The teacher watched as two men headed toward him, one on horse and one on foot. They had not yet ascended the steep path that led to the hillside schoolhouse. They were struggling, progressing slowly in the snow, among the rocks on a vast stretch of a deserted plateau. From time to time the horse would visibly stumble. He could not hear them yet, but could see the horse's breath as it left its nostrils. One of the men, at least, knew the land. They followed the path, which had all but disappeared under a blanket of several days' worth of dirty white snow. The teacher calculated that it would take them half an hour to get onto the hill. Cold, he went back inside the schoolhouse to put on a sweater. He crossed the chilly, empty classroom. On the blackboard was a drawing of the four rivers of France, each a different color of chalk, all of which had been flowing toward their estuaries for the past three days. It had snowed heavily in mid-October, after eight months of drought, without the transition of rain, and about twenty students who lived in the villages scattered across the plateau had stopped coming. They would wait for better weather before returning. Daru heated but one room, which constituted his lodging, adjoining the classroom and also facing to the plateau on the east. The window, like those in the classroom, faced south. From this side of the school, one found oneself many kilometers from where the plateau began its descent towards the south. In clear weather, one could see the violet-hued foothills that opened up to the desert. A bit warmer, Daru returned to the window where he had, for the first time, seen the two men. He could no longer see them. They had therefore taken on the climb. The sky was less dark: in the night, the snow had ceased falling.

The morning sunrise was dirty light which had scarcely strengthened as the cloud cover came back. At two in the afternoon, it seemed the day was just beginning. But it was better than the three days where the thick snow was falling in the middle of incessant darkness, with little shifts of wind that came to shake the storm doors of the classroom.

Daru patiently waited for hours in his room, which he only left to go to the shed, check on the chickens, and get coal. Fortunately, the van from Tadjid, the closest village to the north, had brought provisions a couple days before the snowstorm. It would return in forty-eight hours.

He had enough to support them throughout a siege, with bags of wheat that took up too much space in the little room. The administration had left it for him to store and distribute to the students whose families were victims of the drought. In reality, their misfortune was that they were all poor. Each day, Daru distributed a ration to the little ones. They missed it, he knew this well, during these bad days. Maybe one of the fathers or big brothers would come tonight and he could resupply the  little ones with grain. He had to tide them over until the next harvest. Some of the ships with grain arrived in France, now that the worst was over. 

But it would be difficult to forget this misery, this army of ragged ghosts wandering in the sun where the plateaus turned to ashes month after month, the ground shriveled little by little, totally roasted, and each stone burst into dust under the foot. The sheep were dying by the thousands and some men here and there, without ever knowing it. In the face of this misery, he who lived nearly as a monk in this lost school was pleased by the little he had, and in this hard life he felt like a lord with his roughcast walls, his narrow couch, his shelves of white wood, his well, and his weekly provisions in water and food. And all of a sudden came this snow, without warning, without the release of the rain. The country was cruel to live in, even without men who, however, made things worse. But Daru was born here. Everywhere else he felt exiled. He left and went forward on the center strip before the school. The two men were now at mid-slope. He recognized the rider, Balducci, the old officer who he had known for a long time. Balducci held at the end of a rope an Arab who advanced behind him, his hands tied, his forehead lowered. The officer made a gesture to greet Daru, but Daru did not respond as he was totally occupied with watching the Arab. The Arab was dressed in a formerly blue djellaba, his feet in sandals covered by rough beige wool socks, his head styled in anarrow and short chèche. They approached. Balducci held his animal so as to not hurt the Arab and the group advanced slowly. Within earshot, Balducci yelled “An hour to travel three kilometers from El Ameur to here!”

Daru did not respond. Short and square in his thick sweater, he watched them ride up. Not once did the Arab raise his head. “Hi,” said Daru when they came out on the center strip. “Come in and warm up.”

