Comix 'Fatma n'parapli' by Safia and Soumia Ouarezki

Safia and Soumia Ouarezki are two talented sisters. Their remarkable comix is written in Algerian Derja 'Fatma n'parapli' published by Dalimen editions in 2014.

Safia Ouarezki wrote the scenario, Soumia Ouarezki inked it (the drawings are by Mahmoud Benameur).

If you want to know more about what Fatma n'paraplui is about, follow the arrow -> http://tellemchaho.blogspot.co.uk/…/fatma-nparapli-comix-wr…

Safia and Soumia sont deux soeurs talentueuses et l'ont prouvé avec leur BD en Derja 'Fatma n'parapli' publiée par Dalimen en 2014

Les textes sont de Safia Ouarezki, les dessins en encre sont de Soumia Ouarezki (dessins de Mahmoud Benameur).

Pour en savoir plus sur cette BD, suivez ce lien -> http://tellemchaho.blogspot.co.uk/…/fatma-nparapli-comix-wr…

Zakia Allal - رسائل تتحدى النار والحصار

Zakia Allal, née en 1966, a publié nombre de nouvelles depuis les années 2000, notamment quatre recueils: رسائل تتحدى النار والحصار une série de lettres envoyées par une femme palestinienne à Gaza à son mari qui est parti, شرايين عارية des nouvelles à travers lesquelles le symbolisme du sang qui représente l’amour et la nation est exploré, ainsi que أحرقت سفينة العودة et لعنة المنفى.

En 2015, Zakia Allal a publié un roman عائد إلى قبري, dans lequel elle raconte l’histoire d’un journaliste algérien qui couvre l’Iraq alors qu'il vit lui meme les violences des années 90s.

Son utilisation du réalisme magique et d'éléments fantastiques, presque gothiques, sont des traits qui définissent ses écrits. Vous pouvez lire les nouvelles de Zakia en ligne en libre accès -> شرايين عارية
http://www.syrianstory.com/a.zakia.htm…

Zakia Allal was born in 1966 in Algeria. She has published a number of short-stories between 2000 and 2015, notably four collections with Letters to Defy Fire and Siege (رسائل تتحدى النار والحصار) – a series of letters by a Palestinian woman in Gaza who writes to her husband, gone to try and emigrate to America -, Naked Veins (شرايين عارية) stories in which the symbolism of blood as love and country is explored, The Return Ship Burnt (أحرقت سفينة العودة) and The Curse of Exile (لعنة المنفى).

In 2015, she released a novel Returning to My Grave (عائد إلى قبري), which tells the story of an Algerian journalist covering Iraq just before the country falls. Her use of magic realism and a use of the fantastic, almost gothic, are particularly interesting traits in her short-stories (see شرايين عارية online on open access http://www.syrianstory.com/a.zakia.htm…).

Nadjet Dahmoune and مرايا أمازيغية

Anep editions published Nadjet Dahmoun's short story collection  مرايا أمازيغية  in 2016.

مرايا أمازيغية are short stories told by women of all ages who look back on a defining moment in their past to make peace with it. These stories are painful, often tragic, and according to Dahmoune they are typical of the situations confronted by women in Amazigh society. In مرايا أمازيغية Dahmoune weaves thoughts in Tamazight into the Arabic text. A much needed bilingual combination rare elsewhere.

Nadjet Dahmoun et مرايا أمازيغية, publié par les éditions Anep (2016).

Si dans le reflet d’un miroir, c’est l’image de soi qu’on aperçoit, et c’est aussi une partie des autres qui se dessine. Ce miroir à double réflexion, Nadjet Dahmoune l’a construit dans son recueil de nouvelles Miraya Amazighiya (مرايا أمازيغية), publié par les éditions Anep (2016).

À travers trente nouvelles, trente femmes se racontent en langues arabe et tamazight. Des histoires à plusieurs voix, celle d’une narratrice qui observe ces femmes, et celle de chacune de celle-ci qui, à un moment critique de son parcours, examine les marques que le destin a laissé sur sa mémoire.

Dans ce Miroir Amazigh se reflète des visages comme celui de Na Tasaadit et les sept mouchoirs qui représentent ses mariages, ou de Sherifa qui découvre avec dégoût la perdrix que sa belle-famille a coupée en 35 morceaux; ce qui la décidera à divorcer. On entrevoit aussi des femmes comme Tunissiya qui s’autodétruira en s’inventant un cancer, ou Faouzia qui panse ses plaies chez son fils après que son mari se soit révélé être celui qu’elle a toujours refusé de voir.

