by M I A Harba
He went inside the pickup and searched the back seats for anything, blankets or covers, he could use for the night. For drinks, he had with him only one water bottle because he wasn't expecting to stay out for long. That should be enough to last him until the next morning, but he had no food. He hadn't planned this well, at all.
It was inevitable then, to sleep the night in the pickup. A solution to his predicament must wait until the next morning, even though he couldn't think of any. The back seat of the pickup provided more space to extend his legs. He zipped up his jacket to his neck and used the windows wiping cloth to wrap around his head for warmth. He crouched in a foetus posture on the back seat and listened to the eerie noises around him.
He closed the windows but for a tiny bit, so as not to suffocate inside the pickup. The wind had picked up, and the sound of sand and dirt crashing against the pickup sounded like somebody sandblasting the vehicle. The wind came in gusts, loud and ferocious. It became cold pretty quickly, and his body started shivering. How he wished for a sleeping bag, he lamented. His legs felt stiff, and his breath was shallow and, no doubt, left a trail of condensation, although he couldn’t see it in the dark.
Crammed on the back seat, unable to move in its tight confine, made it feel like being in a torture chamber. He lost the feeling in his fingers even though his hands were tightly thrust under his armpits. Soon, his teeth started rattling, and he had serious concerns about surviving the night. His worry about the unknown outside faded in comparison to the cold torturing him. His body was numb with the cold, and if wolves came to eat him, he wouldn’t feel the pain of their bites, he bemused.
There was only but the engine for warmth. He could switch it on for a few minutes and use the car's heater to warm the cabin. He had plenty of fuel in the pickup and was sure it would last him till the morning. He didn't feel hungry at all because his anxiety overrode all other senses. His anxiety was extreme because he had no solution for his predicament, whether tonight or the following day. The pickup was stuck deep in the sand, and he couldn't walk to his camp. If it was possible to walk to the camp, he could wait until the labourers came back and then arrange a tow for the pickup. But he had no means of finding the camp if he walked without a compass or a GPS receiver.
He felt a little thirsty, and his mouth was dry because of the fear and the anxiety over his survival situations. It just proved how bad planning could be so detrimental.
Having to start the engine every hour or so, and leave it running for about 15 minutes, meant he had to stay awake most of the night. His lack of sleep from the night before had further dampened his senses. It seemed everything had conspired against him in the situation he found himself in.
There were no people around to help. It was his problem and his problem, alone. He didn’t want people to find a corpse, or a skeleton, in a car in the middle of the desert if he was to die in the pickup. His fear tonight was not of ghosts and the paranormal, as they seemed to have retired to the background. His fears were of predators likely to roam the area. They could easily find his scent and would do everything possible to pull him out of the car. He'd seen movies before about people in similar situations.
He alternated between sitting on the front seat, to keep the engines running for 15 minutes, and moving back to the back seat for more comfort and sleep. It was yet another physical exhaustion to add to his mental calamity. He made sure all lights were switched off, including the internal lights of the cabin, because he didn't want them to be a beacon for attracting interested predators. Indeed, it was a horrible night that night.
He visualised similar situations he watched on the news of people trapped in their cars with no help in sight. It happened in northern Iraq, in the mountains, where snow falls blocked the roads and people found themselves trapped in their cars. They used their cars to keep warm, as he was doing in his pickup, but eventually ran out of fuel and froze solid. He didn’t want to meet the same fate, even though it was not freezing solid in his case. Hypothermia, once the car's fuel ran out, would be his fatal end.
It was still 6 more days before the labourers arrived back, and, of course, they would have no idea where he was. He could have gone back home for all they knew, due to boredom. He could have gone to Rawa, or anywhere. He left no message to tell them where he went to, or of his potential predicament. They would not know what happened to him and would keep working as though nothing in this world had taken place.
It looked very bleak, with no hope or a positive outcome in sight. His mind became tired and felt numb, like the rest of his body. For the first time, he started to doubt the rationale behind his decision coming out here in the middle of nowhere. The desert is beautiful, but it has a hidden monstrous side. Just look at it. A few days by himself, and he found himself in this predicament. What happens if he stays here for months or years? Was there a guarantee he would not be in a similar situation again? And there were no people to help.
Indeed, it was a very bad decision, a stupid decision, to build a house in the middle of nowhere. This could be the end of his project. He might be dead within days, and that would be it. What a silly, silly scenario to end like this.
He was feeling sorry for himself, and so depressed, his senses started hallucinating. He looked out through the windscreen to see the stars, glittering as usual like diamonds against the dark moonless night. They would look absolutely beautiful in any other situation, but not tonight. He saw them mocking him, ridiculing him for the fool he was. They were telling him this was their territory, and he was not welcome here.
His hopeless outlook and continuous worry about survival drew all joy out of his soul, and he couldn't bring himself to enjoy the beautiful night sky. The stars sparkled, and he never saw the sky as clear as it was that night. All kinds of stars, bright and faint, were sprinkled like glitter across the dark canvas of the night, but he couldn’t see their beauty.