Balducci descended with difficulty from his animal without letting go of the rope. He smiled at the teacher beneath his bristled mustache. His dark little eyes, very sunk under his tanned forehead, and his mouth surrounded by wrinkles gave him an attentive and diligent air. Daru took the bridle, guided the animal toward the lean-to, and returned to the two men who were now waiting for him in the school. He took them into his room.

“I am going to heat up the classroom,” he said. “We will be more at ease there.”

When he reentered the room, Balducci was on the couch. He had untied the rope which bound him to the Arab, who had squatted near the stove.  With his hands still tied and his cheche now pushed back, he looked toward the window.  Daru noticed first only his huge lips, full, smooth, almost Negroid; yet, his nose was straight, his eyes somber and full of fever.  The cheche revealed an obstinate forehead, and under the weathered skin, a litte withered by the cold, his entire face had a restless, rebellious air that struck Daru when the Arab, turning his face toward him, looked him straight in the eyes.  

"Go to the other room," said the schoolmaster.  "I will make you some mint tea."  

"Thank you," said Balducci. "What a chore!  I long to retire."  And adressing his prisoner in Arabic: "You, come."  The Arab stood up and, slowly, holding his bound wrists in front of him, went into the classroom.  With the tea, Daru brought a chair.  But Balducci had already enthroned himself on the first student's desk and the Arab had squatted against the teacher’s platform, facing the woodburner which was positioned between the desk and the window.  When he handed the glass of tea to the prisoner, Daru hesitated at the sight of his bound hands.  "He can perhaps be untied."

"Sure," said Balducci.  "It was for the trip."  He began to stand up.  But Daru, placing the glass of tea on the ground, kneeled next to the Arab.  

The Arab, without saying anything, watched him with feverish eyes.  With his freed hands he rubbed his swollen wrists, took the glass of tea and drank the hot liquid, taking small, fast sips.

 "Okay," said Daru.  "And so, where are you going?" 

Balducci removed his mustache from the tea: "Here, son."

"Funny students!  Are you staying the night?"

"No.  I will return to El Ameur.  And you will turn over our friend to Tinguit.  He is expected at the precinct." Balducci looked at Daru with a small, friendly smile.

"And just what are you saying?"  Said the schoolmaster, "Are you joking with me?"

"No, son.  Those are the orders."

"The orders?  I'm not..." Daru hesitated; he did not want to grieve the old Corsican.  "At any rate, that's not my job."

"Huh! What are you trying to say?  During war, people do any job."

"In that case, I will wait for the declaration of war!" 

Balducci nodded.  "Okay.  But these are the orders and they concern you as well.  Things are stirring up, it seems.  There is talk of an impending revolt.  We've been mobilized, in a way."  Daru’s appearance remained stubborn.

"Listen, son," said Balducci, "I like you a lot, so understand.  I am part of a dozen from a small department in El Ameur patrolling the territory and I must go back.  I was told to leave this savage with you and promptly return.  He could not be kept there.  His village is has gotten worked up; they want him back.  You must take him to Tinguit during the day tomorrow.  It's about twenty kilometers and shouldn't scare a tough guy like you.  After that, it's done.  You will get back to your students and the good life."  Behind the wall, the horse could be heard snorting and pawing at the ground.  Daru was looking through the window.  The weather was truly letting up, the light broadened across the snowy plateau. Once all the snow had melted, the sun would reign once more and again scorch the fields of stone.  For days, still, the unchanging sky would shed its dry light on the solitary expanse where nothing recalled man.

"Well," he said turning toward Balducci, "What did he do?"  And he asked, before the gendarme could open his mouth, "Does he speak French?"

"No, not a word.  We were looking for him for a month, but they hid him.  He killed his cousin."

"Is he against us?"

"I don't believe so.  But you can never know."

"Why did he kill?"

