HUNTING AND VISITING II3 



village is like a cemetery, but the village goes on growing and 

 shifting like the coral. It grows on top of its dead. 



Our arrival in Gembeli was accordingly rather disturbing. 

 Tesfankièl went ahead to find the living stretch of the village 

 while Gigi and I looked around the strange and impressive 

 ruins, some of them suggesting a much higher civilization 

 than the present one. Buildings of two floors were not un- 

 common, and one could still see traces of pink colouring. 

 The roads were wide and intercrossing, with signs of paving. 

 At one of the cross-roads, I almost bumped into the first 

 human being we met, who was approaching from the side. 

 She was young and beautiful, but on seeing me she let out a 

 yell, covered her face with her red cloak and rushed back in 

 the direction she had been coming from, looking back every so 

 often to make sure that she had really seen the white devil 

 in person. My conciliatory gestures, my bows and my words 

 were useless. She just went faster and at the corner dis- 

 appeared. I never saw her again. 



Finally we reached the residence of the Governor. This 

 consisted of one large room built obviously from ex- army 

 prefabricated material. It also did duty as a school for the 

 eight children in the village, as a court for the entire island, 

 as a temporary prison, town hall, private office and reception 

 hall for the Governor. 



Sheik Serag welcomed us with respect and authority. He 

 was extremely kind and, I would say, a perfect gentleman. In 

 appearance he was maturely solid, with a big, friendly face 

 and lively, expressive eyes. He was surrounded by the school- 

 teacher, the civil guard (who rushed to put on his uniform — 

 a jacket) and the men, numbering less than ten, who hap- 

 pened to be at Gembeli. Then he sat on one of the school 

 forms (much to the delight of the children, who, like children 

 the world over, showed their pleasure at stopping school) and 



