“I’m happy to hear Chief Ewar acknowledge the existence of a concept like ‘chaos.’”
How could I not acknowledge chaos when our life is nothing but chaos in chaos, from beginning to end?”
Without moving or fidgeting, he countered, “In the languages of oasis residents chaos is an innovation. In the language of the desert people, there is no word for chaos.”
“Actually, I have not come to debate chaos theory with you but to ask about certainty.”
He replied in a tone that suggested disapproval, “You ask about certainty?”
“Of the nomadic life.”
“Ha, ha. . we have spoken more about wayfaring than about anything else in this transitory world of ours.”
“I wanted to tell you that it is the desert that has abandoned us — not we who have abandoned the desert.”
“The desert has never once abandoned anyone.”
“The desert abandons us when it is stingy with its water.”
“This argument is fit only for the masses. People always mention the desert’s stinginess with water whenever anyone needs an excuse to justify his own betrayal of the desert’s law. Despite all this, I’ve never heard of a creature who died there from hunger or thirst. . except for that miserable faction seduced by their selfish interests to violate the desert’s customary laws.”
“We’ll never agree as long as you continue to construe deliverance as transiting physical space.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that your misery is caused by your certainty that Waw exists in some physical place.”
“I’ve never said that in so many words.”
“Your entire world view is erected on this certainty.”
“Do you want to sell me the fable about migrations of the heart, which I heard celebrated by your disciple the idiot?”
“Migrations of the heart are easier than migrations of the body. A migration of the heart is of greater significance than a migration of the body. That’s certain.”
“We don’t migrate across the desert in our heart unless we migrate across it with our body. An exodus of the heart is a heresy fit for fools. If we were to rely on a place free of space’s depredations, that would be much easier, but the place to which we resort while attempting to flee from chaos or when attempting to satisfy a yearning must inevitably take a bite out of our heart. Indeed, it may consume our whole heart, even though we possess but one, and a small, fragile heart at that.”
“I would like to share a proverb with you: ‘Wretched is he who searches for deliverance in a physical location.’”
“Ha, ha. . I think I’ve heard that proverb before. Have you borrowed that from the mouth of your disciple, the idiot, too?”
“Wretched is he who searches for Waw in a geographical location. I shall never grow tired of repeating this charm, even if the strategist of all generations rejects it.”
The strategist suddenly released his hoarse, alarming laughter but swallowed it just as suddenly. With surprising sadness, he said, “You should certainly not think that obedience to the call to nomadic migration is easy. Who can proclaim that travel is easy when our hateful but unique body pegs us to physical space in a thousand ways?”
“I’m pleased to hear you move closer toward the truth.”
“The difficulty of a matter, however, never justifies surrender. You know one of the Law’s commandments says we must only do what is difficult for us. Likewise, when a matter is difficult, that shows its nobility, since the ancients used to say: ‘The noblest matter is also the most difficult.’”
“Here you grow colder again. Why don’t you answer my question: Does true reality exist in physical space or in some other place beyond physical space?”
“Ha, ha. . you shouldn’t have asked me this question.”
“Why?”
“Because to answer it in the negative is a mistake, whereas to answer it in the affirmative is also a mistake.”
“There’s no question the master tactician cannot answer.”
“If the master tactician answered every question, he would fall into diverse snares and would lose his title of ‘tactical strategist.’”
“You may consider my question another riddle.”
“I know that the heart is place’s secret soul just as I know that place is the heart’s veil. Does that suffice?”
“Is this another riddle?”
“The only way to answer a riddle is with a riddle. Similarly, a talisman can only be broken by another talisman.”
“We’ll never reach an agreement without clarification of terms.”
“Fine. How can space be the depository of true reality if place is merely a vessel for the heart?”
“I like that.”
“And how can true reality find a home for itself outside of physical space if what is beyond physical space is nothing more than a void in a void?”
“I can grasp this too.”
“In the end, the only alternative left for us is to embrace our truth within our hearts and to flee faraway, across the wasteland.”
“It does us no harm to preserve our truth wherever we settle, if its place is in our hearts, not in some physical location.”
“But the ‘color’ of the vessel is affected by the color of the container; so beware!”
“I don’t understand.”
“Truth in a heart — like a date at the bottom of a brackish well — is a body requiring physical support, and both are destined to perish sooner or later.”
The specter was silent. He was silent for a long time. Then he asked: “Does this mark the parting of our ways?”
The strategist immediately replied, “Our parting did not begin today. It began the day I brought you back to life after the epidemic felled you.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean that ingratitude for a good deed always motivates us to take revenge.”
“I can match your unjust suspicion by asking: Isn’t it a violation of the Law’s code to bring back to life someone the fates desire dead?”
“Bringing the dead back to life is a sin, but to save a person on the brink of annihilation is a duty for the elite.”
“You did not know whether I was not merely on the brink of death that day. You did not know whether I had crossed the tipping point that day. So why did you bring me back to life once I was as good as dead?”
“I fulfilled a debt I have never regretted.”
“Why did you expose me to annihilation again after the fates had granted me repose?”
The strategist did not reply. Turning his back on the specter standing above him, he continued to gaze at the gloom. He heard the specter exhale and inhale. He heard his heavy breathing, the beat of his heart, his certainty, his yearning, and his choked voice, which resembled the rattling of a snake: “The spirit world granted me life the day it banished me. You killed me the day you saved me. Why? For what reason?”
For the first time he budged. He jumped to his feet and took a step toward his ancient mate, then a second. He came so close he almost bumped against his chest but did nudge him with his turban. He puffed jets of hot air in his face before flinging this prophecy at him: “Don’t you know that I kill only those I love and revive only those I hate?”