An angel, hovering several feet above ground, was aiming his lance at Satan’s chest, while the latter faltered and dropped his own weapon.

 

 

Having presented the entire cluster, Fuxier extinguished his covered lantern, which he put back in his pocket; he then walked away as he’d come, again carrying the earthen pot and cylindrical container.

VIII

 

WE WERE STILL GAZING after the evocative grape vine when Rao appeared leading his slaves, who were groaning beneath a voluminous and rather elongated object.

Next to the group, Fogar, the emperor’s eldest son, walked in silence, holding in his right hand a magnificent purple flower whose stem bristled with thorns.

The new burden was set in the usual place, and Fogar remained alone to watch over it as the others quickly retreated.

The object, freely exposed to the moonlight, was none other than a very rudimentary bed, an uncomfortable-looking box frame decorated with many diverse attributes.

To the right, attached behind the raised portion intended to support the sleeper’s torso, a pot of dirt held the root of a huge, whitish plant that rose into the air, then curved to form a kind of bed canopy.

Above this graceful baldachin, a spotlight, unlit at the moment, hung from a metal pole bent at the top.

The farthest side of the bed frame bore numerous ornaments, arranged with care.

Just before the right-hand corner, a long triangular surface, suggesting a pennant, unfurled to the side at the top of a narrow raised stake made of blue-painted wood. The whole thing looked like the flag of some unknown country, given the colors on the muslin: a cream-colored background shot through with asymmetrical red streaks and two close-set black dots stacked one above the other near the vertical base of the triangle.

A little to the left rose a minuscule portico, barely an inch wide. Hanging from the lintel at top, the fringe from a dress or costume swayed its many white, even strands at the slightest disturbance; each of these strands ended in a bright red tip.

Pursuing our examination in the same direction, we found a shallow receptacle from which emerged white soap covered with thick foam.

Then came a metal recess containing a large, thin sponge.

Next to the recess, a fragile platform supported an amphora with strange contours, against which leaned a cylindrical object fitted with a propeller.

Finally, concluding this incomprehensible series of ornaments on the left side, a round zinc plate balanced horizontally on a narrow pillar.

The side of the bed frame facing the plant and the spotlight was no less crowded.

Against the corner next to the zinc plate one first saw a kind of gelatinous block, yellow and motionless.

Next, along the same plane, was a piece of carpet, on which a thin layer of dry cement was spread; in the cement, one hundred thin, sharp jade needles were vertically embedded in ten even rows.

The block and carpet rested alongside each other on a short board barely large enough for them.

Three gold ingots, whose perfect spacing seemed to prolong the median line of the frame, rose from three iron supports that held them solidly in their claws. One could not differentiate among them, as their cylindrical shape and rounded ends were identical.

Closer to us, next to the narrow space occupied by the three precious ingots, a second board mirrored the first.

On it, we first saw a basket containing three cats: lent by Marius Boucharessas, they were none other than three of the greens from the game of prisoner’s base, still sporting their ribbons.

Next to this, a delicate object, which looked like the door to a cage, was composed of two thin slats that, laid horizontally a few centimeters apart from each other, pressed between their four inner extremities two fragile vertical risers. In the rectangle thus formed, taut black horsehairs stretched top to bottom between the two wooden slats, passing through imperceptible holes and knotted at both ends. Nearby lay a very straight twig, sliced in half lengthwise, that displayed a slightly resinous inner surface.

Finally, placed directly on the board against the near corner of the bed frame, a fat candle stood next to two dark-colored pebbles.

From almost halfway down the bed, at what would be the sleeper’s left, rose a metal rod; upright at first, it then bent sharply to the right and ended in a kind of curved handle like the armpiece of a crutch.

 

 

Fogar carefully inspected the various components of the cot. His ebony face shone with precocious intelligence, to a degree astonishing in a boy who had just reached adolescence.

Using the only side that remained free of clutter, he climbed onto the bed and slowly stretched out, bringing his left armpit in line with the curved handle that fit it perfectly.

His arms and legs completely rigid, he froze in a corpselike pose, after having placed the purple flower within reach of his right hand.

His lids ceased blinking over his staring, vacant eyes, and the rhythm of his breathing gradually decreased under the influence of the powerful lethargic slumber that soon overcame him.

A few moments later, his prostration was absolute. The adolescent’s chest remained as motionless as if he were dead, and his half-open mouth seemed to exhale no breath.

Bex, walking up, pulled an oval mirror from his pocket and placed it before the young Negro’s lips; no fog tarnished the brilliant surface, and its shine remained intact.

