The Colour of Heaven

by Runcie, James

  Later, as he prepared the food that night, roasting skewers of chicken, aubergine, and green pepper over the fire, and Jacopo was telling him how much he missed the company of his wife Sofia, Paolo began to wonder if he would ever find love. Because they never stayed in any place for more than one or two nights it was impossible to meet people for any length of time. Both men had suspended their lives for the duration of the journey, as if they had embarked on a parallel existence which bore no relation to the world they had come from. They were adrift from their own history.

  By the time they reached Tabriz Jacopo told Paolo that they would have to change their horses for camels and employ a guide to take them across the great wastes of the desert. They could no longer travel alone.

  ‘One must take great care,’ his patron warned. ‘You cannot know a man until you have been in the desert with him.’

  They made their way in the heat of the afternoon to the great mosque and citadel in the centre of the city. Paolo had never seen such an expansive building, with its towering minarets, its marble-paved courtyard, and its alabaster-columned arcade. The ablution pool was so large that a barge could sail across it. Outside, a group of men were sitting at some tables in the shade, cracking pistachio nuts and drinking yoghurt. Some sprang up immediately they saw the two foreigners, eager to state both their knowledge of the desert and their linguistic ability; others seemed unconcerned whether they were employed or not, as if the whole concept was beneath them.

  Jacopo approached one of the oldest and smallest people Paolo thought he had ever seen. A Seljuk Turk, the man must have been at least sixty years of age, with a well-lined face that had been wizened by the sun. He wore a dark-brown kameez shirt, baggy shalwar trousers, and a voluminous black turban. Every item of his clothing appeared to be two or three sizes too big for him. He had an almost careless air, as if nothing need ever be hurried, and he sat apart from the others, smoking a pipe under an almond tree.

  Although his beard was trim, his eyes were yellow and bloodshot, which made Paolo think that he would make the most unlikely of guides.

  ‘Salek?’ enquired Jacopo, speaking in basic Persian. ‘I thought you were dead.’

  The man took the pipe from his mouth and squinted up. ‘I am alive, inshallah …’

  ‘You remember me?’

  ‘Of course. I forget nothing.’

  ‘I may need your help once more.’

  The man returned to his pipe, untroubled by such a request. ‘I do not know where you wish to go. And I am old.’

  ‘But you are still a guide?’

  ‘If I am anything; yes, that is true.’

  Paolo wondered why Jacopo was keen to employ a man so reluctant to travel.

  ‘Let us eat together and talk. My journey will bring both adventure and profit.’

  ‘I have learned not to trust people who offer adventure, and I am too old for profit.’

  ‘Then perhaps it will not cost so much,’ answered Jacopo with alacrity.

  ‘I see you have forgotten. Because I care less, it will cost more.’

  ‘No,’ replied Jacopo. ‘That is one thing I have not forgotten.’

  ‘I always cost too much. That is why you trust me.’ For the first time Salek smiled. Then he noticed Paolo.

  ‘Who is the boy?’

  ‘My companion.’

  ‘Then why do you need me?’

  ‘Paolo is travelling in search of colour, the blue of Badakhshan. Then we must continue to Cathay, for jade.’

  ‘A long journey.’

  ‘I know it will be expensive,’ said Jacopo.

  ‘But why should you worry?’ asked Salek. ‘You are rich.’

  ‘Not as rich as you think,’ answered Jacopo.

  ‘But richer than you admit.’ Salek smiled. ‘Come, let us eat.’

  They walked away to discuss their terms of business over a meal of bread, olives, yoghurt, and stuffed vine leaves. Salek demanded authority for the route chosen and a special price for each day, whereas Jacopo wanted to offer him a total for the journey and the freedom to stop for longer where trade was good. As they haggled both men knew that they would eventually agree, and that the debate was little more than a reminder of their respective positions. Salek spoke Latin, Persian, and the language of Cathay, and it was clear that their journey would be impossible without him. Jacopo had simply to secure the best price and agree on the number of miles they would cover each day.

