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.
9
With the first fall, Ukhayyad found himself perched between consciousness and oblivion, in that interval between life and death. Using his teeth, he reattached his hand to the tail so quickly that he never left his semi-conscious state. Being in this no man’s land between heaven and hell inspired him to return to the trick he had used before. He tumbled and got back up over and over. He fell into a daze and, parched, licked at the urine when it trickled down the camel’s thigh. It had been divine inspiration to tie his hand to the camel’s tail.
He imagined that the camel was descending from a tall mountain. At that point, he transcended all bounds of consciousness and crossed over again into the shadows.
Returning from his brutal journey into half-conscious oblivion, Ukhayyad found himself atop the well at Awal. He groped around its stony lip for a bucket, but found none. With his teeth, he untied his hand from the camel. The strap had carved a deep gash around his wrist, and now he wore a bracelet of blood. He felt no pain, nothing but sticky fluid. He licked his hand, but tasted nothing. Things were covered in a haze of fog and shadow. His eyes had lost their ability to see a long time ago, perhaps because he had lingered so long in that interval between this world and the hereafter. But life’s force stirred his dead limbs, filling them with an unvanquished will to continue moving.
Ukhayyad now fastened the leather reins to his ankle. He tied the knot securely and examined the place where the strap joined the tail. He stumbled, stupefied, trying to locate the Mahri’s neck, then head. He wanted to tell the camel something before he plunged into the bottomless well. He never doubted whether he would return. At that peculiar moment, he thought about what Sheikh Musa said about death: it was closer than your jugular vein and yet farther than the ends of the earth. He wanted to tell the piebald this. He wanted to tell him what to do as he plunged into the abyss. The piebald lavished the young man with attention, covering him with his lips and licking his face. Ukhayyad was unable to see the other’s eyes and unable to utter a word. He had lost the ability to speak. First he had lost his sight, and now he had lost his voice. He raised his right hand and patted the Mahri’s head. Man and camel spoke to one another, as brothers, by way of gesture. His head began to spin and he looked for the mouth of the well. He stepped out, over the lip, his unfettered leg dangling over the pit. The thought of death never occurred to him. He thought only about what he would say to Sheikh Musa, “Death truly lies closer than your jugular vein, and yet, it is still very difficult for a man to die. Death lies beyond the furthest end of the world. When you arrive at a well, of course there will be no pail. Or you might find a pail, but don’t then expect to find the well that goes with it. It’s always like that.” He held onto the stones that lined the lip of the well. Then he began to crawl into the hole. He saw nothing, heard nothing, and felt nothing. He struggled, using his hands to clamber down the first rows of stone and hoping to avoid a free fall that would yank the strap from the camel’s tail. His descent was automatic, unconscious. He lowered himself into the rock, until his strength — the limbs that had been smashed by journey and injury — betrayed him and he fell into the abyss.
An entire lifetime passed in the fraction of a second that came between the stone lip of the well and the water below. An eon went by, taking him back, beyond the day he was born. During that moment, he saw his own birth pass before his eyes. He saw himself as he fell from his mother’s womb into the chasm. He heard the trilling of she-jinn on Jebel Hasawna. He saw the shadows of houris in paradise. It was one of these dark-eyed virgins wearing a diaphanous mantle who then caught him and gently placed him down into heaven’s river. Here, in this river of paradise, he began to drink.
Then he began to choke and gag. He did not vomit in the well itself, but outside. If he could have opened his eyes, he would have seen a vision of the piebald, and the rays of the sun, glaring sharply like fiery spurs. The piebald had carried out his unspoken command — he had pulled him out of that freshwater sea.