The Garden of Allah

  CHAPTER IV

  Having given her luggage ticket to a porter, Domini passed out of thestation followed by Suzanne, who looked and walked like an exhaustedmarionette. Batouch, who had emerged from a third-class compartmentbefore the train stopped, followed them closely, and as they reached thejostling crowd of Arabs which swarmed on the roadway he joined them withthe air of a proprietor.

  "Which is Madame's hotel?"

  Domini looked round.

  "Ah, Batouch!"

  Suzanne jumped as if her string had been sharply pulled, and cast aglance of dreary suspicion upon the poet. She looked at his legs, thenupwards.

  He wore white socks which almost met his pantaloons. Scarcely more thanan inch of pale brown skin was visible. The gold buttons of his jacketglittered brightly. His blue robe floated majestically from his broadshoulders, and the large tassel of his fez fell coquettishly towardshis left ear, above which was set a pale blue flower with a woolly greenleaf.

  Suzanne was slightly reassured by the flower and the bright buttons.She felt that they needed a protector in this mob of shouting brown andblack men, who clamoured about them like savages, exposing bare legs andarms, even bare chests, in a most barbarous manner.

  "We are going to the Hotel du Desert," Domini continued. "Is it far?"

  "Only a few minutes, Madame."

  "I shall like to walk there."

  Suzanne collapsed. Her bones became as wax with apprehension. She sawherself toiling over leagues of sand towards some nameless hovel.

  "Suzanne, you can get into the omnibus and take the handbags."

  At the sweet word omnibus a ray of hope stole into the maid's heart, andwhen a nicely-dressed man, in a long blue coat and indubitable trousers,assisted her politely into a vehicle which was unmistakable she almostwept for joy.

  Meanwhile Domini, escorted serenely by the poet, walked towards the longgardens of Beni-Mora. She passed over a wooden bridge. White dust wasflying from the road, along which many of the Arab aristocracy wereindolently strolling, carrying lightly in their hands small red roses orsprigs of pink geranium. In their white robes they looked, she thought,like monks, though the cigarettes many of them were smoking foughtagainst the illusion. Some of them were dressed like Batouch inpale-coloured cloth. They held each other's hands loosely as theysauntered along, chattering in soft contralto voices. Two or three wereattended by servants, who walked a pace or two behind them on the left.These were members of great families, rulers of tribes, men who hadinfluence over the Sahara people. One, a shortish man with a coal-blackbeard, moved so majestically that he seemed almost a giant. His face wasvery pale. On one of his small, almost white, hands glittered a diamondring. A boy with a long, hooked nose strolled gravely near him, wearingbrown kid gloves and a turban spangled with gold.

  "That is the Kaid of Tonga, Madame," whispered Batouch, looking at thepale man reverently. "He is here _en permission_."

  "How white he is."

  "They tried to poison him. Ever since he is ill inside. That is hisbrother. The brown gloves are very chic."

  A light carriage rolled rapidly by them in a white mist of dust. It wasdrawn by a pair of white mules, who whisked their long tails as theytrotted briskly, urged on by a cracking whip. A big boy with heavy browneyes was the coachman. By his side sat a very tall young negro with ahumorous pointed nose, dressed in primrose yellow. He grinned at Batouchout of the mist, which accentuated the coal-black hue of his whimsical,happy face.

  "That is the Agha's son with Mabrouk."

  They turned aside from the road and came into a long tunnel formed bymimosa trees that met above a broad path. To right and left were otherlittle paths branching among the trunks of fruit trees and the narrowtwigs of many bushes that grew luxuriantly. Between sandy brown banks,carefully flattened and beaten hard by the spades of Arab gardeners,glided streams of opaque water that were guided from the desert by asystem of dams. The Kaid's mill watched over them and the great wallof the fort. In the tunnel the light was very delicate and tinged withgreen. The noise of the water flowing was just audible. A few Arabs weresitting on benches in dreamy attitudes, with their heelless slippershanging from the toes of their bare feet. Beyond the entrance of thetunnel Domini could see two horsemen galloping at a tremendous pace intothe desert. Their red cloaks streamed out over the sloping quarters oftheir horses, which devoured the earth as if in a frenzy of emulation.They disappeared into the last glories of the sun, which still lingeredon the plain and blazed among the summits of the red mountains.