  Then there was the question of the animals. The next morning Salek took both Paolo and Jacopo to the market where a group of disdainful camels lowed, bellowed, and kicked out at all who came near them.

  The men kept a safe distance and walked round each animal in turn, as if measuring their ability to be subdued. Jacopo stood apart and asked if each one could be made to kneel. He told Paolo to stand as close as he could and examine the backs and withers, looking for any nicks, cuts, or wounds which might worsen or become infected in the desert. Then, when the animal stood again, they looked at the legs, to ensure that they were not crooked, excessively fat, or might hobble. Salek scrutinised the inside of the front legs for signs of rubbing, looked into each camel’s eyes to see that they were bright and alert, and patted each hump to check that it was firm. Then he made them walk, trot, and canter, slow, stop, sit, and rise again, ensuring that the journey would not be endangered by the weakness of any one.

  Once they had been purchased (and Salek had received his commission), the camels were led to the courtyard where the expedition was to begin. Their knees were tied before nightfall to prevent them escaping. As soon as it was light, they were fed and watered before being loaded with all their possessions. It was the first time that Paolo had seen the need of an animal put before the wants of men.

  ‘They are our means of survival,’ Salek insisted. ‘We are nothing without them.’

  Then he checked the equipment: portable tents, sleeping sheets, and poles; ropes for climbing, picks, and axes; flagons of water, barley, grain, and oil; plates, bowls, ladles, and pans. Each man’s kit bag was to contain two water bottles, a knife, a swathe of cloth against heat and cold, candles, flints, undergarments, and gloves. Paolo looked into his knapsack and checked he still had the coloured glass for trade and the leather purse Simone had given him. Salek brought him clothes for the heat and the journey, a long-sleeved kameez shirt which stretched down to his thighs, and loose shalwar trousers to keep his legs cool.

  At last they were ready to depart, but when Paolo tried to climb onto the back of his camel, the animal seemed decidedly unfriendly.

  ‘Mount from the left,’ Salek instructed.

  The camel ducked and moved his head away, shirking Paolo’s efforts, determined that he should not be ridden. ‘Take its upper lip,’ Salek urged, as the camel roared and lunged.

  Paolo had never seen such a mouth.

  ‘Pull it back. Pull the head round,’ ordered Salek.

  The camel squirmed.

  ‘Put your left foot on his foreleg. Hard.’

  Paolo tentatively placed his foot on the camel’s reclined left foreleg.

  ‘Now swing your right leg over the pommel of the saddle.’ Salek mimed the action.

  Paolo hesitated.

  ‘I will show you.’ Salek mounted his camel in three swift movements: hand on mouth, leg on foreleg, swing onto saddle. Then came the command to move forward.

  ‘Now, Paolo,’ Salek said. ‘Do as I have done.’

  Paolo jumped up onto his camel. Its rear legs lurched up suddenly, first throwing him forward and then violently back.

  ‘Move with the animal,’ said Jacopo gravely. ‘Feel the rhythm.’

  ‘There is no rhythm!’ shouted Paolo. ‘It’s lurching.’

  ‘Let him know you,’ advised Salek. ‘Be calm. Everyone is nervous at first. But in three days you will be able to place your fingers in his nostrils, look him in the eye, and establish your authority.’

  ‘Walk on, walk on,’ Paolo commanded, nervously.
r />   The animal turned, bit him in the leg, and began to advance.

  Clearly the nostrils would have to wait.

  On leaving Tabriz, Salek told Paolo they would travel southeast through Persia towards Rhages and then make their way across the north of the desert to Masshad. He rode at the head of the caravan. Behind him followed six camels laden with merchandise. Jacopo brought up the rear. Order was kept by a fine woollen string which flowed back along the line, threaded through each camel’s nose, and along each saddle, tied off on a large bell attached to the neck of the last animal. This produced a low even sound as they travelled, letting Salek know that all was in order. It gave rhythm to their progress as they walked up hills and trotted on the flat. Any change in the ringing of the bell necessitated an inspection, and Salek was adamant that their party keep as close together as possible.