Certains reflets se transforment en murmures tant ils sont difficiles à regarder. Comme ceux de Na Hbouba qui a assassiné sa fille, ou Meriem qui se réconcilie avec les tortures qu’elle a subies dans l’enfance.

Nadjet Dahmoune, devenue mémoire collective, raconte les destins très différents de femmes jeunes ou âgées, aux parcours apaisés ou encore hantés, qui ont vécu des drames tellement communs qu’ils en deviendraient presque invisibles si ce n’était justement pour des récits, oraux et écrits, qui les transmettent pour prévenir, et aussi guérir.

Chaque récit, contée dans une langue fraîche et simple, se lit comme si on l’entendait raconter. Des mots mesurés pour dire des vérités complexes, dont l’horreur est relatée tout en suspens, comme un conte d’épouvantes.

En façonnant son recueil sur cette opposition entre douceur et effroi, réalité et fictionalisation, Dahmoune a capturé sagesses et acceptations, aveux et introspections.

La source d’inspiration de Nadjet Dahmoune est la communauté amazigh dont elle est issue comme elle tient à le souligner dans son introduction, mais son recueil et les vies dont elle s’est inspirée s’inscrivent bien au-delà en illustrant l’universalité des souffrances et des circonstances.
En insérant les réflexions de ses personnages en langue tamazight, avec une traduction déguisée en réponse ou introduite entre parenthèse, Nadjet réussi un clin d’œil décomplexé au multilinguisme qui nous est si propre, et enrichi son texte d’une manière souple et naturelle.

Miraya Amazighiya de Nadjet Dahmoune, publié chez les éditions Anep, avril 2016 (pp. 460)

Zoubeida Mameria - Tales from the land of Algeria

 

Interested in Algerian myths and legends ? Here is a discussion around Zoubeida Mameria’s three-volume collection of Algerian myths, Tales from the Land of Algeria (Contes du Terroir Algerien, 2013) on Arabic Literature in English.

* * * * *

this article was originally published on ArabLit

Mythological and folktale characters

As Zoubeida Mameria’s collection illustrates, Algerian myths abound about highly skilled individuals. There are eagle hunters and outstanding horsemen; labourers with carts pulled by lions and snakes; basket-makers spared by errouhbani, the shape-shifter spirits who roam in forests poking fun at humans; barbers who slash throats and gardeners whose bones turn into speaking grapevines; fishermen who feed whole villages with their miraculous catch; midwifes who even help frogs give birth (the midwife paid in coal); coal workers and coals that turn into gold coins; princes who work as carpet weavers (the craft that saves from death); blind ogresses with a fine nose for the best foods who grind wheat; kings who know how to rule.

Mameria’s collection is really the encyclopaedia of her memories in which she mixes French and Algerian Derja.

The CRASC, Algeria’s National Research Centre in Anthropology, had also compiled and released a collection of myths in 2005, Dictionary of Algerian Myths, which were written up in standard Arabic. That collection was more interested in foundational myths, and began not in childhood but in an ancient Amazigh chronology, with the cornerstone myths of Anzar, the capricious god of rain; Tin Hinan, the mother of all Touareg tribes; Yemma Gouraya, the woman-mountain that protects the city of Bejaia; Loundja the devoted sister to her brother transformed into a gazelle; or the tragic love story of Hiziya and her cousin Said.

None retell the story of the farting old man whose daughter Rova tried to protect them against a man-eating ogre. She was herself captured then saved by her four brothers, the first who has an uncanny sense of hearing, the second who sees through walls, the third who runs as fast as the wind blows, and the fourth who’s given Herculean strength (A Vava Inouva).

I found no stories for plumbers in Mameria’s collection, but I learned that the stone of patience (hadjret sabarni or “Stone, give me patience”), could bring me comfort and justice if someone brought it back to Bab El Oued from the Hijaz.

The striking element in all these tales and myths is the sheer number of women in them. They’re here as main characters — and as storytellers — young and old, rich and poor, beautiful or not. All are highly intelligent and endure and outwit the cruelty of fate, and of men.

El-Djazia cycle

“El-Djazia” is an Algerian myth inherited, it seems, from the Banu Hilal. Both the CRASC and Mameria dedicate a special part to this mythical cycle in their volumes. El-Djazia was the chief of a Banu Hilal tribe in Algeria. That much is recorded by Ibn Khaldoun, we are told. She was a woman of unequalled beauty and intelligence, the best warrior and skilled fighter of the tribe. She attracted many admirers, all of whom tried to win her favor. She eventually chose to marry her cousin Dhieb ben Ghanem. A statue of Dhieb’s horse, El Baidha, is reportedly in Ain Beida’s city centre.