  All the contrasts of this land were exquisite to Domini and, in somemysterious way, suggested eternal things; whispering through colour,gleam, and shadow, through the pattern of leaf and rock, through theair, now fresh, now tenderly warm and perfumed, through the silence thathung like a filmy cloud in the golden heaven.

  She and Batouch entered the tunnel, passing at once into definiteevening. The quiet of these gardens was delicious, and was onlyinterrupted now and then by the sound of wheels upon the road as acarriage rolled by to some house which was hidden in the distance of theoasis. The seated Arabs scarcely disturbed it by their murmured talk.Many of them indeed said nothing, but rested like lotus-eaters ingraceful attitudes, with hanging hands, and eyes, soft as the eyes ofgazelles, that regarded the shadowy paths and creeping waters with agrave serenity born of the inmost spirit of idleness.

  But Batouch loved to talk, and soon began a languid monologue.

  He told Domini that he had been in Paris, where he had been the guest ofa French poet who adored the East; that he himself was "instructed," andnot like other Arabs; that he smoked the hashish and could sing the lovesongs of the Sahara; that he had travelled far in the desert, to Soufand to Ouargla beyond the ramparts of the Dunes; that he composedverses in the night when the uninstructed, the brawlers, the drinkers ofabsinthe and the domino players were sleeping or wasting their timein the darkness over the pastimes of the lewd, when the sybariteswere sweating under the smoky arches of the Moorish baths, and the_marechale_ of the dancing-girls sat in her flat-roofed house guardingthe jewels and the amulets of her gay confederation. These verses werewritten both in Arabic and in French, and the poet of Paris and hisfriends had found them beautiful as the dawn, and as the palm trees ofOurlana by the Artesian wells. All the girls of the Ouled Nails werecelebrated in these poems--Aishoush and Irena, Fatma and Baali. In themalso were enshrined legends of the venerable marabouts who slept in theParadise of Allah, and tales of the great warriors who had fought abovethe rocky precipices of Constantine and far off among the sands ofthe South. They told the stories of the Koulouglis, whose mothers wereMoorish slaves, and romances in which figured the dark-skinned BeniM'Zab and the freed negroes who had fled away from the lands in the veryheart of the sun.

  All this information, not wholly devoid of a naive egoism, Batouchpoured forth gently and melodiously as they walked through the twilightin the tunnel. And Domini was quite content to listen. The strange namesthe poet mentioned, his liquid pronunciation of them, his allusionsto wild events that had happened long ago in desert places, and to thelives of priests of his old religion, of fanatics, and girls who rodeon camels caparisoned in red to the dancing-houses of Sahara cities--allthese things cradled her humour at this moment and seemed to plant her,like a mimosa tree, deep down in this sand garden of the sun.

  She had forgotten her bitter sensation in the railway carriage when itwas recalled to her mind by an incident that clashed with her presentmood.

  Steps sounded on the path behind them, going faster than they were, andpresently Domini saw her fellow-traveller striding along, accompaniedby a young Arab who was carrying the green bag. The stranger was lookingstraight before him down the tunnel, and he went by swiftly. But hisguide had something to say to Batouch, and altered his pace to keepbeside them for a moment. He was a very thin, lithe, skittish-lookingyouth, apparently about twenty-three years old, with a chocolate-brownskin, high cheek bones, long, almond-shaped eyes twinkling withdissipated humour,
and a large mouth that smiled showing pointed whiteteeth. A straggling black moustache sprouted on his upper lip, and longcoarse strands of jet-black hair escaped from under the front of a fezthat was pushed back on his small head. His neck was thin and long, andhis hands were wonderfully delicate and expressive, with rosy and quiteperfect nails. When he laughed he had a habit of throwing his headforward and tucking in his chin, letting the tassel of his fez fall overhis temple to left or right. He was dressed in white with a burnous,and had a many-coloured piece of silk with frayed edges wound about hiswaist, which was as slim as a young girl's.

