Source: منابر الجالية السودانية الامريكية : منتديات الجالية السودانية الامريكية : المنتدى العام
الترجمة المثبتة هنا هي للصفحات الأولى من هذه الرواية وقد قمت بترجمتها،
أو بالأحرى بإعادة كتابتها، في الإنجليزية، بنفسى. فازت
هذه الرواية بالجائزة الأولى لمسابقة جائزة الطيب صالح للإبداع الروائي في دورتها الأولى سنة 2003 التي يرعاها مركز عبد الكريم ميرغني. نشرت الرواية في 2004_ مركز عبد الكريم ميرغني (أم درمان)
الحسن بكرى
Undertakings Of An Ancient Warrior
CHAPTER ONE
(1)
I am Khalifa Wad-Mansour, descendant of the Lahawyeen tribe which itself belongs to the the Funj and Anj peoples. My father was the head guard of Sheikh Massa 'ad Absen, Sheikh of the Lahaweyyen Bedwins, whereas my mother, Haja Umzain, was a daughter of an honorable Nagarabi-Tagalabi family from the Jebel Marra Mountains; these are the mountains which my grandmother has talked to you about in her well known full moon Tales.
I was in my twenties when I found myself deeply engrossed in unrelenting scruples that could not be reined. At first I thought I could appease my pains by sticking to a lifestyle which valued only material joys of existence. I, frankly speaking, had found some consolation in that, but it was always a brief kind of consolation which quickly disappeared and left me prey to daunting uncertainties. Time and again, since the beginning of the nal drying season, my fears started to intensify.
Deeply languished in my gloominess, I conjectured that the bitterness might have been caused by the approach of the Darat season, the month of the year when the Tabar flowers die and the firm Dankooj stems dry up. But the time came when I found myself unable to sleep night after night.
Then, when the war of liberation broke, I realized my total lack of will and spiritual resolve.
Despite my apparent physical strength, I inherited the two old disabilities of my Anaji ancestors, namely night blindness and lameness, which were the signs of their spectacular extinction which took place in the 15th century. As a result, the Buttana Brigade Commander, Liberation great hero, Hussein al-Tahir, hesitated in enlisting me as his personal assistant. I tried desperately to find a cure to my ailment in the local area, hence I determined to saddling my she-camel after autumn's submission to winter and travel to Jebel Mooya Mountains where Faqheeh Haroun, the Hausa witchdoctor lived, and hopefully regain under his care some of my health and a little of my firmness.
I was afraid rain would not fall that autumn, however, Natra at last brought torrential rain. It was not long before the bee swarms rushed in buzzing from dawn to sunset carrying nectar from the green slopes of Mount Labaitoar .
We witnessed a lot of new hives being built, whereas the old ones were renovated and made bigger. Honey flowed from the sides and corners where the old hives stuck to their new extensions. But soon the cool north winds blew, therefore, I told my intimates and family of my intention to travel. The boys, my friends, filled two goatskins with honey and hanged them on the she camel’s back, one to the left of the saddle and the other to the right. Likewise, I took with me loads of millet, a quarter of a kintar of dry meat, a sack of dry Kassala onions and ten bottles of pure sheep ghee.
The camel instantly stood up when I jumped on her. I raised my hand signaling goodbye, making sure to look steadily in front of me as turning a head left or right could possibly bring misfortune.
(2)
Reverent Haroun closed the small outlets near the battered palm tree leaves ceiling of the small room and locked the heavy acacia wood door with the huge iron bolt he had bought from Maiyrno in his last trip to the town. He pointed out bluntly to me to sit down.
I kneeled, so the Faqheeh shouted, glaring at me pitilessly, "I told you to sit." This time I squatted. His pidgin Arabic did not supply him with better words, therefore he frowned and yelled while pointing at the floor, “I said sit down." I sat with my buttocks seated on my legs. Hajj Haroun cheered gladly this time, “Yes, that's it, by God’s will." When I gazed at him unable to hide my fear, he grumbled, “Don’t move, don't change the way you're sitting."
Apart from a short cover that went between my waist and knees, I was completely naked. Hajj Haroun was wearing a similar short cover. I saw him standing carrying a small wool bundle which he carefully opened and took out a broken ax blade which he grabbed with both hands and recited a rhythmic text in Hausa while spitting at the ax from time to time.
Then all of a sudden he threw the ax blade at me causing it to fall in front of me and thrust deep in the sand. He brought a black liquid with a tar smell and poured it on the blade. Then he scraped the ax with a rusty knife which caused a small blaze around the ax. Hajj Haroun asked me laughing, “Are you scared, boy?" The ax was still blazing, but I managed to answer him courageously, "Me scared? Not at all, Hajji." I sometimes had to lie if I were to give these people a good impression about me.
Subsequently, he stood up and pushed me between his legs, then inserted my head between his thighs and squeezed my neck and then pushed my face toward the glowing ax and roared, "Open, open, open." I screamed like a goat kid while he was mounting on my back and, with iron fists, forcing me near the fire. I surrendered to my fate and convinced myself that certain types of misfortune are better than others. I kept my eyes widely open while facing the glowing ax blade until blood swept warm from them. Seeing my bloody eyes, Faqeeh Haroun got down from my back. Then he brought a small kohl tube and inserted a rod into it and blackened my eye lashes.
He shouted softly as if he were an angel this time, "Close your eyes, darling." I did. Still looking like an angel, he said, “Don’t open them before I ask you to, darling." Hallucinating, reciting and whispering I felt his face warm close to mine. He said, “Open your eyes." I opened them. Faqeeh Haroun was beaming with happiness. He took out a mirror and polished the surface with his abundant saliva. He said, “Look." My eyes became stunningly beautiful. I shouted laughingly, “How lovely!" Faqeeh Haroun was also bewildered; I saw his eyes roving over my new beauty.
Faqeeh opened the door hastily. A dazzling light filled the room although the small outlets were still closed. I walked out limping and looked towards the green, high mountains.
The world had changed into a paradise. Everything looked lucidly clear. Haroun said, “Short sight has now gone." I came close to him and kissed his face and said, “Now it has gone."
