For three nights, Sheikh Basim
and his Nejdoul clan followed the stars across the chilly desert.
Each dawn they erected temporary shelters against the fierce heat
of the sun; each evening they set out again, driving their livestock
before them. The full moon had set in the western sky the morning
they reached H'Raybay Oasis.
While the able-bodied set up a camp
that would stand strong for weeks, Sheikh Basim sent his firstborn
son to explore the surrounding area. "Take two men and go,"
he said. "And hurry, Joseph. Soon the sun will rise."
"Yes, I know," said Joseph
with a fond smile. He had given up reminding his father that he
was a grown man of twenty-four years who knew the desert well.
His hunting bow slung on his shoulder,
Joseph led his scouts through the oasis and out to the surrounding
wastelands. They left their heads uncovered in the cool dawn air.
Their dark, wavy hair, tied at the napes of their necks, flowed
down the backs of red shirts that hung over loose, light trousers.
The garments bore the multicolored pattern of the Nejdoul, as did
all the clan's handwoven clothing. Even the camels had the distinctive
design emblazoned on their haunches.
Joseph hadn't seen H'Raybay Oasis
since he was a boy. By agreement of the tribal elders, no one had
camped here for years that nature's bounty might increase undisturbed.
The animals of many clans could graze here now, though as Joseph
studied the mysterious desert terrain, he wished it weren't so.
Far-off sand dunes glistened in the
budding daylight. Outcrops of shale and limestone loomed nearby;
wildflowers dotted the tall grass and scrub that flourished between
them. Lichens covered the stones on the ground with pinks and greens,
oranges and blues, and a host of shades between.
The sudden roar of a lion echoed over
the desert, a grim reminder that for all its beauty, the wilderness
held many perils. H'Raybay Oasis seemed free of danger, however.
The only tracks the men found were those of small animals who posed
no threat.
Just past daybreak, the explorers
returned to the bustling camp by way of the livestock pens. A chorus
of bleating and braying joined the symphony of rattling tent poles
and clanging cook pots. While men hammered, women soothed crying
children and prepared breakfast fires, though they stopped to welcome
Joseph with shouted greetings and questions.
"Our camp is safe," Joseph
shouted back, "and rich with food and water." Despite
the anguish in his heart, he smiled at everyone he met and patted
the dark-haired heads of the children he passed.
Searching as he made his way through
the maze of half-erected shelters, he detoured to a tangle of scrub
at the edge of the camp. Zahra was there, setting the goats to feed
among the rocks. Her yellow cloak, the one that smelled of cinnamon
and musk, lay over a boulder. Her hand spindle and wool bag lay
beside it. She would spin thread while she watched the flock, as
did every Nejdoul woman and girl as they conducted their daily tasks.
If she had seen him, she gave no sign.
"Hello, Zahra," he called.
"I see you've already claimed ground for the goats."
Once, she would have graced him with
a lovely smile. She offered only a polite nod now. "It's not
just for the goats," she said. "There are many plants
here, and I may want to collect them. I haven't seen such flowers
since I lived with my grandmother."
"Well, don't go collecting plants
outside the camp unless someone is with you," he said. "We
found no danger, but this is the desert."
With another nod, she lowered her
eyes and returned to her goats. Joseph had hoped for more. Though
the clans would soon gather at H'Raybay Oasis to celebrate his marriage
to the daughter of Sheikh Rashid, he had hoped for another chance
to convince Zahra that someday she would be his most cherished wife.
He continued past the goats and sheep
to the camp's largest tent. Basim stood at the entrance, his dusky
eyes watching over the clan. In the morning light, the lines that
etched his noble face seemed deeper than Joseph remembered. A circlet
of braided black cord held his long, patterned headdress over his
graying hair. A keen-eyed falcon perched on his forearm.
The bird made some responsive noise
when Joseph petted her. "I have seen everything, Father,"
he said.
"Come," said Basim. "We
will talk." He sent the falcon soaring for her breakfast.
Joseph followed him inside to the
mag'ad, the men's side of the tent, where mosaic rugs and soft cushions
surrounded a squat wooden table laden with food. Low flames fueled
by camel dung crackled in a pit in the center of the dirt floor.
The men sat.
"What did you find?" asked
Basim.
Joseph popped a sugary date into his
mouth. "There is much grass, and the acacia trees are plentiful.
They will provide shade for everyone, and ample fodder for the camels."
"Is there enough space for Rashid's
clan?"
"Yes, Father. The land stretches
for miles before it reaches the sand."
"What dangers are there?"
"None nearby. We heard a lion
roar across the desert. Too far away to be of concern."
Basim nodded. "Still, we will
keep watch. The water is good?"