"Family matters, I believe.  One owed the other some grain, it seems.  It's not clear.  Well, anyway, he killed his cousin with a machete.  You know, like a sheep, zic!..."  Balducci made the gesture of a blade cutting across his throat and the Arab, his attention caught, was looking at him with a sort of anxiety.  A sudden anger came upon Daru against this man, against all men and their dirty wickedness, their unrelenting hatred, their folly for blood.  But the kettle whistled on the woodburner.  He again served Balducci some tea, hestitated, then once more served the Arab who, a second time, drank with voracity.  His raised arms were now revealing his djellabah and the schoolteacher caught sight of his thin, muscular chest.

Thanks, bud, said Balducci. And now, I must go. He got up and headed towards the Arab, while pulling a small rope from his bag. “What are you doing?” Daru abruptly asked. Balducci, dumbfounded, held up the rope.
"It's barely anything.” The old officer hesitated. “As you wish. Of course, you are armed?” – I have my shotgun. – Where? – In the trunk. – You should keep it next to your bed. – Why? I have nothing to fear. – You’re crazy, man. If they rebel, nobody is safe; we’re all in the same jam. – I will protect myself. I have time to see them coming.” Balducci chuckled, then his mustache moved suddenly, hiding his white teeth. “You have time? Good. That’s what I would say. You’ve always been a little nuts. That is the reason I like you so much; my son was like that.” He pulled out his revolver simultaneously and put it down on the table. “Keep it, I don’t need two guns when I return to El Ameur.” The revolver stood out from the table’s black paint.  When the officer passed around him, the teacher smelled his odor, that of leather and horses. “Listen, Balducci, said Daru suddenly, all of that and your man disgust me, but I will not turn him in. Yes, if necessary, fight me. But not that.” The old officer moved in front of him and looked at him sternly. “You are being foolish, he said slowly. I don’t like it either. Wrap the man in cord. Despite the years, we do not get used to it, we're even ashamed. But we cannot let them do what they want. I will not turn him in, repeated Daru. – That’s an order, son. I repeat, that’s that. Tell them that I said, I will not turn him in.

Balducci was making a noticeable effort of reflection. He looked at the Arab and Daru. He finally decided. “No, I will not tell them anything. If you want to release us, as you wish, I will not denounce you. I have order to turn in the prisoner: so I am. You will now sign the paper. – It is not necessary. I will not deny that you left him with me. - Do not be mean to me. I know that you will tell the truth. You're from here, you're a man. But you must sign, those are rules.” Daru opened his drawer, took out a small square bottle of purple ink, red wooden penholder with Sergeant Major pen that he used to trace the writing styles and he signed. The gendarme carefully folded the paper and put it in his wallet. Then he went towards the door. "I'll go with you, says Daru. No, said Balducci. It's not worth being polite. You have insulted me." He looked at the Arab, motionless in the same place, sniffed sorrowfully and turned toward the door, “Goodbye, kid,” he said. The door slammed behind him. Balducci appeared at the window and disappeared. His footsteps were muffled by the snow. The horse fidgeted behind the partition, chickens were frightened. A moment later, Balducci popped by in front of the window again pulling the horse by the bridle. He advanced towards the steep path without looking back, disappeared the first and the horse followed. They heard a big stone rolling softly. Daru returned to the prisoner who had not moved, but kept his eyes on him. "Wait," said the teacher in Arabic, and he walked towards the bedroom. When passing the threshold, he changed his mind, went to the desk, took the revolver and stuffed it in his pocket. Then, without looking back, he went into his room. For a long time he lay on his couch watching the sky gradually close, listening to the silence. It was that silence that had seemed painful the first few days of his arrival, after the war. He had requested a post in the small town in the foothills that separate the desert from highlands. There, rocky, green and black to the north, pink or purple to the south, marked the frontier of eternal summer. They had appointed to a position further to the north, on that very plateau. At first, the solitude and silence him had been hard on these thankless land inhabited only by stones. Sometimes furrows were believed to crops, but they had been dug to uncover a certain stone, suitable for construction. They plowed here only to collect pebbles.

