The warring brothers

It was while watching a CNN report on the Dombass in Ukraine that Abel remembered this very old story of two brothers who had wanted the same woman. It was at the time of the first human migrations. Starting from the East African rift, the sex of the earth, some left towards the east along the side of the current Yemen. From storyteller to storyteller, it is reported that this was the happiest place and a time of humanity. Small communities composed of a few families walked along the immense and peaceful beaches. The sea provided fish and shellfish in abundance, the forests in the hinterland abounded in fruits and herbs, both aromatic and medicinal. Man here spent his time walking, caring for children and elders, and contemplating in silence what was given to him.

Then he stopped walking, started to cultivate and settled permanently on land that he declared to be his own. Two brothers lived side by side. One was a shepherd in the mountains, the other a farmer by the river. During a feast where the families of the region were gathered to celebrate the harvest of the season, a beautiful young woman was dancing near the fire. Her ebony skin reflected the warm light of the flames and the two brothers felt desire rise in their bellies. The elder brother, the shepherd, rose and took the hand of the young beauty to invite her to his bed. She was about to follow him when the younger brother suddenly got up, took a big stone and smashed it on her skull with a shout of hate. The dancer fell into the flames and her body was consumed, giving off the smell of burnt flesh.

The two brothers faced each other, in the middle of the horrified families. In the souls of the stunned children, the hatred, the guilt, the contempt for women, the blood and the smell of burnt flesh were engraved forever and for all future generations. Their faces, disfigured by hatred, looked like masks from beyond the grave. In a grotesque choreography, they both performed exactly the same dance, perfectly symmetrical, which ended in the death of the weaker. It is said that the winner was the farmer, who, overwhelmed by his crime, had a mausoleum built for his dead brother. At the end of its construction, he found it so beautiful that he ordered that the body of his brother be left to rot at the entrance, and made the mausoleum his palace. Let this nomad wander for eternity in limbo, he said. This was the first order of the first tyrant.