El-Djazia is also a metaphor. She represents the village, and her competing admirers are the social projects that the village will have to choose to survive and to eventually prosper. Tradition, modernity, and the elsewhere, or adventure, all fight to win El-Djazia by force or reason while her task is to maintain social order. Any transgression, or misreading of the group’s best interest, will result in social confusion and eventually utter chaos.

Myth and the contemporary Algerian novel

Several Algerian novels are built on this folk metaphor. Nejma by Kateb Yacine, and both El-Djazia and the Dervishes and The South Wind by Abdelhamid Benhadouga are prominent examples. The South Wind (Rih al Djanoub) was published in 1971.

Benhadouga (1925-1996) was, along with Tahar Wattar and “father of the Algerian novel” Ahmed Reda Houhou, part of the first generation of modern Algerian authors who wrote in Arabic. Although we hear a lot about Kateb Yacine, Benhadouga remains relatively ignored, outside of getting his portrait immortalised on a stamp issued by Algeria’s Post Office services this September.

The South Wind is set very soon after independence, when the Algerian government is about to implement its land-redistribution plan. Nafissa, a young university student, returns home to her village for the summer holidays. As soon as she is back, she misses her student life. Spending every day inside the home now weighs on her, and she starts feeling great resentment towards her parents for the patriarchy she only now begins to perceive. She can no longer stand to be in her mother Kheira’s company, and the bullying ways of father Belkadi enrage this once quiet and obedient girl. Belkadi, a wealthy landowner, is more short-tempered than usual. A new government policy means he’s about to lose his land and privileges.

Disturbed by their daughter’s behaviour, Nafissa’s parents begin to speculate as to the cause of her sulking ways. Kheira thinks Nafissa is possessed by a jinn, while Belkadi sees it is time to marry off Nafissa. Kheira calls a sheikh. Belkadi calls the mayor, Malek, his future son-in-law.

Nafissa agrees to see the sheikh, but she won’t agree to marriage. There’s only so much a girl can be forced into. This constitutes an unacceptable refusal for Belkadi, for whom women just don’t have a say. So Nafissa decides to escape, but her naïvely planned flight will tip over her life and send the entire village to a dark and petrifying end.

What happens to myths when social order has broken down, and the social fabric is tearing? Do monsters pour out onto the streets? When villages metamorphosed into towns, craftsmen and their trades adapted and moved with their stories. Era to decades, villages to cities, we’ve all gone from craft to crafty. That’s when plumber story cycles began probably.

Nafissa, El-Djazia, Loundja, Rova, Tin Hinan, Hiziya, and the many women of Algerian myths and legends have shown us which way not to take. What will Algeria choose? Whatever it maybe, may its story be beautiful; may it extend like a thread of wool; may whoever hears it, remember it always. As the Tamazight formula to open a story goes: Amachaho.

Safia Ketou - The Mauve Planet

 

"- Why should I change? My personality does not vary according to my residence."

"- As for me, I adapt to all environments."

The Mauve Planet

by Safia Ketou

Safia Ketou (of her real name Zohra Rabhi) is an Algerian short-story writer who wrote in French. She was born in 1944, in Aïn-Séfra. From 1962 to 1969 she was a primary school teacher in Aïn-Séfra and then moved to Algiers where she worked as a journalist for several daily newspapers like APS, Horizon, Algérie Actualité. She committed suicide in 1989 and was buried at the cemetry of Sidi Boudjemaa, in Aïn-Séfra. In Algeria, a literary group and NGO bears her name. 
 
Safia Ketou wrote short stories, and children story books.  She published a collection of poetry, Citar Friend (Amie Cithare) in 1979, and a play called Asma. Her short story collection The Mauve Planet (La Planète Mauve et Autres Nouvelles) was published in 1983.

Safia Ketou is probably the first contemporary Algerian author to have written science-fiction, or at least to have been published first. It would appear that our first sci-fi writer, post-independence, was a woman. A wonderful fact I never tire of mentioning and about which I wrote in Safia Ketou: The First Algerian Sci-fi Novelist of Post-independence Algeria.

Her short story collection The Mauve Planet and Other Stories (La Planète Mauve et Autres Nouvelles) is a series of tales set in space, or outside of space and time, in mythical places and were written between 1962 and 1978.

Safia Ketou's style is simple, nude in a sense. Her texts and her vision of an outer world remind me of Neil Gaiman's sense of the fantastic (see his collection Fragile Things). The stories start simply enough, and the reader follows the tone of a tale that echoes childhood memories, until suddenly the story has edged towards something bordering on horror.