"I found the well and uncovered
it. The water is high, and cool and sweet. The women have already
chosen their bathing pool." He reached for another date and
smiled. "They chased us away when we came through the reeds."
A voice rang from the maharama, the
women's side of the tent. "Is that Joseph?"
Basim glanced toward the camel hair
divider and sighed. "Yes, Sabiha."
Sabiha, Joseph's mother and Basim's
beloved chief wife, supervised the sheikh's domestic affairs. Her
disembodied words floated over the divider like a butterfly, though
Joseph knew they could sting like a scorpion. He poured two cups
of strong cardamom coffee from a steaming silver urn and sat back
to enjoy the banter.
"What took him so long? We finished
touring the oasis long ago."
"He had more to look at than
flowers, Sabiha," said Basim.
"We have found much to harvest,"
she called, as if she hadn't heard him. "We have found date
palms, Basim. Tell the men to protect us instead of sitting about
doing nothing while we gather palm leaves. We will weave baskets
to trade when we reach Wadi Bakhoor."
"The men are not sitting about
doing nothing!"
"We have found Bladder Dock,
and borage and mint. And there is arnebia to make our daughters'
cheeks pretty."
"Our daughters are pretty enough!"
shouted Basim.
"And we have found milkweed to
cure the mange on the camels."
"My camels have no mange, woman!"
Basim sighed again and reached for his coffee. "Gather your
plants, Sabiha. We will protect you."
Suddenly a cadaverous little man emerged
from the shadows in a swirl of colored robes. A large, hooked nose
dominated his face. His sunken eyes burned with passion. The clan's
shaman ate little to strengthen his soul that the spirits might
whisper to him. As he crept toward Basim and Joseph, he rattled
a large animal bone marked with strange carvings.
Basim set his coffee down with a thump
of irritation. "What is it, Fugara?"
"The spirits say an evil jinn
lives in this place, Basim!" Lightning-fast, Fugara pointed
the bone toward the desert. "The spirits say he will come for
Joseph! I will beat my drum to frighten him away. And you must wear
this amulet, Joseph!"
A necklace of tinkling silver appeared
in the shaman's hand. "I have written charms on the bones of
the desert wolf and prayers on the skin of the python and ground
them to powder. Yet the spirits say that only the desert flower
can save Joseph! So I have found it, and added its petals to this
great magic." Fugara hung the talisman around Joseph's neck.
"Wear it, Joseph! To protect
you from the evil jinn!" In a whirl of color, he spun from
the tent.
The lines on Basim's face melded into
a scowl. "This is not what I wish to hear as we prepare for
your wedding, Joseph. And prepare we must. Sabiha!"
With a clap of his hands, Basim ordered
the wedding feast. Sabiha squealed with joy and hurried from the
tent.
Joseph, however, fingered the amulet
that hung over his heart and frowned. "I wish I were as happy
about this marriage as Mother." The next words rushed out before
he could stop them: "Taroob is a spoiled little girl whose
tongue is sharper than the claws of a fox! She only cares for fine
clothes and jewels. I will never love her!"
"We all have a duty to the tribe,"
said Basim. The kind glow in his eyes belied his strict tone. "The
clans arranged this marriage when you and Taroob were infants to
keep the tribe strong. You are a sheikh's son, and must wed your
wives for duty. If fate allows, perhaps you will wed one for love."
As you did, thought Joseph. He had
been born of parents who loved each other, and worried that his
own children would miss the unconditional affection he and his siblings
had always enjoyed. Casting a sullen glare into the shadows that
had swallowed Fugara, he wondered if the shaman could make him a
love charm.
"Rashid is your only true competitor
in the camel races, Father," he said. "Having Taroob for
your daughter-in-law will bring our clan great prestige." He
took a breath and dared to add, "So would having the granddaughter
of a great healer."
"I have watched your gaze follow
the goatherd's daughter since she came to live with us."
"Is it so bad to befriend a girl
who has no one?"
"She has her aunt, and the clan."
Basim shook his head. "No, Joseph. Put her from your mind.
We are camel breeders.
"Zahra is a healer, not just a goatherd!
Her grandmother taught her much!"
"It is said that her grandmother's
skills died with her," said Basim. "In any case, we have
our own healers."
"Yes. Old women whose ears are
closed to anything new!"
Something Joseph couldn't name darkened
his father's eyes. "We will speak of this another time,"
said Basim. "For now, we must prepare for your marriage to
Taroob."
Soon the men were slaughtering lambs
for the roasting spits. They unpacked their hand drums and flutes
and tuned the strings on their ouds. Some taught the boys to dance
in a line around the fire, each stomping the ground and holding
the shoulder of the dancer in front of him; others rehearsed their
repertoires of passionate poetry.
