Desert Man

by Barbara Faith

  Suddenly over the cacophony of voices came one voice. The shouting stopped and the crowd, like the waves of the Red Sea, parted to make way for an old man.

  He wore a robe so white it looked as if it had been bleached by a thousand days of sun. His face was lined, the bags beneath his eyes reddened by time. His ears stood out from his head like signal beacons able to pick up sounds one hundred miles away. His nose was large and veined, and his mustache dropped down over his full lower lip.

  “Sheikh Abedi.” Kumar bowed to the older man. “Salam alekom, my lord. Peace be upon you and upon your house.”

  “And upon you be peace, Sheikh Ben Ari. We are glad to have you with us once again. All that we have is yours and I bid you welcome.”

  “Shukran.” Kumar gestured to Saoud. “You know my friend?”

  Youssef Abedi smiled. “Who could forget one such as he? You, too, are welcome, tall one.”

  “Thank you, my lord Abedi.”

  One of the camel tenders brought Josie’s camel to its knees. Kumar helped her to dismount, and taking her hand, led her to Youssef Abedi.

  “This is my woman,” he said loudly enough for all of the others to hear.

  “She is an American?” Abedi asked.

  Kumar nodded. “She is a nurse with the International Health Organization. While we are here she will be happy to be of whatever service she can to the community. Perhaps tomorrow one of your women will teach her our ways.”

  With a nod, Abedi turned to a woman who had circled closer and motioned her forward. “This is Zaida. She will show you to the tent that has been prepared for you. Tomorrow she will instruct your woman on all she needs to know. Now you must rest, for you have had a long journey. Tomorrow we will talk.” He touched his fingers to his forehead. “I’m glad you are here, Sheikh Kumar Ben Ari. Together, inshallah, we will unite the tribes.”

  “Inshallah, Sheikh Abedi.”

  The woman, Zaida, was middle-aged and skinny as a stick. She wore a faded blue robe. Her forehead was tattooed in the design of a star, her hands were hennaed, and she had a gold earring in one nostril.

  The men and women who had gathered around whispered among themselves as they stepped aside to let Kumar and Josie pass. But a small boy, braver than the rest, ran up and tugged at Josie’s hand.

  “Why do you wear trousers?” he asked in a loud voice. “Do you not know that it is haram for a woman to wear trousers.”

  “I’ve been riding a camel for four days,” she said. “It was necessary.”

  “Will you wear the trousers now that you are here?”

  Before she could answer, Zaida said, “Of course not, Rafi. The lady will wear a robe like a proper woman.” She raised her hand. “Go before I box your ears.”

  He stuck out his tongue and darted off into the crowd. “That boy,” Zaida said with a shake of her head. “His father should have him staked out over an anthill to teach him some manners.”

  She led them past a long row of black tents to the far side of the encampment. At last she paused, and indicating a tent that was larger than the others, motioned for them to enter.

  The sand floor was covered with Persian carpets, scattered rugs and brightly colored tasseled pillows in silk cases. There were hand-carved stools etched with ivory and gold, a small table. In an open cabinet there were silver cups and bowls and plates, water jugs, gourds, and a teapot.

  Colorful wool hangings hung from the sides of the tent. There were chests for clothes and a low, wide sofa with a blue silk spread.

  It was primitive. It was colorful, and in its own way luxurious. Certainly it was different from anything Josie had ever seen.

  Near the entrance of the tent there was a brazier, and pointing to it, Zaida said to Kumar, “Tomorrow I will teach your woman to cook for you.”

  “That would be appreciated.”

  “But tonight I will prepare your evening meal. Now I will bring water from the pond for you to bathe.” She looked Josie up and down. “And a proper robe for madame to wear.”

  “Thank you, Zaida.”

  He saw the confusion in Josie’s eyes, the uncertainty, and realized he had been so happy to be back, so busy saying hello to the men he knew and in greeting Sheikh Abedi, that he hadn’t stopped to think how strange all of this must seem to her. If Bir Chagga had seemed different, this was another world.

