Tébessa Traces
"Nassira curates Tébessa's Roman museum. When epigrapher Henrik arrives deciphering ancient inscriptions, she translates what Latin can't say. 'El hjar yhafed' (الحجر يحافظ) - Stone preserves."
Tébessa—Theveste—had been Rome's frontier. Nassira kept its bones.
"The Caracalla Arch," Henrik gasped.
"El qous." The arch. "El door to Africa."
"Can I access restricted inscriptions?"
"El hjar ma yetqayyadch."
Her museum held secrets even Rome hadn't known—Berber beneath Latin, Africa beneath empire.
"These inscriptions aren't pure Latin."
"Pure?" She laughed. "El Latin jat hna ghariba."
Latin came here foreign.
She was substantial—curator's knowledge in shepherd's body, Rome's edge made flesh.
"You've studied classics?"
"N'aych m'a el classics."
"What do you mean?"
"El hjar yhafed." Stone preserves. "Ana nqra."
Days deciphering taught him. Nassira saw meanings his training missed.
"This says 'eternal rest'—"
"La." She traced beneath. "Hadi Berber. Yqoul 'waiting to return.'"
"They hid messages?"
"El hjar yhafed wach yetkalem." Stone preserves what's spoken. "W wach yetkhabbel."
And what's hidden.
Night brought private viewings—inscriptions in storage, meanings never published.
"Hadi wach?"
"Love letter."
"In official stone?"
"El hob ytba' el qanoun?"
"Does love follow law?"
"Dima la."
"Nassira..."
"El hjar qalli."
"Stone told you?"
"Yqoul you read with heart."
She kissed him among inscriptions, two thousand years witnessing.
"Hada..."
"El hjar yhafed."
She undressed in museum storage, her curves ancient and modern.
"Mashallah," he breathed.
"El hjar," she said. "Ana mn el hjar."
He deciphered her like reading inscriptions—tracing lines, finding meaning.
"Henrik," she moaned.
"Hna." He found her message. "El kitaba."
She spoke beneath his attention, pleasure carved.
"Dkhol," she gasped. "El text."
He entered her among Rome's memory, and understood what inscriptions held.
"El hjar yhafed," she cried.
"Hna zeda."
Their rhythm was inscription—carved, permanent, meaningful.
"Qrib," she warned.
"M'aya." He drove into stone. "El hjar yhafed."
They preserved together, pleasure eternal. Henrik held her through the setting.
"El research?" she asked.
"Transformed."
"Kifeh?"
"Reading with heart."
His translations transformed the field—Berber voices heard beneath Latin, Africa claimed beneath Rome.
"El methodology?" peers asked.
"El hjar yhafed."
Now he reads beside her, learning what academia misses.
"El epigrapher w el hafidat el mathaf," they say.
"El hjar jab'na," Nassira smiles.
"El hjar ykhallina," Henrik adds.
Some inscriptions write themselves.