Sahara Adventure Series

The lights are dim, the noise is loud, and the fumes of wine are hanging in the big room, where the huge crowd of people is fiercely chatting and drinking. Men from the French Foreign Legion are sitting shoulder to shoulder with Arabs in their long, white cloaks. Also present are traders, caravan drivers, hawkers, and idlers. Somewhere an orchestra plays Eastern music, and from time to time, they change to modern jazz, although nobody is paying any attention to it. The Legion men are talking extra loudly, as most of them sitting here tonight, busy drinking, are on leave, and they try to make the most of every moment. They know they will soon have to return to the scorching misery of the Sahara desert. The conversation is noisy at the small table in the furthest corner. Teuns Stegmann, the tall, blonde South African, had just sat down after fighting a path open through the crowd. A noticeable blush is visible under the brown of his shining cheeks, and there is a special light in his deep blue eyes. His big, well-formed hands seem to be trembling, and he is as shy as a schoolboy who had taken his first girl on a date. “Tell us! Tell us!” Fritz Mundt roars. He is the big German, the strongest man in the French Foreign Legion. “Yes, speak up!” Podolski, the big Pole, urges him on. “How does she kiss?” Jack Ritchie, the blonde Englishman, wants to know. They all lean forward, their upper bodies on the table, as if Teuns is on the point of sharing a big secret with them. Petacci, the little Italian soldier, does not ask any questions. Still, he is looking fixedly at Teuns as if he already knows the secret and if he is already familiar with all the details the tall South African can share with them. Finally, he asks. “Are her lips warm and quivering, mon ami?” mon amiTeuns moves uncomfortably around on the hard chair. He looks down at his hands and then at the bottles of wine in front of them on the table. His gaze finally travels over the masses of people to the warm night outside. “Come, come…” Fritz Mundt encourages him. “Do not keep us hanging, man.” “What is there to tell?” Teuns asks, spreading out his big hands in desperation and blushing deeper. “What we would like to know,” Podolski says loudly. “Is how Mademoiselle Julie Lefevre makes out, or have not you found that out yet?” Mademoiselle Teuns looks a little unhappily at the big Pole, and Jack Ritchie lays his hand on the South African. It seems there is some sympathy in his eyes. “Do not tell us you had merely taken her to sit on a bench underneath some or other palm tree, mon ami,” he says. mon ami,“Or had just taken her for a stroll along the waterside of Algiers,” Petacci chips in. “Maybe they had just been staring at the moon!” Fritz Mundt roars. He throws his hands into the air. “After all, you had saved her life, not true South African?” the big German teases him. Teuns Stegmann’s thoughts slip back for a moment to that bitter time when the Arabs had kidnapped Julie Lefevre, the beautiful daughter of Captain Gaston Lefevre. It had happened when she had gone to visit her father in Dini Salam. That was when Gaston Lefevre and himself had to outsmart a horde of Arabs on their own in Fort Laval to keep themselves and Julie alive. Afterward, she heartily invited him to come and visit her when he was on vacation in Algiers again. He had now taken her up on her offer. He recalls their evening together in her apartment, about the meal she had prepared for him, the delicate wine she had poured, the soft, enticing smell of her real French perfume, the aroma of her hair, and her supple, warm, alluring lips. He thinks about her lips… How they trembled slightly under his seeking mouth and how her arms embraced his shoulders in wonderful supplication. Once more, he hears her whisper in ecstasy and feels the slow movement of her slim fingers through his hair. Teuns looks at the men in front of him, one after another, and sees the mischief in their eyes and the longing. “A person does not speak of such things,” he says desperately. He leans forward, and there is a firmness in the posture of his shoulders. “Not one of you rascals will ever tell what you have done with a girl on an evening out. Of that, I am quite certain. You have gotten spoiled rotten in the French Foreign Legion.” He looks at Jack Ritchie in particular, who he had always considered to be a well-brought-up gentleman. “Do not try and teach us etiquette,” Fritz bursts out. “We want to hear what you have been up to.” Teuns is embarrassed and moves his hands. He laughs. “You are just being silly,” he defends himself. “I shall not tell you anything except for the fact that she is a wonderful person. I am going to see her every night while we are here… It will be for a full, wonderful week.” Podolski wipes his hand over his mouth. “You lucky devil,” he whispers. Teuns frowns and asks shyly: “Why do not you guys also take out girls? Do you want to tell me there are no girls here in Algiers you can ask out? The place is crawling with beauty.” “Yes, but not one of them is Mademoiselle Julie,” Jack Ritchie complains. “The other