Dream of the Worlds


Dream of the Worlds Trilogy, Book 1


a novel by Ivan D. Alexander




Dream of the Worlds

River of Life

1. Khartoom
2. "Ahoy"
3. Abdulah
4. San'aa
5. First Contact

The Offering

6. India
7. Mananam
8. Kidnapped
9. Arrested
10. Montmarte

Redemption

11. Star Ship
12. The Dream
13. A World of Light


It happened nearly four thousand years ago, at the end of the time of Earth's building the great pyramids, and other great stone monuments to the heavens, that we were forced to withdraw from your world. Earth was decreed to be henceforth in 'Quarantine' until such time that the events that had lead to our departure were forgotten. Now, except for a prescient few, they have. Thus, we have been asked to return. This request was given to us from the Stellar Unity's Commander. She was newly selected by a hundred million Dreamers. But the Quarantine had not yet been lifted, so until then we are here in secret. The Quarantine will lift at the official time of 'Contact.'
My name is P'aanxat 'vah 'Aan, or simply P'aan. I am an Alien on your world who has been chosen to come in order to fascilitate our new Contact. But your governments want no one to know we are here, though we know you have a strong desire to know, as do we. But it will not be easy, because we cannot reveal ourselves until you express your desire to lift the Quarantine. If this seems absurd, we can offer no explanation. That is how it is in the Dream.
So this is my story, of how my Dream was received by you while on Earth. I have seen much of your world, even before I came here. But it is my time amongst you that is the most important to tell. The world changed me, but in some mysterious way, it had also changed around me. On Earth, I am called Paul.


River of Life

1. Khartoum
"Ra'am! Ra'am! Ra'am! Ra'am!..."
Scores of men and women were standing together, closely, looking up at the sky, their heads back, loudly chanting the ancient, sacred chant, calling the many names of the 'One.' They too were dressed in cloth of fine woven linen, their fine features reflected off the gold-trimmed gowns and tunics. The city was now empty of their kind. Only these few remained, chanting for their rescue. Above them, in the darkening sky, light rained down on them in shifting spectrums of red and blue. From above, their chants mixed with a loud hum of sharp staccato chords, as if millions of angry bees had stationed themselves there. The small band was surrounded on all sides by armed men, their crude weapons and shields reflecting the light from above, helmets on fire. Some held burnished copper shields over their heads. Their spears raised, they were advancing... "Ra'am! Ra'am! Ra'am!..."
I woke suddenly from the disturbing dream.
I must have fallen asleep on the flight from Cairo to Khartoum. It was late at night and I had been travelling from North America for over twenty hours. The sick feeling from the imagery I had just dreamt was still with me. The cabin was darkened, small and close, the smell of strong cigarette smoke drifted inside. The plane was on a descent. The largely native population of Arabs and Egyptians were now waking and shifting in their seats. We were on final approach, and the 'no smoking' signs came on. We landed at Khartoum airport before dawn. The dry hot stagnant air of Khartoum greeted me at the airplane door. It reminded me of my dream. I knew I suddenly had been transported into an exotic land.
As the other passengers disembarked sleepily in the motionless night, the stale heat of day reflecting off the cement runway, the desert's night air enveloped me as if in a welcoming embrace. The officials at the airport eyed the new arrivals wearily, their dark, bored faces revealing that this monotonous scene was being replayed for them but once again, as it had on countless nights. All stood to one side of the small terminal as the baggage slowly found its way by hand into the receiving area. There was little sound. On their Arab and African faces were written weary resignation, as if nothing would work right and if it did, it was in the hands of Allah anyway. At the Custom's counter, the official studied my passport and visa with great care. I began to feel something might be amiss. I had already learned through my short stay on this world that one human being could not always trust another, nor even to show emotions. I remained impassive. He suddenly looked up and smiled: "Welcome to Sudan." I smiled back and took my passport, much relieved. Having only hand luggage, I was ushered through quickly. I checked out into the darkness outside the terminal and took a cab to the city center.
A waiting taxi took me in. I gave him instructions to drive me to the Acropoplis Hotel, downtown.
"But that is impossible, sir. The hotel was just bombed."
I looked at him with incredulity, about to say that this was the place recommended to me only two weeks ago.
"Quite seriously. Thirteen tourists died. Mostly English." He looked at me through the rear view mirror, then continued: "But I know a very good hotel. It is the Sahara. It belongs to my friend, Abdulah. I will take you."
We drove quickly through the now deserted, dusty streets of Khartoum. I paid the driver and took a room at the Sahara.
The hotel had that jaded elegance that bespeaks of a grander age. The room upstairs was sparse, but it had a bathtub. I undressed and managed to coax from the tap a warm bath, and lit a cigar. The light was already showing through the window. As I was about to get in, a furtive rap on the door suddenly made me cautious. I could not guess who would want me at this hour. I knew I had gotten past security at the airport, so did not suspect that they were already onto me. When I opened, a hand slipped me a piece of paper, and withdrew. On it was scrawled in large capital letters:
"YOU ARE NOT SAFE HERE. PLEASE SEE ME IN MORNING. ASK THE HOTEL MANAGER."
It was simply signed: "Abdulah," who I guessed was my taxi driver's friend. I crumpled it up and stepped into the bath.
Through my window, I could see the new day had already begun, but I lay in my bath water, too tired to sleep, watching the smoke curl towards the ceiling. It brought back to mind the time only a few weeks ago when I first landed. I began remembering it.