  They ate a mixture of ground barley and warm water, with dates when they could find them, and drank sweet tea. Salek taught Paolo how to eat slowly, letting both the food and the drink take effect between each mouthful so that the body had time to replenish itself. He must feel neither empty nor replete. A breaker of water should be sipped. Bread should be savoured. Their provisions were as important as their jewels.

  Salek stopped only to check the animals, to smoke a pipe, and to pray. Jacopo made his devotions three times a day, insisting on the evening Ma’ariv, the morning Shacharit, and the afternoon Mincha; whereas Salek required five sets of prayers thanking Allah for survival each evening and asking for his blessing throughout each day.

  ‘The soul must be guarded,’ he told Paolo, ‘like a house from the rain.’

  Because Salek prayed more often than Jacopo, Paolo noticed that the Jew would then fight back by deliberately praying for longer.

  ‘My help is from the Lord who made heaven and earth. Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and he shall sustain thee. Mark the innocent man and behold the upright; for the latter end of that man is peace. Trust in the Lord, and do good; dwell in the land and feed upon faithfulness.’

  But Salek would not be outdone.

  ‘O Allah, I ask for your pardon and wellbeing in this life and in the hereafter.

  ‘O Allah, cover my faults and soothe my fears.

  ‘O Allah, protect me from before me and from behind me, and from my right and from my left, and from above me and from beneath me. I seek my refuge in you.’

  As they travelled further, the journey seemed infinite; as if Paolo, Salek, and Jacopo had lost themselves in a dream without end. There were no landmarks to guide them, and each horizon only introduced another. At times it appeared there were no colours except those between pale gold and burnt sienna. The camels stalked forward, padding silently in ranks of ochre, fawn, sand, and caramel, bleached by the noon sun, darkened by night.

  In the valleys they felt sharp stones underfoot, mixed with decaying camel bones and animal skulls, revealed by fresh winds that whipped across the sands only to cover them over once more. The only trees had denuded barks, and leaned to the south, permanently bent by the force of the wind. Paolo thought they looked like a row of old men waiting to die.

  Before they made camp, Salek would check for the direction of any breeze, arranging goods, panniers, and equipment, always seeing to the animals first. The camels would feel for the softest ground, dropping onto their forelegs, and folding in their hind legs before craning out their necks and lowering their jaws. At last their eyes would close, as if this was not only the end of the day but the silence of their secrets. Their inscrutability would never be understood, for they were the only creatures to know the hundredth name of Allah.

  Each night Paolo and Salek hobbled the animals, tying their knees with knotted ropes to prevent them escaping. Jacopo made small fires with twigs and camel dung and prepared what food they had, throwing rocks up into the palm trees to dislodge the dates. After they had eaten they washed their pans in the freezing sand, scraping off and burying the debris, and then lay down, as close as they could to the fires they had made, and tried to sleep, limbs exhausted, their knees and hips aching.

  Seven days after they had left Rhages, the camels escaped.

  Paolo woke early and immediately sensed that something was wrong. He circled the tent, hoping that he dreamed, wondering desperately how he could make time unravel and re-tie the animals, securing them ever more firmly.

  But they were gone, and the sand had covered all sign of their tracks.

  Paolo began to panic. He was lost in the middle of the desert, with little water and no animals. How long could they last? Two days, three? Would any other traveller find them? Salek had told him that the vastness of the desert made it easier to believe in God and the majesty of his creation; but now he felt only the terror of its emptiness. There was nothing in sight: no tree, no settlement, no people, no water, no animals, and no food.

  He must set out and find the camels before the others woke, but which direction should he take? The heat haze of the early morning only made his sight even more blurred. As he stood thinking, uncertain which way to turn, his companions emerged from the tent.

  ‘Where are the animals?’ Salek cried. ‘What have you done?’

  ‘They have gone.’

  ‘Where? Did you see them?’

  ‘I awoke too late.’

