Gold Dust

8

Ukhayyad turned over and over in the sand, unconscious of where or who he was. He was roused only by the bright rays of the late afternoon sun. He came back to life, waking, though without waking, regaining consciousness, though not knowing who or where he was or how he got there. He lay on his stomach for some time, feeling nothing. His limbs were numb, as if they had been wrenched from his body. As he awoke, his body and head began to ache — his head as if it had been smashed open, his arms and legs as if their skin had been peeled off with a knife. He opened his eyes. Next to him, the piebald kneeled serenely in the valley, no less ragged than he. He spit blood from his mouth and looked at his body. What is this, Lord? His clothes had been torn and shredded, proving beyond a doubt that their mad course had passed through deep forested valleys. Flatland scrub would not have reached so high on a body that dangled, suspended from the tail. His body was covered with deep gashes and his body, arms, and legs were bathed in blood. Grains of sand had congealed into his wounds during the night. Sand and dirt also filled his mouth. Every now and then, he spat until he had got it all out. He tried to move his body but could not. The afternoon rays nearly blinded him. Then he looked closely at the piebald and could not believe what he saw. The poor beast was a solid red mass. He closed his eyes to rid himself of the image, then opened them again — but the vision was the same — a solid red mass. The camel had stopped bleeding, but the black skin had torn off.

He tried as hard as he could to move his limbs and crawl to the right, then used the branches of a squat broom tree to pull himself along the sand dune. His hand was still fastened to the camel’s tail, preventing him from crawling any farther. He stopped what he was doing, caught his breath and went back to work until he finally was able to release the strap. Then he rolled onto his back and groaned. The pain was terrible, and continued to mount and intensify. He began to crawl again toward the camel, looking him over from the right side. A solid piece of red meat. The manged hide had fallen away during the mad journey. The piebald had shed his skin like a snake. There was not a sore to be seen. The blood had congealed across the red hide. Grains of sand clung to his belly and right side and troublesome flies treated him like a stump of freshly butchered meat.

Despite his agony, Ukhayyad was ecstatic. Would the piebald be cured? Had the miracle of silphium worked? Had the pagan shrine answered his prayers, had it responded to his pledge?

It was a miracle. A marvel.

He felt thirsty, and then remembered about water. Ukhayyad had forgotten — he was all alone in an empty waste, completely cut off from everything. The horror of his struggle with the piebald made him forget the most potent source of protection in the desert: water.

Without water, miracles cannot take place in the desert. Even when a miracle does occur, the absence of water erases it, transforming it into mere illusion. Without water, the whole world becomes a fantasy. What good is it to have your health back if you lack water? Life draws near, but so too does death. Only yesterday he had shown his readiness to sacrifice everything for his piebald to be healed. Today, just as he was seduced into hoping that a miracle might happen, the rug was pulled out from under him. It was always like that. A wholly blessed life does not exist — a thing might appear, but only to take the place of something else. Sheikh Musa used to like saying, “Perfection belongs to God alone. Carelessness blossoms with youth, but wisdom and knowledge do not take its place until the onslaught of old age and infirmity. What’s the use of wisdom without youth? And what’s the value of knowledge without life?”

It was always like that. Yesterday, as the piebald tried to flee his fate, at the very height of his frenzied gallop, Ukhayyad had dozed off. He slept while hanging suspended from the camel’s tail. The rocks tore the skin from his feet, the bushes shredded his skin. And despite everything, despite the weariness and thirst and pain, he had slept. He did not know how or when that happened. At first, he had lost the sensation of pain. Then he lost the sensation of thirst. Then he slept as if he had passed out. If someone had told him this as a story, he wouldn’t have believed that it could happen. If he had not lived through the minutiae of the fantastical event, he would never have believed it. How powerful a human being is! Ukhayyad had not known so before this moment. Yes, a human was a trivial creature — so weak and insignificant that he could be killed even by mosquitoes. At the same time he was the strongest creature in the desert, fiercer than any wild beast.

And now he had to think about how he would face the worst enemy one can have in the greater Sahara: thirst. This trial would be the greatest measure of his strength.

Ukhayyad collapsed beneath the broom tree. He filled his mouth with its twigs and began to chew them, sucking on their bitter resins. My God, how bitter the broom is! He continued to chew and their narcotic effect began to flood through him, blunting his senses and numbing his limbs — and the pain began to recede. Soon, he stood up easily, feeling light and lively. With no time to lose, he hurried to the Mahri, holding the camel’s head in his arms for a few moments. The raw flesh of his neck was sticky to the touch. Poor creature. If his mate saw him like this, she would reject him forever. Just like the Devil does with humans sometimes.

Beware infection, camel — now do you see what disease can do? It can turn a creature’s shape inside out! What will we do if you have lost your dappled color for good? Sheikh Musa says that perfection belongs only to God. That’s right — God’s blessings are never complete. There is no Garden on this earth. In this world you might enjoy your health, but beauty exists only to be lost. Perhaps it is for the best that perfection exists only for gods — if everyone was ugly, and no beauty invited the attention of the evil eye, then what malevolence could threaten us? Grotesqueness is a protection — and it offers a form of wisdom too.

Ukhayyad hugged the camel and whispered into his ear, “We’ve gone halfway. Now we’ll go the remaining distance, the part that’ll be the hardest for me. All my water spilled out during our mad journey. Now you must save me. We’ll head for the nearest well in the lower valleys. Do not attempt to carry me to the oases. I’ll die before we get very far along that road. There’s not a single drop of water in me, I can’t store water like you. Do you understand? You do not want to lose your old friend, your new brother. Now — there’s no time to lose.”

He looked for the reins and staggered dizzily, nearly falling to the ground. He clung to the Mahri’s neck and dug in the sand under his belly. There, he placed one end of the reins. He went to the other side of the camel and pulled on the leather strap. He pulled himself up to sit behind the Mahri’s hump and tied the reins around his waist. The position was not a comfortable one. He stretched out over the camel’s back, gluing himself to the wet flesh. The red flesh was sticky to his touch, the blood not yet dry. Ukhayyad’s body, now also naked, fused with the viscous flesh of the Mahri. Flesh met flesh, blood mixed with blood. In the past they had been merely friends. Today, they had been joined by a much stronger tie. Those who become brothers by sharing blood are closer than those who share parentage. A mother might give birth to two boys without their ever becoming brothers. As long as their blood does not mingle, they can never share this deeper bond. Becoming someone’s brother is easier said than done.

He cinched the cord around his body and secured it to the back of the Mahri. Ukhayyad kicked him lightly, and the Mahri rose to his feet. He stood motionless for a moment, then began to move. He did not retrace the way they came, but headed south instead. They first passed through a valley, then climbed a ridge. There, camel and rider were swallowed up by the endless flatlands. Ukhayyad’s eyes melted into the limitless horizon. The camel walked on, with wide, firm steps — the steps of one ready to cross waterless wastes.

It was midday, and ghosts danced before Ukhayyad’s eyes. Soon, he faded back into the shadows.