Happy to set their hand spindles aside,
the women convened in the shade of the acacia trees and spent two
days preparing food. They soaked beans and simmered rice with spices
and herbs. They baked bread and swung goatskins of yogurt on metal
tripods to churn butter. Practiced hands transformed dried fruit
and nuts into delicate pastries.
At daybreak on the third morning,
Sabiha presented Joseph with the camel hair tent she had woven for
him and Taroob. Joseph, and indeed the whole clan, praised her skill.
The tent was large enough for three wives.
Joseph wondered if any of them would
love him.
Determined to subdue such selfish
thoughts, he wandered down an ancient path to the desert. When he
reached a stand of swaying reeds, the familiar fragrance of cinnamon
and musk drifted to him on the morning breeze.
Zahra was returning to camp from the
bathing pool. Her rhythmic step set pleasing curves dancing beneath
her shapeless dress. Slender fingers combed damp, dark tresses from
cheeks bronzed by the sunrise. When she saw him, a smile flickered
over her lips—and died.
His heart ached at the dismissal.
He stepped closer and breathed in her spicy perfume. "I am
going to walk in the desert, Zahra," he said. "Would you
like to come with me and search for plants?"
She looked away. "I must return
to camp. Aunt Maryam needs my help."
"I will return you to your aunt
soon," he said. "The land will only be cool for a short
time. Walk with me, Zahra."
"No, Joseph."
"Why do you avoid me? Have I
not told you that I love you?"
"Maryam saw your marriage tent,"
she said. "She said I must stay away from you. She said you
will only have wealthy wives, and will leave me crying." Her
soulful eyes begged him to tell her otherwise.
He intended to try. "After the
wedding, I will speak to my father. I will convince him—"
"No! I have heard the talk. He
disapproves of me, and you cannot disobey him. As I cannot disobey
Maryam." She held her head high; her lips quivered when she
wished him well and marched past him.
Joseph rambled on in brooding silence.
He soon found himself squinting back at the oasis from the open
desert. A short distance away, Fugara stood chanting and shaking
his rattle over the rainbow of rocks. Joseph turned the other way.
He hadn't gone far when a lion's roar rumbled over the land. This
one sounded closer than the last. He must return to camp and tell
his father. No one should be out here alone.
He touched the amulet at his chest
and thought he should tell Fugara to come in, but when he turned
around, the shaman was gone.
The next morning, Joseph tied
a quiver full of arrows around his waist, shouldered his hunting
bow, and took his turn guarding the women beneath the shade of the
acacia trees while they harvested the blossoms they would boil for
dye. Out near the edge of the camp, Zahra rummaged for botanical
treasures of her own. Joseph disapproved of her going off alone,
though he would say nothing as long as he could keep watch over
her.
For over an hour, he patrolled with
two other men. As always, he was vigilant, yet the tracks unnerved
him when he found them. The paw prints were fresh, and clearly depicted
a bad limp and huge, hairy feet—the spoor of a sickly old lion.
He called the men to his side. Their eyes widened when he showed
them the imprints.
"Look at the drag marks,"
said one. "The hind leg is broken."
"He will be very hungry,"
said the other, "and very dangerous."
"Gather the women," said
Joseph. "Take them back to camp." He spun to find Zahra.
She was gone. Muttering a curse, he ran to the spot where he had
last seen her.
"Wait, Joseph!" shouted
the men. "Wait for the other hunters!"
But he kept running, away from the
shelter of the trees, into the rocky wasteland. "Zahra!"
His voice echoed away in the shimmering
desert air. And then he saw her, out among the lichen-covered rocks,
studying the earth, oblivious to her surroundings. Sliding the bow
from his shoulder, he called again and raced after her.
She turned with a question on her
face.
He scanned the ground as he hurried
toward her. He found more tracks, and then the imprint of the mane
in a spot where the beast had rested. The lion had grown weary,
and would have sought shelter from the heat of the day. Any of several
patches of scrub ahead would provide suitable cover.
Joseph nocked an arrow to his bowstring.
"What is it, Joseph?" Fear
pulsed in Zahra's voice; terror shone in her rounded eyes.
Willing himself to ignore her, Joseph
focused his attention on the tracks. His bow was ready. His eyes
bounced from the scrub to the tall grass and back.
A sudden, ominous growl froze them
both. Joseph swung his bow to cover the scrub—but the cat wasn't
in the scrub.
He was in the grass. With a terrifying
roar, he mowed Joseph down. Razor-sharp teeth ripped the amulet
from Joseph's neck. The lion's useless leg had bungled his jump,
however. He toppled sideways before his deadly jaws could tear Joseph's
throat away. Snapping at air, he landed on his tawny side.