2. "Ahoy"
"Hello! Ahoy!" A strong, cheerful voice rolled across the waves to me. "The tide's going out. You need a line?"
I had noticed the current was stronger than I expected and shore was once again becoming distant. It took me a few seconds to find words to contemplate a reply. Earlier that morning, I had landed on the swells off the shores of New England, at Cape Ann. Shortly after dawn, I was waving goodbye to my fellow shipmates aboard the Star-ship that brought us here. As the small shuttle craft sped me down to the planet's surface, its monitors and controls manned by the pilot, I watched the dark side of the planet relieved by the slow moving dawn traced on Earth's horizons. But the craft had already departed. It had left the planet's surface before the boat crested the horizon. At the time of landing, the ship's metal hull had been dimmed to a dull silver to avoid visual detection. The radar grid over this region had been taken care of from aboard the Star-ship. I knew I was safe.
I realized the voice was waiting for an answer.
"Yes! -Please!"
I watched the small boat grow larger as it approached me and my heart began to leap lightly. My first contact! After an absence of nearly four thousand years! It filled me with both excitement and a mild apprehension. Would I know what to say? I would have to speak! What to do? I already used voice to bring forward the boat. I fumbled with the oars as the boat drew nearer, its engines roaring steadily over the waves. Suddenly I had to abandon my dream, and focus into this reality.
A tall, bearded man was standing at the boat's railing. The engines had been cut back and he was gliding slowly towards me. A short while back, before the boat came into view, I had felt small, like a speck on this vast ocean of life. Childlike, I dreamt into my mind fantasies of where I was and what I would encounter this day, as my landing craft quickly disappeared from view. I had suddenly felt abandoned, on my own, in this mock inflated raft, an Earth copy fabricated aboard the Star-ship. I felt small and vulnerable in the great presence of life on this planet. What if my boat capsized? I could swim, but what of the cold? It was as if I were experiencing the anxieties of birth into a new world. What did the early explorers from Europe feel when they first saw this new world, not so long ago? I could feel their presence as they approached these shores... Suddenly I was thrust back into my presence as I heard the strong male voice call to me. He was a large man, doubtless of European descent. He was smiling at me broadly.
"Strong current here. 'Thought you'd need a hand."
I called back my gratitude: "Thank-you-very-much!" fumbling with the new words, hoping that I was not giving myself away. As he threw me a rope, I fastened it as best I could to my little boat. He pulled me along side and motioned me to climb aboard.
"Hi, my name is Tom."
I replied, more calmly now. "My name is Paul. How are you?"
In my nervousness, I was ready to bring my hands together in my world's customary greeting but quickly realized that this is not the custom here. He did not offer me his hand, so I did not offer mine. He looked at me in a bemused way and obviously appraised my small frame, dwarfed by his great size.
"Been out fishing?" he asked, after what seemed a very long silence.
I thought it best to reply to the negative, having no fish aboard.
"No, just gone outing this morning." This was true, in a manner of speaking.
His boat had a strong odor of stale marine life. Great wooden crates were stacked to the rear. I realized he was a lobster fisherman.
"How are the lobsters today?" I asked, timidly.
He looked wistful, "They're staying at the bottom. Water's too cold." His smiling eyes kept looking at me. "I'm taking her back to port. Want a lift?"
In my still puzzled and cautious state I managed a smile.
"Yes, that would be fine. I was tired of rowing."
This was the truth, as I had begun to ache from the unfamiliar exercise. He turned away and took command of his craft's controls. The boat gave off a roar and I felt myself being pulled by its powerful engines. How different from our crafts which use energy fields to propel them. The craft and passengers move as one, with no discernable sensation of motion, except when falling. Here, I could feel the propellers pushing on the mass of water beneath the boat, passing that energy on to all aboard as everything began moving in unison. How different this felt!
My excitement began to mount as I had a chance to observe Tom. He was an older man, by Earth years, perhaps sixty. His great, big back was turned to me and he seemed preoccupied with something on his mind, no longer jovial.
"Are you from around here?" I asked him.
"Yeap, my wife Nettie and I, born and raised on this island, but we're thinkin' of moving away. Cape Ann just ain't what it used to be. Too many tourists... uh, I mean people."
I listened to his thoughts forming his next reply: "How about yourself?"
I truly did not know what to say, trying hard to focus into this reality, but words came into my mouth.
"I'm from abroad, just having a small adventure at sea."
He laughed again, amused at my words. "You don't look like you're from around here. I used to have a friend who was half German and half Mexican, dark like you. You reminded me of him. He even had large, blue eyes like yours. You from South America?"
I thought I'd venture a risk. "No. Much further away."
"Oh," he nodded, as if he understood. Still looking at me quizzically, though he asked no other questions. We rode in silence awhile, the engine chugging steadily as we cut through the water. He mused to himself: "I remember my friend Rudy. He was quite a guy. Always in trouble..."
After a long silence, he turned again: "Paul, wanna have lunch with us?"
I beamed at the prospect, being already a bit hungry from the long morning's work, though it was still early.
"I'd love to. Thank-you." His large frame smiled in reply and we rode on towards his harbor. We create our own reality, even here, I thought.
We pulled into a small harbor and were soon tying up the boat at a floating dock. I tried to help but was inexperienced and of no real value.
"Don't know much about boats, do you?"
I nodded helplessly. I had not yet learned to shrug my shoulders, though upon observing others later I soon realized this was a common body language spoken without words. We have similar non-words spoken with the mind.
"Can I leave my small boat here for now? I may be taking it out later."
He motioned towards the dock: "You can tie it up next to mine. It'll be Okay." There was that very American word I had puzzled over in my studies: "O-K!"
The dock, busy with activity, was a clutter of lobster crates and small buoy markers. There were people about tending to their boats. The sound and smell of boat engines and sea gulls filled the air. As I climbed the short ladder up from the dock and stepped onto the stone rim of the harbor, my feet became firmly planted on the planet's surface. In the company of the human beings around me, I felt no longer small. I looked at my watch, a device of our own manufacture which also had other functions. It was just before noon. The gravel beneath my feet felt good. Beneath the now hot sun, the air smelt fresh of the cool sea mixed with the faint smell of decaying marine animals. Only a few hours ago I was in space, beyond the Earth's atmosphere, full of expectation. Now I was out of the water and standing on land, the soil of my new planet. I breathed in and exhaled a long sigh of thanks.
Vehicles that I recognized as being for transport, trucks and cars, were nearby. Tom's was there too but looked bigger than the others. "There's my big Baby! I love this truck. Let me check in with the harbor master. I'll be right back."
As he walked away, I looked around me at the houses of the picturesque village. They were clustered together without much land between them but were an appealing sight. I tried not to appear awestruck, overwhelmed, it was all so different from my home world, Ka'ananda. On my world, we either live very far apart from one another, or in closely spaced units in buildings that rise like pyramids to the sky. Soon Tom was back and we climbed into his truck...
It already felt so long ago for me. Yet it was only a few days ago. Time was faster than my Dream.