  She had been through four days of heat so hellish it would have had most men yelling for mercy. On the first day of the journey he’d had to help her off the camel and carry her to her tent because her legs had been shaking so badly from trying to stay on her beast that she couldn’t walk. He had forced her to eat some bread and fruit and drink a cup of tea, but halfway through the meal she had fallen asleep.

  The next morning she’d been so stiff she could barely walk. But she’d joked and said, “I guess you were right. A camel isn’t anything at all like a horse.”

  That day and the following two days had not been easier. He’d called for a rest stop as often as he could, but never once had she asked him to. Never once had she complained.

  Every one of those three nights in the desert he had sat by the fire looking at the tent where she slept, thinking of how it would be when they reached the Bedouin camp. But now that they were here, he thought ruefully, lovemaking would have to wait until she had rested.

  When Zaida brought water, Kumar left the tent so that Josie could bathe and change. By the time he returned she was curled up on the sofa, fast asleep. He ate the dinner that Zaida prepared and when night fell he sat in front of the tent and smoked a cigarette.

  The voices from the other tents were subdued. He heard a baby cry, a mother’s soothing words and the laughter of children. A dog barked and a dozen others joined in. He could smell the cook pots, roasting goat meat and wheat cakes, cinnamon and coffee, rose water and camel dung.

  This was his mother’s land, these were her people and it was good to be back among them. For though he had gone to modern universities and had lived for a time in the western world, this was the place where he felt most at home. The desert was in his blood, for he was Bedouin.

  Inside the tent a woman waited, a woman who could never be a part of his world. For this special time in the desert she would belong to him, but when their time ended she would go back to where she had come from.

  He smoked another cigarette and when the moon was high he put it out and went in to her.

  In the dim light of a lantern he saw that she had shifted onto her side. The white gown had slipped up over her hips, the silk sheet had slipped down.

  He stood quietly for several minutes before he moved to the other side of the tent where he stripped out of his clothes and bathed. When he had finished he saw the clean robe Zaida had laid out for him, but he didn’t put it on.

  He blew out the light in the lantern and went back to the sofa and knelt beside the bed. He spoke her name, “Josie?” just once, and when she didn’t answer he smiled and shook his head. As much as he wanted her he wouldn’t disturb her. She was exhausted, he had to let her rest.

  He lay down beside her and curled his naked body around hers. She murmured in her sleep but didn’t awaken. He lifted the heavy hair off the back of her neck and kissed her there. “Sleep,” he whispered. “When you awake it will be time enough for love to begin.”

  * * *

  She dreamed that it was night and she was in a meadow, lying on her back in a field of wildflowers. The grass was soft under her back, so soft it was as if she were cradled in the earth.

  A leaf of grass, or was it only the whisper of wind, gently stroked her breasts. She sighed and moved closer. The leaf of grass brushed her nipples as delicately as a lover’s touch. Her body warmed. She yearned toward the touch.

  “Josie?”

  She opened her eyes, and by the light of the moon shining in through an opening in the top of the tent she saw him beside her.

  “You were dreaming,” he said.

  “But I’m not dreaming
now.”

  “No, love.” He drew her into his arms and the whole length of him was naked against her.

  For a moment she stiffened. In her half sleeping, half waking state, it seemed natural to awaken in his arms. But she was awake now, a little frightened, a little unsure of herself.

  “I’ve waited so long,” he whispered.

  “I...I know.”

  Kumar kissed her and a little of the tension eased. “So have I,” she said.

  He tightened his arms around her and the kiss deepened. When her body softened toward his, he touched her breasts through the fabric of her robe.

  “Will you take it off for me?” he asked.

  For the briefest fraction of a moment Josie hesitated. Then without a word she sat up and raised her arms over her head.

  He took the gown away, and when she lay down beside him, he said, “I’m sorry it’s dark. I want so badly to see you in the daylight with the sun on your body.”

