They spent the night in a tea-house. They lay down on the wooden dais on the embankment. Agsar couldn’t sleep till dawn, for he was extremely excited.
In the morning grandfather bought everything he wanted, put his purchases into the sacks, loaded his dark blue, obedient donkey with them, and only after that he woke his grandson up:
“Wake up, Agsar. We have a long way ahead us.
Agsar jumped up. He was a bit ashamed to be sleeping while his grandpa was awake. He ran to the river, washed his face and hands, then ran up to the grandpa’s donkey, saddled it, and tied its bridle to the saddle of the loaded donkey. Grandpa was sitting on the dais with his eyes closed and his legs crossed, and sipped his tea. At times he glanced at his grandson with satisfaction, and closed his wrinkled eyes again. “I’ve bought salt at good price today”, he thought and a memory of something forgotten, faded and broken into small fragments came to his mind.
The camels were walking lazily in a long row. They were led by the guide walking ahead. The camels were mainly loaded by salt purchased in Chelekend. They traveled from the seashore across the desert. The desert was divided into two parts – the Karakum of Zaunguz and the main Karakum.
The caravan consisted of forty camels and about twenty guides. The trip took them about two months. Crossing the Karakum, they could stop at the only inhabited place, Darvaz. They filled their waterskins with water and proceeded their way.
The Karakum is a real wonder with its contrasts: an incredible heat in the daytime and sandstorms at night. The travelers solved the problem of clothes long ago – they wear heavy clothes both in the daytime and at night: warm Asian gowns with huge cloth belts wrapped around their waists several times, heavy trousers; high, woolen boots – paipaks – and white, woolen, embroidered hats.
They put kerchiefs round their faces at night, not to be bothered by the sandstorms. They travel eight or ten hours a day, and stop only once to relax. In the evening they put up rough woolen tents and sleep in small groups.
Caravan-guides are highly respected everywhere; Everyone knows how hard it is to cross the Karakum.
They rode camels till Chelekend, and they went back on foot, leading the loaded camels. It was extremely difficult. The way was not only tiring, but also very dangerous. The local inhabitants were too dangerous as well, especially the spider Kara Kurt.
As if startled by something, the grandpa opened his eyes. They were ready to set off. He glanced at his grandson:
“This journey is a trifle compared with the journey in the Karakum. I have gone to and fro some six-times at least. Now they take a different way to carry the salt; They go through Ashgabat and Bayram Ali. Everybody avoids the Karakum. They must be scared,” the old man giggled, “I never was. Once I crossed it all alone with the caravan of eight camels, and came back to Khiva alone, too. Nobody has ever dared to do it. But I did, thank Allah, great is his name! I mean it, kid; don’t think I’m simply boasting.”
“I can do it too, I’m not scared. You will see it! I’ll do it when I grow up”, Agsar said proudly, leading his grandpa’s donkey hastily.
“He takes after me! I wish his poor father were alive to see him,” the old man thought riding his donkey. In a moment he fell into a sweet slumber.
***
Time passed. Agsar’s grandfather died and Agsar had been in Khiva many a time already, but his first impression and the grandfather’s story of the Karakum were still unforgettable for him. He made several attempts to assure his friends from Tezebazaar or Beruna to go with him to the desert, but all in vain. Even his closest friends, Ali and Abdul, didn’t want to hear anything about the Karakum.
He often thought about his grandpa when he visited the tea-house. He even saw his smiling face and heard his voice telling him: “They are afraid of the Karakum, but I wasn’t.”
Agsar worked by the riverside, near his house. He had a small business of his own there. He made bricks. He lived alone. For some unknown reasons he couldn’t manage to marry anyone yet. He didn’t worry about not having a wife, but he wanted to have children very much.
Ramadan had just started and Agsar wasn’t working. He went to the tea-house and drank several cups of tea, listening to the men talking. When he got bored of their hollow talk, he left. He walked down the lane thoughtlessly. After a while he realized that he was heading to the mount Karatau. It wasn’t hard for him to climb it, but he did it more slowly than before. He looked in the direction of Tezebazaar and Berun. He gazed at the settlements for some time, but then he looked in the direction of the yellow mist, where the desert lay. Grandpa’s words were ringing in his ears: “The desert frightens them.”
Grandpa was right. Agsar was afraid of the Karakum.
That night he searched the whole house. He found the old man’s water-skins, put them into the water and kept them there for two days. The water-skins softened well enough to keep fresh water. He mended the old tent too.
When Ramadan was over, he built a caravan of six camels and left early in the morning. On his way he recollected the fragments of his grandpa’s story: “When we left the village, the sun was rising on the right, and it set on our left. Those who ignored this rule, had been lost in the Karakum forever.”
He was wearing the same clothes as his grandpa used to. At first it was very hard for him, but on the third day he got used to them. He felt neither hot nor cold, and he slept well at night too.
“We took a lot of kurti[8] with us. It gave us energy and killed our thirst. We drank water only in the evening or while we relaxed.” Grandpa was not laughing at him any more. He was giving pieces of advice with a very serious air.
After five days’ walk, his feet began to swallow. It was difficult for him to put on his paipaks. He couldn’t get used to walking in the sands. He often thought he was walking around the same places again and again. He lost the count of the days as well; he was not sure whether he had been walking for eight days or nine, but he already guessed that he had missed Darvaza.
In the morning, two of the camels couldn’t get up. He somehow managed to redistribute their load onto the rest of the animals and went on walking. The distance he could walk decreased every day. He was not able to take off his paipaks at night, and his spine hurt awfully while sleeping. It was a real torture to start walking in the morning. He walked with great difficulty, and the camels lay down to rest much more frequently. The only thing he could still manage properly was the direction of the sunset – the sun always set at his left hand side.
He lost the count of the days thoroughly. He had no idea how many days had passed. For several days he could not eat anything. But he drank water all the time – in the morning, while relaxing, while walking and at night.
One morning he heard a hissing sound in his ears. He could hear the same terrible sound even in his sleep. He went blind several times a day and he felt giddy. At such moments he stopped for a while, and then continued his way with an unsteady gait. Once he even fell down. He stopped putting up his tent at night. It was too much for him now. He simply lay down on his baggage. He couldn’t remember when he had taken off his gown; he simply noticed that he had lost his gown and hat somewhere.
He recalled Khiva, its bazaar and the unforgettable taste of the watermelon. He saw his grandpa, but he didn’t give him advice any more. One morning he discovered that his camels escaped at night. He walked all day long. He heard a terrible hiss in his ears. His mouth was dry. His body was hot and the skin on his hands had dried up.
The sun had set and it was nearly dark when he saw a light ahead. He couldn’t reach it; he fell on the sand face down.