Other times, we scraped a few small pieces of the earth that had accumulated in the hollows, which would fertilize the meager village gardens. It was in this way, that the rock only covered three quarters of this country. Towns sprang up there, glowed and then disappeared; men spent time there, loved each other and they bit each other at the throat, and then died. In this desert, no one, neither he nor his host were important. And yet, outside of this desert, neither one nor the other, Daru knew, could have actually been able to live. When he got up, no noise came from the classroom. He was surprised by this pure joy that came with the mere thought that the Arab had managed to escape and that he was going to find himself alone without having any decisions to make. But the prisoner was there. He was just stretched out between the stove and the desk. Eyes open, he was looking at the ceiling. In this position, he mostly saw his thick lips that gave him a sullen look. "Come," said Daru. The Arab got up and followed him. In the room, the school teacher pointed to a chair near the table under the window. The Arab sat down without taking his eyes off of Daru. "Are you hungry? - Yes", said the prisoner. Daru arranged two place settings. He took some flour and oil, kneaded it into a flat cake and lit the small butane gas stove. While the cake was cooking, he went out to the lean-to and brought back cheese, eggs, dates, and condensed milk. When the cake was baked, he put it out to cool on the windowsill, heated some condensed milk diluted with water and, to finish, beat the eggs in an omelette. In one of his movements, he brushed up against the sunken gun in his right pocket. He set down the bowl, went into the classroom and put the gun in the drawer of his desk. When he came back in the room, it was nightfall. He turned on the light and served the Arab "Eat," he said. The Arab took a piece of cake, brought it quickly to his mouth and stopped. And you? he said. - After you. I will eat too." The big lips opened a bit, the Arab hesitated, then he bit firmly into the cake. The meal was over, the Arab was looking at the school teacher. "Are you the judge? - No, I am watching you until tomorrow - Why are you eating with me? - I'm hungry." The Arab fell silent. Daru got up and left. He brought back a cot from the lean-to, stretched it out between the table and the stove, perpendicular to his own bed. From the one large suitcase, that stood in the corner, which served as a bookshelf, he pulled out two blankets which he placed on the cot. Then he stopped, he felt useless, he sat down on his bed. There was nothing else to do nor to prepare there anymore. He had to watch this man. So he watched him, trying to imagine that face overflowing with rage. He could not manage to do so. He only saw the eyes both dark and bright, and the mouth of a wild animal.

“Why did you kill him?” he said with hostility that surprised him.
    The Arab turned away. “He ran away. I ran after him.” He fixed his eyes on Daru, which held a kind of sad and searching look. “What are they going to do to me now?”
    “Are you afraid?”
    He stiffened, lowering his glance.
    “Any regrets?”
    The Arab just looked at him, mouth ajar. From his expression, he did not understand. Daru seethed with irritation. At the same time, he felt clumsy and flustered with his large body wedged between the two beds.
    “Lie down there,” he said impatiently. “That’s your bed.”

The Arab didn’t move. He called to Daru: “Say!” The teacher glanced at him. “The gendarme returns tomorrow?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Are you coming with us?”
    “I don’t know. Why?”
    The prisoner stood up and stretched out right on the blankets, his feet facing the window. The light from the electric bulb fell directly into his eyes, which he immediately closed.
    “Why?” Daru repeated, standing beside the cot.
    The Arab opened his eyes under the blinding light and looked at him, trying not to blink. “Come with us,” he said.

    In the middle of the night, Daru was still not asleep. He had climbed into bed after undressing completely: he usually slept nude. But when he found himself naked in the bedroom, he hesitated. He felt vulnerable, and he was tempted to put his clothes back on. Then he shrugged his shoulders; he had taken worse risks, and if necessary, he would break his adversary in two. From his bed, he could see him, stretched out on his back, still unmoving with his eyes closed beneath the fierce light. When Daru turned off the light, the darkness suddenly seemed to thicken. Little by little, the night came back to life in the window where the starless sky quietly stirred. Before long, the schoolmaster could make out the extended body before him. The Arab remained motionless, but his eyes seemed open. An light breeze drifted around the school. Perhaps it would chase away the clouds and bring back the sun.

