...of a storyteller

“Long ago you know, the earth wasn’t what it is today. Both the Djenoune and human beings inhabited the earth. The earth was like a vast garden, surrounded by a magical river that flowed in both directions. On one side, it flowed to the west, on the other, it flowed to the east. And this place was so beautiful that it was called Firdous, or paradise. And you know, from what I’ve heard, it wasn’t very far from here. It was on the seashore, very near the city of Akka. Today there is still a village that goes by that name, paradise, and they say the inhabitants of the village are all descendants of the Djenoune. Whether that is the truth, or a lie, I can’t really say. In any case, eternal spring reigned in that garden, it was filled with flowers and fruits, fountains that never ran dry, and the inhabitants were never in want of food. They lived on fruit, honey, and herbs, for they did not know the taste of flesh. In the middle of the vast garden there was a magnificent cloud-coloured palace, and the Djenoune lived in that palace, because they were the masters of the land, God had entrusted it to them. In those days, the Djenoune were kind, they never tried to harm anyone. Men, women and children lived in the garden around the palace. The air was so balmy, the sun so clement, that they had no need of houses to protect themselves, and winter never came and it was never cold. And now children, I am going to tell you how it was all lost. For the place where that garden once stood, the land so sweetly named, Firdous, paradise, the garden filled with flowers and trees, where fountains and birds sang endlessly, the garden where human beings lived in peace and ate nothing but fruit and honey, is now the dry earth, the rough bare earth, with not a tree, not a flower, and humans in that land have become so viscious that they wage a ruthless and cruel war, abandoned by the Djenoune.
Aamma Houriya stopped talking. We remained very still, waiting for the rest of the story. It was while she was telling that story, I recall, that the young Baddawi, Saadi Abou Talib came into the camp for the first time. He squatted down on his heels, a little off to one side, to listen to what out aunt was telling us. On that day Aamma Houriya was silent for a long time, so that we could hear our hearts beating, the soft sounds coming from other houses before nightfall, the babbling of babies, the barking of dogs. She knew the value of silence.

[Wandering Star, Le Clézio, J. M. G.]