The Slave's Citadel
Short Story

Had he not been too distressfully ragged I would have though him a poet. For the site he had chosen for his ramshackle hut of wood and beaten out jerry cans was truly magnificent. It was by the edge of the sea that raged and surged at the foot of the cliffs. The waters swirled with a deep-throated gurgle. His face was gaunt. His beard was white with streaks of black hair. His eyes were hollows under bushy brows. His cheekbones protruded like two rocks that had come to rest either side of the large projection that was his nose.

Why had we gone there? I don’t recall. We had traversed a rough and featureless terrain in a small car. We drove for more than three hours before Thabit pointed through the windscreen as he gave a shout “there’s the slave’s Citadel.”

The Citadel was a large rock. The base of which had been gnawed away by the waves so that it resembled the wing of a giant bird with a head that had curled into the sand and with one wing outstretched over the waters.

“Why do they call it the slaves Citadel?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Its probably a reference to some historical event”. Thabit pointed towards the beach. “Do you see that hut?” he said. He turned off the engine and we got out of the car. “They say that a mad old man lives there.”

“What doe he do in this deserted place all alone?”

“What any other crazy old man would do.”

In the distance we could see the old man squatting on his heels at the entrance to his hut. His head resting in his hands he was staring out to sea.

“Why do you think he’s mad?” I asked.

“That’s what I ve been told.”

Thabit found a spot on the beach that was to his liking. He leveled the sand and dropped the bottle of water to the ground. He took food out of a bag and slumped down on the sand. He began to eat. “They say the had four sons who struck rich. The boys then quarreled about who should care for the old man. Finally, the old guy was thrown out and left here to rot.”

“Is that what made him crazy?”

“I don’t know. he’s not far away who don’t you go ask him?” Thabit turned to arranging a small stack of dry driftwood. He lit it to make a fire. Then, he poured water into a metal container and set it on fire.

“The important point to establish is whether his abandonment was the cause of his insanity”. I persisted.

Thabit blew on the fire then rubbed his eyes as he sat up on his knees. “I cannot bear the sight of him,” he said. “That a man should spend his life in work. Should exert himself day after day and hour after hour; should for seventy long years earn his bread with the sweat of his brow; that he should live his days in hope for a better future; and for seventy years should go to sleep each night - and for what? So that he should spend the remaining days of his life cast out like a dog, alone, squatting on a beach, like that. Look at him.

 He’s like some animal that’s lost its fur. Is it right that after seventy years all he gets is this?”

He started at me. Then spreading out the palms of his hand in front of me he continued his tirade. “Try and imagine it: seventy useless, meaningless years. Imagine walking for seventy years along the same road, in the same direction. Constrained by the same borders. Limited by the by the same horizons. The same everything for seventy years. It would be very unbearable.”
“You don’t know that’s how he feels,” I objected. “Maybe we should ask him?”

We approached the old man. He raised his eyes to us and coldly returned our greetings. We sat next to him glancing into the half opened door of his hut. We could see a bare matterss. In the far corner was a rock on which lay a heap of unopened clams. We sat in silence for a while. Then the old mans feeble voice asked “Do you want to buy some clam? I sell clams.”

“Do you collect them yourself?” Thabit asked.

“I wait for low tide and then go in search of them. I gather them up and go in search of them. I gather them up and sell them to people who are looking for pearls”.

Thabit and I stared at each other.

“Why don’t you look for the pearls?” asked Thabit.

“Me?” He seemed puzzled by the idea as though the thought had never occurred to him before. He shook his head and fell silent.

“All righ, “ I said. “How much would you sell that pile for?”

“Cheap, very cheap. You can have them for two loaves of bread.”

“Those clams are way too small to have pearls in them.”

The old man looked at us with his lusterless eyes. “What do you know about clams?” he demanded sharply. “How do you know which one contains a pearl.”

Then turning away from us he relapsed into silence.

“Do you know which is the one?” I asked.

“No, Nobody knows,” he said toying with some shells that lay in front of him.

All right,” I said. We’ll take a pile.”

“Take them for two loaves, he said barely concealing the joy in his voice.

Thabit and I carried the pile of clams back to where we had previously been sitting.

“”He has the eyes of a madman,” said Thabit. “If he’s not crazy then why wouldn’t he open the clams to find the pearls for himself?”

“Maybe he’s already tried enough times and now prefers to watch others try.”

It took us several hours to open all the clams. We piled the gelatinous insides of the empty shells around us, then burst out laughing at our won foolishness.

That afternoon, Thabit made more tea and suggested that I offer a cup to the old man. Feelings of anxiety stirred within me as I approached the man. He accepted the offer and invited me to join him as he sipped his tea with relish.

“did you find anything in the clams?” he asked.

“No, we did not. You fooled us.”

He shook his head sadly and took another sip, “I fooled you to the value f two loaves,” he muttered as though speaking to himself he shook his head. Then suddenly he turned to me. “What if those clam shells were your life? OI mean if each shell were to represent a year of your life and you opened them one by one and found them empty would you have been as sad as you are about losing couple of loaves?” He started to shake all over. At that moment I was convinced that he was insane. His eyes lit up with an unnatural brightness under his bushy brows. When I tried to stand he gripped my wrist strongly with his frail hand. Then he spoke to me.

 “Don’t be afraid. I am not as mad as you think. Sit down and I will tell you something.” I sat down. “The happiest moments of my day are when I can watch the disappointment on peoples faces.”

He fell silent again and stared out toward the horizon, as though it had not been barely a moment ago that he had spoken to me. Then he turned to me again. “I knew you wouldn’t find anything. These clams are too small to hold the seeds of a pearl.”

Once more he fell silent and stared out towards the sea. Then muttering to himself he said. “The tide will ebb early tonight. I must be off to gather the clams. Tomorrow others will come to buy them.”

Puzzled I rose to my feet. The citadel was now a dark shadow against the fading light o the setting sun. I joined Thabit who was sitting drinking his tea by a mound of empty shells. I watched the old man chase the receding waterline as the low tide exposed more of the clams for him to collect.
 

* Alawda.ca