  He spoke to Batouch with intense vivacity in Arabic, at the sametime shooting glances half-obsequious, half-impudent, wholly and evenpreternaturally keen and intelligent at Domini. Batouch replied with thedignified languor that seemed peculiar to him. The colloquy continuedfor two or three minutes. Domini thought it sounded like a quarrel, butshe was not accustomed to Arabs' talk. Meanwhile, the stranger in fronthad slackened his pace, and was obviously lingering for his neglectfulguide. Once or twice he nearly stopped, and made a movement as if toturn round. But he checked it and went on slowly. His guide spoke moreand more vehemently, and suddenly, tucking in his chin and displayinghis rows of big and dazzling teeth, burst into a gay and boyish laugh,at the same time shaking his head rapidly. Then he shot one last slylook at Domini and hurried on, airily swinging the green bag to and fro.His arms had tiny bones, but they were evidently strong, and he walkedwith the light ease of a young animal. After he had gone he turned hishead once and stared full at Domini. She could not help laughing at thevanity and consciousness of his expression. It was childish. Yet therewas something ruthless and wicked in it too. As he came up to thestranger the latter looked round, said something to him, and thenhastened forward. Domini was struck by the difference between theirgaits. For the stranger, although he was so strongly built and muscular,walked rather heavily and awkwardly, with a peculiar shuffling motionof his feet. She began to wonder how old he was. About thirty-five orthirty-seven, she thought.

  "That is Hadj," said Batouch in his soft, rich voice.

  "Hadj?"

  "Yes. He is my cousin. He lives in Beni-Mora, but he, too, has been inParis. He has been in prison too."

  "What for?"

  "Stabbing."

  Batouch gave this piece of information with quiet indifference, andcontinued

  "He likes to laugh. He is lazy. He has earned a great deal of money, andnow he has none. To-night he is very gay, because he has a client."

  "I see. Then he is a guide?"

  "Many people in Beni-Mora are guides. But Hadj is always lucky ingetting the English."

  "That man with him isn't English!" Domini exclaimed.

  She had wondered what the traveller's nationality was, but it had neveroccurred to her that it might be the same as her own.

  "Yes, he is. And he is going to the Hotel du Desert. You and he are theonly English here, and almost the only travellers. It is too early formany travellers yet. They fear the heat. And besides, few English comehere now. What a pity! They spend money, and like to see everything.Hadj is very anxious to buy a costume at Tunis for the great _fete_ atthe end of Ramadan. It will cost fifty or sixty francs. He hopes theEnglishman is rich. But all the English are rich and generous."

  Here Batouch looked steadily at Domini with his large, unconcerned eyes.

  "This one speaks Arabic a little."

  Domini made no reply. She was surprised by this piece of information.There was something, she thought, essentially un-English about thestranger. He was certainly not dressed by an English tailor. But it wasnot only that which had caused her mistake. His whole air and look, hismanner of holding himself, of sitting, of walking--yes, especially ofwalking--were surely foreign. Yet, when she came to think about it, shecould not say that they were characteristic of any other country. Idlyshe had said to herself that the stranger might be an Austrian or aRussian. But she had been thinking of his colouring. It happened thattwo _attaches_ of those two nations, whom she had met frequently inLondon, had hair of that shade of rather warm brown.

  "He does not look like an Englishman," she said presently.

  "He can talk in French and in Arabic, but Hadj says he is English."

  "How should Hadj know?"

  "Because he has the eyes of the jackal, and has been with many English.We are getting near to the Catholic church, Madame. You will see itthrough the trees. And there is Monsieur the Cure coming towards us. Heis coming from his house, which is near the hotel."

  At some distance in the twilight of the tunnel Domini saw a black figurein a soutane walking very slowly towards them. The stranger, who hadbeen covering the ground rapidly with his curious, shuffling stride,was much nearer to it than they were, and, if he kept on at hispresent pace, would soon pass it. But suddenly Domini saw him pause andhesitate. He bent down and seemed to be doing something to his boot.Hadj dropped the green bag, and was evidently about to kneel down, andassist him when he lifted himself up abruptly and looked before him, asif at the priest who was approaching, then turned sharply to the rightinto a path which led out of the garden to the arcades of the RueBerthe. Hadj followed, gesticulating frantically, and volubly explainingthat the hotel was in the opposite direction. But the stranger did notstop. He only glanced swiftly back over his shoulder once, and thencontinued on his way.

  "What a funny man that is!" said Batouch. "What does he want to do?"

  Domini did not answer him, for the priest was just passing them, and shesaw the church to the left among the trees. It was a plain, unpretendingbuilding, with a white wooden door set in an arch. Above the arch werea small cross, two windows with rounded tops, a clock, and a white towerwith a pink roof. She looked at it, and at the priest, whose face wasdark and meditative, with lustrous, but sad, brown eyes. Yet she thoughtof the stranger.