In the night, the wind grew. The chickens fussed a bit, then grew silent. The Arab turned again onto his side, presenting his back to Daru who thought he heard him groan. He listened for his breath, finding it quite loud and regular. Constantly, he listened to the nearby breaths, dreaming without being able to sleep. In the room where, for a year, he had slept alone, the other’s presence bothered him. It disturbed him also, because it imposed a sort of fraternité that he refused in present circumstances and that he knew well: men, who share the same room, soldiers or prisoners, forge a strange bond, wherein, their armor gone with their clothes, they meet together each evening, overcoming their differences, in the ancient community of dreams and exhaustion.  

But Daru shook himself, he did not like these stupidities, he needed to sleep. Yet, a little later, when the Arab moved imperceptibly, the teacher was still not sleeping. At the prisoner's second movement, he stiffened, on alert. The Arab raised himself slowly onto his arms, almost sleepwalking. Sitting on the bed, he waited, immobile, without turning his head towards Daru, as though listening intently.

Daru didn’t move: he had just thought of the revolver that had been in the drawer of his desk. He had better act immediately. He continued to observe the prisoner who, with the same fluid movement, put his feet on the ground, waited again, then began to dress slowly. Daru had been about to break the silence when the Arab started walking, naturally this time, but extraordinarily silently even so. He went to the door that opened out onto the lean-to.

He worked the latch with caution and left, pushing the door behind him, but not closing it.

Daru hadn’t moved. “He’s fleeing”, he thought, alone. “Good riddance!” He cocked his head to listen. The chickens weren’t stirring: obviously, the Arab must have been on the plateau already.

He hears the faint sound of water, not understanding what it was, until the Arab framed himself again in  the door, closed it again carefully, and laid down again without a sound. So Daru turned his back on him and fell to sleep. A while later, he seemed to hear, in the depth of his sleep, furtive steps outside the school. “I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming!”, he repeated to himself. And he slept on. When he woke, the sky was clear; through the ill-fit window the air was cold and pure. The Arab still slept, curled up now under his covers, with his mouth open, fully relaxed.

But when Daru shook him, he gave a terrible start, looking at Daru without recognising him, his eyes wild, his expression so fearful that the teacher took a step back. “Have no fear. It is I. We should eat.” The Arab nodded.

Calm had come again upon his face, but his expression was still absent and distracted.

The coffee was ready. They drank it, both of them sitting on the cot, nibbling on their biscuits. Then Daru led the Arab under the lean-to and showed him the faucet where he washed. He went back into the room, folded the blankets and the cot, made his own bed and straightened up. He then went through the school and out onto the terrace. The sun was already climbing up the blue sky; a soft light that brilliantly inundated the desert plateau. On the slope, the snow was melting in places. The rocks would appear again. Crouching at the edge of the plateau, the teacher gazed upon the vast desert. He was thinking of Balducci.  He had hurt his feelings, he had sent him off somehow as if he did not want to be associated with him. Again, he heard the goodbye of the gendarme and, without knowing why, he was feeling strangely empty and vulnerable. At that moment, on the other side of the school, the prisoner coughed. Daru listened to him, almost in spite of himself, then, furious, he threw a stone that whistled through the air before digging into the snow. The man’s moronic crime appalled him, but to turn him in would not be honorable: thinking of it only made him crazy with humiliation. And he cursed both his people who were sending him this Arab and the Arab himself who had dared to kill and was had not known how to run away. Daru got up, paced around the terreplein, waited, motionless, then entered the school.