Because The Mauve Planet is practically forgotten altogether in Algeria and unknown abroad, and because it has not been republished anywhere (nor has not been translated in English, as the rest of Ketou's work), I thought I'd bend the rules of authors estates' rights and translate one of here stories to publish it here.

She deserves to be remembered, these stories deserve to be known, in Algeria and abroad particularly in English because I never want to have to sit again in a lecture hall listening to a MENA literature specialist telling me that North Africa, for all its glory, hasn't yet managed to produce science-fiction work ....



In honour of your memory ya Zohra Rabha-Safia Ketou.


"The Mauve Planet :

Ryad and Alym checked the flight deck of their spaceshuttle Faiza 7 together. They filled up the tank and bought provisions from the astronauts’ shop. Their new space-suit, made from a material resistant to every condition, had just been delivered. Now finally ready, the two astronauts waved to the commander of Base 88 and climbed in their pod. They were leaving the earth just as the first snowflakes were landing on the ground.

The first part of the voyage went smoothly.  The galaxies’ splendid hues and their shimmer filled the screen with scintillating poetry. Ryad was humming in his cabin looking at the stars while Alym kept an eye on the steering-needles chewing on vitamin pills. To calm his nerves, Ryad put his seat in semi-horizontal position and took a nap.

Alym’s attention was suddenly drawn to his control panel.  The steering-needles had begun to move about and the ignition levers were flashing, signalling an alarm. Worried, Alym tried to stabilize the needles but in vain.  Instinctively, his team mate awoke and started radio-calling the Air Base.  The only sound received was muddled and rustling, impossible to decipher.  The airwaves were scrambled.  He thought out loud:

- We are cut off from earth.

- We are changing direction, said Alym who was observing the control panel.

The space-shuttle was supposed to go toward the moon where a new base had been built in 1980, but a curious phenomenon was altering Faiza 7’s trajectory.  The direction that the shuttle was following appeared irresistibly attracted by a force leading them toward Shipwreck-Space.

Greatly distressed, Alym called out:

- The Tenth Space!

- We’re finished, said Ryad, his eyes fixed on the control panel.

But when it reached 90 degrees, the main needle stabilised, and the alarm signals stopped flashing.

- Our shuttle seems auto-guided, noticed Alym.

- Who is this super pilot leading us by the nose? asked Ryad intrigued.

This question, although somewhat premature, relaxed the atmosphere.  The two astronauts looked at each other, and burst out laughing, a pleasant release when their chest up to now had been tight with anguish.

***

Soon, a large planet, mauve in colour, appeared on Faiza 7’s front screen.  A surprise whistle escaped Ryad.  His companion hurried to switch on the system’s powerful cameras.

- A photo souvenir for my wife, he said with a cheeky wink. 

Ryad pulled a sceptical face:

- You are very optimistic, to hope to see her again.

- Why shouldn’t I be?

- That’s true, Ryad admitted, I am being dramatic.

- Let’s take the Y pills, advised Alym.

- We will need all our faculties, yes.

- Take the R pills also.

- Ok, but…

An unexpected crackling sound interrupted him mid-sentence. The two pilots jumped from fear, their anguish now high, when a voice made their rear-microphone vibrate.

- Earthlings, do you hear me?

A heavy silence followed the question just spoken. Utter fright. The two men were barely breathing.  Ryad tried to break from his suffocation but could not make a sound. Pale, Alym was in control enough to whisper:

- He spoke in Esperanto.

The mysterious voice immediately explained:

- We know every language.

Ryad back in control of himself listened carefully and kept an eye on the voice-recorders that had just kicked in. Now completely back to his usual self-control, Alym asked:

- who are you?

- I am the leader of the XYRYX.

Meanwhile, Faiza 7 had landed softly like a falling leaf on an autumnal ground.

- Where are we? Ryad said.

The voice with no face replied:

- You are on the Mauve Planet.

- I’ve never heard of it, admitted Ryad.

- Take off your protective suits and come out of your shuttle.

- Is there oxygen on this planet? Alym worried.

- There is, yes, you will not need your helmets.

The two men did not wait. They took off their space suits, left their respective pods and crossed the barrier that lead them to the exit. Unfamiliar perfumes tickled their nose. When they reached the bottom of the ladder, they stopped to breathe in the air and fill their lungs with the sweet breeze that played with their hair.  While waiting for instructions from the leader of planet XYRYX, the two companions exchanged their first impressions in code. They were no longer anxious. Fear had turned to curiosity. The pair had always been fond of new experiences and suspense.