Desperate to escape the maddened animal,
Joseph rolled. Just as desperate, the lion hauled himself forward,
and with a sickening crunch, clamped his jaws on Joseph's arm.
Joseph screamed. His face was only
inches from the lion's. Fetid breath poisoned the air between them.
When he dared to look, malevolent yellow eyes glared back at him.
Men came running. Basim was with them,
shouting at the cat, tearing off his shirt, pitching it behind the
beast. The movement distracted the lion's attention. He released
Joseph's arm and dove on the shirt. As he slashed it to pieces,
Basim dashed in and wrenched Joseph out of the animal's range. Spears
and arrows flew until, with one last bellow, the lion fell.
Early the next morning, Sheikh
Rashid and his clan arrived. Basim greeted them with grave words
and led Rashid to his tent, where Fugara chanted and beat his drum
near the entrance.
Inside, Joseph tossed and turned in
a haze of pain and fever. Sabiha had retied the amulet around his
neck. The clan's healers had dosed him with a painkilling concoction
of harjal and willow bark. They had stitched the shredded flesh
together and wrapped his arm in herb-soaked cloth. Still, everyone
in the tent, including Joseph, knew that his arm would never heal
properly.
"He cannot provide for my daughter
now," said Rashid. "After my people eat and rest, we will
leave." The underlying statement that Joseph was now a crippled
encumbrance to the tribe hurt more than the lion's bite. Joseph
closed his eyes and prayed for death.
Flames crackled in the center
of the tent. The glow of a brazier lit the bed where Joseph struggled
with shadows. His arm throbbed; his head ached. Outside, Fugara
pounded his drum to the steady rhythm of Joseph's heartbeat. If
the drumbeat stopped, Joseph was sure he would die. And he was ready—until
he caught the fragrance of cinnamon and musk.
Zahra's voice roused him. "How
do you feel, Joseph? What can I do?"
His eyes fluttered open. She sat beside
him, studying him with an intensity that distorted her pretty face.
"Water, please," he whispered.
Tipping an earthen jar, she filled
a cup with water. Joseph raised himself on his good elbow and sipped.
The effort hurt and weakened him.
He lay back down gasping for breath.
"Taroob's clan? Gone?"
"Yes," said Zahra. She brushed
a strand of hair from his forehead. Her fingers were cool and soothing.
"They filled their waterbags and left two days ago. Taroob
cried when her father told her what happened." Her tone held
no sympathy for the girl. "She truly wanted to be your wife."
Joseph pushed her hand away and turned
his head. The drumbeat—or was it his heart?—pounded louder.
"There will be no wives for me. I cannot give Taroob her fine
clothes and jewels. I cannot provide for even one wife. I am useless.
A burden to the tribe. Leave me, Zahra."
Zahra leapt to her feet. Her hands
flew to her hips. Her gentle tone vanished. "Yes, you are right.
Now you are not even good enough for a goatherd's daughter! Very
well, I will go." She turned toward the entrance to the tent.
"Wait!" cried Joseph. "Don't
leave me Zahra! I—I am dying."
With a fierce scowl, she crossed her
arms. "You are too stubborn to die, Joseph ibn Basim! As for
your arm, my grandmother taught me much about broken bones. I will
make your arm strong enough for ten wives—if you will let me."
Hope soared in Joseph's soul, more
for the love he thought he had lost than for his mangled arm. "Will
you marry me if my arm becomes strong again?"
Zahra smiled. "I would marry
you now, silly man."
The tent rustled behind her. Basim
stepped into the brazier's light.
"It is time for you to go, Zahra,"
he said.
Joseph shot up on his elbow. "She
will stay!" he cried. "I love her, Father! I will forsake
the clan if I must, but I will marry her!" He braced himself
for Basim's rebuke.
Instead, his father grinned. "I
am pleased to see you awake and alert, my son. I only meant that
Zahra should go and rest. She has been sitting with you for hours."
Zahra returned to her seat and eased
Joseph back onto his pillows. He didn't resist. "Why?"
he asked. "Where are the healers?"
Basim strode to the bed and sat opposite
Zahra. "When the healers told us they could do no more, that
you would die unless they cut away your arm, Zahra charged in and
chased them all out." A chuckle rumbled low in his throat.
"She started ordering us around, and even sent your mother
running for the metal poles from her loom."
"What? Why?"
"To set the broken bones in your
arm," said Zahra. "And the plants I found here at H'Raybay
Oasis have eased the swelling and cured your fever. You will be
out of bed and strong again soon."
"We will have our wedding after
all," said Basim, "though you will marry Zahra, not Taroob."
The drumbeat stopped. Fugara whirled
in and shook his bone rattle at the foot of the bed. "The spirits
are never wrong, Joseph! They said the desert flower would save
you!"
