by Prue Mason
As I see the sun slowly lowering itself into the haze, I can hardly believe it’s only been about fifteen minutes since we were looking at it before. I wish it was dark already. Then there’d be less chance of them seeing us. They might even miss the car in the dark because it ended up on the other side of a sand dune.
Then Walid wakes up. He mutters like he’s not properly with it. At least he’s still alive.
‘La! Ana asif. Ana asif, Shirin.’
‘It’s okay. I know you’re sorry, but it wasn’t your fault. It was mine.’ He probably can’t hear me, but I feel so bad that he’s been hurt because of me being stupid.
By the time I reach the furthest Bedu camp, Walid is still muttering and whimpering and he feels like he weighs about ten tonne. My back and legs are aching, but I try not to hurt him when I put him down onto a pile of cut grass inside a small shed made of rusty tin and dried palm fronds. There’s an old carpet on the ground that’s so dirty it’s impossible to pick out the pattern.
‘There is too much jolting. This camel is too slow. I am never winning on this camel, no matter how much I am beating and beating with my camel stick. Aiee! The camel stumbles. It is not a camel. It is I that is being beaten.
Allah! One hundred curses on that Breath of Dog and Old Goat, for once again they are beating with their sticks. I am feeling the pain all over my body and this blackness is spreading …
Walid moans a bit as I spread a sack over him. If they do come in here and it’s dark, and they only glance in, then they mightn’t notice him. Of course, that’s if he doesn’t move. I wish I didn’t have to go. But as much as I’d like to just lie down in the hay and get my breath back, I know I’ve got to get those supplies. We need water and food. My belly is grumbling. Chum is starting to sound delicious.
‘I won’t be long.’
‘Allah, where am I? I am having nightmares of being in Hell.’
I smell camel dung and dried grass and I hear camels munching and moaning and stamping their feet. But as my eyes are opening, I do not see Badir and Mustapha who always sleep together on the ground near to me.
Too much my head is hurting. Am I falling from a camel in a big race? Or has Breath of Dog given me one tremendous beating? Then I am remembering Shirin. Her screaming and her blood. And the shootings and Breath of Dog and Old Goat taking me to this Hell on Earth where there is only hotness and darkness … and Ad-am.
Slowly, as the confusion is going from my head, I remember all things. I look around, but I do not see my friend.
I call and call, but he is not here. He has gone. Like Babu and Mama. Like Shirin. Always everyone is leaving. Inside my belly is an emptiness, and I feel the tears coming into my eyes.
‘Allah, may You curse this stinking soul of Ad-am who said he was my friend but who is nothing but an Infidel and an Unbeliever. And may You curse me too as one big fool for thinking he is not treacherous like all foreigners. Maybe while I was sleeping he has robbed me.
Quickly, I look for my dirhams. He has not taken them. Why not? I do not understand. And why do I not feel happiness any more, even as I look at all these dirhams?
‘Hey, man, are you okay?’
Along with my gear and a few other essentials, I found a torch in the car and I shine it around the shed looking for Walid. He’s sitting up in the corner.
He’s got all his grubby dirham notes in his hands, but he’s not looking at them in the same way he did before.
In fact, he’s not really looking at them at all. He’s just staring at nothing. And he’s crying.
I didn’t think he could cry.
‘Ad-am! Walhumdillaah!’
‘Hey. It’s cool, Walid. It’s cool.’
Walid leaps up when he sees me. He’s still crying, but he’s grinning madly, too, and then he gives me a big hi-five. I’m relieved. He’s not badly hurt after all. Probably has a few bruises, but it’s hard to tell under all that dirt. He must have a terrible headache, though, and I’d say his neck would hurt from that bite.
‘I found some more water in the car,’ I say quickly, as I show him four bottles of spring water that had been under the seat. ‘And look,’ I say, ripping the lid off a tin of Chum. ‘I’ve brought us something to eat.’
He looks at me in horror.