Then, laying his hand over the patient’s heart, Bex shook his head to indicate the lack of a pulse.

Several seconds passed in silence. Bex had quietly retreated, leaving the area around the bed unencumbered.

Suddenly, as if he’d found some scrap of consciousness in the depths of his torpor, Fogar’s body gave an imperceptible twitch, which activated the handle under his armpit.

Immediately the spotlight lit up, projecting downward a dazzlingly white electric beam, its brightness increased tenfold by a freshly polished reflector.

The white plant that formed the bed canopy received the full force of that intense light, which seemed to be aimed specifically at it. Through the transparent overhang, we could see a delicate, clear, and vivid image, of a piece with the plant’s very fibers, which we now saw were tinted through and through.

The whole thing was oddly reminiscent of a stained-glass window, admirably unified and blended due to the absence of any seam or harsh glare.

The diaphanous image evoked some Oriental site. Under a cloudless sky stretched a splendid garden filled with alluring flowers. In the center of a marble basin, a fountain spurting from a jade tube gracefully described its slender arc.

To one side rose the façade of a sumptuous palace, in which one open window framed a couple locked in an embrace. The man, a fat, bearded individual dressed like a wealthy merchant from the Arabian Nights, wore on his beaming face an expression of expansive and inalterable joy. The woman, a full-blooded Moor judging by her dress and features, remained languid and melancholy despite her companion’s good humor.

Beneath the window, not far from the marble fountain, stood a young man with curly locks, whose outfit was consonant in time and place with the merchant’s. Lifting his face in inspiration toward the couple, he sang some elegy of his own composition through a megaphone made of dull, silvery metal.

The Moorish eyes avidly sought out the poet, who, for his part, was intoxicated by the young woman’s striking beauty.

Suddenly, a shift of molecules occurred in the fibers of the luminous plant. The image lost its clarity and contour. The atoms all vibrated at once, as if trying to settle into a new, predetermined arrangement.

Soon a second tableau formed, as resplendent as the first and similarly of a piece with the fine, translucent vegetal fibers.

In this scene, a large dune in golden hues retained several footprints on its arid flanks. The poet from the first image, bent toward the friable sand, gently placed his lips on the deep trace of a slim, graceful foot.

After several moments’ immobility, the atoms, again unsettled, recommenced their turbulent maneuver, yielding a third brightly colored view.

This time the poet was not alone: next to him a Chinaman in a purple robe pointed at a large bird of prey, whose majestic flight doubtless had some prophetic import.

A new reshuffling in the sensitive plant depicted, in a curious laboratory, the same Chinaman receiving several gold coins from the poet in exchange for a manuscript tendered and accepted.

Each bizarre image from the plant lasted the same amount of time; one by one the following scenes succeeded each other on the canopy screen:

The laboratory yielded to a richly appointed banquet hall. Sitting at the fully laid table, the fat, bearded merchant breathed in the aroma of a dish he held in both hands. His eyelids were growing heavy under the spell of the appetizing steam, which bore some treacherous substance. Opposite him the poet and the Mooress eagerly awaited the onset of this deep slumber.

Then we saw a marvelous Eden on which the burning rays of the noonday sun beat down. In the background flowed a graceful waterfall, tinted with green glimmers. The poet and the Moorish woman slept side by side, in the shade of a fabulous flower like some giant anemone. To the left, a Negro entered at a run, as if to warn the two lovers of some impending danger.

The same setting, evoked a second time, framed the amorous couple mounted on a spirited zebra that took off at breakneck speed. Sitting on its rump behind the solidly straddling poet, the Mooress laughingly brandished a purse containing a few gold coins. The Negro followed their departure with a respectful gesture of farewell.

The enchanting site eclipsed definitively to give way to a sun-baked road, at the edge of which rose a stall filled with various foodstuffs. Lying in the middle of the road and cradled by the anxious poet, the Moorish woman, pale and exhausted, received some nourishment provided by the attentive and zealous shopkeeper.

In the following apparition, the recovered Mooress wandered with the poet. Near her, a strange-looking man seemed to be making dire predictions that she took in with alarm and distress.

A final image, evidently containing the tragic denouement of the idyll, showed a terrible abyss whose walls bristled with sharp protuberances. The Mooress, her body smashing against these countless spikes, was in the midst of a horrifying fall, having succumbed to the dizzying pull of many bodiless, faceless eyes, their harsh expression fraught with menace. At the top of the precipice, the desperate poet was throwing himself after his lover.

This dramatic scene was replaced by the unexpected picture of a wolf with glowing eyes.