6
The next night, I walked the perimeter of the town to clear my head. The rest of camp was asleep, including Jacob. Jacob, Jonathan, and I had made a habit of leaving an item on our pillow if we were temporarily leaving the tent. Figuring that I would return, I left my ledger in the center of my pillow. If the person who left the omen did not return after a reasonable period of time, the others would go searching for them.
I had wandered – by moonlight –for the better part of an hour when something was pressed to the small of my back. The person behind me whispered, “Start walking south. If you make any sound or attempt to flee, I will kill you. Do you understand?” I nodded and began walking south. The Hindu soldiers in my regiment would say this was my karma for allowing Jonathan to die.
We kept walking for what seemed like ages. We crossed dune after dune and must have traveled about a dozen kilometers before my captor finally spoke again. “Stop and sit down.” I gladly paused for a rest. I sat down with my captor standing over me. As he handed me a canteen, I failed to make out any of his features due to a halo of moonlight recessing his face in shadow. He sat down in front of me and revealed his face. My memory recognized him immediately. He was a local that we had hired to work in the meal prep for our soldiers.
“Why are you doing this Ammon?”
“My people are tired of seeing our lands under English rule. Your men have taken the majority of our lands, and we’ve decided to fight back.”
“What are your plans with me?”
He looked away and then back to me with a smug look on his face. “Since you are an officer, I plan on taking you to my superiors. You will be questioned and more than likely executed.” His mouth curled into a grin. I nodded and looked down. “You seem like you’re accepting the fact that you will be killed?”
I nodded again and looked back up. “Everyone dies at some point.” He nodded in response as his smile tightened. Inside, I was scrambling. Not just for a means of escape, but also gathering more information on the possible location of their encampment. “I won’t divulge anything to you or your comrades.”
His smile flattened. “We will see.” He stood and pulled me to my feet. Water spilled from the canteen onto my fingers as he snatched it out of my hand. I put my knuckle in my mouth to not waste any water. Ammon shoved the gun into my bandage hoping for a reaction, he received not even a wince. “Move.”
“How many days must we walk?”
Something slammed into the back of my head. The blow left me slightly disoriented and caused my knees to buckle. “Be silent. Get up and keep walking.”
7
We walked for two more days in this manner. He would have us take breaks to stay hydrated and rest. I would let him talk and listened for any information I could gather. Whenever he allowed me the chance to speak I would ask broad questions that would cause him to reveal any information. With every conversation, he would remind me of my imminent execution after the interrogation.
After the first day, I had come up with a plan. Throughout the course of the previous few days, I would slowly move my shoulder to build the muscles. I could maneuver it with more comfort than when I was taken captive. My sling was a thin strip of fabric formed into a large loop. I bided my time until the opportune moment presented itself. I waited until Ammon decided to take a break.
I was intentionally being difficult all morning. Ammon grew more and more agitated with me. I used the excuse that I needed more food and was making mistakes and getting impatient due to hunger. Ammon stood to leave. “Get up.” I didn’t move. “Get on your feet and walk.” He slapped the back of my head. He paused for a second to allow me time to get on my feet. I sat forward and moved my legs under my body to where I was sitting on my knees. Ammon grew furious. He lunged forward and grabbed my shoulder to force me to my feet.
While his sight of my arm was blocked by my back, I had slid my arm out of the tourniquet. I moved before he could react. I reached across my body and grabbed his wrist. I spun my body around and swept his legs from under him. He now stood on his knees with our heads at the same height. With one fluid motion, I placed the tourniquet around his neck and removed it from mine. I stood keeping tension on the sling. He began struggling. I placed my foot in between his shoulders and forced him forward. Ammon lay face down in the sand struggling. He fought for a few moments before his body relaxed.
To make sure the job was finished, I stayed in that position for five minutes. I waited to see if there was any indication of him faking to turn on me. After the time had elapsed, I removed the sling and placed it back around my neck and my arm into it. I rolled his body onto its back and kicked him in the face to make sure. There was no movement, and his facial expression still had the wide-eyed look of death. I scavenged what I could from him and began walking. I walked about a mile and decided to stop and await nightfall.
8
Around my fifth day wandering, I crested a dune to find the horizon was a gigantic wall of dust and sand. I quickly ran to the valley between where I stood and the next dune, and then covered myself with the coat to block what sand I could. There was little time to react, but I made it just in time. I had just covered myself with the sheet when the wind and grit began pelting me. After inhaling a lung full of dust and sand, I covered my mouth and nose with the sheet as well as my eyes to protect them from the stinging granules and particles.
Up until that point, I had focused not only on my internal struggle to cope with my mistake, but also direction, tackling the next dune, and monitoring my food and water intake. When the storm hit, it took everything else away…even my sight. The only thing that was external about the storm was the sharp pins and needles feeling radiating across every inch of my body. The storm raging outside triggered an internal apocalyptic meltdown. I tried to stop the tears from coming, but they surged nonetheless. I uncovered my face and let the storms rage as one. My tears turned to mud before reaching my chin. One thought rang out while my skin was being blasted by wind and sand, I deserve every bit of this.