‘I’m not that fussed on eating it, either,’ I say, ‘but I’m starving.’ The smell of the meat, which is meant to be chicken, almost puts me off. But the worst thing is that it makes me think of Tara. Here I am, about to eat her food, and she probably hasn’t had anything to eat for days. I can picture her sitting there, by the gate of our compound, not moving, waiting for us to come home. She won’t leave that spot unless –
‘Kalb mu zain,’ Walid says, looking totally disgusted.
I start to feel angry. There he is again. Going on about dogs. Poor Tara’s starving, and he’s not only turning his nose up at her food, but he’s saying dogs are bad.
‘Kalb zain! Dogs good!’ I almost scream at him. ‘My Tara is the best dog in the whole world.’ The Arabic words pop into my head. ‘Tara kalbi zain. The zainest. Zainer than most people I know.’
‘You are an Infidel to eat dogs – yaakul kalb. I am never eating the meat of dogs.’
‘Yaakul!’ He said ‘yaakul kalb!’ That means ‘eat dog’! ‘Do you think I would eat my dog?’ I stare at him in horror.
He points to the picture of the dog on the tin, and I realise what he must have been thinking. And, as we stare at each other, I also realise we’re having an argument and we don’t even speak the same language.
‘No, la kalb.’ I shake my head. I don’t know how to explain that it’s meat for a dog and not meat of a dog and, by now, I’m too hungry to care.
‘If you want some you’re welcome to help yourself. But we’re going to have to use our fingers.’
I dig in. As I bring a lump of the meat up to my mouth, I suddenly smell it and nearly gag, but I force myself to shove it in and swallow it as fast as I can without letting it sit in my mouth too long. It’s salty and sort of wobbles down my throat like jelly.
‘It’s not bad, really,’ I say to Walid, as I offer him the can, then lick my fingers.
Ad-am is saying it is not dog, and I am very hungry.
He hesitates for a milli-second, then takes some, too.
As we share the meat, I try not to think about the words on the tin that say ‘not for human consumption’. We finish off with an After-Dinner Mint, to get rid of the taste. Walid really loves them. I show him how to take the paper off and how to suck it so you get the most out of it. I even teach him how to say ‘chocolate’.
Then, while we’re talking, I try to explain to him about Tara and how I’m going back to rescue her. I think he gets it.
‘And to think we might have been home by now and I’d be able to let her into the house.’ I have to try not to think about ‘if onlys’.
I am understanding now that Ad-am has a dog he calls Tara. The way he looks when he says her name is like how I felt for Shirin. I tell Ad-am all about my Shirin. Even though I know he will not understand.
Walid talks about a sweet camel, but he talks too fast and I can’t catch any of the other words.
What are we going to do now? I do have to think about that. After what we’ve been through today, I’d love to just lie down and sleep, but I’m nervous – scared that we will be caught by those men who are after our blood. It won’t be long until they’re on our tails again.
Then, as if because I was expecting it, I see a pinprick of light through a crack in the palm-frond wall.
‘There’s a car coming up the wadi! It’s heading this way.’ Of course, we don’t know who it is, but suddenly the walls of our hiding place seem way too flimsy.
‘We’ll get caught for sure. What’ll we do now?’
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EVENING, DAY TWO
‘Jemaal!’
Walid shouts, and I know this means camels.
‘Yes! Brilliant idea, W
alid.’ We race out to the yards at the back of the hut, and I realise it is a brilliant idea, except for the fact that I’ve never actually ridden a camel before.
This should be interesting.
Then, Walid suddenly stops and looks dead scared and starts muttering to himself. For the hundredth time, I wish I knew more Arabic. There’s something wrong, but I don’t know what. And we don’t have time for this.
‘Come on!’ I shout at Walid. He’s standing there shivering, like he’s cold or scared or something. I’ve never seen him look this scared before, not even when I first found him, all tied up. What a time to start acting like a wuss.
‘Come on! We’ve got to get going. The car’s heading this way, and if we get caught …’ I don’t even want to think about it. I pull open the rusty old gate.