  Jacopo knew that he could not quarrel with the guide on whom his life depended, and so he turned his anger on Paolo. ‘Can you not tell where they have gone?’ His eyes squinted against the light. ‘But then I forget, you can’t see anything. Never trust a camel or a boy.’

  ‘It is not my fault,’ said Paolo. ‘I tied them well, as I have been taught. I looked hard at each knot.’

  Jacopo began to search through the camel bags and provisions on the ground. ‘You don’t see anything as other men do.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘The truth is that we are lost and may die.’

  ‘We are not lost. I will find them,’ said Salek calmly. ‘You stay. I will walk. Let me take the boy.’

  Paolo gathered cloth for shade and picked up two skins filled with water. Salek waited and then beckoned for him to follow. ‘We must find them before the sun is high; there is nowhere to rest from the heat.’

  ‘I will wait and pray,’ said Jacopo. ‘Perhaps I should make ready and atone.’

  ‘They have been gone only a few hours,’ said Salek. ‘There is no need to despair.’

  They looked out at the vanishing infinity of sand.

  ‘How can we know where to start?’ asked Paolo.

  ‘The animals may have sensed water,’ Salek replied, ‘and so we should travel south, over those dunes.’

  Paolo could not believe that his guide was sure.

  ‘This is our test,’ said Salek. ‘The desert forces us to find our courage and our faith. We must conserve our energy, keep water, and find shade where we can. Look for tracks or camel dung as we walk.’

  The heat moved across the sands like a wave. If only it were the sea, Paolo thought, if only this sun could be its exact opposite, washing away the desperate dryness of the desert with the cool clarity of water.

  They tried to keep a steady pace as they walked, fearful of slowing, and were accompanied by nothing but their own breath in the heat, their feet on the sand. They missed the slow rhythmic steps of the camels, and the reassuring sound of the bell.

  It was a journey of heat and emptiness. Whenever Paolo looked towards the horizon and saw smudges of darkness in the distance, nestling between sand and sky, and cried out to Salek, the answer would always be the same: ‘Rocks, just rocks.’

  Paolo tried not to despair, but as the day developed he began to drift, falling asleep in the heat, the light too bright for his eyes.

  ‘Shade them,’ said Salek. ‘Use more cloth. The desert is both sun and death. We cannot look at either directly.’

  Paolo realised that this was why Salek’s clothes seemed always too large. He used the extra material for protection. ‘How can you
ever tell where we are?’

  ‘It is my home.’

  ‘All this?’

  ‘Everything.’

  It was as if they were the last men left on earth.

  ‘Why are you so calm?’ asked Paolo.

  ‘Because I know we will not come to harm. Allah protects us. Even if we die, then the worst becomes the best. We will know paradise.’

  The mention of death made Paolo aware, for the first time in his life, that he might die far sooner than he had ever imagined, here in this heat, his task unfulfilled. His legs were heavy, his back ached, and his mouth was dry. He began to think that the only way he could stay alive would be to think of something else, to distract his mind. He would have to force Salek to speak, for this silence was impossible. Even though it would hurt their throats they must surely talk, telling stories to save their lives.

  ‘Speak to me of your home,’ Paolo asked. ‘Do you dream about it?’ He wanted to ask, ‘Where do you rest at the end of your travels?’ but recognised he would have to conserve energy, using as few words as possible.

  ‘I do not.’

  ‘You have no house?’ Paolo asked. ‘No family, no wife, no love?’

  Salek continued walking. ‘I live the life of a traveller. And I had no choice.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Let us not discuss this.’ He spoke as if the conversation were over, but then, after walking a few more paces in the heat, too tired to conceal the truth, he suddenly confessed. ‘I lived in a village to the south, near the turquoise hills of Kerman. I killed a man. I had to leave.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He killed my father. I killed him. Then I left.’

  This is not what I had imagined, thought Paolo. I am alone in the heat of the desert with a murderer. ‘Will you return?’ he asked.

  ‘One day, perhaps, when all the others are dead.’

  Paolo wanted to ask about family, love, and children, but as he was about to speak, Salek forestalled him. ‘Please, no more questions. Silence is better.’