They awaited further instructions almost impatiently. Nothing. The strange voice had stopped. The two men began to walk on the mauve sand, spread as far as the eye could see. According to their earth-watch, they had walked for only a few minutes when they saw that a green city was raising from the ground, about a hundred meters from where they stood.  Thinking he was being tricked by a mirage, Alym asked Ryad:

- are you seeing what I’m seeing?

-  what are you seeing?

- a city that has just sprung up from the desert.

- then it’s not a mirage, concluded Ryad with an comical accent which made Alym laugh nervously.

He felt he was losing grip of his senses.

- Go on, grumbled Ryad, we are both lost in a mauve desert with a moveable city that pops up from the ground, and Mister Happy Alym finds it perfectly ok somehow to explode with laughter!

- What ... Alym was trying to explain but was again shaken with irrational laughter.

- Don’t choke yourself, I haven’t taken my first aid kit.

- To butcher me with! No thanks.

The two men were making their way to the main avenue of the green city while arguing.

- I really could do with a coffee, said Ryad seeing a drinking area through the transparent walls of the city.

- Let’s go in, Alym decided, pushing the door.

A hubbub welcomed the two men. Twenty people in metallic clothing, some sitting some standing, were in the bar.  They were completely flat and wore a number on their chest.  Their head had two faces, they did not need to turn to examine who had come in and in a second the realisation of the two men’s arrival froze the assembly. A hush descended.  Ryad felt a threat floating over them and turned pale. Alym did not hesitate. In a measured tone, he spoke to the room in these terms:

- we are earthlings and we have arrived on your planet by accident.

A few exclamations were heard. One of the men raised his hand to call for calm. He came to meet the two men and declared:

- It was not an accident.

Ryad whistled and Alym said:

- How so?

The man, who wore a number 318 on his clothing, made an appeasing gesture:

- Your deviation was provoked.

- Why? Ryad asked.

- You will know in good time.

Upon hearing this evasive answer, Ryad and Alym looked at each other, not in the least bit enthusiastic about this news. XYRYX 318 invited them to sit down and signalled to the barman. As soon as he did so, the two guests were served two glasses filled with a whitish liquid. The drink had an indefinable taste and they had a difficult time hiding their cringing face while drinking.

XYRYX 318 was keeping an eye on the content level.  Seizing an opportune moment, he amiably offered:

- do you want some more?

Ryad hurriedly and revealingly replied:

- No thank you.

Alym tried to repair his companion’s rudeness.

- It’s tasty but, he said, but…

Not waiting to hear anymore, XYRYX 318 called the waiter and the same drink was brought in larger glasses. There was enough to refresh a whale.

Ryad gave Alym with a slanted look.

- It’s delicious isn’t it? He riled.

Alym glared at him while smiling diplomatically to those around him.  Taking advantage of a moment during which XYRYZ 318 was distracted, he emptied his glass in a flower pot. “I hope this will not harm it” he thought.

Very relaxed, Ryad began to question his host.

-  Why is this city moving, he asked?

-  It’s a preventive measure against an atomic war, explained XYRYX 318.

-  That’s astute.

-  This way, during the day, soldiers guard the city, weapon in hand. At night, we make the city go down below ground so that everybody can rest running no risks.

- So why do you not continually live underground?

- Because of the air system.

- Really?

- Yes, this planet’s air is called Pleasure Air. It also stops old age.

-  And what effect does it have on people from planet earth?

-  That’s what we’re going to find out, declared XYRYX 318 standing up, come with me.

The two men followed XYRYX 318 outside. One out, he took out of his pocket a device not bigger than a matchbox.  He pressed on it and asked:

- You do know this, don’t you?

- No, admitted Alym.

- It’s a radio-control for a car. Wherever I am, my vehicle can find me as soon as I call for it.

And as he spoke, the rolling engine stopped neatly before the two surprised men who exclaimed:

- With no driver!

XYRYX 318 smiled:

- It’s radio-controlled. The engine also works everywhere, in the air, underwater or on ground level.

- That’s wonderful, Ryad exclaimed, walking around the multiform machine.

- Do you want to go in? offered XYRYX 318, opening the doors.

- With pleasure, the two men replied, climbing in the strange car.

XYRYX 318 got behind the wheel. He started up the engine and he said:

- Even though it is automatic, I prefer to drive it myself as in the good old days.

