Simoom
(Samum)
1890
CHARACTERS
BISKRA, an Arabian girl
YUSUF, her lover
GUIMARD, a lieutenant of Zouaves
The action takes place in Algeria at the present time.
The inside of a marabout, or shrine. In the middle of the floor stands a sarcophagus forming the tomb of the Mohammedan saint (also called “marabout”) who in his lifetime occupied the place. Prayer-rugs are scattered over the floor. At the right in the rear is an ossuary, or charnel-house.
There is a doorway in the middle of the rear wall. It is closed with a gate and covered by a curtain. On both sides of the doorway are loopholes. Here and there on the floor are seen little piles of sand. An aloe plant, a few palm leaves and some alfa grass are thrown together on one spot.
FIRST SCENE
Biskra enters. The hood of her burnous is pulled over her head so that it almost covers her face. She carries a guitar at her back. Throwing herself down in a kneeling position on one of the rugs, she begins to pray with her arms crossed over her breast. A high wind is blowing outside.
BISKRA. Lâ ilâhâ illâ ‘llâh!
YUSUF. [Enters quickly] The Simoom is coming! Where is the Frank?
BISKRA. He’ll be here in a moment.
YUSUF. Why didn’t you stab him when you had a chance?
BISKRA. Because he is to do it himself. If I were to do it, our whole tribe would be killed, for I am known to the Franks as Ali, the guide, though they don’t know me as Biskra, the maiden.
YUSUF. He is to do it himself, you say? How is that to happen?
BISKRA. Don’t you know that the Simoom makes the brains of the white people dry as dates, so that they have horrible visions which disgust them with life and cause them to flee into the great unknown?
YUSUF. I have heard of such things, and in the last battle there were six Franks who took their own lives before the fighting began. But do not place your trust in the Simoom to-day, for snow has fallen in the mountains, and the storm may be all over in half an hour.—Biskra! Do you still know how to hate?
BISKRA. If I know how to hate?—My hatred is boundless as the desert, burning as the sun, and stronger than my love. Every hour of joy that has been stolen from me since the murder of Ali has been stored up within me like the venom back of a viper’s tooth, and what the Simoom cannot do, that I can do.
YUSUF. Well spoken, Biskra, and the task shall be yours. Ever since my eyes first fell upon you, my own hatred has been withering like alfa grass in the autumn. Take strength from me and become the arrow to my bow.
BISKRA. Embrace me, Yusuf, embrace me!
YUSUF. Not here, within the presence of the Sainted one; not now—later, afterward, when you have earned your reward!
BISKRA. You proud sheikh! You man of pride!
YUSUF. Yes—the maiden who is to carry my offspring under her heart must show herself worthy of the honour.
BISKRA. I—no one but I—shall bear the offspring of Yusuf! I, Biskra—the scorned one, the ugly one, but the strong one, too!
YUSUF. All right! I am now going to sleep beside the spring.—Do I need to teach you more of the secret arts which you learned from Sidi-Sheikh, the great marabout, and which you have practised at fairs ever since you were a child?
BISKRA. Of that there is no need. I know all the secrets needed to scare the life out of a cowardly Frank.—The dastard who sneaks upon the enemy and sends the leaden bullet ahead of himself! I know them all—even the art of letting my voice come out of my belly. And what is beyond my art, that will be done by the sun, for the sun is on the side of Yusuf and Biskra.
YUSUF. The sun is a friend of the Moslem, but not to be relied upon. You may get burned, girl!—Take a drink of water first of all, for I see that your hands are shrivelled, and——
He lifts up one of the rugs and steps down into a sort of cellar, from which he brings back a bowl filled with water; this he hands to BISKRA.
BISKRA. [Raising the bowl to her mouth] And my eyes are already beginning to see red—my lungs are parching—I hear—I hear—do you see how the sand is sifting through the roof—the strings of my guitar are crooning—the Simoom is here! But the Frank is not!
YUSUF. Come down here, Biskra, and let the Frank die by himself.
BISKRA. First hell, and then death! Do you think I’ll weaken? [Pours the water on one of the sand piles] I’ll water the sand, so that revenge may grow out of it, and I’ll dry up my heart. Grow, O hatred! Burn, O sun! Smother, O wind!
YUSUF. Hail to you, mother of Ben Yusuf—for you are to bear the son of Yusuf, the avenger—you!
The wind is increasing. The curtain in front of the door begins to flap. A red glimmer lights up the room, but changes into yellow during the ensuing scene.
BISKRA. The Frank is coming, and—the Simoom is here!—Go!
YUSUF. In half an hour you shall see me again. [Pointing toward a sand pile] There is your hour-glass. Heaven itself is measuring out the time for the hell of the infidels!
[Goes down into the cellar.
SECOND SCENE
Biskra. Guimard enters looking very pale; he stumbles, his mind is confused, and he speaks in a low voice.
GUIMARD. The Simoom is here!—What do you think has become of my men?
BISKRA. I led them west to east.
GUIMARD. West—to east!—Let me see!—That’s straight east—and west!—Oh, put me on a chair and give me some water!