3. Abdulah
I flew from Boston more than twenty four hours ago, to London. Now I was here, in Sudan, in Khartoum. I was not sure why. The directive for this mission, as it is for all Dreamers, is to follow my path as the Dream takes me. Events took me here. Perhaps it has to do with our past visits to this world. The Dreamers sometimes think so. But that was nearly four thousand years ago.
The sun was up, and I was hungry again. I thought it best to heed the note of last night. Though I was not in the mood to see anyone, I went downstairs and saw the desk clerk. He got me the manager, who immediately went out of the hotel. Within minutes, he was back.
"Ah! You must be Paul."
A tall, dark skinned man came into the lobby. He was wearing a long, off white jellaba, his thick bushy head was bare, but on his feet were very bright red slippers. He extended his hand. Strong white teeth flashed in his broad African face.
"I am Abdulah. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. Thank you for asking for me this morning. I meant what the note said."
"How did you know about me?"
"It is my business to know all newcomers to Khartoum. But, please, come take breakfast with me."
Outside, the sun was a bright glare over a very dusty street filled with people and a few noisy cars. We sat down for the morning meal at an establishment on one of the main streets of the city. The street's dust seemed to follow us inside the cool and dark dining hall. It was an establishment frequented, so it seemed, only by men. The small room smelled of food. The paint on the walls was once a dark green, but now it had faded and was peeling in places, which gave the room a dreary look. The bright sunlight from outside made if feel cheerful nevertheless. We sat down at a dusty empty table in the corner. Abdulah spoke freely.
"What brings you to my country?"
I listened to his question in my mind but, unsure of his angle, I answered obliquely.
"My travel permit is to visit your ancient temples."
He looked at me in a curious way, as if my lie was too obvious.
"But you may not have the freedom to visit them. You are a wanted man."
I knew I was wanted in the States. I did not suspect that the long arm of the American government would reach so far in such a short time. Still, I felt I should appear untroubled, at least to leave him some doubt.
"Maybe I can lose them," I smiled at him. Abdulah smiled back, but his eyes were thinking.
Menus were brought to us, one page of faded lettering on yellowed paper. There were many dishes listed.
"They have many things," Abdulah explained, "but today they have only fhool."
"You mean beans?"
"Yes. They are very good, with onions." He shrugged. "We are a very poor country." Water was brought in metal goblets. Then, when the waiter had left, Abdulah turned to me seriously.
"I can delay the American officials who are asking about you. But not for too long."
"Why would you do this? Why don't they arrest me?"
Abdulah eyed me a moment, as if to assess his answer.
"They need to know who you are, and where you are going. I think they don't know why you are here." He stopped and looked around at the other guests eating. "But why are you here?"
"Then you don't know?" I asked, listening for him with my mind. Looking around him to see if anyone else was listening, he answered in a low voice:
"No. They said I had no-need-to-know."
I smiled at him, amused at his genuine puzzle as to why I should be so important, and could not resist my answer:
"You have no need to know."
Abdulah leaned back in his chair and let out a big laugh. Most tables had men bent over their food, talking amongst themselves in low voices, but now they all stopped and turned to look at us. However, since nothing followed, they soon resumed their meals. A dry, coarse round flat bread was served, along with a few dandelion-like greens called 'salat.' Sudan being a strict fundamentalist Moslem country prohibited alcoholic drinks. The restaurant served a local brew called 'karkade.' It tasted like a red berry juice, but actually was a kind of tea made from a local weed, served very sweet. The tables were set with large bowls of salt, dark gray and coarse, mined nearby in the desert no doubt. They also served regular tea, which was also very sweet, about a fourth sugar. The Arabs believed that the very sweet tea helps them fight off the great heat of day. The day was already hot. I enjoyed my humble meal, using the bread as a spoon to scoop up the boiled beans as I saw the others do.
Abdulah broke the silence.
"No. I am serious. They are after you, and they never let go. Did you commit some big crime in America?"
"I committed no crime, not to them, nor to anyone," I answered also seriously. "But the government agents want me because I know something they do not want others to know." Abdulah put down his bread, waiting. "They know that I know their biggest secret."
"So big?" he asked, eyes growing wide, trying to understand, hoping I would say more.
"It's so big, that anyone who knows can die for it."
Having said that, Abdulah let it rest. After all, if the secret is that big, surely he did not feel he had the need to pry into it, nor pay the price. So we went on to talk of other things. After breakfast, we parted with a promise to see each other again in the day.
I spent time idly in Khartoum. My tiredness left me after breakfast, so I walked at leisure. No one seemed to follow me, nor take special interest. I noticed there were not many women visible about, except those shopping at the suk. This appeared to be a very male dominated society with the women relegated to the household duties of raising children, cooking, taking care of their man's needs, and providing the home's upkeep, so different from the land I had just exited. There, though the male and female relationships were at times strained, they nevertheless appeared in public together. Here men were everywhere, talking among themselves, lounging lazily in shady spots, smoking and drinking tea, while the women were seen only at the marketplace, busy buying and selling the few staple goods available, or not seen at all. There had been drought and famine in recent years and the bare stalls spoke of the hardship these people have endured. The desert has been slowly reasserting its claim to the land. But somehow the people here would survive. 'Insh'Allah,' was a common term. "If it is God's will."
A small beggar boy, ragged and terribly thin, approached me. From his dark, African head stared sad eyes, glazed with hunger. I felt moved to give him something. I bought him a drink of sugar cane, which he gulped down noisily. At a nearby stall, I also bought him a few oranges and some nuts. I guessed that he preferred money to my humble gifts, and I knew that he spotted me for an American by my clothing. Word gets out quickly around Khartoum when a foreigner is there. Except for a few employees and advisers from Eastern Europe, few foreigners came here. The boy took my gifts and disappeared into the crowd. Perhaps if I saw him again, I would buy him more food.
Abdulah and I met again later that afternoon. He was a gracious host, and he no longer openly pried into my affairs as he had earlier. After he showed me where the Blue and White Niles meet, we walked to a section of town inhabited by Ethiopian refugees. He invited me to be his guest for dinner, which here is typically served at four in the afternoon. Though we were already late, we went to a friend's house which also serves as a local restaurant. The whole household lived under one roof enclosing a small courtyard.
As we passed the heavy metal doors to enter the small compound, we paid our respect to the house elder who sat in a tiny room by the entrance: "As-salam alaikom!" His nearly blind eyes looked up, his aged mouth softly replied: "Alaikom salam." God's Peace be with you.
Abdulah walked into the courtyard to greet the residents there. No visitors were present, so we were quite alone with the family. They began to exchange greetings.
"And how are you Joseph?" Abdulah began.
The man of the house smilingly replied, "I am well, Abdulah, and how is your family?"
This followed by, "We are alright. Is everything alright with you?"
Which then necessitated, "Yes, alright, and with you?" And so on. Young children were on the floor, playing shyly, staring at the stranger everyone believed was from America. Their bright, black eyes would look up at me in wonder and then gleefully giggle into their hands. Small rabbits ran freely on the floor beneath the tables and around the chairs where the members of the household were sitting. They were a man, a woman and three daughters; tall and beautiful, ranging in age from near puberty to married with children; and two small children playing on the floor. The middle daughter caught my attention immediate. She was lighter skinned, with dark blue eyes, which she turned away when I looked at her directly. Being near evening, they had already eaten and were passing the time combing each other's long, black hair. The one who looked different from the others again caught my attention. She was thinner, though well formed and finer boned, endowed with a lovely grace. Her proud head had beautiful facial features. Her hands and feet were also well formed and appealing. I guessed she was in her mid twenties. She held me with her eyes, looking at me almost defiantly. Then she would release the faintest trace of a smile. I asked Abdulah about her.
"She is a friend's daughter. Joseph was in the service of her father, before the war, who was a highly placed government official of Eritrea. When the revolution came, her father was killed. At the time of his death, when he knew the end was near, he asked Joseph to swear, even if they were of different religions, that he take care of his only daughter. She could have become a queen. But events had overtaken her land. Her name is Soussan-Anna, which means in Arabic 'graceful flower', though she calls herself San'aa. Isn't she beautiful?"
