Fountains in the Sand | Page 3

the friendly train disappeared from my view, I
seemed to have taken leave of everything human. This feeling was not
lessened by my reception at the funduk, whose native manager sternly
refused to give me that separate sleeping-room which, I had been
assured, was awaiting me and which, as he truthfully informed me, was
even then unoccupied. The prospect of passing the night with a crowd
of Arabs was not pleasing.
Amiability being unavailing, I tried bribery, but found him adamantine.
I then produced a letter from the Resident of the Republic in Tunis,
recommending me to all the _bureaux indigènes_ of the country, my
translation of it being confirmed and even improved upon, at the
expense of veracity, by a spahi (native cavalryman) who happened to
be present, and threatened the man with the torments of the damned if
he failed to comply with the desires of his government.
"The Resident," was the reply, "is plainly a fine fellow. But he is not
the ponsechossi."
"Ponsechossi. What's that?"
"THIS," he said, excavating from under a pile of miscellaneous rubbish
a paper whereon was displayed the official stamp of the _Ponts et
Chaussées_--the Department of Public Works for whose servants this
choice apartment is--or rather ought to be--exclusively reserved: the
rule is not always obeyed.
"Bring me THIS"--tapping the document proudly--"and you have the
room."
"Could I at least find a horse in the morning--a mule--a donkey--a

camel?"
"We shall see!" And he slouched away.
There was nothing to be done with the man. Your incorruptible
Oriental is always disagreeable. Fortunately, he is rather uncommon.
But the excellent spahi, whom my letter from head-quarters had
considerably impressed, busied himself meanwhile on my behalf, and
at seven in the morning a springless, open, two-wheeled Arab cart,
drawn by a moth-eaten old mule, was ready for my conveyance to
Gafsa. In this instrument of torture were spent the hours from 7.30 a.m.
to 4.30 p.m., memories of that ride being blurred by the physical
discomfort endured. Over a vast plateau framed in distant mountains
we were wending in the direction of a low gap which never came
nearer; the road itself was full of deep ruts that caused exquisite agony
as we jolted into them; the sun--a patch of dazzling light, cold and
cheerless. At this hour, I reflected, the train from Sfax would already
have set me down at Gafsa.
Save for a few stunted thorns in the moister places, the whole land, so
far as the eye could reach, was covered with halfa-grass--leagues upon
leagues of this sad grey-green desert reed. We passed a few nomad
families whose children were tearing out the wiry stuff--it is never cut
in Tunisia--which is then loaded on camels and conveyed to the nearest
depot on the railway line, and thence to the seaboard. They were
burning it here and there, to keep themselves warm; this is forbidden by
law, but then--there is so much of it on these uplands, and the wind is
so cold!
The last miles were easier travelling, as we had struck the track from
Feriana on our left. Here, at an opening of the arid hills, where the road
begins to descend in a broad, straight ribbon, there arose, suddenly, a
distant glimpse of the oasis of Gafsa--a harmonious line of dark palm
trees, with white houses and minarets in between. A familiar vision,
and often described; yet one that never fails of its effect. A man may
weary, after a while, of camels and bedouin maidens and all the
picturesque paraphernalia of Arab life; or at least they end in becoming
so trite that his eyes cease to take note of them; but there are two
spectacles, ever new, elemental, that correspond to deeper impulses:
this of palms in the waste--the miracle of water; and that of fire--the
sun.

A low hill near the entrance of the town (it is marked Meda Hill on the
map) had attracted my attention as promising a fine view. Thither, after
settling my concerns at the hotel, I swiftly bent my steps; it was too late;
the wintry sun had gone to rest. The oasis still lay visible, extended at
my feet; on the other side I detected, some three miles away, a white
spot--a house, no doubt--standing by a dusky patch of palms that rose
solitary out of the stones. Some subsidiary oasis, probably; it looked an
interesting place, all alone there, at the foot of those barren hills.
And still I lingered, my only companion being a dirty brown dog, of the
jackal type, who walked round me suspiciously and barked, or rather
whined, without ceasing. At last I took up a stone, and he ran away. But
the stone remained in my hand; I glanced at it, and saw that it