One day, when we were playing these games, I noticed Nasr watching us from over near the tents. His face wore a thoughtful expression.
I pricked my ears toward him. Safiya turned to see what I was looking at and spotted him as well.
“Look, Father!” she called. “See how fast Yatimah learns things? She is the smartest filly I’ve known!”
“Hmm” was all Nasr said in response. Then he turned to shoo one of the dogs away from the tents.
During this time, Nasr started to ride Jumanah. She always did her best to please him, and the more he rode her the stronger she became. One day, they returned from a ride while Safiya was picking knots out of my tail, which had become tangled during my last vigorous roll in the sand.
“How is Jumanah doing, Father?” she asked.
“As well as can be expected.” Nasr patted the gray mare, then swung down from the saddle. “I only wish she were faster.” He sighed, sounding dissatisfied.
“I’m sure she goes as fast as she can,” Safiya said. “She is of heavier build than Sarab was, after all.”
At that moment, one of the dogs barked, and I saw the sheep start to run around in circles, bleating with panic. I spun to face them, my muscles quivering as I wondered whether I should race over and join them. It was only the sheep being silly, so I stayed where I was, but Nasr looked at me with a frown.
“At least Jumanah has a good, steady temperament,” he muttered, giving the mare another pat as she stood quietly by his side. “That is a blessing from Allah.”
The next two or three years passed in much the same way. We horses have little concept of time, and I soon lost track of how often we moved to a new oasis. Sometimes we joined camps with other humans from Nasr’s family, and at other times it was just us. Often the humans would trade among themselves or with passing travelers, which meant the herds of sheep and goats were always changing, and often some of the puppies would go off to a new home when they were old enough. During the second season that we camped with Rami’s clan, we found that he had taken two new mares in a raid and had traded one of his camels for a young stallion that both he and Nasr would be able to use for breeding.
But our own little herd of horses remained the same, so I didn’t worry much about any of that. Moving every so often began to feel as natural a part of life as eating and sleeping.
I had grown into a strong, graceful mare, sound of limb and wind. When I was old enough, Basim began my training. Thanks to the little games Safiya had taught me, it was easy for me to understand what he wanted most of the time. Before long he was riding me around our current oasis home and out for short distances into the desert, and he seemed well pleased by my progress.
One day, as we returned from such a desert ride, my pace quickened. I had caught the scent of something new—a camel, but not one of ours. What was a strange camel doing in our oasis? I guessed right away that it had to be a traveler, perhaps part of a caravan passing through.
“What is it, Yatimah?” Basim asked, giving me a pat.
I could not answer him except by pricking my ears toward the strange scent. A moment later, he could see the unfamiliar camel for himself. It was lowering itself onto the sand near the tent, looking sandblown and weary. A man slid down from its back as we approached. I was surprised to see that he and his camel were alone, for in the desert, most humans travel in groups for safety.
Then I caught the traveler’s scent and saw his face, which looked as weary as his camel’s. I let out a trumpet of alarm, for I had a good memory. Though I did not know the camel, I recognized this man.
It was the stranger who had ridden into our temporary camp in the desert some years back aboard a pale gray mare—one of the raiders who had taken Tawil and the other animals!
Visitors and Decisions
The man stepped over and touched one of the poles of the tent just as Basim brought me to a stop and dismounted.
“Greetings, stranger,” he said.
“Greetings,” the man replied in a voice coarse with desert grit and thirst. “I am lost, and my camel is exhausted. By the mercy and blessings of Allah, will you give me shelter and water?”
Basim shouted for Nasr, then nodded. “Of course you are welcome as our esteemed guest,” he said. “Please come inside, and I’ll have the women see to your camel.”
Safiya came to untack me while Basim and the other men welcomed the visitor. “I am glad that man has come in peace this time,” she murmured into my ear. “Every time there is a raid, I fear someone will take you. And I fear even more that Father would not try to get you back.”
As soon as she released me, I trotted over to Jumanah. She was standing near the waterfall nursing her current foal, a lively colt who was already turning gray like his dam.
Why is that man here, and why do our humans not chase him off and add his camel to our herd? I asked Jumanah. Do they not realize he is the one who raided us?
Oh, I am sure they realize it, Jumanah replied. But human herds are ruled by many strange customs. Nasr and his family are bound by honor to welcome anyone into their home who asks for their help. And likewise, that man would do the same if they came to his camp.
I suppose that is not so strange, I responded thoughtfully. It is much like the way we accepted Hasna into our herd, even though she was a stranger to us when she first came. Or the way Majeeb and his herd always welcome us whenever we rejoin them. Still, it does seem strange after what happened with Tawil.…
Who is Tawil? the foal asked, looking up, his tiny muzzle smeared with milk.
Another hungry colt, like you, Jumanah told him fondly. Now hurry and drink your fill so I can go and graze.
The foal looked confused as he glanced over at the fillies born that year to Hasna and Ibtisam. I could tell he had no idea what colt his dam meant. Just like me at that age, he knew nothing of the larger world beyond our oasis.