I could tell Abdulah fancied her, which explained why he was so eager to come here for dinner. She did strike a beautiful image in the half-light. Though surrounded by humble people in a shabby setting, she was regal in an unassuming way. Yet, I knew that her mind was fire and she was capable of intense emotions. From inside my heart, I felt San'aa was stunning. She looked at me with her blue eyes, and I felt as if she could see through me. There was a courage and beauty about this woman, so unlike the other women I had met here.
Abdulah ordered the standard dish. The rabbits were more than mere pets. This stew was served on a large, flat bread in a shield-like platter. We broke off the bread and dipped it into the delicious stew. Though my eating habits are vegetarian, here I did as the others. We were also served wine, which is forbidden, but the Ethiopians did not necessarily obey all of Sudan's Moslem rules. Abdulah seemed to be happy to look the other way. He enjoyed drinking it, especially since San'aa usually served the wine to us in her calm, elegant way. He would straighten and smile whenever she approached the table. She would avert her eyes and avoid contact with him, which led me to believe she was not overly fond of his approaches. I did my best to not pry into her mind, out of respect. But when she brushed past me to fill my glass, which I had barely touched, I could feel her intensely, as if a fire brand had passed near my cheek. Perhaps it was only the pheromonal presence of the young women that had heightened my senses, but there was a psychic perfume about her. Abdulah was right. She was beautiful.
As the evening wore on, the family sat in silence or spoke to each other in whispers. The woman of the house had been busy in the kitchen and now emerged to join us. She was friendly and laughed openly at Joseph whenever he showed any buffoonery, especially after the wine. The younger daughter and the grandchildren also dithered. Abdulah spoke and laughed loudly, both because of the wine and because he was eager to bring attention to himself. After the chores, the other young women passed the evening in the background combing each other's long, black hair. As we all got to know one another better, Joseph was curious about me and my visit to Sudan.
Both in Arabic and in English, he asked me: "Where are you going in Sudan, Mr. Paul?"
Abdulah hastily answered for me: "He is going to look for the Queen of Sheba!"
I smiled, amused at his novel idea, and answered: "I am visiting Sudan and Egypt in search of history. I will be looking at temples and pyramids down the Nile."
Joseph then asked: "Are you an archaeologist then?" He seemed genuinely interested.
"Only a student." I replied, "I will follow the river of life through the Sahara, to Cairo. Then, I plan to visit Alexandria. Maybe then, I will fly to London or Paris."
At the mention of those two cities, I noticed that San'aa looked up sharply and long at me, her mind active on some idea. I chose not to pry.
Joseph, jokingly then said: "May you find Solomon's mines and become a rich man!"
"I have enough for my needs," I laughed.
Joseph then muttered something about his riches. "These are my riches," he motioned around the room. "My daughters!" He also gave a short laugh.
Then I could feel words forming themselves in my mind: "Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for thy love is better than wine." I did not look at San'aa.
That night sleep evaded me, from the jetlag, which I suffered same as would any man, but there was still that perfume in the air, a wondrous scent that made me think of San'aa. She reminded me of those wonderful courtiers I had seen on our learning tapes, their long fine limbs, full lips, large almond eyes set in high cheek bones. They were the women of ancient Egypt and the Mediterranean... Ancient songs of Ka'ananda haunted me: "Because of her I cannot sleep. It is because of her eyes that sleep evades me..."
The next morning Abdulah and I met again at the coffee shop downstairs in the hotel. He was happy to see me.
"Goodmorning! How was your night, Paul?"
"Not long enough for my jet lag. I need this strong coffee. And how was your night, Abdulah?"
"I slept badly," was his reply.
The coffee was strong and sweet. I told him I truly enjoyed our day together. Abdulah talked excitedly about our visit to Joseph's house, and then added:
"What are you doing tonight?" He seemed very intent on having me join him.
"I am free. What do you have in mind?"
His eyes gleamed as if he had hatched a devilishly clever plot. "Why not join us at my village outside Khartoum, at my friend Mohammed's house. He makes great aragi, a wine made from dates. He will sing for us by the moonlight." Then his grin really opened up. "And San'aa will also be there. I had invited her earlier!"
"Cool. And she accepted?" I asked, excited to know she had.
"Of course!" he beamed. "She said that you and she will be my guests! She made sure I also invited you."
I could not tell he had thought out this idea very well, but he was so happy that it did not matter. It seemed that San'aa had.
I replied: "Cool. I will be happy to be your guest, and San'aa's." He rose to leave.
"Wonderful! Then I will see you here this evening at eight!" Abdulah stopped as if to reconsider, then added: "Why do you always say "cool"?"
"It's very American. I saw it in a film last night, when I could not sleep. Is it not correct?"
"I don't know. I learned English from the BBC."
"Oh? Okay. I'll drop the 'cool'."
We both laughed about it. Later, I had the day to wander the city by myself. I particularly enjoyed the market stalls, the suk. There I could watch the friendly barter that took place between people who obviously knew each other. Though Khartoum is a small city, because of the drought and the war, many people were migrating there as a rallying point in which to rebuild their lives. Nevertheless, in a common bond of misery, they all made do as best they could, which led to a relatively peaceful existence under the watchful eyes of the strict mullahs and police. It is a city one could walk at almost any time of the day or night without the fear so common to American cities, though the bombing was a different matter. But I was a respected guest in a country with a strong tradition of hospitality and not frequented by tourism. On my visa application, I had stated that I was exploring archaeological sites to make my visit appear more legitimate, though not so far removed from the truth. The real reason for my being here was more complex. I had to re-enter the reality left behind by our ancestors before Quarantine. This was demanded of us in the Dream.
The desert setting did not make the city beautiful. There were no great vistas except at the Nile's edge, and even those were limited. The city's buildings, except for the main palace, were of a more recent vintage and generally not well kept up. The University of Cairo at Khartoum was impressive, and the students there were good humored and eager to speak English with an American. They asked many questions about life in America. I also spoke to an African American Marine guard at the American Embassy. He compared duty here to an outpost on the edge of nowhere. He said he would rather be in Beirut. Maybe he was not centered in his dream, even in this land of his ancestors. To him it was not beautiful. But I liked the dusty streets, the goats that ate the refuse left behind at the suk, my beggar boy who showed up then and again unexpectedly, smiling more this time, the hot and dry desert air, the smell of humanity in the summer heat, the low buzz of flies in the stifling part of mid-day, the voluble prayers to Allah five times a day, and the strong and sweet coffee and tea. I liked men smoking water pipes, and the flies. There were always flies. It was Africa. It was all so different from America, from Ka'ananda. And yet, it had a strong appeal to me. In some strange and distant way, I felt at home. I thought of San'aa.
That evening, already past eight-thirty, fashionably late I thought, San'aa and Abdulah appeared at my hotel and we set off in a taxi towards Mohammed's village. We drove a distance past the tomb of the Mahdi, in Omdurman. General Gordon's fall is still talked about here, and Abdulah let me know that he annually celebrates the Madhi's victory with Dervish dancing. Past the city into the desert, we soon arrived into a small village of low houses and small courtyards enclosed by mud walls. By then dark had fallen, the moon rose brightly into the starlit, Saharan sky. By its light we could see only the faint outlines of the village. The people were silhouettes in the dusky light, their outlines relieved only by the light of oil or kerosene lamps. Electricity was not available here.
I sat in back with San'aa. Abdulah sat in front with the driver. He would turn periodically to watch over us as if he were inspecting a precious cargo, and grin uncomfortably. I enjoyed riding with my fellow seat mate and watched her. She was cool, composed in her demeanor and speech.
"How long will you be in Khartoum?" She asked me softly.
I said that I expect to be travelling within a few days.
She said: "The Nile is low and you will have to go overland. Perhaps you can take the train to Wadi Halfa, or take a bus to Karima and boat from there." She rearranged the folds in the hem of her long, native gown. She did not wear the veil as is customary for some of the women. But her eyes would have revealed her even if she did.