BISKRA. [Leads GUIMARD to one of the sand piles and makes him lie down on the floor with his feet on the sand] Are you comfortable now?
GUIMARD. [Staring at her] I feel all twisted up. Put something under my head.
BISKRA. [Piling the sand higher under his feet] There’s a pillow for your head.
GUIMARD. Head? Why, my feet are down there—Isn’t that my feet?
BISKRA. Of course!
GUIMARD. I thought so. Give me a stool now—under my head.
BISKRA. [Pulls out the aloe plant and pushes it under Guimard’s legs] There’s a stool for you.
GUIMARD. And then water!—Water!
BISKRA. [Fills the empty bowl with sand and hands it to GUIMARD] Drink while it’s cold.
GUIMARD. [Putting his lips to the bowl] It is cold—and yet it does not still my thirst! I cannot drink it—I abhor water—take it away!
BISKRA. There’s the dog that bit you!
GUIMARD. What dog? I have never been bitten by a dog.
BISKRA. The Simoom has shrivelled up your memory—beware the delusions of the Simoom! Don’t you remember the mad greyhound that bit you during the last hunt at Bab-el-Wad?
GUIMARD. The hunt at Bab-el-Wad? That’s right!—Was it a beaver-coloured——?
BISKRA. Bitch? Yes.—There you see. And she bit you in the calf. Can’t you feel the sting of the wound?
GUIMARD. [Reaches out a hand to feel his calf and pricks himself on the aloe] Yes, I can feel it.—Water! Water!
BISKRA. [Handing him the sand-filled bowl] Drink, drink!
GUIMARD. No, I cannot! Holy Mother of God—I have rabies!
BISKRA. Don’t be afraid! I shall cure you, and drive out the demon by the help of music, which is all-powerful. Listen!
GUIMARD. [Screaming] Ali! Ali! No music; I can’t stand it! And how could it help me?
BISKRA. If music can tame the treacherous spirit of the snake, don’t you think it may conquer that of a mad dog? Listen! [She sings and accompanies herself on the guitar] Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra! Simoom! Simoom!
YUSUF. [Responding from below] Simoom! Simoom!
GUIMARD. What is that you are singing, Ali?
BISKRA. Have I been singing? Look here—now I’ll put a palm-leaf in my mouth. [She puts a piece of leaf between her teeth; the song seems to be coming from above] Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra!
YUSUF. [From below] Simoom! Simoom!
GUIMARD. What an infernal jugglery!
BISKRA. Now I’ll sing!
BISKRA and YUSUF. [Together] Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra, Biskra-biskra! Simoom!
GUIMARD. [Rising] What are you, you devil who are singing with two voices? Are you man or woman? Or both?
BISKRA. I am Ali, the guide. You don’t recognise me because your senses are confused. But if you want to be saved from the tricks played by sight and thought, you must believe in me—believe what I say and do what I tell you.
GUIMARD. You don’t need to ask me, for I find everything to be as you say it is.
BISKRA. There you see, you worshipper of idols!
GUIMARD. I, a worshipper of idols?
BISKRA. Yes, take out the idol you carry on your breast.
GUIMARD takes out a locket.
BISKRA. Trample on it now, and then call on the only God, the Merciful One, the Compassionate One!
GUIMARD. [Hesitating] Saint Edward—my patron saint?
BISKRA. Can he protect you? Can he?
GUIMARD. No, he cannot!—[Waking up] Yes, he can!
BISKRA. Let us see!
She opens the gate; the curtain flaps and the grass on the floor moves.
GUIMARD. [Covering his mouth] Close the door!
BISKRA. Throw down the idol!
GUIMARD. No, I cannot.
BISKRA. Do you see? The Simoom does not bend a hair on me, but you, the infidel one, are killed by it! Throw down the idol!
GUIMARD. [Throws the locket on the floor] Water! I die!
BISKRA. Pray to the Only One, the Merciful and Compassionate One!
GUIMARD. How am I to pray?
BISKRA. Repeat after me.
GUIMARD. Speak on!
BISKRA. There is only one God: there is no other God but He, the Merciful, the Compassionate One!
GUIMARD. “There is only one God: there is no other God but He, the Merciful, the Compassionate One.”
BISKRA. Lie down on the floor.
GUIMARD lies down unwillingly.
BISKRA. What do you hear?
GUIMARD. I hear the murmuring of a spring.
BISKRA. There you see! God is one, and there is no other God but He, the Merciful and Compassionate One!—What do you see?
GUIMARD. I can hear a spring murmur—I can see the light of a lamp—in a window with green shutters—on a white street——
BISKRA. Who is sitting at the window?
GUIMARD. My wife—Elise!
BISKRA. Who is standing behind the curtain with his arm around her neck?
GUIMARD. That’s my son, George.
BISKRA. How old is your son?
GUIMARD. Four years on the day of Saint Nicholas.
BISKRA. And he can already stand behind the curtain with his arm around the neck of another man’s wife?
GUIMARD. No, he cannot—but it is he!
