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was a place of faith。 we disappeared into landscape。 fire and sand。 we left the harbours of oasis。 the places water came to and touched。。。 ain； bir； wadi； foggara； khottara； shaduf。 i didn’t want my name against such beautiful names。 erase the family name！ erase nations！ i was taught such things by the desert。
still； some wanted their mark there。 on that dry watercourse； on this shingled knoll。 small vanities in this plot of land northwest of the sudan； south of cyrenaica。 fenelon…barnes wanted the fossil trees he discovered to bear his name。 he even wanted a tribe to take his name； and spent a year on the negotiations。 then bauchan outdid him； having a type of sand dune named after him。 but i wanted to erase my name and the place i had e from。 by the time war arrived； after ten years in the desert； it was easy for me to slip across borders； not to belong to anyone； to any nation。
or
i forget the year。 madox； casparius； ber…mann； myself； two sudanese drivers and a cook。 by now we travel in a…type ford cars with box bodies and are using for the first time large balloon tires known as air wheels。 they ride better on sand； but the gamble is whether they will stand up to stone fields and splinter rocks。
we leave kharga on march
bermann and i have theorized that three wadis written about by williamson in make up zerzura。
southwest of the gilf kebir are three isolated granite massifs rising out of the plain—gebel arkanu； gebel uweinat； and gebel kissu。 the three are fifteen miles apart from each other。 good water in several of the ravines； though the wells at gebel arkanu are bitter； not drinkable except in an emergency。 williamson said three wadis formed zerzura； but he never located them and this is considered fable。 yet even one rain oasis in these crater…shaped hills would solve the riddle of how cambyses and his army could attempt to cross such a desert； of the senussi raids during the great war； when the black giant raiders crossed a desert which supposedly has no water or pasture。 this was a world that had been civilised for centuries； had athousand paths and roads。
we find jars at abu ballas with the classic greek amphora shape。 herodotus speaks of such jars。
bermann and i talk to a snakelike mysterious old man in the fortress of el jof—in the stone hall that once had been the library of the great senussi sheik。 an old tebu； a caravan guide by profession； speaking accented arabic。 later bermann says “like the screeching of bats；” quoting herodotus。 we talk to him all day； all night； and he gives nothing away。 the senussi creed； their foremost doctrine； is still not to reveal the secrets of the desert to strangers。
at wadi el melik we see birds of an unknown species。
on may ； i climb a stone cliff and approach the uweinat plateau from a new direction。 i find myself in a broad wadi full of acacia trees。
there was a time when mapmakers named the places they travelled through with the names of lovers rather than their own。
someone seen bathing in a desert caravan； holding up muslin with one arm in front of her。 some old arab poet’s woman； whose white…dove shoulders made him describe an oasis with her name。 the skin bucket spreads water over her； she wraps herself in the cloth； and the old scribe turns from her to describe zerzura。
so a man in the desert can slip into a name as if within a discovered well； and in its shadowed coolness be tempted never to leave such containment。 my great desire was to remain there； among those acacias。 i was walking not in a place where no one had walked before but in a place where there were sudden； brief populations over the centuries—a fourteenth…century army； a tebu caravan； the senussi raiders of
and in between these times—nothing was there。 when no rain fell the acacias withered； the wadis dried out。。。 until water suddenly reappeared fifty or a hundred years later。 sporadic appearances and disappearances； like legends and rumours through history。
in the desert the most loved waters； like a lover’s name； are carried blue in your hands； enter your throat。 one swallows absence。 a woman in cairo curves the white length of her body up from the bed and leans out of the window into a rainstorm to allow her nakedness to receive it。
hana leans forward； sensing his drifting； watching him； not saying a word。 who is she； this woman？
the ends of the earth are never the points on a map that colonists push against； enlarging their sphere of influence。 on one side servants and slaves and tides of power and correspondence with the geographical society。 on the other the first step by a white man across a great river； the first sight （by a white eye） of a mountain that has been there forever。
when we are young we do not look into mirrors。 it is when we are old； concerned with our name； our legend； what our lives will mean to the future。 we bee vain with the names we own； our claims to have been the first eyes； the strongest army； the cleverest merchant。 it is when he is old that narcissus wants a graven image of himself。
but we were interested in how our lives could mean something to the past。 we sailed into the past。 we were young。 we knew power and great finance were temporary things。 we all slept with herodotus。 “for those cities that were great in earlier times must have now bee small； and those that were great in my time were small in the time before。。。。 man’s good fortune never abides in the same place。” in a young man named geoffrey clifton had met a friend at oxford who mentioned what we were doing。 he contacted me； got married the next day； and two weeks later flew with his wife to cairo。
the couple entered our world—the four of us； prince kemal el din； bell； almasy and madox。 the name that still filled our mouths was gilf kebir。 somewhere in the gilf nestled zerzura； whose name occurs in arab writings as far back as the thirteenth century。 when you travel that far in time you need a plane； and young clifton was rich and he could fly and he had a plane。
clifton met us in el jof； north of uweinat。 he sat in his two…seater plane and we walked towards him from the base camp。
he stood up in the cockpit and