  Her attention was beginning to be strongly fixed upon the unknown man.His appearance and manner were so unusual that it was impossible not tonotice him.

  "There is the hotel, Madame!" said Batouch.

  Domini saw it standing at right angles to the church, facing thegardens. A little way back from the church was the priest's house, awhite building shaded by date palms and pepper trees. As they drew nearthe stranger reappeared under the arcade, above which was the terrace ofthe hotel. He vanished through the big doorway, followed by Hadj.

  While Suzanne was unpacking Domini came out on to the broad terracewhich ran along the whole length of the Hotel du Desert. Her bedroomopened on to it in front, and at the back communicated with a smallsalon. This salon opened on to a second and smaller terrace, from whichthe desert could be seen beyond the palms. There seemed to be no guestsin the hotel. The verandah was deserted, and the peace of the softevening was profound. Against the white parapet a small, round table anda cane armchair had been placed. A subdued patter of feet in slipperscame up the stairway, and an Arab servant appeared with a tea-tray.He put it down on the table with the precise deftness which Domini hadalready observed in the Arabs at Robertville, and swiftly vanished. Shesat down in the chair and poured out the tea, leaning her left arm onthe parapet.

  Her head was very tired and her temples felt compressed. She wasthankful for the quiet round her. Any harsh voice would have beenintolerable to her just then. There were many sounds in the village, butthey were vague, and mingled, flowing together and composing one soundthat was soothing, the restrained and level voice of Life. It hummed inDomini's ears as she sipped her tea, and gave an under-side of romanceto the peace. The light that floated in under the round arches of theterrace was subdued. The sun had just gone down, and the bright coloursbloomed no more upon the mountains, which looked like silent monstersthat had lost the hue of youth and had suddenly become mysteriously old.The evening star shone in a sky that still held on its Western bordersome last pale glimmerings of day, and, at its signal, many duskywanderers folded their loose garments round them, slung their long gunsacross their shoulders, and prepared to st
art on their journey, helpedby the cool night wind that blows in the desert when the sun departs.

  Domini did not know of them, but she felt the near presence of thedesert, and the feeling quieted her nerves. She was thankful at thismoment that she was travelling without any woman friend and was notpersecuted by any sense of obligation. In her fatigue, to rest passivein the midst of quiet, and soft light, calm in the belief, almost thecertainty, that this desert village contained no acquaintance to disturbher, was to know all the joy she needed for the moment. She drank itin dreamily. Liberty had always been her fetish. What woman had moreliberty than she had, here on this lonely verandah, with the shadowytrees below?

  The bell of the church near by chimed softly, and the familiar soundfell strangely upon Domini's ears out here in Africa, reminding her ofmany sorrows. Her religion was linked with terrible memories, with cruelstruggles, with hateful scenes of violence. Lord Rens had been a man ofpassionate temperament. Strong in goodness when he had been led by love,he had been equally strong in evil when hate had led him. Domini hadbeen forced to contemplate at close quarters the raw character of awarped man, from whom circumstance had stripped all tenderness, nearlyall reticence. The terror of truth was known to her. She had shudderedbefore it, but she had been obliged to watch it during many years. Incoming to Beni-Mora she had had a sort of vague, and almost childish,feeling that she was putting the broad sea between herself and it. Yetbefore she had started it had been buried in the grave. She never wishedto behold such truth again. She wanted to look upon some other truthof life--the truth of beauty, of calm, of freedom. Lord Rens had alwaysbeen a slave, the slave of love, most of all when he was filled withhatred, and Domini, influenced by his example, instinctively connectedlove with a chain. Only the love a human being has for God seemed to hersometimes the finest freedom; the movement of the soul upward into theinfinite obedient to the call of the great Liberator. The love of manfor woman, of woman for man, she thought of as imprisonment, bondage.Was not her mother a slave to the man who had wrecked her life andcarried her spirit beyond the chance of heaven? Was not her father aslave to her mother? She shrank definitely from the contemplation ofherself loving, with all the strength she suspected in her heart, ahuman being. In her religion only she had felt in rare moments somethingof love. And now here, in this tremendous and conquering land, she felta divine stirring in her love for Nature. For that afternoon Nature, sooften calm and meditative, or gently indifferent, as one too complete tobe aware of those who lack completeness, had impetuously summoned herto worship, had ardently appealed to her for something more than atemperate watchfulness or a sober admiration. There had been a mostdefinite demand made upon her. Even in her fatigue and in this dreamytwilight she was conscious of a latent excitement that was not lulled tosleep.

