Mysteries of the Libyan Desert

by W. J. Harding King

After he had drunk the usual tea, and approved of the boy that had been provided, he declared himself ready to start work. He asked for a charcoal fire in a brazier, some paper and ink. He then retired to the room that had been cleared for him, and, having closed the door and shutters, so as to produce an imposing dim religious light, seated himself in the darkest corner on a black sheep-skin, with the brazier beside him, and requested to be left alone while he went through the preliminary ceremonies. The doctor and I accordingly retired to another room, taking the boy with us.

Soon a faint smell of incense that reached us from next door, the sound of much muttering and an occasional shout, as the magician invoked the spirits, told us that he had got to work.

After his dawa had been going on for some ten minutes the magician called out to us that he was ready, and that we could bring in the boy. He made him sit down on the sheep-skin cross-legged in front of him, patted him and told him there was nothing to be afraid of, if he only did as he was told, and at length soothed him sufficiently to enable the performance to be continued.

The magician first drew in ink the khatim (seal) on the palm of the boy’s right hand. He then put a written slip of paper on his forehead, licking it to make it stick to his skin, and finally, as that did not make it adhere, slipping the top edge of it under the rim of his cap. He then proceeded to complete the khatim by putting a large blot of ink in the centre of the square he had drawn—the whole when completed having the following appearance:

The magician told the boy to gaze in the pool of ink in his hand and to fear nothing, and started again with the spells.

He soon got seriously to work, repeating his incantations over and over again at an extraordinarily rapid rate, swaying himself to and fro, sometimes dropping his voice to a whisper that was almost inaudible, then suddenly raising it to a shout as he called upon Maimun, or some other afrit. At length he worked himself up to such a pitch that the perspiration fairly streamed from his face. Now and then he dropped pieces of incense into the earthenware dish that he used as brazier; once he pulled out a leather pouch and produced a knife and pieces of stick, from which he cut off shavings to drop into the fire. Soon the whole room was filled with the sweet sickly smoke of burning perfumes.

Occasionally he peered through the smoke at the boy to judge how far he had been affected by his magic. After a time he apparently concluded that the end of the incantations was close at hand. He redoubled his efforts, jabbering at such a pace that it was impossible to catch a single word and working himself up to an extraordinary pitch of excitement. Then he suddenly dropped his voice till it became almost inaudible, and followed this up by shouting out something as loud as he could bawl. He stopped abruptly; leant back panting against the wall, mopped his streaming face and told the boy to say “Ataro.”

The boy repeated the word after him. The magician, evidently considering that his labours were over, then asked the boy to tell us what he saw in the ink.

The experiment, however, proved a distinct failure. The boy was unable to see anything, and, though the magician tried again to reduce him to the clairvoyant state, he was equally unsuccessful on the second attempt.