The car-boat-plane machine rode on firm ground a little then took off in the air. The two men realised they could look at the city and the fields of the Mauve Planet through enlarging glass-windows. A symphony of colours charmed their dazzled eyes. The landscape was so harmonious that Ryad felt his painter’s fingers tickle. He felt himself become a child again, sat before an illustrated book, just for an instant. Next to him and rocked by the machine’s regular movements, Alym felt a sweet drowsiness overtake him.  XYRYX 318 was a very good driver.

Suddenly, a sort of a brontosaur-shape rose up on the horizon, almost touching the windshield. Seeing the monster, a scream escaped the two men. Their host began to laugh:

- You are scared, he noted.

- It’s …. It’s a monster, stuttered Ryad.

- Not at all, XYRYX 318 said.

- What is it? Stammered Alym.

- A castle, that’s all.

- That’s all, repeated Alym mused.

After the beauty of the landscape, it was a peculiar sight. Grey with fright, Ryad murmured:

- Gloomy…

- This is where our leader resides, the driver said.

“He’s got tastes” thought Alym, while his companion was elbowing him in the ribs lightly in common understanding.  The two men began to examine the aspect of this strange residence.  It seemed to be made out of materials unknown to them. A true aesthete, Ryad was shocked.  He could not help but observe:

 - Strange architecture. Who could have conceived such a thing?

- Me, quietly replied XYRYX 318.

- Oh, do forgive me, sputtered Ryad blushing.

- That’s quite all right, it's nothing.

- You are not offended?

- No, because your opinion matters little to me.

Alym was waiting for this opportunity.

- Ha! Take that! He triumphantly punctuated.

Ryad raised his shoulders. The XYRYX touched a handle. The vehicle lost altitude and softly landed on the main roof. Opening his door, XYRYX 318 explained:

- This residence is also a spaceship.

- A spaceship? Exclaimed Alym who was passionate about mechanics.

- Yes, it’s practical, our leader frequently takes off on last minute trips.

Having left the plane to the care of technicians, the three of them entered the place via elevator stairs. Amazing! While the exterior of this rocket-palace was plain looking, its interior was delightful and welcoming, like the case of a jewel. In the first room, the walls were luminescent, the draperies were fragrant, and convertible furniture was set among an ultra-modern decor. XYRYX invited the two men to sit down. He checked the time on his ring-watch and left them alone. Alym and Ryad went round the room, face to face with previously unimaginable objects. Their host was taking some time to come back, so they began to smoke the nourishing-cigarettes they found.

- Exquisite! Ryad said approvingly, inhaling a second time.

- Yes, agreed Alym, they are much better than ours.

Having browsed through a comic-strip left in the room, Ryad lied down on the air-conditioned sofa and fell instantly asleep. Soon after, Alym did the same, unable to resist the call of the soft pillows that sang calming melodies.

***

When they woke up, the two men realised they had been moved to a bedroom with two beds. Ryad stretched himself for a long while before addressing his friend who had buried himself in fur.

 - We are really being treated like princes, he said.

- Or like hostages, finished Alym.

- Don’t be such a pessimist, begged Ryad while readjusting his perfumed pillow.

-  It is not pessimism but realism, corrected Alym.

Ryad laughed brushing it off:

- Look at this luxury.  Isn’t it an ideal place to regain some strength?

Alym scratched his head perplexed:

- I don’t see what the aim of XYRYX is.

- Nor do I, confessed Ryad, we will soon find out…

- You are a patient disciple of madame Waiting.

- Let us say rather that I let myself live.  And as long as there is life, there is hope.

- The theory is defensible, but if I must give you some advice, don’t believe in fairy stories.

- You are always so full of suspicions. You haven't changed.

- Why should I change? My personality does not vary according to my residence.

- As for me, I adapt to all environments.

- As you wish. But do recognise that we have not been brought here for our looks.

Ryad laughed.

- Why not? He said. Maybe there is a lovely XYRYX princess who has fallen in love with one of us.  She ordered her technicians to alter the trajectory our spaceship and…

Alym interrupted him:

- Stop dreaming, our reputation has not crossed to the Tenth dimension.

Seeing that his friend was taking this humourlessly, Ryad tapped him on the shoulder and calmly said:

- You are so credulous Alym, you take everything I say at first value.

- Of course I do, you never stop joking.

While they were talking, the two men examined the place with greater attention.  They noticed several devices, the use or handling of which they did not recognise. The window was slightly ajar, and opened on a well-kept garden, filled with luminous flowers whose species was unknown to them.

A woman’s voice surprised the two pilots about an hour after they had freshened up:

- Would you like something to eat?