I cried harder and then heard something in the wind that gave me pause. It was almost a whisper, but clear enough to be understandable. It sounded almost like Jonathan’s voice, due to the wind I couldn’t be sure. It said, “You’re not at fault. Put it behind you.”
I started calling out. “Is anyone there? Hello? Who is speaking to me?” There was no answer. I covered my face once again. I wonder if it was Jonathan’s ghost talking to me. I brushed off the thought immediately. It got my head spinning to start trying to mentally fight my guilt and self-pity. I waited for the storm to pass.
9
The next few days dragged by and my energy began to fade. I sat down on the side of a dune and set up my lean-to for the day. I had just sat down when I noticed movement a few inches from my leg. The color blended so well, if it weren't for the scorpion’s movement, I would have missed it. I slowly unsheathed my knife and used the blade to quickly pin and sever its tail. I picked up the squirming, clawed arachnid and ate it.
My severe dehydration made it difficult to eat and swallow the food my body needed to stay alive. As I looked up while forcing the food down, I noticed green on the horizon. I packed up my things and began walking in that direction. My movements were slow, and my energy was quickly fading. As I crested the top of next dune, my heart sank. It was farther away than I expected, but I was determined to reach it. I was in dire need of water, and my survival depended on me reaching that haven of shade and water.
It grew closer and closer with each dune. The heat was unbearable, and I quickly realized why I had traveled in the dark. As I crested the last dune, the expanse of the valley opened up to show numerous trees and a small water source. My feet dragged as I neared the end of my energy. As I neared the water, my knees buckled and I crawled my way forward.
10
I opened my eyes. He was sitting on the sand in front of me with his legs crossed. I sat up confused. I wiped the sand from my face, an
d looked at him and asked, “How am I able to see you? You’re dead.”
“Because, you need to see me, and hear what I have to say.”
I began crying. “I was so stupid to not remind you to check the roof. It is my fault that you’re dead.”
“Ben, look at me.” I looked into his eyes. “That’s what I wanted to discuss with you. Your guilt for my death is nothing more than survivor’s guilt. It’s all in your head, and I don’t blame you for my death. My death is on my hands alone. Due to your selfish thoughts, you have put your life in danger by making stupid choices.”
I nodded. I knew I was wrong to go with my poor judgment, even before walking alone at night. I just didn’t care and thought the world would be better off with me separated from it. “What can I do to change?”
“That’s for you to figure out. No one can tell you how you must proceed from this juncture.” I nodded. “I have to go. Thank you for always being there, and know that I always loved you and Jacob like brothers.”
“Jacob and I shared the same sentiment about you. You take care of yourself, and know that we’ll see you soon enough.” I lowered my head for a brief moment, and when I looked up he was gone. I sat for what seemed like hours, just taking in the short conversation. Within those hours I came to accept the discussion. Jonathan was usually pretty good at telling you what was on his mind, and, more often than not, he was usually right. I thought of the days since deciding to walk off into the desert and my struggles during the time wandering. How could I have been so stupid to drop my guard?
I beat myself up over the fact, for a while, that in my grief for Jonathan, I had entirely abandoned Jacob. He probably felt as alone as I had, if not worse. Jacob had been abandoned by everyone.
11
I awoke to a blinding sun. Shading my eyes with an outstretched palm, I began to take in my surroundings. My view was graced with more than sand. As I observed palm leaves blowing in the wind and seeing the sky’s rippled reflection, I knew I had made it to the oasis.
After a couple of moments, I noticed the mummified carcass of a large caracal. Around its neck was a frayed piece of rope. The story behind it could have been as simple as someone who had made a snare trap for prey and had trapped the cat by mistake; someone had raised it as a pet, or it was caught to sell on the black market. Whatever the reason, it was here and had died some time ago.
I sat up and brushed the sand and dust off of my coat and shirt. I started looking around at my surrounding in depth. I stood and turned to face the water. I was hoping it would be much larger, but it had survived the elements thus far. As I began to traverse the shore, I looked for anything I could use for either shelter or food. My eyes were scanning the water, ground, and tree line.
I fashioned a shelter out of palm leaves. The frame I formed from the stalks of dead palm leaves; the roof and floor I used green freshly picked palm leaves. Climbing the trees, I found easier than I had expected and the palm leaves broke away easily.
For water I of course drank from the pool of the oasis. For sustenance, I ate coconut, drank coconut milk, and ate any creature that crossed my path. In the evenings I would sit and stare at the stars pondering how long it would take before I was found and how often people happened upon the oasis.
12
The first visitors to the oasis were two Middle Eastern men. They dismounted from their camels at the tree line and escorted the animals to the water. The camels drank from the water and the two men dug in the sand a few decameters away from the water’s edge. The men scooped and drank water from the holes.
