They had galloped from the stud of Ainhoa, through the evergreen meadows of the heart of the Basque country, and then along the coast, the horses' hoofs raising the foam, advancing, trotting in the cold water of the ocean, to the forest of Chiberta.
Everywhere, walkers pointed their fingers at them, so impressive was the spectacle of these animals in action. It was still a beautiful autumn day on the Basque coast, the sun exalting the feeling of freedom that comes from contact with nature, wind, horse and sea.
On the chestnut colored horse, it was Saif who mounted it saddle free, with a smile on his lips, completely in his comfort zone. Behind him came the bay horse of Max, also red, but with black ears and a black mane that made him look great.
They had been galloping for a long time and it was a unique experience for Max. It had been a long time since he rode a horse, recovering sensations that had been forgotten.
Making synchronized movements with his horse, which perfectly followed his instructions, he had the feeling of appropriating the lands on which he trod on horseback, as the ancient Arab conquerors had been able to do, swallowing up kilometers without encountering obstacles, and meadows, valleys, dunes and beaches were subjected to the hectic hooves of horses.
From time to time, Saif would utter a phrase in Arabic, and Max would answer him with a smile or a word, busy as he was to live this moment, feeling the animal moving under him, to see the landscape jumping to meet him, to be at the top of his mastery and experience such a thrilling race. In his head, there were names that revolved, rising to the surface of his memory, forgotten since his childhood in Arab schools in Dubai.
Razzias, jizya, zakaat, anfal ... The words that spelled the stories of the conquests of the first Muslims. He had been taught these Arab conquests, the expansion of Islam from the Arabian Peninsula to neighboring countries starting with Persia, Mesopotamia and the Byzantine Empire, and later to Africa From the North, Spain and to the south of France ...
After a last sand dune, the Arab horses sank into the pines of the Chiberta forest. The forest path was littered with needles, which mingled with the sandy soil, stifling the sound of the hoofs.
"Slow down!" Said Saif, " There are often strollers around here, people running or riding a bike, we can't go fast, and the hiking trails are narrow. Besides, the horses need a break. It was beautiful, wasn't it?"
"That's an understatement," Max replied. "I felt like an heir of the Arabs of the past, those who came on horseback to conquer all these countries ... what was his name actually, the one who had crossed the Straits of Gibraltar, to conquer Spain?"
"Tariq ibn Ziyad," replied Saif, happy to see his friend full of happiness.
He and his men had crossed the sea from Africa in boats, a perilous journey through a raging sea, and barely they had dismounted that Tariq ordered their whole fleet burned, eleminating a way back.
"Before you, it is the enemy, and behind you is the sea!" The two friends together took up the conqueror's famous sentence, addressing his troops, and it resonated for a moment under trees.
"You should go back to the Emirates, Max, that's where you belong," Saif said rather abruptly. "You would come back here on vacation, like me. It's beautiful here, but it's not where we belong. Or do you feel like you belong?"
"Not really. But to be honest, nowhere do I feel completely at home."
"Your work contract of professor lasts until when?"
"Until Christmas. I'm only a replacement."
"Very good. If you want, you give me your resume, and I find you a job that better corresponds with your studies, in banking or in an oil company, as you prefer. You will earn a good deal of money, and you will return here like a prince!"
Saif laughed, and Max too.
The idea was seductive and it promised to be a great adventure. Saif was right, the Arab conquerors had once tried their luck on these Atlantic coasts, but eventually left with the backwash.
Max will probably leave again one day.
"I have friends who had offered to run with me here in the forest," Max explained, after a pause. "I apologised, since I had an appointment with you. But I told them we'd meet at the racecourse cafe, if you'd mind."
"Perfect. Tell them we'll be there in a quarter of an hour, inshAllah. Tell them to put themselves on the terrace by the edge of the track, we will give them a little demonstration ..."
A moment later they rode on horseback through the south gate of the race-course, and made a galloping turn, with their manes in the wind, the red coat color of the horses sparkling like lightning in the autumn air, two boys having let go of the reins, arms outstretched like wings of falcons ready to fly.
At the terrace of the cafe, Babakar, Marion, Danielle, Stéphane and Flore had risen to have a closer look. Babakar laughed his heart out, applauding the passage of the horses.
"That Max, what a swagger!" He exclaimed without ceasing to smile. Then, seeing the faces of the girls raised with emotion, he added, forced to admiration: "what a conqueror!"
.....
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أنت تقرأ
A cappella
قصص عامةMax, a 20 year old who's lived his whole life abroad, decides to go back to his home country and rediscover his roots. On his identity journey, he forms new relationships, that push him to reconsider his very nature. Will they be able to tame the...