Looking out of the side windows, he couldn't see far. He could only work in his mind where the horizon was, at the line where the carpet of diamonds came to a sharp end. It was dark, and he couldn't see, or perhaps imagine, but faint shadows within metres from his pickup. He strained his eyes to look at the horizon, to see if anything moved. He was hoping for a miracle, for a rescue he knew would never come.
However, he could swear he saw the outlines of a remote camel caravan, slowly drifting against the terrain. Countless camels and people were walking at a gentle rhythmic lazy speed. He could identify the outlines of the animals and humans as they moved against the horizon. But how was that possible? There were no people, no Bedouins, in this area? But they were out there as clear as his mind could work out.
Was it possible his brain was playing tricks on him? Wasn’t it possible that, in this desperate situation, his mind was conjuring up images of possible rescue and survival? He couldn't tell, and those camels, drifting along the horizon, looked real to him. They were at least 500 metres away, within a shouting distance if he dared go outside and shout for help.
He wasn't sure whether these were a figment of his own imagination. It took the caravan a good half hour before it disappeared out of view. Until today, he couldn't figure out whether he saw a real caravan, or it was a complete imagination.
The monotonous action of starting the engine and stopping it after a short while was the only sane thing that kept him going. This exercise ached his bones, and the warmth offered by the engine seemed to dissipate very quickly. Often, he was too tired to go to the front seat and he left it until his body screamed for warmth.
His confused senses made him hear howls of real or imagined wolves in the distance. He couldn’t see them if they approached the pickup, and it would be then too late to shoo them away. The handgun provided some comfort, but he doubted he could scare them off with it. His sleep was further disturbed by the noise of the wind outside, that sounded like wolves scratching against the pickup and its windows. His body trembled with fear. He strained his eyes to look out of the window,
to see anything. All could see was total darkness and shadows dancing, whether real or imagined. The wind and the sand spray against the pickup amplified his fear.
Once, he thought he heard the sound of people talking to him and was sure it was pandits or thieves. He wanted to call out in response when he dared, but nothing came back out of his mouth as if paralysed by the fear.
It was a dreadful night, the worst he ever lived.
He was still awake when dawn broke, and the soft golden rays of the fresh sun rising above the horizon slipped into the pickup cabin and provided a false feeling of warmth. It became light enough to see the area around him. The wind has subsided a little, and the morning looked beautiful. He went outside to investigate and found the winds of last night had shifted some more sand against the pickup, which acted as a barrier. It accumulated to the height of doors, and he found it difficult to open them on the driver’s side.
The scene that faced him looked completely different from yesterday’s evening. The skies were clear with beautiful sun, and the air smelled fresh and energising, a complete contrast to his low-morale and psyche yesterday.
He looked at the map on the pickup’s GPS and could tell the direction of the camp. The distance, as a straight line, from the pickup to the camp should not be more than 7.3 km. But when he strained his eyes in that direction, he couldn't see anything resembling a building site. It was a featureless terrain all around, with a few humps and bumps of outcrops and dunes. He worried if he strayed off while walking, he might never find the camp and could end up lost in the wide outspan of the desert, not to be found ever again. He could lose sight of the pickup and his way back to the safety of its little cabin.
It is ironic how the cabin that looked small, cold, and insignificant, became his sanctuary and the place for his survival. But he must devise a plan or make a decision, He couldn’t afford to sit still and wait for a slow and agonising death.
He looked in the direction for the presumed location of the camp and saw in the distance, about five kilometres away, a small sand hill. He thought he could walk to that hill, climb it, and use its vantage point to look around for his camp. If the GPS was correct, the camp should not be far, and he should be able to see it. The hill didn’t look too far, and he reckoned he could still see the pickup from there and could walk back to it if he decided there was no way forward.
It was a fair plan, he thought. That hill should be a midpoint between the pickup and the camp. He was hungry, tired, because of the sleepless night, and longed for his morning coffee. He never really fully woke up or regained his senses after the bad night sleep in the pickup. His mouth was itching for the rich black mug of coffee, steaming hot. A mug of coffee could well be waiting for him, at the camp, if he could reach it.
He brushed his face with his hands and looked at the state of the pickup. Last night’s wind came from the left side, which saw an accumulation of sand. The right-hand side looked pretty much the same as yesterday. The wheels were still well dug-in as evident by the trench they made.
He locked the pickup and started walking in the direction of the sandhill. It was a good plan because he had a direction and an endpoint to reach. There was no chance of him straying off left or right into the unknown. He headed to a place he could keep his eyes on. He looked back now and then at the pickup, just to make sure he could still see it. He didn't want to lose sight of it, to lose sight of his sanctuary, the only place he could call home in this endless featureless desert.
It took him about one hour and a half to reach that sand mount, and the pickup was still visible from there; it was reassuring. Climbing that mount was more difficult than he envisaged. It was a dune of soft sand on all sides. He was almost knee-deep in the sand, and climbing was slow and exhausting. He even contemplated giving up and walking back to the pickup, to think of another plan of getting out of the hell he was in.
