us, waving their tools in the air. My warrior pushed the horse into a gallop then, and managed to rush past them before they could form a closed line to bar our way. They were near enough by then to clearly see that it was me holding on to him and not the other way around. It was no kidnapping; I was making my escape.’

A
BIRA FELL SILENT
again and let out a long sigh. Those memories seemed to weigh on her heart; just talking about them was opening old wounds that had never healed. Now we understood why she’d been stoned upon her return to Beth Qadà. She had abandoned her family, her clan, her village, her betrothed, to run off with a stranger whom she’d given herself to shamelessly. She’d broken all the rules that a girl like her could possibly break and her punishment had to serve as a lesson for all the others.

She stared straight into my eyes then and asked, ‘My parents, are they still in the village? Are they well?’

I hesitated.

‘Tell me the truth,’ she insisted, and she seemed to steel herself to hear bad news.

Strange, I thought, that she’d never asked us about her parents before. Maybe she had a feeling that she didn’t want us to confirm. Whatever she was thinking, there was still something about her I couldn’t quite figure out; a mysterious, enigmatic quality that must have had something to do with surviving her own murder. She’d crossed the thin line that separates life and death, I thought. She had taken a look beyond that line and had seen the world of the dead. Her question was more than a premonition; as if she were seeking a truth that her soul was already sure of.