‘Here, girl,’ I call out to one of the camels, but it moves as quickly as it can away from me, followed by the other one. I don’t want to scare them, but I’m so scared myself. I run after them. They kick their back heels at me. God, I’m never going to catch either of them. And I can see the lights of the car getting closer.
‘Walid, you’ve got to help me. Between us we can corner them.’
The death of Shirin has come before my eyes as if it is happening once again. I can hear her screaming in painfulness. It has suddenly made me very much afraid of ever touching a camel again.
But, then, Ad-am calls, and this breaks the spell cast upon me.
Foolish one! He is frightening the camels.
‘Ad-am, do not run. You must call to them – softly, in this way – Ahh Krrrr Krrrr, tall ones. All is well. Kirrip! Kirrip!’
The camels stop and look at Walid.
Walid’s making a sound like a cricket rubbing its wings. But it must be like an abracadabra word for camels because, slowly, one of them moves towards him. Walid holds out his hand and makes a sort of guttural clicking noise in his throat. He reaches up and pats its neck.
‘Kirrip Kirrip.’ I am looking into the eyes of this one. They are soft, like ripened dates. She is like my Shirin.
And she is grumbling like Shirin. With my hands touching the roughness of her neck, the fearfulness inside me is going, slipping away like the night shadows at dawn.
The camel mutters and growls. She lowers her head as Walid pulls on her tufty mane. He knows. He knows how to handle camels and he doesn’t look scared at all.
It’s amazing. He’s getting the camel to do exactly what he wants. She’s grumbling and moaning, but she kneels down in the awkward way camels do, lurching first one way then the other.
‘Ad-am! Ta’aal henaa!’
I think Walid’s telling me to climb on. Oh God.
‘Do you really expect me to get on this thing?’ Maybe this is crazy after all. How am I going to ride it? I don’t even like riding horses.
Why is he stopping? Is he afraid of riding a camel?
‘This one will be slow for she is older. Yallah! Yallah!’
The headlights of the car are getting closer. I know I have to get on.
‘But where do I sit?’ I can’t sit in front of the hump on the camel’s neck and the rump just slopes away. I’ll slide off.
‘Henaa! Henaa! You must sit here.’
Walid is pointing to the spot behind the hump. But how can anyone ride a camel without falling off backwards?
Walid helps me up onto the camel’s back. I feel out of balance with the backpack on and nearly tip off backwards.
He makes signs to show me that he can carry the bag.
‘Great.’ I hand it down to him. He hoists it onto his back, then slaps my camel lightly on the rump and hands me the rope that’s part of a halter around the camel’s head. As I grab hold of it, the camel lurches up onto its hind legs. I almost fall off frontwards this time.
‘Woah!’ This is like being up on a wave. Automatically I lean my body away from the movement as we sway first to one side, then the other as the camel finally gets up on all four of its long skinny legs.
‘Now, what do I do?’
‘Erkab! Ride! Go towards the dunes. The car will not be able to follow.’
He yells something at me, but I’m so busy trying to ride this thing and not fall off that I can’t concentrate on what he’s trying to tell me.
While I’m getting used to being up on the camel, Walid’s already mounted and his camel is ready to go. He looks comfortable. Like he’s ridden camels hundreds of times before. He probably has. It makes me wonder –
‘Yallah! Let’s go! If these men catch us stealing these camels the punishment will be very great. We must get fast away.’
‘We’d better get out of here fast!’ I’m starting to really panic now because the lights of the car are getting very close. If they hadn’t seen us before, they’ve got a good view of us now. It’s like being in the beam of a searchlight. I shield my eyes and kick the camel hard.
‘Yaiee!’
Walid shouts, and slaps my camel on the rump, this time with a long stick that’s he picked up from somewhere. I nearly fall off backwards as we lurch forward towards the large sand dunes that rise up behind the camp; they’re the size of small hills.
We take off at a gait that’s not a trot and not a gallop. It’s fast and it makes me bump up and down and roll from side to side as if I’m on a boat in choppy seas. It’s an unbelievably rough ride, but Walid seems okay. He’s upright and pumping with his arms like he’s marching. He’s not bumping up and down like I am.