When the men stood, I waved from across the water. One of the men waved his arm in response. I began walking towards them. The entire time in the country, I had not learned any of the languages. My arrogance clouded my rationality. As I approached, the men were talking. The man closest to me raised his hand –in gesture –my direction and looked at me. He looked back at his traveling companion and continued talking. They both turned and started walking in my direction. I took a defensive stance and –after realizing they weren’t a threat –lowered my guard and turned to walk with them. The one farthest from me stretched out his arm and waved for me to follow. We walked to the caracal carcass. The two men stood on either side of it and began arguing.
Their shadows had lengthened by the time they had arrived at a consensus. One of the men walked to a camel to grab a shovel as the other stepped back a few paces from the carcass. His foot plowed through the sand, leaving a rectangle when finished.
The shovel flew past my ear and was caught by the one who had drawn in the sand. He buried the spade and began scooping. The other man walked up and set two sticks on the ground beside me and walked over to the caracal. I swelled with respect for these men in the next moment. The man knelt and gently lifted the cats head. He carefully slid the rope up and over the mummified head. After resting the head back down on the sand, he held up the rope inspecting its frayed end. He stood and carried the rope in both hands over to the sticks resting on the head of the grave. He knelt and gently, placed the rope onto the sticks.
It was dusk by the time they had finished digging the grave. During a break, one of the men retrieved a sheet from a pack on one of the camels. This, they used to wrap around and lower the carcass into the ground. The older of the two began filling in the grave as the other stepped away to start a fire.
After filling the grave with sand, the man drove the longer of the two sticks vertically into the sand. The second stick he tied across the longer to form a cross. He then solemnly lifted the rope from the ground and held the loop in both hands. The man stared at it for a few seconds before resting the rope over the cross. As he stood his dirt covered face sparkled in the moonlight.
As we sat around the fire that night, no one spoke.
13
“So…The caracal?”
He stood and motioned for me to follow him. The moon was full and reflected off the pool of the oasis. I followed him in curious silence for a few minutes as we walked along the water’s edge. After a few moments, Ben spoke again, “What year is it?”
“It’s 1902. It’s been 20 years since you went missing.”
“I’ve kept track of every day since I became lost. There were times of great loneliness and sorrow for those I have long missed.” He stopped a few feet ahead of me. I looked down to see a cross made of two sticks. Hanging from the cross was a chain with ID tags attached and a second with a medallion. When I read the name on the tags, the strength went out of my legs. I sat in front of that cross with more questions than when I had arrived at the oasis. I held the tags in my hand. Clearly legible upon them, in the moonlight, was the name, Benjamin White.
He shook his head. “The caracal never existed. Two British soldiers happened by the oasis shortly after the men buried—what I thought was—the caracal. I thought it funny they did not acknowledge me. They stood in front of the cross staring at it.” He stood looking at the cross at his feet. “The difference with the British soldiers was the fact that I could understand their conversation.”
One of the men knelt in front of the cross. He lifted the frayed end of the lead. “Charlie…what was the name of that soldier went missing some months back? The one that disappeared in the middle of the night.”
“Which one?” He stepped closer to his companion.
“The one who they attempted to track and only found the strangled body.”
“Oh…I believe his name was Benjamin White.”
He looked up at the moon and then back down to me. “at that moment, the world beneath me fell away. All I had witnessed faded into reality. I had seen what I wanted to see. The rope in the man’s palm morphed into my identification tags and my medallion. From the moment I opened my eyes, until the moment he uttered my name changed within an instant.”
“The cat’s face blended into a face I barely recognized. The macabre grin of death returned my gaze. As I stood, I looked down and brushed non-existent sand from tattered rags
that never so much as fluttered. Nothing at the Oasis had moved by my hand. The shelter, the fire, gathering, and consuming had all been a self-created façade. I had sat by a tree the entire time staring at the mirrored sky.
“What about the men who buried you, were their reactions false?”
“No, but what I had seen was only a small part of a larger picture. The man’s wave was merely an attempt to shade his eyes from the sun. The gesture I misread as I approached the men, was actually towards a camel that had walked towards the water after I had passed. The man’s wave for me to follow was meant for his companion. I had also been mistaken about the shovel. It had not flown past my head but through it.
The final realization hit me the hardest. The older man’s tears and reverence by the marker, and the younger’s gentle removal of the rope had not been for a mere animal; they were for a young man who would not be able to enjoy the longevity of life.”
I put my hand down to support my weight and felt the water. I lifted my hand and looked at the moonlight reflecting off my hand. “Is this the location you died?”
Benjamin nodded. “Yes, it is.” He stepped over towards me and pointed at a spot in the sand three inches from the water. “This is where my fingertips were resting, mere inches from salvation. I came to understand the reason I’ve been here for so long. I believe I am meant to tell my story and have the public learn from it and know the truth.” He sat down in the sand next to me. “Even though I’ve accepted partial blame for Jonathan’s death, even though he said I wasn’t at fault, it’s my penance for letting him down. To this day, I still have questions as to why I was stuck here for so long.”
“Maybe it is to let your story be known to the world. A lot of soldiers from the battles in Africa have been telling stories to the papers. How did you learn to communicate with the living?”
The Narrative of Benjamin White Page 2