But I left it to Jumanah to explain it to him as I trotted off toward the grass, still filled with wonder and confusion at the ways of the humans.
More time passed, and my training with Basim continued. Soon I knew to walk, trot, canter, gallop, and halt at the merest hint of his aids. I could tell he was pleased with me by the way he chuckled and patted me throughout our rides, and it pleased me a great deal to please him.
After a while, he began teaching me something new. When we returned to camp after a ride into the desert, the other horses often nickered to me, and I would usually return their greeting. However, Basim made it known that he did not wish me to do so.
“You must learn to be quiet if you are to be a good war mare like your mother,” he told me sternly as he spun me away and put me into a tight circle after one such nicker. “Otherwise the noise might alert the sleeping encampment we are trying to raid, and that would do us no good at all.” Moving so quickly in such a small circle was difficult and uncomfortable for me, which made me understand that Basim was unhappy with what I’d just done.
After that, each time I nickered to the others he would let me know it was not what he wanted. It wasn’t long before I understood that I was never to speak to the other horses while he was riding me. From then on, I was as silent as I could be. And that pleased Basim as well.
There were other lessons to learn. He taught me to remain steady beneath him even when his brothers threw stones at me. The first few times it was impossible not to react, though I did not panic and was careful not to unseat him. Finally I learned to withstand the unpleasant stinging of the stones and continue in whichever direction and at whatever gait my rider requested of me. Knowing how pleased Basim was when I did this gave me so much satisfaction that after a while, I barely felt the sting of the stones anymore.
Once Basim rode me out of camp beside one of his brothers on Gameela. Each man carried a young goat in front of him and several camel skins and some woven goods draped behind. In this way we traveled a great distance. This pleased me, as I enjoyed nothing more than the feeling of the desert san
d passing beneath my hooves.
Finally we came within view of something very strange. A number of dark shapes rose from the desert—like tents, but larger and made of some odd substance.
I let out a snort of surprise as soon as Basim dismounted—for I knew better than to make a sound while he was on my back. What can this place be? I asked Gameela.
I have seen this place before, she told me. It is a place where humans live who do not travel as ours do, but rather live in the same oasis all the time. They call it a town.
The town was very odd indeed. There were countless humans wandering around everywhere, along with a great quantity of dogs, camels, and other creatures of every description. Basim took the goats and the other items and hurried off, while his brother led Gameela and me to a trough to drink. The water tasted mustier than that of the clear desert springs I was used to, but after a few snorts of surprise I decided the difference was not worth worrying about when I was thirsty.
After that I stayed busy looking around at all the new sights. Other horses pranced past with their riders, and one stallion stopped to call to us, though his rider scolded him and urged him on. A boy passed by, driving some odd birds before him in a flock. Several people stopped to ask Basim’s brother about our breeding, which humans always seemed to enjoy discussing at great length, or to talk with him about other matters.
Finally Basim returned. He no longer had the goats and other items, but was carrying two large bags.
“We did well today, brother,” Basim called out, sounding cheerful. “Yusri was pleased with the kids and was generous with his flour and spices in trade. And I exchanged the skins for some fresh vegetables and other things that will make the women happy.”
“Good.” His brother squinted up at the sun. “The horses should be rested enough. We’d better go if we wish to be home by nightfall.”
We set out again across the desert, reaching our oasis just as the sun disappeared from view over the distant horizon. Safiya was waiting for us, ready to help take care of me after the long ride.
During these days I continued to see much of her. She was growing up into a fine young lady, old enough now to wear a veil like her mother and older sisters, but she was always quick to volunteer to care for me after a ride or training session. She was better than anyone else at brushing every speck of desert dust out of my glossy coat and rubbing my legs until they no longer felt weary. Though I was quite fond of Basim, it was Safiya whose company I sought over all others.
One day, more strangers arrived at the encampment. There were several of them this time, all looking sun-scorched and exhausted. They were traveling on foot, except for one old man who rode a scruffy camel.
“We are pilgrims making our way to Mecca, if Allah wills it,” the old man croaked out. “We have not come across another oasis for many days and are nearly out of water.”
“You are welcome here, my friends,” Nasr told them with a polite bow. “Please come inside for some refreshment.”
“May Allah bestow his blessings upon you!” the man exclaimed in relief, while his companions murmured their own gratitude.
Soon the camel was resting in the shade and the humans were inside the tent. They emerged after a while and made their way over to us, with Nasr and the old man at the front of the group.
“Indeed, your herd is even finer than you described,” the old man said as he looked us over. “The gray broodmare is as stout and sturdy as can be, and the two chestnuts quite elegant.” He turned to gaze at me. “As for your young black mare with the look of a falcon—why, she is the finest horse I have had the pleasure to see in some time.”
“Thank you. I am honored by your compliments, my friend.” Nasr’s gaze wandered over me as well, his eyes troubled.
“Come,” Basim said, putting out a hand to guide the strangers along. “Let me show you our equally fine camels.”
The group moved on toward the spot where the camels were resting near the water. But Nasr lingered behind the others, still studying me with that troubled gaze. Safiya emerged to dump some old tea water and spotted him standing there.