It was coming from the intercom on the wall. They replied yes. Immediately, a young woman, wearing number 1,000 on the front of her clothing, entered the bedroom. Her clothes were made of embroidered aluminium. She was pushing a rolling table full of beautifully presented dishes from which a delicious aroma floated. She welcomed them with a lovely smile and introduced herself as their guide and interpreter.  Then, she sat at the table in front of them to show them how to eat the Mauve Planet's food. To make sure they were not lacking anything, she began to question them. They were feeling at ease and answered easily.  XYRYX 1,000 was really a charming and cultivated hostess.

The two colleagues tasted each dish she served them. They noticed her thin fingers were adorned with gold filaments. Under her spell, they let themselves be rocked by her crystalline voice.  She was insisting:

- Do take more fruits, they are very light.

Alym had many questions.

- Are there schools here? He asked.

- No, we are all autodidacts.  Each one of us has a small device he can consult at any moment, anywhere.

- What do you call this instrument?

- We call it the Professor.

- The Professor?

- yes, because we have the possibility to ask it any question and it has the ability to answer all of them with exactitude.

- But who teaches you the basics?

- Our parents. When we are born, they provide us with food, accommodation, and clothing.  At the same time, they become our educators until we acquire this teaching device, that is, the Professor.

- Do you get practical classes?

- There are science laboratories as well as pedagogical museums equipped with the most sophisticated tools.  You can meet the planet’s greatest scientists, and go and talk to them without asking for an appointment first.

- And what about language teaching?

- We rely on the audio-visual method. Our recorders and televisions have great recognition power. We can also be present and assist to any interplanetary conference.

Ryad also had questions for the young woman:

- How do marriages function here? He asked.

- There is nothing problematic about unions here. They function by number.

- What do you mean?

- Couples are formed very simply. For example, woman 120 will marry man 120.

- How odd, grunted Ryad, and are there divorces?

- Never.

- Why not?

- Because for us, no problem is insoluble. A physical or moral discord is a disease we treat. There are remedies for all ills, a solution to all problems.

- It’s rational, but are you really happy?

- Happy? As much as one can be. I confess that personally, I aspire to nothing else if that is what you mean…

- Are you married? Asked Ryad.

She blushed but nonetheless replied:

- When Man 1,000 comes back from his mission, we will get married.

To stop his friend embarrassing their hostess any further, Alym asked:

- Could I ask, what doctrine have you chosen to live by on this planet?

- We have opted for scientific socialism. No one is in need here.  We eliminated private property and state capitalism a long time ago.  Social justice is a concrete reality. Our leader is not a dictator but a guide for us.

- So it’s a success, admitted Alym.

- Perfect, confirmed Ryad with a sneer.

Alym understood that his friend was making fun of him. He said to the interpreter:

- You know, my friend Ryad is a thorough capitalist.

- It shows, she said.

Suddenly, the mural intercom crackled and a man’s voice called out:

- Hello XYRYX 1,000?

- Yes, I’m listening.

- Bring the earthlings to our leader.

- Ok, over and out.

This brief discussion had taken place in a language foreign to the two men. XYRYX 1,000 translated it in these terms:

- Our leader is waiting for you.

Alym and Ryad followed the hostess through the flowery corridors of the spaceship-city.  At the end of the last corridors, a door made of asbestos suddenly opened and four armed men proceeded to accompany the earthlings to the guide.

All seven ascended in an elevator that took them to the private chambers of the leader of XYRYX. Two ugly giants were guarding the entrance. XYRYX 1,000 spoke to them in a tongue unintelligible to the two men.  After talking with each other, the guards signalled to the soldiers who were immobile and standing very straight.  Promptly, they abandoned their military posture and searched the newcomers before letting them cross what was for them a threshold toward mystery.

As soon as they took their first step inside, the two men were spellbound.  A bewitching music had welcomed them. The beauty of the place was beyond worldly imagination. All sense of time had vanished, the atmosphere’s density seemed heavier to them, almost unbearable.  Close to fainting, they were nonetheless walking behind a smiling hostess who kept turning around to check on them and reassure them.

Finally, she succeeded in dissipating the anguish that had engulfed them.  With one movement of the hand, the music stopped.  She had dismissed the spell and she announced:

- Here is the leader of the XYRYX.

The earthlings’ eyes rested on the same spot.  They saw a being with no head, lying on a round bed.  He spoke in Esperanto:

- Sit down, earth men.

They obeyed keeping their eyes fixed on the leader who continued:

- I diverted your ship because I need you.

Ryad exclaimed:

- Us!

- Yes, I am about to die.

When he said these words, a woman’s voice came from some place hidden. It was a voice intensely sad that began to recite. The leader of the XYRYX heaved a long sigh and proceeded:

- Death is nigh.

