About forty years ago I was with my
ro in Ceuta, for he was still a soldier of the
King, and he said to
me one day, 'I am tired of this place where there is no bread and
less water, I will escape and turn Corahano; this night I will kill
my sergeant and flee to the camp of the Moor.' 'Do so,' said I,
'my chabo, and as soon as may be I will follow you and become a
Corahani.' That same night he killed his sergeant, who five years
before had called him Calo and cursed him, then running to the wall
he dropped from it, and amidst many shots he escaped to the land of
the Corahai, as for myself, I remained in the presidio of Ceuta as
a suttler, selling wine and repani to the soldiers. Two years
passed by and I neither saw nor heard from my ro; one day there
came a strange man to my cachimani (wine-shop), he was dressed like
a Corahano, and yet he did not look like one, he looked like more a
callardo (black), and yet he was not a callardo either, though he
was almost black, and as I looked upon him I thought he looked
something like the Errate, and he said to me, 'Zincali; chachipe!'
and then he whispered to me in queer language, which I could
scarcely understand, 'Your ro is waiting, come with me, my little
sister, and I will take you unto him.' 'Where is he?' said I, and
he pointed to the west, to the land of the Corahai, and said, 'He
is yonder away; come with me, little sister, the ro is waiting.'
For a moment I was afraid, but I bethought me of my husband and I
wished to be amongst the Corahai; so I took the little parne
(money) I had, and locking up the cachimani went with the strange
man; the sentinel challenged us at the gate, but I gave him repani
(brandy) and he let us pass; in a moment we were in the land of the
Corahai.
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