This Ad-am is a bad rakeeba. He is like a sack of rice riding on his camel. Ah, Allah, please do not let him fall.
Behind us, I hear a man shouting. Quickly, I look over my shoulder. In the lights from the car, I can see it’s not Baggy Pants or Old Orange Beard or even any of the men in the old Sunny. It’s a Bedu man. He must have just come out to feed his camels and goats after the heat of the day was over. He has a black beard and waves his fist fiercely at us. Then he jumps back into his Nissan ute and comes speeding after us.
‘Come on, girl!’ I urge my camel to go faster, and I lean as far forward as I can. The hump sticks into my stomach, but I keep a tight hold on that tufty mane and try not to be mesmerised by the camel’s neck, which sways and bobs like a big snake being charmed by music.
No point stopping now and trying to explain why we’re stealing his camels. From the look on that man’s face, I’ve got a feeling he wouldn’t understand. I go cold when I remember the punishment for stealing according to Islamic law – the right hand is chopped off at the wrist.
‘Come on, girl!’
The car revs hard as it charges up the dune after us. We race up the soft sandy slope, with me hanging on grimly.
I hear the car revving. Too hard.
I glance behind again. Sand is spraying out from the rear wheels of the car. It’s not going anywhere. It’s bogged.
As we race over the crest of the dune and down the other side, Walid looks across at me and grins his monkey grin.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DAWN, DAY THREE
‘I’m positive that glow along the horizon ahead is Abudai,’ I say to Walid.
But I’m not positive at all. There’s something not right about it.
But it has to be. There aren’t any other towns that big along the coast that’d make the night-time look like it’s turning into day.
Walid frowns and doesn’t look too excited. I have to say I’m almost too tired to care. After the longest day of my life, I’ve now had the longest night. I never thought there could be anything more boring or more uncomfortable than a night flight from Abudai to Melbourne. Now I know there is: riding Humphreda all night.
I’ve called my camel Humphreda for two reasons. One is the obvious – her hump – and the other is because she sounds like she’s always in a humph – moaning and groaning all the time. Especially when it comes to going up sand dunes. I have to keep kicking her to make her go. With her hump jutting into my stomach, I can’t sleep, but I’m so tired I can’t stay
awake, either. And I’ve even got motion sickness from all the swaying.
Then, to my amazement, all of a sudden, she starts to trot. Up a dune. I get such a shock I nearly fall off backwards. I hold on hard as she trots faster still. I can’t believe she finally wants to catch up with Walid. After travelling the whole night at the slowest plodding pace she could manage without actually stopping, this is truly incredible.
‘Allah! What fools we have been!’
I hear Walid curse. I can’t see what’s so bad about the fact that my camel has finally decided to get a move on. Then, as we near the crest of the dune, I realise the glow has grown. In the grey, early dawn light we can see a jagged outline on the horizon.
‘I can’t believe it!’
But it’s true. I haul back on Humphreda to stop her charging down the other side of the dune. It’s then that we see the rim of the orange-red sun slide up behind the mountains ahead of us. Below is the wide wadi and the Bedu camps.
‘But that can’t be right.’
I wish the sun was wrong. But I know it’s us. Somehow we’ve travelled in a circle. A full circle. Instead of looking at the coastline, we’ve been heading back to the mountains.
‘How could this have happened?’ I look over at Walid. He looks as brain-numbed and tired as me. And just as stupefied. He shakes his head and mutters.
‘Allah, curse me. Fool for not knowing these camels would follow their noses back to their home where there is water and food.’
Deep down I know how it’s happened. It’s because I’ve never really had to pay attention to how nature works. I thought we could just look up and follow a star. Everyone says you can navigate by the stars. But I didn’t really understand that the stars move in the sky. I’ve never had to think about it.
When I looked up through the night, I just thought the stars were in different positions because we were moving and I was looking at them from a different angle. And there are so many stars up there. It’s easy to mistake one for another.
But it wasn’t that. We were on a rotating Earth following a moving star.