But it was not his moment of defeat, he thought, and carried on to the peak that did not look far. Climbing took him almost 45 minutes, and when he reached the top, he could see for miles around. To his absolute embarrassment, the camp and the building site was only a kilometre away. That sandhill was in the line of sight of the building when he was in the pickup, and it obscured his vision. That was the reason he couldn't see it yesterday or early morning today.
He was held by uncontrollable laughter, which continued for a few minutes. It was a combined feeling of embarrassment and joy. All the worry of last night evaporated in an instant.
He was very happy that, at last, his predicament was over, and he could go back to the safety and warmth of the building site. It was embarrassing, though, that all the worry of yesterday was for nothing. He was only a few kilometres away from his campsite.
He sat on the peak and rested for a bit. It was such a relief because, only a few hours ago, he was desperate and unable to find a way out. Now, the way out, and food and coffee, were only a short distance away.
He descended from that sand mount and headed straight to his camp. Everything was exactly as he left it yesterday. He went to the kitchen, boiled some water, and brewed some coffee. While the coffee was brewing, he had awash and a change of clothes. He didn't shower because he knew there was more work to be done that day. He went to the fridge, made some sandwiches because he felt hungry, instantly.
He sat where he did every morning, with a mug of steaming coffee in one hand and a plate of sandwiches in the other. While sitting on the chair, he looked at that mound that obscured his vision yesterday. It looked like a permanent fixture of no particular significance. Yet, it was the reason for his dismay and unhappiness last night.
He couldn't see the pickup because it was out of sight, behind that mound. He had long sips of his coffee, enjoying its aroma and refreshing taste. He wondered how different it was from yesterday. He was now full, warm, and secure, and his craving for caffeine was satisfied.
The day's work was not over yet. He needed to go back to the pickup and, somehow, free it from its entanglement. A spade and something to increase the traction of the wheels within the trench of sand were needed. He looked around and found sheets of tarp he could place under the wheels. Hopefully, they would provide the traction needed.
He cut four pieces of tarp in rectangular shapes and folded them under his arm. He picked a spade and headed back towards that mount. This time, of course, he didn't climb it but went around it to where he could see the tiny white speck in the distance. It took him two hours to reach the pickup.
He took his jacket off and started digging around all four wheels. He removed as much sand as he could and spread the tarp sheets in front of the wheels, in the direction of forward movement. He went inside the pickup, started the engine, and hesitated before he engaged the gear. What if it didn't work? Well, there is no other way to find out but try.
He slowly took his foot off the clutch to move the pickup slowly forward, then revved up. It worked. The pickup jumped forward, and he kept his foot on the accelerator because he didn't want to stop in case he got stuck again. He turned the wheels towards the hard ground he saw yesterday. He kept going until he reached it. He stopped the pickup, put it in neutral and rested his head on the steering wheel. What a relief. All the problems of last night disappeared within the span of a few hours.
He kept the engine running and walked back to where the pickup was stuck. He retrieved the tarp sheets as well as the spade and walked back to the pickup. He wasn't going to wander around that day, not probably in the next few days, either. That was a lesson learned. Next time, if he did anything like this, it needed to be well planned. And most definitely, he needed to take a portable GPS device. That time it was the pickup getting stuck, what happens if the engine developed a problem or the pickup’s GPS broke?
Well, good planning was essential, and he planned to buy a portable GPS device at the soonest. For now, he needed to drive back to the camp, have a shower, and long sleep. He earned it.
It was late afternoon when he rea
ched the camp. He felt disoriented due to the lack of sleep. He showered and prepared something quick to eat, and, soon after, he turned in. He didn't bother to barricade the entrance to the building this time, but his tent was still pitched inside the walls. He fell asleep almost immediately, and the sounds of the ghosts he imagined on other nights were not there. He didn't hear anything nor imagined anything. It was a very deep sleep, as though he was anesthetised in preparation for an operation. His brain was numb, and the next thing he became aware of was the sun shining through the door of his tent.
It was a beautiful day with clear skies and a beautiful sun that engulfed everything with its warmth and golden shine. He had a quick wash, put the kettle on, and went to the fridge to prepare something to eat. He fried two eggs and tomatoes and wrapped them in a piece of pita bread. He took his coffee and food outside and sat in the beautiful sunshine. All the regrets he felt that night sleeping in the pickup, the regrets of maybe he made the wrong decision coming out here, had evaporated. The scenery was absolutely breath-taking. He would give anything to be here.
While bathing in the sunshine, his mind went back to his meetings with Salam and Dr Talib, and also Dr Al-Harith. These were pivotal in his decision coming out here to the desert. They marked the beginning of clarity, or maybe confusion, that made him think and read more about physics and psychology. The meeting with Dr Al-Harith was enlightening and opened his eyes to aspects of life he never looked at before.
Consciousness: The Hard Problem
Dr Talib made the appointment with Dr Al-Harith, the head of the Parapsychology Department at the University of Baghdad. That department was not far from Dr Talib’s department building.
The appointment was for both Salam and Sam, but Salam declined because he was busy that day. Sam didn't want to reschedule the meeting because he was eager to hear about the mysteries of consciousness.