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6 The doum tree of Wad Hamid
Wherever you happen to be in the village you can see it; in
fact, you can even see it from four villages away.
Tomorrow you will depart from our village, of that there
is no doubt, the mementoes of the short walk we have taken
visible upon your face, neck and hands. But before you leave
I shall finish the story of the tree, the doum tree of Wad Hamid.
Come in, my son, treat this house as your own.
You ask who planted the doum tree?
No one planted it, my son. Is the ground in which it grows
arable land? Do you not see that it is stony and appreciably
higher than the river bank, like the pedestal of a statue, while
the river twists and turns below it like a sacred snake, one
of the ancient gods of the Egyptians? My son, no one planted
it. Drink your tea, for you must be in need of it after the
trying experience you have undergone. Most probably it grew
up by itself, though no one remembers having known it other
than as you now find it. Our sons opened their eyes to find it
commanding the village. And we, when we take ourselves back
to childhood memories, to that dividing line beyond which you
remember nothing, see in our minds a giant down tree standing
on a river bank; everything beyond it is as cryptic as talismans,
like the Imundary between day and night, like that fading light
which is not the dawn but the light directly preceding the break
of day. My son, do you find that you can follow what I say?
Are you aware of this feeling I have within me but which I am
powerless to express? Every new generation finds the doum
tree as though it had been born at the time of their birth and
would grow up with them. Go and sit with the people of this
village and listen to them recounting their dreams. A . man
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