girls only want to drink wine with a man and spend his money, and then they lose interest.” Mademoiselle “Can we not take turns with Mademoiselle Julie?” Petacci asks timidly, and his small eyes twinkle. Teuns immediately withers the small Italian with a sharp glance. They stare at him so intensely that Teuns summarily calls the waiter and orders more wine. Mademoiselle “Are we going to hear something about your romance tonight?” Fritz Mundt asks again. Teuns quickly wipes his face in a gesture of total hopelessness. “Leave me in peace,” Teuns says. “Let us drink some wine and be merry. Stop this nonsense now. If you continue like this, I will not see you again after visiting Julie.” “It must be wonderful to keep such a secret in your heart,” Podolski whispers, wringing his hands. The words between them dry up, and one after the other, they start looking at Petacci. The little Italian’s attention is no longer on the group around the table. Instead, he is looking away from them over the crowd of people. His eyes squinted against the irritating smoke cloud hanging over the big restaurant. “What are you looking at, Italian?” Podolski asks. “It nearly seems you see a Dulac aiming at you.” “We are being watched,” Petacci says. “There is a yellow beak showing interest in us.” “He must think we are five handsome chaps,” Jack Ritchie quips. “He is not looking at us as if he thinks we are handsome,” Petacci answers. “Do not look all at once. I will show you where he is sitting, and now and then, you can look. He is watching this table with particular interest.” “You make me shudder, Italian,” Fritz Mundt teases him. “An Arab should not stare at me, as I will summarily get up and go and break his horrible neck. Tonight, I am in the mood for a fight.” As unobtrusively as possible, Petacci gestures to where the Arab is sitting, and the others take turns to look. They are most definitely being watched. It is the conclusion they all arrive at. “Not only are we being watched, but we are also an important matter of discussion,” Teuns finds. “Yes, that is very certain,” Podolski agrees. “The group at that table belongs together. You can see it quite clearly.” “Why would we be watched and discussed?” Jack Ritchie voices the question, which is also on everybody’s lips, although nobody asks it. “We are famous people,” Fritz reckons. “How many times before we had gotten the better of the yellow beaks?” he says proudly. “Do not forget we have hidden the Sabre of Dutra, my brothers,” Podolski says out of the blue. “It makes us marked men under the Arabs.” Suddenly, they become quiet, as this fact impacts all of them individually. Jack Ritchie glances swiftly at the Pole, and Teuns fidgets with his fingers, his expression withdrawn and his eyes serious. “You are joking about it now, but it is the truth,” Teuns says. “The Arabs cannot forget about the disappearance of the sabre of honor of Dutra, just as little as Jack Ritchie’s people cannot forget about the Battle of Waterloo.” “You all sound very impressive. A person would think the Arabs know we have thrown away the Sabre of Dutra in the oasis at Harba.” It is Petacci at the word now. “Arabs are the best detectives in the world,” Teuns says. “If they want to find out who had hidden the sabre, they will do so, and of that, you can be very sure, signor Petacci.” signor The Arab who is watching them the most is a small, feeble man with dishonest eyes and pockmarks on his face. His cloak is different than those of the other Arabs, as it is made from a rough, dark blue material, and the hood is much longer than those the normal Arabs would wear. If he pulls the hood completely forward, he can bury his face very deep underneath it. “What tribe does he belong to?” Fritz asks while covertly glancing at the small Arab once more, who is staring keenly back at them. “It has to be one of the tribes to the far south,” Teuns answers. “The tribes near the border with Libya wear those types of clothes.” “Then the story about the Sabre of Dutra becomes a debatable point,” Podolski says. “As it is only the Dulacs who are interested in the sabre. If this little crayfish comes from the border of Libya, you do not have to assume he is looking at us because he thinks we know something about the Sabre of Dutra.” “In any case, your story about the Sabre of Dutra is wrong,” Petacci reckons. “As no Arab knows who had hidden it or where.” Teuns takes a bottle of wine and refills everyone’s glasses again. “We have to drink up and leave,” he says. “I do not like the attitude of the little rubbish at all, and we cannot afford to cause trouble while we are on leave.” “I will see him in Hades before I toss back my wine just because he is staring at us,” Fritz Mundt threatens. “How do you know that creature is from the far south?” Jack asks Teuns. “It is my first time seeing an Arab in those clothing. It seems as if you know much more than anyone of us about the Sahara.” “He must have read about it somewhere,” Podolski guesses. “I have not read about it anywhere,” Teuns replies sharply. “I have seen those Arabs before and have also been in their midst before.”