  She kissed his shoulder and with a smile said, “Maybe you’d rather wait until daylight.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve already waited too long.” He kissed her again and his body tightened with a terrible need, because he had wanted her for such a long time and because now she would be his.

  He kissed her breasts, slowly, tenderly. He took one poised and hardened peak between his teeth and held it there to lap and tease.

  She dug her fingers into his shoulders and her body burned with such pleasure she did not think she could stand it. But when he made as though to move away, she said, “Oh, don’t. Not yet.”

  It was torture to wait, but how he loved her responding to him like this. He touched both breasts, one with his mouth and the other with his fingers, until her body arched to his and she cried, “Oh, please. Oh, please, Kumar, I can’t bear it.”

  “Say my name again,” he whispered against her flesh.

  “Kumar.” She pulled his head up and brought his mouth to hers. “Kumar,” she whispered against his lips. “Kumar.”

  “Tell me...”

  “Anything.”

  “Tell me you want me.”

  “Oh, yes. Oh, yes. I want you.”

  He came over her. She felt his quivering hardness against her thigh and her body jerked with reaction.

  He parted her legs with his knee. He kissed her mouth, he rained kisses over her face, her ears, her throat. He kissed each breast again and again, and when she began to tremble he raised himself above her. Grasping her hips he whispered her name in a hush of passion...”Sho-zee”...and joined his body to hers.

  He thrust so hard and deep it took away her breath. She couldn’t speak. It took everything she had not to cry out with the sheer pleasure of having him inside her.

  He moved like a man possessed and his breath came in painful gasps. He grasped her hands and entwined her fingers with his. She clasped him with her legs and he whispered, “I’ve dreamed of you doing this. Dreamed...”

  His mouth crushed hers and his tongue was silky hot inside her mouth, plunging as his body plunged. He gave no respite, nor did she ask for one. His cadence quickened. He let go of her hands and she put her arms around him and held him as he held her. She lifted her body to his and whispered his name in the darkness of the night.

  He slid his hands beneath her and rocked her closer, so close that she became a part of him, bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh. She arched her body against his and knew she was losing control. This was... Oh, sweet heaven. It was too much. It was everything.

  She couldn’t think, could only feel this frenzied passion that was part agony, part ecstasy. Covered by the moonlight, by him, she lifted her body to his and wept with a completion that shattered her very soul and rendered her helpless in his arms.

  He took her mouth. His body arched above her. His eyes narrowed and with his head thrown back he thrust deep and hard. Again and again before, with an agonized cry of “Josie! Josie!” he collapsed over her.

  They held each other, hearts beating hard, pulses racing.

  “I knew...” He had to gasp for air. “I knew from the first moment I saw you it would be like this.” He kissed the side of her face and felt her tears. “Why do you weep?” he asked. “Did I hurt you? Did I—?”

  She stopped his words with a kiss. “No, of course you didn’t hurt me. It’s just...” She shook her head. “It was so much. So incredibly much, Kumar.”

  “As it should be.” He drew her back into his arms. “Now we will sleep close, like this, yes? And perhaps when we awake we will make love again.”

  She ran her fingertips across his lips. “Perhaps,” she said.

  * * *

  He slept a deep and dreamless sleep. In the first light of dawn, in that stage between sleeping and waking, he felt her hand upon him. Her fingers were warm, gentle, and he grew hard in her hand. And though he smothered a moan, he didn’t open his eyes, but lay still, pretending to sleep, letting her minister to him.

  Last night he had been afraid he wouldn’t please her, that she wouldn’t respond with the passion he had hoped for. He had known it would be good, but he hadn’t expected spectacular.

  He had told himself that if it was not as good the first time, as often happened with a woman, it would be better the next time.

  He didn’t think it could get any better. Skyrockets had gone off in his head. He’d felt as if he’d received ten thousand volts of electricity, all directed at that most virile part of him. He’d never felt that way before, had never experienced with any other woman what he had experienced with Josie that night.