The Arab, bent over the cement floor of the lean-to, was washing his teeth with two fingers. Daru looked at him then said: “Come”. He went back into the room, before the prisoner. He pulled on a hunting vest over his sweater and put on his hiking shoes.  He stood waiting until the Arab had put on his cheche and sandals. They went through the school and the teacher showed the exit to his companion. “Go,”he said. The other did not move. “I’m coming," said Daru. The Arab left. Daru went back into the room and made a package of crisp bread, dates, and sugar. In the classroom, before leaving, he hesitated a second before his desk, then crossed the threshold of the school and closed the door. “It’s that way," he said. He started going east, followed by the prisoner. But, a short distance from the school, he thought he heard a small sound behind him. He turned back, inspected the area around the schoolhouse: no one was there. The Arab watched him, not seeming to understand. “Let’s go,” said Daru.

They walked for an hour and stopped to rest near a sharp piece of limestone. The snow was melting faster and faster, the sun was immediately evaporating the puddles, very quickly it ridding the plateau of water that, little by little, was becoming dry and somehow vibrating like the air itself. When they moved on, the ground resonated beneath their steps. Every now and then, a bird would break silence before them with a joyful chirp. Daru was drinking the fresh light in deep breaths. A sort of elation was being born inside him in the great familiar space, almost entirely yellow now, beneath the dome of the blue sky. They walked another hour, heading down south. They arrived to a sort of flat hill made of crumbly rocks. From there, the plateau went down: to the east towards a low plain where they were able to make out some thin trees and, to the south towards some heaps of rock that gave the scenery a rugged aspect.

Daru looked both ways. There was nothing but the sky stretching to the horizon, not a man was to be seen. He turned to the Arab, who looked at him, not understanding. Daru held out a package to him: "Take it," he said. "There are some dates, bread, sugar. You can last for two days. There is a thousand francs also." The Arab took the package and the money, but he kept his full hands at the level of his chest, as if he did not know what to do with what he was given. "Look now," said the schoolteacher, and he pointed out the way east, "there is the road to Tinguit. It's a two hour walk. At Tinguit are the administration and the police. They are waiting for you." The Arab looked towards the east, all the while holding the package and the money against him. Daru took his arm and, brusquely, turned him ninety degrees to the south. At the foot of the hill where they stood, one could make out a faintly outlined path. "That is the way across the plateau. One day's walk from here, you will find the pastures and the first nomads. They will welcome you and protect you according to their law." The Arab had turned back towards Daru and a sort of panic rose on his face: "Listen," he said. Daru shook his head. "No, be quiet. Now, I leave you." He turned his back to him, took two great steps in the direction of the school, glanced back with an indecisive look at the unmoving Arab and set off again. For some minutes, he did not hear anything more than his own footsteps, ringing on the cold earth, and he did not turn his head. After a moment, however, he turned around. The Arab was still there, on the edge of the hill, his arms hanging now, and he was looking at the schoolteacher.

Daru felt a lump form in his throat. But he swore from impatience, crossed himself, and departed once more. He was already far away when he stopped again and looked. There was no longer anyone on the hill. Daru hesitated. The sun was now high enough in the sky and began to burn his brow. The schoolteacher turned back on his steps, at first a little uncertain, then with resolve. When he reached the little hill, he was dripping with sweat. He climbed it at full speed and stopped, winded, at the top. The rocky fields to the south were outlined distinctly against the blue sky, but on the plain, to the east, a hot vapor was already rising. And in that light haze, Daru, his heart in his mouth, spied the Arab who making his way down the path to prison. A little later, seated before the window in the classroom, the schoolteacher watched without seeing the morning light leap from the high sky, down over every inch of the plateau. Behind him, on the blackboard, between the meandering rivers of French was overlaid, traced in chalk by a clumsy hand, the inscription that he had just read: "You have handed over our brother. You will pay." Daru looked at the sky, the plateau and, beyond, the invisible lands that stretched out to the sea. In the vast country that he had so loved, he was alone.