A shudder froze the atmosphere.  Alym tried to be warm and said:

- Well, one is never sure.

- I am, said the leader of the XYRYX, because when the people of this planet are about to die, they become invisible for a little while, just before death.

Frowning, the two men nodded dubiously.  To convince them, the leader added:

- Can you not see that my head is no longer visible?

During these long moments, no comforting sound could have made the fear which had taken over the room go away.  Ryad could no longer stand this oppressive silence.  He stood up and screamed, feeling himself go mad:

- Speak! Oh would you just speak!

The young woman came over to stop him as he was about to throw himself out of the window. She brought him back to his seat to make him drink a calming potion. Then, she pushed on a button hidden under the table.  As soon as she did so, the calming sound of sea waves and seagulls could be heard.  The atmosphere relaxed. Alym sighed with relief. But very much shaken, Ryad exclaimed:

- The sea! I want to see the sea!

The hostess replied to him gently:

- There is no sea on the Mauve Planet.

- It’s a recording, isn’t it? Alym said.

- Yes.

During this interminable exchange, the leader of the XYRYX had remained composed.  Calmly, he spoke again:

- As I was telling you, my life is about to end…

- Alas…., cried the young girl.

- It will be a great loss for your people, Alym sympathised.

- You have just worded the crux of the matter.  These people that I dearly love have always placed their trust in me while I was living. And my death must not alter anything.

- Yes, agreed Alym.

Ryad who had come back to his senses, asked:

- What can we do?

- It’s simple, I count on the two of you.

- On us? They were both stunned.

- Yes, let me explain …

He hesitated before beginning:

- Do you know that earth men become immortal when they come to this planet?

The two men opened their eyes wide and exclaimed in unison:

- What!

Seeing the effect of his revelation, the leader of the XYRYX gently laughed.

- And so? said Alym.

- And so, you have become indestructible.

Impulsively, Ryad applauded and cried out:

- Marvellous!

As for Alym, he only smiled and observed:

- When my wife finds out, she’s…

The leader of the XYRYX interrupted him:

- You wife will never see you again.

- What? Said Alym who couldn’t believe his ears.

- You will remain here, specified the leader.

- But … what for?

- When I die, you will take my place.

- Leader of the XYRYX!

- Their eternal leader.

- Is this a proposition or an order?

- An order, the leader stressed.

Ryad felt that fear was overwhelming him. He wanted to act naïve:

- If I understand correctly, he said to his friend, you’re in real trouble.

Unperturbed, the leader added:

- You are in the same situation. You will be his deputy.

Immediately, Ryad did not feel like joking any longer.  He was certain at present. The leader of the XYRYX would achieve his goal. Alym thought he was living a nightmare. He felt his mind quit him. Ryad saw such anguish in his friend’s eyes, he attempted a last plea:

- What about our families?

- Already, you no longer have families.

- It’s inconceivable! protested Alym.

With a calm voice, the leader of the XYRYX explained:

- Understand me well, he said, I do not want you to reproduce.  The Mauve Planet must not be submerged by little earthlings and by their descendants later. In that event, my people would be in danger, especially because they themselves are mortals.

Ryad thought he’d found a breach in this argument and declared:

- Conclusion: you should let us go.

- No, my decision is taken. Because I love my people I want to thank them before I die. How? By delegating an eternal leader whose duty will be to safeguard unity and popular opinion.

- Until when? asked Alym.

- Until the end of planet XYRYX.

- Isn’t that so! Ryad said sarcastically, which means that….

Alym completed:

- Which means that we will find ourselves totally alone…

The two men looked at each other and decided together:

- We are going to leave.

At this very instant the leader of the XYRYX decided to be firm. Sternly he said:

- I will stop you.

- What if we tried to run away? said Alym

- The signals of your spaceship are scrambled.  If you turn back you will become lost in space.

- How so? Said Ryad.

- Your spaceship would wander forever in between planets, never able to land anywhere.

They were speechless. They looked at each other. An indescribable sadness enveloped them.

***

Meanwhile, on earth, the commander of Base 88 was very worried. He had been waiting for a signal from Faiza 7 and had sent messages to every space station with no result.

All interplanetary transmission-posts were alerted.  No information had been received on Alym and Ryad.  Finally, the astronauts’ syndicate had to take a decision. With the standard investigation complete, the men were declared lost.

Their families were informed by the services’ psychologist on the base.  On Earth, Ryad and Alym were now considered dead.

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You can download the original La Planète Mauve et autres nouvelles here