“What is it, Father?” she asked, stepping toward him.
He turned away, and for a moment it seemed he would choose not to answer her. But then he turned abruptly and nodded toward me.
“Basim says Sarab’s daughter has been doing well in her training,” he said. “I have decided to give her a chance. I’m going to see if I can make your Yatimah into my new war mare.”
Getting Acquainted
Nasr came to find me as soon as the pilgrims left. He strode up to me as I grazed beside Hasna, taking me by the halter and leading me toward the tent. At first I was wary, prancing a bit rather than walking along obediently as I always did for Basim or Safiya.
As I have said, I have a good memory. While Nasr had never treated me unkindly, he had never shown me any fondness whatsoever. Quite the contrary. Every time I had tried to approach him, he had turned away and remained aloof. How could I not be surprised that he was showing me this attention all of a sudden? Perhaps a horse like calm Jumanah would not react to something like that, but I had never been as placid as she.
“Hold still,” Nasr growled after a few steps, yanking at my halter. “Do not make me regret this decision. You look so much like Sarab that it will make it all the worse if—”
He cut himself off. I had thrown my head up at his yank, but now I lowered it again, glancing at him cautiously. Sometimes I seemed able to read the humans’ thoughts and emotions almost as clearly as those of my own kind, even though humans offered little of the same clarity in their body language. However, Nasr was different from Safiya or Basim or the others. He had always closed himself off to me. Why should I trust him now?
But Basim and Safiya had trained me well. I stood mostly still while Nasr put on my saddle and bridle. And I only pranced a little as he swung aboard. As he settled into the saddle, I went still again, waiting for his direction. He pressed his legs against my sides, and I walked forward. But my neck was up and tense, since I still felt wary.
At first he returned my wariness in kind. His aids were abrupt and felt unfamiliar. When he patted or praised me, it did not feel natural as it did coming from Safiya, Basim, or any of the others. It was as if he was forcing himself to be kind to me.
However, he kept trying. Throughout that ride and the next several, he stayed calm and patient, testing my reactions and my gaits.
With each ride, I relaxed more and more. Though I couldn’t yet feel true affection from him, I could sense that he was trying as well as he knew how to form a bond with me. And if he was willing to try, I would try also. In fact, I was eager to do so. What need had I to know the reason for his change of heart? I would accept it, no matter where it had come from, much the way the humans themselves accepted travelers into their home with no questions asked.
And so the two of us had begun our training together. It wasn’t always easy. Nasr’s hand was heavier than his son’s and his corrections less gentle. Whenever we galloped, he would pull me to a stop with the reins, even though all Basim had needed was a shift in weight. As much as I tossed my head to show my discomfort, he continued to do it.
“Stop fussing, will you?” he exclaimed at one such time. Through the reins, I felt his grip tighten and I quickly lifted my nose higher, anticipating a harder pull on my mouth.
But it didn’t come. Nasr’s hands relaxed again, and he sighed. “You’re not Sarab,” he muttered under his breath. “Allah forgive me, I should not expect you to be her. You can only be yourself, after all, like any of us.”
He leaned forward and stroked my neck beneath my silky black mane. I relaxed, lowering my head and blowing out through my nostrils. I was beginning to see that while Nasr’s punishments were swifter than Basim’s, they were always fair. He didn’t allow himself to react in anger, but only to guide me to do better.
And before long his praise came more often than the punishments. I start
ed to anticipate what he would ask of me before he had to ask it, just as I had with Basim. Nasr barely had to close his legs to send me into a brisk trot or rolling canter. He no longer needed to pull on the reins to slow me or bring me to a halt. I would react to the merest shift in weight, offering what he wanted before his own muscles had fully formed the aid. We were functioning as one—one body, one mind.
After an especially good ride, he slid down and came to my head. “I can see I was wrong about you, my beautiful one,” he said quietly. “The blood of a thousand generations of great war mares runs in your veins. How could I ever think you would not be worthy of Sarab’s lineage? After all, she sacrificed her life to bring you into this world.…”
Lifting his hand, he rubbed my broad forehead. I lowered my face toward him, allowing my eyes to fall half-closed and my lower lip to droop. I leaned into him as he ran his hands up over my poll and down my crest, scratching all the itchy spots. In that moment, there was neither past nor future, herdmates nor oasis. I was content just being there with my human.
After that, I began to seek Nasr out almost as eagerly as I did Safiya. I nickered if he walked past the herd, and if he stopped and looked at me, I went to him. He rewarded me with pats and kind words. True, he was never as expressive as Safiya or even Basim. But I could read what was in his heart, and that was far more important.
Time passed. One evening, as the moon climbed the night sky, I saw a flare of firelight as the tent flap opened. A moment later, Nasr and his three older sons made their way into the herd on feet as quick and silent as a saluki’s. Basim went to Zahrat and began preparing her to ride, while his brothers did the same with Hasna and Ibtisam.
Meanwhile Nasr came to me. “Now we shall see what you are made of, my beauty,” he whispered as he brushed the sand from my back. “We need more sheep. It is time to go get some.”
Yatimah Page 4