I have made a gentle landing in the midst of French West Africa, the land of my forebears. As the companion of my mind, Gaspar, plays ever so sweetly upon his apricot pipe, I follow along with words unuttered to this ancient song of the pharaohs. He provides me solace and companionship as I pick my way through the sands of so unforgiving a Saharan tableau.
There is no reason to fear a sojourn of indeterminate length, however. I am certain of success as I follow the sun to White Algiers. The elements - certainly hostile toward most manner of men - have never impinged upon the realization of any of my objectives. My current pilgrimage is toward the discovery of the principle wood whose melancholic, heart-rending magic my grand-pere conjured each day at Sun's zenith so many years ago. The people of his village (will I truly ever discover its location? I have no map, only the leading of my heart) were said to have been transformed by this wailing sortilege. Surely, they have passed; I will speak with their children.
Such events are always emblazoned upon susceptible hearts and minds ...
As I make my way through the scorch of desert by day, I envision an oasis that promises relief from Sahara's devastating and torturous blaze. Simoom is my companion of the moment; Gaspar has not left me entirely. The soft wail of the duduk has, for the moment, been stilled. Parched lips do not for an excellent embouchure make.
Simoom. My beautiful, sleek cat of the Stone Castle. She is white like the sands, tawny like the sands. She is burning and solitary like the sands.
Simoom saved my life ...
It is once again that I set foot upon the sands of my beloved, killing Sahara.
Was it I who chose such exquisitely brutal a landscape, this ancestral home of countless generations past? Surely not; in fact, I possess little knowledge whence I came. I have traveled far and am weary. Fatigue, however, cannot prevail against the exigency of learning who I truly am.
Contemplation upon the draw this infinite expanse has had upon me since my petitesse causes my endlessly inquiring mind to boggle. An unseen but inexorable purchase sets talons upon my vulnerable heart; that stoic logic which begs my return to reason and abandonment of this folly is impotent in face of my yearning to discover the key to my family's arcane issue. It will not relent.
I must see this through, no matter the outcome ...
It could not possibly have been a more arduous journey, this traverse across a diabolical union of both shifting sands and searing winds. We have been sucked dry. Hoppie, my faithful four-footed beast of burden and enduring companion, suffers less from the near-complete desiccation that succeeds in withering my own liver. Water has become the most precious but rarest of commodities.
We seek shelter. We seek water. Many a phantom mirage has loomed up before my scorched eyeballs. An optic message relayed to a mind weary and anxious for any shred of assuagement is entertained, however transparently suspect my logic has become. I find a disconcerting comfort remembering the song of the pharaohs that Gaspar used to play upon his apricot pipe. It is a dirge that haunts this broken man, a derelict whose termination perches ominously upon the illusory desert horizon.
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