As we entered the village, I realized I had just stepped backwards in time into Earth's, or even Ka'ananda's, early prehistory. There were no civil amenities, no electricity, no light other than that generated by the moon or by fires, no pavement. Water, I learned, had to be trucked in from outside. And yet, all the faces I could see were smiling or talking animatedly. Children were playing. Life goes on, I thought, even here under these harsh conditions. San'aa also looked upon the scene with interest.
"Is this your first time here?" I asked.
"Here yes, but I had seen villages like these before, in Ethiopia. These people are from the South of Sudan, not unlike people I knew. The villages look the same."
I said that perhaps villages are a universal way of life.
She looked at me, "But they are different in America and in Europe, no?"
I nodded that they were different, mostly, except in remote mountains, but that people were not all that different from one another no matter where they were. Some villages were just neighborhoods in larger cities.
"I had been to Paris when I was a little girl. My father took me when my mother was still alive. He was half Italian, his father an officer. I loved Paris. It was beautiful."
I smelled the faint scent of musk on her. She looked beautiful in the reflected light. She had breeding. Thinking of those on Ka'ananda who had dedicated themselves to a holy life, I said: "Though their material wealth was nothing, the Spirit that shone through them made them rich."
She merely looked at me with those dark blue, inquisitive, exquisite eyes. I wanted to talk with her more, but we were coming to a stop. We had arrived at Abduhla's village.
We stopped at a small square. When the taxi driver turned off his lights, we were suddenly met by intense darkness. Soon, as our eyes again accustomed themselves to the faint light of the moon, I realized we were being approached by a small group of people. They were speaking a non Arabic dialect. As San'aa and I sat in the back, waiting for some instructions, Abdulah and the driver were already out of the vehicle. Then we heard loud cries, as if a long lost son had returned. Abdulah's name was mentioned, and that of Mohammed. We were being welcomed, and I guessed that we had arrived. Though we could not see the people we were meeting, shaking their hands in the dark, their faint outlines and their voices revealed friendly gestures. I felt they were obviously happy to meet us, and we felt the same in return. As we were ushered towards the entrance to a small courtyard and house, I noticed Abdulah had paid the driver with instructions. I thought to myself, "Allah-karim." God provides.
By the light of an oil lamp in the small compound, I could make out the features of Mohammed. He was a tall, handsome man, with the confident bearing of success. He was quick to give a generous smile and I could sense from shaking his hand that he was a good and honest man. His wife Aodea, also smiling by his side, was small and I judged was very young, perhaps still in her teens. She had an impishly pretty face and a body modeled after a Frezetta painting. She hung onto Mohammed, much to his smiling enjoyment, through the introductions.
"I am happy to meet you sir," said Mohammed to me in surprisingly good English.
"And I am happy to meet you and your wife. May God bless your home."
Aodea immediately detached herself from her husband and embraced San'aa as if they were sisters. They went off chatting merrily. An older woman whom I gathered was either a neighbor or Aodea's mother had also greeted us gleefully. "Eeeeeeehhh!" she would exclaim. Just beyond the entrance, towards the house, was tethered a small donkey. He stood impassively, chewing fodder, though he looked at us once.
We all sat on small cots in the courtyard. By the light of the oil lamps, I could better see the faces around me. I suspected that, for our hosts, San'aa and I were guests of honor. Abdulah went on with the introductions: "San'aa is from Joseph's house, seventh Laffa." Turning to Mohammed, he whispered, "She is the woman I told you about."
Aodea sat between her husband and San'aa, holding her arms affectionately over both of them. The older woman came back with a tray of refreshments. As we were thirsty from the long trip, all were glad to see her. By the light of a now beautiful moon framed by a canopy of stars our eyes grew accustomed to the dark. The old woman poured the drink into small glasses for each of us. Mohammed then proposed a toast: "May your visit always be a blessing for us, and, by the grace of Allah, may our humble home be a blessing to you." We drank the cool, sweet liquid, which I recognized as the national drink karkade. Being the male in this male dominated society, I thought it was now my turn. "We are blessed to be your guests, and may Allah provide you always with abundance and with many children." Aodea, though a little sad at my words, quickly beamed. She had recently miscarried.
After conversations where I learned more about the village, both Mohammed and Abdulah, as if in a conspiracy, withdrew from the courtyard. I could not see over the mud walls, both because of their height as well as the darkness beyond. The old woman had withdrawn to her home for the evening. San'aa and Aodea remained locked in conversation, though at one point, when I was thinking of how beautiful the moon was overhead, she looked at me as if to say, "Can you believe this? I love it here." She is a daughter of the desert and this setting, surrounded by kind and friendly people, suited her. I loved it too.
In a few minutes Abdulah, followed by Mohammed, reentered grinning broadly. In their hands were a couple of glass flasks filled with a clear liquid. Abdulah whispered to me, "This is aragi! It is the best date wine in the village. The old woman next door brews it." Aodea also was joyful. She brought out a tray of small, finger foods. We were getting ready for a party.
When the drinks were served to all, Mohammed pulled out a large, handsome, stringed instrument. He called it a lute. It was inlaid with finely crafted, wooden pieces of geometric design. I moved closer to San'aa, who now was again looking at me, as was Aodea. They would then both look at each other and smile impishly, as if sharing an intimate secret. I asked to see the instrument and holding it, softly strummed its strings and praised it for its obvious beauty. "Is it old?" I asked. Mohammed said it was given to him by an old man in his village in the South. He thought the old man had gotten it long ago in trade. "Can you play?" he asked of me. I said, "Oh, no. Please. It is yours. Perhaps I will try it later." He seemed pleased at this and began to play for us.
Music flowed effortlessly from Mohammed's fingers, as if they were connected directly to his soul. He sang us love songs in his native tongue, which I did not understand, but which were beautiful nevertheless. Aodea caressed him from behind, arms around him, kissing him on the neck. I was delighted to see such free and open affection. It was never seen in public here. It was not the Moslem custom. She was like a little nymph, and Mohammed adored her. Abdulah lay back with his head swaying to the music, eyes closed. San'aa and I were sitting closer, also leaning back against the wall. The air was warm, fragrant with the smell of the desert night, filled with music flowing from a man possessed by the spirit of a god. In the darkness lit only by the moon and a small oil lamp, the setting became magical, as if the jinns of the desert had possessed the small courtyard. I felt good. I turned to San'aa: "This is beautiful." She smiled at me with her wonderful eyes. The aragi was taking possession of my soul.
When Mohammed had finished, we all sat in the dark silently. How wonderful, I thought, to have been invited to share in this. San'aa's hand moved closer to mine, touching me delicately. I reached for hers and pressed her fingers tenderly into mine. She had stopped drinking her wine, and I thought it wise for me to do the same, not sure of what affect it could have on me. We did not clap, but just sat in total appreciation of the wonderful gift Mohammed had bestowed on us.
Though it was already late, I felt I had to share with them my music. I asked for the lute, which I held with reverence as if a great treasure had just been entrusted me.
"This is music from a very distant land, one you never heard of. But I know some melodies that I think you will like, and I want to play one for you."
Abdulah looked at me curiously, as if I had somehow put myself in competition with him. I tried a few chords, harmonics, changed the tuning to one I recognized and quickly worked out how the instrument was to be played. Being a fairly universal system, it was easily done. I played them a song from Ka'ananda.
It started softly, notes detached from each other in time but brought together by their natural harmonics. These were brought together into chords, which became the background for a compounding effect of the same. The chords sounded like the audible energy of one of our Star-ships. I could tell the sounds coming from the lute were such as they had never heard before. I only hummed the song. Aodea looked into my eyes with her black eyes swimming as if in a sea of tenderness. San'aa's face caught the light of the moon, which made her more beautiful still, her eyes searching deep into mine. Mohammed, grinning, obviously approved of what I was doing with his instrument. I could hear him thinking to himself that he must learn to play this. Abdulah closed his eyes as if drinking in the sounds. He has had quite a bit of aragi. When I finally stopped, even the little donkey turned his head. They almost in unison let out their breath, as if they had been holding it through the song. I sang as if to to myself the ancient song's ending lines:

..."I flew to her on golden wings,
My lips longing for her kiss .
Her body was a jeweled temple,
Her soul a goddess of love."

It was already past midnight. The bright moon was like a large jeweled disk arching high into the sky. San'aa and I were being invited to stay the night. Though we did not know this at the time of our invitation, Abdulah had already planned it this way.
The taxi had long departed and, we were told, there was no other transportation to Khartoum until morning. The village, being in part a refugee camp, was also somewhat outside the law. It had actually been condemned by the government, but because of a near uprising, the authorities decided to turn the other way and let it be. By coincidence, many residents at the village were also employed as policemen in Khartoum, which gave the authorities an added incentive to ignore what happened here. We seemed to be left with no choice but to accept.
"You can stay in our house," said Mohammed. "Aodea and I will sleep outside on the cots in the yard."
I thanked him for his kind invitation. The interior of the dark hut felt cool. The cots were placed against the wall. Otherwise, the barren interior, having no windows to catch the moonlight, was pitch black except for a small oil lamp. But it had a feeling of dread.
"Where would Abdulah sleep?" I asked of Mohammed, suddenly cautious. Abdulah was in an adjoining courtyard brushing his teeth.
"He will sleep in the house with you."
I did not know if San'aa was aware of this, but it suddenly struck me as being a situation less than ideal for her.
I asked her opinion: "Would you prefer to sleep outdoors, under the stars in the cool desert air, or inside that dark house with Abdulah?"
Of course, my phrasing had the desired effect. She preferred the open courtyard. At least, if trouble arose, there was moonlight to warn us. In pitch darkness, there would be no warning.
"San'aa and I would rather that you and Aodea and Abdulah have the house. We will gladly sleep outside. We do not wish to trouble you."
At this Abdulah spoke out: "No, no. It is better if you, our honored guests, sleep inside."
I answered that we wish to be under the light of the moon and the open sky of the desert, that for us it would be a special treat. Abdulah then also decided that he would sleep in the courtyard.
The matter resolved, past midnight, we all settled down for the night. San'aa had the small cot against the wall. I shared another but a foot away towards the center of the yard. At the head of my cot was also the small cooking fire and an assortment of cooking utensils. Abdulah's was located at the other end of the yard under a canopy of straw. Beyond him was tethered the small donkey. San'aa and I were given a cotton sheet to ward off the chill of what would become a cool night. San'aa turned to me and said:
"What do you dream of as you close your eyes?"
I thought about it awhile, decided that my response would be too full of ideas that might seem strange to her. I answered with a question instead.
"I don't know. What do you dream of?"
She looked up at the sky. "I dream of the night lights in Paris. They remind me of those stars up there."
I looked up with her. I said: "Those stars remind me of a great city too, but it is very, very far away. In those stars, I am at home."
She looked at me, obviously puzzled by my strange response, but it passed quickly. Then she became philosophical: "I guess they remind everyone of home. No matter where you are, by looking at those stars, you know they shine on your home."
I reached over to her cot. "May I kiss you?"
Her eyes had no resistance in them. Her lips felt soft and warm, sweet to the taste. Her breath like perfume, her skin soft to the touch.
"Graceful flower, Soussan-Anna, goodnight."
As the moon arched through the sky, like a goddess carried high by the heavenly bark of the Nile, we fell into a light sleep. Faintly in the distance I heard barking dogs. Then Sana'aa's hand reached over to me.
"Abdulah is watching us," she whispered.
He was standing by the hut's entrance, drinking from the ladle which served the wooden water barrel. Realizing that we were awake, he walked over casually, though obviously still under the influence of the aragi. My eyes fully accustomed to the lunar light, I could now see him clearly, smiling at us in friendly persuasion. His presence felt strong around us. He pulled up a cot next to mine and began talking over me to San'aa. He would say:
"How did you like tonight?" Or, "Did you like the music?"
She nodded and answered without encouragement to him. His head still swimming in alcohol did not notice her coldness and smiled to himself as if he knew something we obviously did not. Finally, after a long and thoughtful silence, he said: "San'aa, I want to talk to you."
She did not respond immediately. I thought it was for her to say what it was she wanted to do, though I could already sense a very strong sensation of fear coming from her. It seemed that there was the possibility of conspiracy, of abduction, of rape, of never being seen again, all running through her mind. In truth, I did not know that there might not be accomplices to support these fears, perhaps but a short distance from here, making an escape impossible, though I could not sense them. San'aa stayed silent. I thought I would volunteer an answer for her:
"Speak with her here, Abdulah. She should not leave this house at this time of the night."
Abdulah glared at me, but quickly composed himself: "Why do you think I would wish anything bad for her?" Again over my head to San'aa, "I just want to talk with you. Come with me."
There was no answer from San'aa. Through her mind was a confusion which somehow equated her rejection of Abdulah with the loss of a future opportunity to see me, which froze her into inaction. It was an absurd notion, no doubt induced by the late hour, and I again felt I needed to interject: "This is not a good time to talk, Abdulah. Maybe you two could talk in the morning."
Now I had triggered an anger in him. His temper was rising, as if he would lash out at me. I did not know for certainty that he was not armed, perhaps with a knife. He was Dervish, proud of his tradition of the Mahdi, and I to him was an American, an ally of the English, a potential enemy. A long time had passed since the Mahdi had severed General Gordon's head and skewered it on a pole for public display. I did not sense a real threat of this ancient anger, though Abdulah may have still been living in that past time. I felt the need to take control of the situation.
"Abdulah, you are bothering San'aa at a late hour. It is already past three in the morning. She does not wish to go with you alone, unescorted, not even to talk to you. I suggest you wait until morning and talk then. Go to sleep."
He looked at me as if entranced in a drugged stupor: "I want to talk with her," he passed through clenched teeth, "alone."