  And as she sat there, while the darkness grew in the sky and spreadsecretly along the sandy rills among the trees, she wondered howmuch she held within her to give in answer to this cry to her ofself-confident Nature. Was it only a little? She did not know. Perhapsshe was too tired to know. But however much it was it must seem meagre.What is even a woman's heart given to the desert or a woman's soul tothe sea? What is the worship of anyone to the sunset among the hills, orto the wind that lifts all the clouds from before the face of the moon?

  A chill stole over Domini. She felt like a very poor woman, who cannever know the joy of giving, because she does not possess even a mite.

  The church bell chimed again among the palms. Domini heard voices quiteclearly below her under the arcade. A French cafe was installed there,and two or three soldiers were taking their _aperitif_ before dinnerout in the air. They were talking of France, as people in exile talk oftheir country, with the deliberateness that would conceal regret and thechild's instinctive affection for the mother. Their voices made Dominithink again of the recruits, and then, because of them, of Notre Dame dela Garde, the mother of God, looking towards Africa. She remembered thetragedy of her last confession. Would she be able to confess here tothe Father whom she had seen strolling in the tunnel? Would she learn toknow here what she really was?

  How warm it was in the night, and how warmth, as it develops thefecundity of the earth, develops also the possibilities in many men andwomen. Despite her lassitude of body, which kept her motionless as anidol in her chair, with her arm lying along the parapet of the verandah,Domini felt as if a confused crowd of things indefinable, but violent,was already stirring within her nature, as if this new climate wascalling armed men into being. Could she not hear the murmur of theirvoices, the distant clashing of their weapons?

  Without being aware of it she was dropping into sleep. The sound of afootstep on the wooden floor of the verandah recalled her. It was atsome distance behind her. It crossed the verandah and stopped. She feltquite certain that it was the step of her fellow-traveller, not becauseshe knew he was staying in the hotel, but rather because of the curious,uneven heaviness of the tread.

  What was he doing? Looking over the parapet into the fruit gardens,where the white figures of the Arabs were flitting through the trees?

  He was perfectly silent. Domini was now wide awake. The feeling of calmserenity had left her. She was nervously troubled by this presence nearher, and swiftly recalled the few trifling incidents of the day whichhad begun to delineate a character for her. They were, she found, allunpleasant, all, at least, faintly disagreeable. Yet, in sum, what wastheir meaning? The sketch they traced was so slight, so confused, thatit told little. The last incident was the strangest. And again she sawthe long and luminous pathway of the tunnel, flickering with lightand shade, carpeted with the pale reflections of the leaves and narrowbranches of the trees, the black figure of the priest far down it, andthe tall form of the stranger in an attitude of painful hesitation. Eachtime she had seen him, apparently desirous of doing something definite,hesitation had overtaken him. In his indecision there was somethinghorrible to her, something alarming.

  She wished he was not standing behind her, and her discomfort increased.She could still hear the voices of the soldiers in the cafe. Perhaps hewas listening to them. They sounded louder.

  The speakers were getting up from their seats. There was a jingling ofspurs, a tramp of feet, and the voices died away. The church bellchimed again. As it did so Domini heard heavy and uneven steps cross theverandah hurriedly. An instant later she heard a window shut sharply.

  "Suzanne!" she called.

  Her maid appeared, yawning, with various parcels in her hands.

  "Yes, Mademoiselle."

  "I sha'n't go down to the _salle-a-manger_ to-night. Tell them to giveme some dinner in my _salon_."

  "Yes, Mademoiselle."

  "You did not see who was on the verandah just now?"

  The maid looked surprised.

  "I was in Mademoiselle's room."

  "Yes. How near the church is."

  "Mademoiselle will have no difficulty in getting to Mass. She will notbe obliged to go among all the Arabs."

  Domini smiled.

  "I have come here to be among the Arabs, Suzanne."

  "The porter of the omnibus tells me they are dirty and very dangerous.They carry knives, and their clothes are full of fleas."