  Still holding him, she leaned to kiss his mouth.

  He ran his tongue across her lips. “You taste so good,” he whispered.

  “You feel so good,” she said.

  He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “You know you’re driving me crazy, don’t you?”

  “I hope I am.”

  He ran his hand down the length of her back, then gentled her over. While she still touched him, he slid his hand between her legs and stroked the warmth and moistness there.

  “So soft,” he murmured. “So ready.”

  She turned her head into his shoulder. “Kumar,” she said. “Oh, darling.”

  The word was like a caress against his skin and he knew he couldn’t wait. Quickly, so quickly he heard the whispered “whoof” of her breath, he rolled her beneath him and pressed his body to hers. She put her arms around him and held him close. He kissed her and her lips parted under his. He rubbed his body against hers and she lifted herself to him.

  He said, “Open your legs to me,” and she opened them.

  He raised himself over her. Her eyes really are the color of the Nile, he thought. She is so beautiful she takes my breath away.

  He eased that throbbing part of him between her legs, rubbed it against her until he was near to bursting, then with a low cry thrust into her.

  She held him with her arms and with her legs. She said, “Oh, yes. Oh, Kumar, Kumar.”

  He took her mouth and kissed her with all of the passion of his pent-up body. He moved deep inside her. Her warmth closed in about him and he knew this was the closest he would ever be to heaven.

  He moved slowly, deeply, luxuriating in the feel of her. He bent to kiss her breast. He caught her nipple between his teeth and lapped the peaked and ready nub. She writhed against him and lifted her body to his. She met his every thrust and whispered of her pleasure.

  “Slowly, laeela,“ he whispered. “Wait, love. Make it last, love.”

  She tried, but oh, it was difficult. He moved against her with such exquisite slowness, his body shaking with what it cost him to wait. But soon, too soon, his breath came in shuddering gasps and though he tried to hold back he could not. He plunged and withdrew, plunged and withdrew. And when she cried, “I can’t bear it. I can’t...” and her body moved like a wild thing under his, he gripped her hands and lifting them above her head, he cried, “Look at me. Look at me when it happens.”

  She
opened her eyes and her pupils were dilated with sexual excitement.

  He plunged once more and she cried out as if she had been mortally wounded. She lifted herself to him, struggling against the hands that held her, and when he let her go she clasped him closer.

  “Josie!” he gasped. “Josie!” And with one violent thrust, his body shook in a paroxysm of pleasure that left him spent and weak against her.

  They couldn’t speak. They kissed each other’s faces, throats, shoulders. He stroked her back, she threaded her fingers through his hair. When at last he rolled away from her he reached for her hand, and bringing it to his lips he kissed each fingertip.

  There was so much he wanted to say, so many things he could not say. He was shocked by the immensity of what he felt for her.

  He had wanted her since that night in California after the wedding rehearsal. He had promised himself then that some day he would have her, and had told himself that once he’d had his fill of her he would be able to turn and walk away.

  He knew now that just the opposite might be true, that the more he had of her the more he would want.

  That wasn’t the way he had planned it.

  He sat up and moved away from her. “Sleep if you can. I have to see Sheikh Abedi.”

  “You’re leaving me at the mercy of Zaida?”

  “You’ll be in good hands. Perhaps in time she’ll make a proper desert woman out of you.” He grinned down at her. “Have you ever milked a camel?”

  A look of sheer horror crossed her face. “Milked...a camel?”

  “Strengthens the fingers,” he said with a wicked gleam in his eye. Then, because he was afraid if he didn’t leave he’d want to make love with her again, he got up. “I’ll be busy most of the day. Look around the camp if you’d like to. I’ll see you later.”

  She watched him walk across the tent. His shoulders were wide. His stomach was flat, his hips were narrow, his legs were straight and strong and long. And he had great buns.