I thought the situation over. San'aa was still lying perfectly still, almost holding her breath. This has now become no longer her concern directly, but a battle of wills between two males in a very male society. I suddenly had to fall back upon instincts that had been bred out of my race thousands of years ago. My maleness had to rise to the surface, and yet it could not show itself directly. I calculated my chances of survival if I were to be engaged in combat with Abdulah. They were slim. He was a powerful bull next to me. I also thought of using my mind-control device, but to what avail? It is only good in a pinch. Here we would be burdened with him until after dawn, tiring me to exhaustion and possibly overburdening the device itself into failure. Above my head were ashes and a fire poker I could use, if I were surprised into an attack. But, though it is the way of Earth to defend oneself by whatever means are available, it is not my way. It is in the accepted custom of Ka'ananda that one suffers the unfortunate consequences of earlier choices poorly made. It is almost a matter of honor, where a person would even accept death to having to retaliate against an aggressor. A fully conscious and competent being capable of forethought, should never find oneself in that position. So he or she must suffer the loss. I thought it best to use my mind. Some mysterious memory resurfaced.
"Abdulah, you are now pressing us and we are becoming unhappy."
He replied: "I am talking to San'aa. This is not for you."
"Yes, you are right, but we came together as guests, at your courtesy, and we expect to be treated as such. If you do not leave us to sleep, we must wake the host, Mohammed."
He started at this: "Why do you wish to wake him?"
"Because, Abdulah, we are guests in his house and he must know of this."
"But you are my guests," he replied, visibly troubled.
"No. this is Mohammed's house and he must know of this."
Abdulah pondered on this. The natural chemistry of alcohol and the late hour worked on him in silence, his energies slowly dissipating his ardor for San'aa. She had shown no response to his approaches and now lay quietly in her cot. But then she knew her cue well. She finally ventured: "Abdulah, it is impossible. I cannot go with you. I am here with Paul as guests of Mohammed and Aodea."
I knew we had him. He felt suddenly rejected. It was as if she had reached over to Abdulah and slapped him hard. He looked up hurt, as if his fondest dream had just been spilled into the sand, his ardor cruelly swallowed, his heart but a mockery plucked out and pecked by birds of the desert. I felt sorrow for him.
After a silence he said: "You are right, you are Mohammed's guests and I am wrong."
He started to rise to leave. I quickly reached over to him: "But we are here as friends, Abdulah, you and I and San'aa." I extended my hand to him. He took it and shook it a long time.
"It must be the aragi. I am sorry. I am not an evil man. Why did you think I wanted to harm her?"
I answered that I did not know, but that it was late, we were all tired, and that it would be best if this was forgotten by morning.
"Perhaps I misunderstood. We are friends?"
He looked at me. His dark face long and dejected.
"We are friends."
Abdulah rose and walked back dejectedly to his cot. When he got there, the little donkey, startled, brayed loudly, which set off a chain reaction of dogs barking throughout the village. But I sensed that as soon as he got there, his anger returned. I could not trust that my Arab logic had actually worked on him. I knew from my learning nodules that the host, by Moslem culture, was obligated to protect his guests with his honor. If I had wakened Mohammed and complained about Abdulah's behavior, to not lose face, he would have had to reprimand him, or worse. This, combined with San'aa point blank refusal seemed to have deterred him for now. But, for how long?
When all had quieted down again, San'aa drifted back into sleep. It had gotten surprisingly cool and I put my arms around her to warm her as she slept. For me, however, still adrenal, sleep was elusive. I watched the moon a long time as it moved across the sky on its mysterious bark. Of course, in my rational mind, I knew there was no bark. It was but a large asteroid trapped within the Earth's gravitational pull. But in some other Dream of my mind, the Heavenly Bark upon the Nile was still carrying its magnificent cargo to the Goddess of Love, to Hathor or Isis. In that same, semi-conscious dream mind, I dreamt that the goddess was in my arms, wrapped in the arms of her lover, protected from desert demons, watched over by the all-seeing Horus. Perhaps it was the hallucinogenic effect of alcohol. Seven meteors crossed the sky in succession just before dawn. I wondered if anyone aboard ship saw them. Or was it their way of giving cheer? Soon a lonely cock crowed, and then was followed by another, which soon became a chorus. These were then joined by the morning call to prayer from the minarettes, to Allah, to the One, the All Forgiving One. Soon, the light of day would rise.
The moon had already set in the horizon. The desert flower, still asleep, was safe again, as she was safe in Joseph's house. I could hear the village fires being rekindled and the drowsy voices of little children rising from their beds.
The next morning, over morning tea, which is served upon rising, we all got to know each other better. By daylight, Mohammed seemed more boyish than the night before. His broad smile lit up as he spoke and stretched the night's sleep away. Aodea, now dressing to go to market, changed from her humble dress to a long, elegant sari-like gown. Her small hands had been hennaed with ornate, indigenous designs. She offered to also do this for San'aa, who demurred. Abdulah rose sheepishly, his eyes blinking in the strong morning sun. His head still hurt. He came over to San'aa and me when the others were out of hearing range.
"I am sorry about last night. I don't know what happened to me. Maybe I am not used to drinking so much. It will not happen again."
We said that we understood and no harm was done. He seemed relieved.
The morning sun, already hot and yellow, pressed its heat into the reddish soil of the village. A slight breeze blew the red dust into small dancing devils. Children ran about, oblivious of the heat and dust. Mohammed was preparing to go off to work. He was an important man at the granaries. We expressed our gratitude for the beautiful evening and thanked Aodea for her kind hospitality. A tall, black woman and her small child settled down by the house with her tea pot and small, fried-dough breads. From her little stall, she sold these to passersby. These were also served with the morning tea. After many goodbyes, as-salams, and more introductions to curious neighbors, San'aa and Abdulah and I set off towards the bus depot. No taxi showed up. At the depot, Abdulah, still silent and somber, decided that he would visit another friend at the village for breakfast. San'aa and I boarded the small bus for Khartoum and waived him goodbye.
On the trip back, there was a child-like enthusiasm in San'aa. She seemed delighted to be with me alone, and able to talk freely.
"I do not like Abdulah. Thank you for helping me last night," she said. I said that I thought this was an isolated incident and that Abdulah seemed truly repentant the next day.
She interrupted me: "Oh, no! This had happened before to another friend of mine. It also happened to a Dutch girl who was visiting. But she was without escort and Abdulah bothered her all night until she gave in. I am lucky."
