The Garden of Allah Page #3

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- That's charming and very true.

- Batouch tells me you live here.

- Yes, madame, I've adopted the Sahara.

Or perhaps I should say

the Sahara has adopted me.

Someday I must make a pilgrimage

into the desert, as you do.

Let me advise you, madame, wait.

Wait until the call is so strong

that it can't be ignored.

It's you, madame.

They're very curious about

a European woman. They seldom see one.

I am curious about them.

Give.

You want it? Here, take it. It's yours.

If you will excuse me,

I'll see about the horses.

Curious man, Monsieur Androvsky.

- Who is he?

- Just a fellow traveler.

And a friend?

I don't quite know.

A man who fears to acknowledge his God...

is unwise to set foot in the desert.

The Arabs have a saying, madame:

The desert is the garden of Allah.

Isn't it lovely?

Don't let him frighten you.

Tell me about him. I've seen him before.

He's a desert man.

You'd think such beings were bred

by the marriage of sand grains.

The sand tells them secrets.

Have you ever had him

read the sand for you?

Once, a long time ago.

And were the things he saw there true?

He saw nothing for the years that were past.

- And for the years that were still to come?

- It might have been chance...

but, yes, he did see what was still to come.

Would you care to hear him?

Caravan, camels.

Waiting by a church.

The caravan moves out into the desert.

It is day, but not like other days.

The wind is rising.

It drowns out the music of the church.

The desert is angry.

There is a palanquin...

such as the great sheiks use

to carry their women.

- Am I to be carried off?

- I don't know.

But there are two people,

and one of them is you.

Where does the caravan go? Can he tell?

It's on the road to Bambara.

The route I planned for my pilgrimage.

A tent...

far in the desert...

close by a ruined tower.

What's he saying?

He says there is something glorious

in store for you.

It's as if all the trees of the desert

bear fruit...

and the sand is covered

with millions of golden flowers.

Is it joy? It must be joy.

Yes, great joy.

- What is it?

- It's a warning.

I don't care.

If this great joy comes to me,

I don't care what comes after.

Please let us go.

You see? It's not a mirage, it's real.

- Real palms, real water.

- Real sun, real sky.

Real Domini, real Boris.

- I don't believe it.

- What is it? Is something wrong?

You laughed. I didn't think you knew how.

I don't.

Why, Boris?

Why do you behave so strangely?

You're troubled, deeply. What is it?

Can't you tell me? Won't you trust me?

I'm sorry if I've intruded.

I thought all these weeks we've been

seeing each other had given me the right.

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