  "You will feel quite differently about them in the morning. Don't forgetabout dinner."

  "I will speak about it at once, Mademoiselle."

  Suzanne disappeared, walking as one who suspects an ambush.

  After dinner Domini went again to the verandah. She found Batouch there.He had now folded a snow-white turban round his head, and looked likea young high priest of some ornate religion. He suggested that Dominishould come out with him to visit the Rue des Ouled Nails and see thestrange dances of the Sahara. But she declined.

  "Not to-night, Batouch. I must go to bed. I haven't slept for twonights."

  "But I do not sleep, Madame. In the night I compose verses. My brain isalive. My heart is on fire."

  "Yes, but I am not a poet. Besides, I may be here for a long time. Is
hall have many evenings to see the dances."

  The poet looked displeased.

  "The gentleman is going," he said. "Hadj is at the door waiting for himnow. But Hadj is afraid when he enters the street of the dancers."

  "Why?"

  "There is a girl there who wishes to kill him. Her name is Aishoush. Shewas sent away from Beni-Mora for six months, but she has come back, andafter all this time she still wishes to kill Hadj."

  "What has he done to her?"

  "He has not loved her. Yes, Hadj is afraid, but he will go with thegentleman because he must earn money to buy a costume for the _fete_ ofRamadan. I also wish to buy a new costume."

  He looked at Domini with a dignified plaintiveness. His pose againstthe pillar of the verandah was superb. Over his blue cloth jacket hehad thrown a thin white burnous, which hung round him in classic folds.Domini could scarcely believe that so magnificent a creature was toutingfor a franc. The idea certainly did occur to her, but she banished it.For she was a novice in Africa.

  "I am too tired to go out to-night," she said decisively.

  "Good-night, Madame. I shall be here to-morrow morning at seven o'clock.The dawn in the garden of the gazelles is like the flames of Paradise,and you can see the Spahis galloping upon horses that are beautifulas--"

  "I shall not get up early to-morrow."

  Batouch assumed an expression that was tragically submissive and turnedto go. Just then Suzanne appeared at the French window of her bedroom.She started as she perceived the poet, who walked slowly past her to thestaircase, throwing his burnous back from his big shoulders, and stoodlooking after him. Her eyes fixed themselves upon the section of bareleg that was visible above his stockings white as the driven snow, and afaintly sentimental expression mingled with their defiance and alarm.

  Domini got up from her chair and leaned over the parapet. A streakof yellow light from the doorway of the hotel lay upon the white roadbelow, and in a moment she saw two figures come out from beneath theverandah and pause there. Hadj was one, the stranger was the other.The stranger struck a match and tried to light a cigar, but failed. Hestruck another match, and then another, but still the cigar would notdraw. Hadj looked at him with mischievous astonishment.

  "If Monsieur will permit me--" he began.

  But the stranger took the cigar hastily from his mouth and flung itaway.

  "I don't want to smoke," Domini heard him say in French.

  Then he walked away with Hadj into the darkness.

  As they disappeared Domini heard a faint shrieking in the distance. Itwas the music of the African hautboy.

  The night was marvellously dry and warm. The thickly growing trees inthe garden scarcely moved. It was very still and very dark. Suzanne,standing at her window, looked like a shadow in her black dress. Herattitude was romantic. Perhaps the subtle influence of this Saharavillage was beginning to steal even over her obdurate spirit.

  The hautboy went on crying. Its notes, though faint, were sharp andpiercing. Once more the church bell chimed among the date palms, andthe two musics, with their violently differing associations, clashingtogether smote upon Domini's heart with a sense of trouble, almost oftragedy. The pulses in her temples throbbed, and she clasped her handstightly together. That brief moment, in which she heard the duet ofthose two voices, was one of the most interesting, yet also one of themost painful she had ever known. The church bell was silent now, but thehautboy did not cease. It was barbarous and provocative, shrill with apersistent triumph.

  Domini went to bed early, but she could not sleep. Just before midnightshe heard someone walking up and down on the verandah. The step washeavy and shuffling. It came and went, came and went, without pause tillshe was in a fever of uneasiness. Only when two chimed from the churchdid it cease at last.

  She whispered a prayer to Notre Dame de la Garde, The Blessed Virgin,looking towards Africa. For the first time she felt the loneliness ofher situation and that she was far away.