BISKRA. Four years old, you say, and he has a blond mustache?
GUIMARD. A blond mustache, you say?—Oh, that’s—my friend Jules.
BISKRA. Who is standing behind the curtain with his arm around your wife’s neck?
GUIMARD. Oh, you devil!
BISKRA. Do you see your son?
GUIMARD. No, I don’t see him any longer.
BISKRA. [Imitates the tolling of bells on the guitar] What do you see now?
GUIMARD. I see bells ringing—I taste dead bodies—their smell in my mouth is like rancid butter—faugh!
BISKRA. Can’t you hear the priest chanting the service for a dead child?
GUIMARD. Wait!—I cannot hear—[Wistfully] But do you want me to?—There!—I can hear it!
BISKRA. Do you see the wreath on the coffin they are carrying?
GUIMARD. Yes——
BISKRA. There are violet ribbons on it—and there are letters printed in silver—“Farewell, my darling George—from your father.”
GUIMARD. Yes, that’s it! [He begins to cry] My George! O George, my darling boy!—Elise—wife—can’t you console me?—Oh, help me! [He is groping around] Elise, where are you? Have you left me? Answer! Call out the name of your love!
A VOICE. [Coming from the roof] Jules! Jules!
GUIMARD. Jules! But my name is—what is my name? It is Charles! And she is calling Jules! Elise—my beloved wife—answer me—for your spirit is here—I can feel it—and you promised never to love anybody else——
The VOICE is heard laughing.
GUIMARD. Who is laughing?
BISKRA. Elise—your wife.
GUIMARD. Oh, kill me! I don’t want to live any longer! Life sickens me like sauerkraut at Saint-Doux—You there—do you know what Saint-Doux is? Lard! [He tries to spit] Not a drop of saliva left!—Water—water—or I’ll bite you!
The wind outside has risen to a full storm.
BISKRA. [Puts her hand to her mouth and coughs] Now you are dying, Frank! Write down your last wishes while there is still time—Where is your note-book?
GUIMARD. [Takes out a note-book and a pencil] What am I to write?
BISKRA. When a man is to die, he thinks of his wife—and his child!
GUIMARD. [Writes] “Elise—I curse you! Simoom—I die——”
BISKRA. And then sign it, or it will not be valid as a testament.
GUIMARD. What shall I sign?
BISKRA. Write: Lâ ilâha illâ ‘llâh.
GUIMARD. [Writing] It is written.—And can I die now?
BISKRA. Now you can die—like a craven soldier who has deserted his people! And I am sure you’ll get a handsome burial from the jackals that will chant the funeral hymn over your corpse. [She drums the signal for attack on the guitar] Can you hear the drums—the attack has begun—on the Faithful, who have the sun and the Simoom on their side—they are now advancing—from their hiding-places—[She makes a rattling noise on the guitar] The Franks are firing along the whole line—they have no chance to load again—the Arabs are firing at their leisure—the Franks are flying!
GUIMARD. [Rising] The Franks never flee!
BISKRA. The Franks will flee when they hear the call to retreat.
[She blows the signal for “retreat” on a flute which she has produced from under her burnoose.
GUIMARD. They are retreating—that’s the signal—and I am here—[He tears off his epaulets] I am dead!
[He falls to the ground.
BISKRA. Yes, you are dead!—And you don’t know that you have been dead a long time.
[She goes to the ossuary and takes from it a human skull.
GUIMARD. Have I been dead?
[He feels his face with his hands.
BISKRA. Long! Long!—Look at yourself in the mirror here! [She holds up the skull before him.
GUIMARD. Ah! That’s me!
BISKRA. Can’t you see your own high cheek-bones? Can’t you see the eyes that the vultures have picked out? Don’t you know that gap on the right side of the jaw where you had a tooth pulled? Can’t you see the hollow in the chin where, grew the beard that your Elise was fond of stroking? Can’t you see where used to be the ear that your George kissed at the breakfast-table? Can’t you see the mark of the axe—here in the neck—which the executioner made when he cut off the deserter’s head——
GUIMARD, who has been watching her movements and listening to her words with evident horror, sinks down dead.
BISKRA. [Who has been kneeling, feels his pulse; then she rises and sings] Simoom! Simoom! [She opens both gates; the curtain flutters like a banner in the wind; she puts her hand up to her mouth and falls over backward, crying] Yusuf!
THIRD SCENE
BISKRA. GUIMARD (dead). YUSUF comes out of the cellar.
YUSUF. [Having examined the body of GUIMARD, he looks for BISKRA] Biskra! [He discovers her and takes her up in his arms] Are you alive?
BISKRA. Is the Frank dead?
YUSUF. If he is not, he will be. Simoom! Simoom!
BISKRA. Then I live! But give me some water!
YUSUF. [Carrying her toward the cellar] Here it is!—And now Yusuf is yours!
BISKRA. And Biskra will be your son’s mother, O Yusuf, great Yusuf!
YUSUF. My strong Biskra! Stronger than the Simoom!
Curtain.