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Updated: April 30, 2025
Willems turned towards Aissa and pointed at her with a bony forefinger. "Look at her! Always there. Always near. Always watching, watching . . . for something. Look at her eyes. Ain't they big? Don't they stare? You wouldn't think she can shut them like human beings do. I don't believe she ever does.
These songs of Arabs dying for Nazarenes, of sons of Mohammed sacrificing themselves for the daughters of Aïssa were so translated by this Castilian that the exquisite charm of the original, filtered through his rendering, lost none, even in French, of the special characteristics of his own nation, a half-daughter of the Orient.
Meantime he returned encouraging answers to his unknown friends in Sambir, and waited for his opportunity in the calm certitude of ultimate triumph. Such was the man whom Lakamba and Babalatchi expected to see for the first time on the night of Willems' return to Aissa.
Aissa looked steadily at the one-eyed sage, who was approaching her slowly and with a great show of deference. For a moment they stood facing each other in silence. Babalatchi appeared embarrassed. With a sudden and quick gesture she caught hold of his arm, and with the other hand pointed towards the sinking red disc that glowed, rayless, through the floating mists of the evening.
There is not even that in you." "Don't provoke me, Captain Lingard," cried Willems. Lingard turned round sharply. Willems and Aissa stopped.
Black cobras and spotted leffa snakes from the Sus are used for the performance. When the charmer allows the snakes to dart at him or even to bite, the onlookers put their hands to their foreheads and praise Sidi ben Aissa, a saint who lived in Mequinez when Mulai Ismail ruled, a pious magician whose power stands even to-day between snake-charmers and sudden death.
A division of the tribe of the Selmia, and their sheikh, Aissa ben Sha, laid the foundation of a village as soon as the water flowed, and planted twelve hundred date-palms, renouncing their wandering life to attach themselves to the soil. In this arid spot, life had taken the place of solitude, and presented itself, with its smiling images, to the astonished traveller.
"Listen," said Lakamba, speaking with unsteady lips, "he blasphemes his God. His speech is like the raving of a mad dog. Can we hold him for ever? He must be killed!" "Fool!" muttered Babalatchi, looking up at Aissa, who stood with set teeth, with gleaming eyes and distended nostrils, yet obedient to the touch of his restraining hand.
He did not overtake them until he reached Sidi Aissa shortly after noon, where the soldiers had halted for an hour's rest. Here he found Gernois with the column, but there was no sign of the stranger.
Aissa looked with respect on that wise and brave man she was accustomed to see at her father's side as long as she could remember sitting alone and thoughtful in the silent night by the dying fire, his body motionless and his mind wandering in the land of memories, or who knows? perhaps groping for a road in the waste spaces of the uncertain future.
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