I looked into her eyes and smiled. "I do not think it is in you to give in," I said.
She smiled back, but turned suddenly serious: "You are right. I would never give in."
We chatted in this manner until we reached the city. We both truly loved the magical, romantic evening. I escorted her to Joseph's house. Upon parting: "I will see you soon?" I asked.
"You will see me soon, Insh'Allah. Call on me tomorrow afternoon. I wish to show you my aunt's house in the desert." Then she pondered a bit: "Can you ride a camel?"
I laughed, saying that those beasts do not look like anyone could ride them, but I would try.
"Good!" She smiled, "Then we will ride together."
I spent my day again dreaming of San'aa, whose face would not leave my mind. I wished for the day to pass quickly, which it did not. But finally, afternoon came. I went back to Joseph's house.
I did not realize that "riding together" meant the two of us on one camel. San'aa and I left Joseph's house to visit the neighbor who housed her camel. The camel's name was Sa'ba, and he had a natural way of posing whenever anyone looked at him. Obviously, the beast had personality. I tired to contact Sa'ba's mind directly to get some idea of how best to ride him, but this led to an argument from which I quickly recoiled. In his mind were the equivalent of jealous, unkind words. Sa'ba in my presence was ornery and determined to obey his mistress only, and pointedly disobey me. San'aa vocalized an unfamiliar sound that reminded me of hissing, which brought Sa'ba to his knees. We mounted him. At Joseph's house we saddled him with provisions, water skins, and made ready to ride into the desert.
It was like riding into a sea of red sand. It reminded me of the nearby planet Mars. Except for a litter of scattered stones and boulders, the red desert stretched endlessly into the horizon. There were a few shrubs, which Sa'ba would occasionally attempt to nibble, but the vast expense of solitude was stunning. The dryness in my nostrils reminded me of the desert of my home. Aboard the camel, we swayed steadily, the thick pads of his feet trampling leisurely the sand and rocks below in a soft crunching sound. San'aa sat in front, holding the reins, and me behind her. It reminded me somehow of the time I first landed, which now seemed an eternity ago, when I negotiated the ocean in my small inflatable boat, rising and falling with the waves. From time to time, Sa'ba would look back at me in derision, raising his lip, and then turn and spit, as if punctuating some internal remark. I did not listen. He was San'aa's and Earth's. Still, he did have a lovely face, when not spitting.
It felt good to have San'aa in my arms, holding on to her for balance. The desert wind would find her scent and bring it to my nostrils. She felt soft and appealing. I became intensely aware of her every movement, her every mood, as if she bathed me in her body's perfume. Her small, finely shaped ears showed invitingly beneath her hair bound by a knot. I wanted to bite them. Her soft, coffee colored skin looked smooth, even under the punishing wind and sun. Her hands were calm, lightly holding the reins. Her feet, crossed before her, showed from beneath the blue-black pantaloons that gathered at her ankles. Her dress was different from mine. I wore khaki colored shirt and trousers with boots. She had a desert styled, Tuareg design, blue-black gown with sandals. I realized how at home in her world San'aa really was, though she had been to university in both Khartoum and Cairo. I leaned over to her, whispering close to her ear: "How far?"
She smiled, and turned to look at me. "Not far. Soon."
As we rode, we watched the sun slowly slip into the horizon, the western sky turn a pale, orangy red.
At dusk we arrived at an oasis bordered by small trees. Near the center of the small village were larger trees, some of these date palms. There was a main well, around which the houses clustered. A couple of houses had painting on the walls showing flowers and birds. How far removed they were from these things, but how needed they are by the soul. We arrived already late in the evening and the villagers were readying for the night. A few old men now gathered in small, lamp lit clusters. They nodded as we rode by on Sa'ba. Women were still drawing water from the well for the evening meal. Animals and children ran about the narrow, dusty alley ways but stayed close to home for fear of the dark. It was obvious that not much happened here after the sun set. It also appeared some of the houses were deserted. I asked San'aa about the empty homes. She said that there had been a serious drought and people moved away. The well's water had turned brackish for awhile. Only recently have they been moving back as the forage for animals was getting better. She then added:
"My aunt is also away. So we have her place for ourselves." She added softly: "She would not mind. This was a place of her love."
We dismounted Sa'ba's high perch after he kneeled in that protestingly submissive way of camels. Once off, he suddenly seemed comfortably at home. A village boy came to help us unsaddle the beast.
San'aa quickly set up house at the small, one room adobe walled house. The ceiling, and roof, were basically open to the sky, except for wooden poles stretching across. These would hold a thatch in the rainy season. There were no mosquitoes, nor flies, which was a relief, since the windows and ceiling were basically open to the outdoors. The night air, already cooling, gently circulated into the house, bringing with it the fragrance of the oasis. In one corner, she set up a little oil lamp. In another, a small cooking fire was started, warming water for tea. A large, finely porous clay urn stood sweating in an alcove against the wall. It held cool water in it. There were grass mats on the floor over a bed of rushes. The small hut spoke of economy and simplicity. It was a self contained little oasis of comfort in itself. San'aa looked up at me from the fire, her eyes dancing in the firelight: "Come, sit by me."
We had not spoken much since we arrived. There has been an unspoken energy between us since the night at Mohammed's. We both knew why we were here. It was as if we were both willing to partake in the forbidden fruit. For reasons differing for both of us, as if holding our breath, we did not speak of them. She was a woman, perhaps wanton in the eyes of her culture. I learned the villagers called her the 'Egyptian.' I too was an outsider in their eyes. But she felt inside my Dream, as if the Light had brought her closer to me. I felt her inside, same as I knew she felt me a part of her. It was an attraction that transcended the merely physical. Her presence was a warm perfume to me. We felt as if we were being brought together for a greater reason, a picture perceived but dimly. Yet, when I looked into her eyes, I knew she reached for me as I reached for her. Softly, remembering, I answered her desire with words she would recognize.
"I am Black but comely. Come to me oh beautiful daughter of Jerusalem." She did not answer. Her smile told me she understood.
The small flame in the corner flickered. The cooking fire glowed red. Her face made radiant by these fires rose into mine. Her lips pressed hard against mine.
She undressed me tenderly, as I undressed her. Slowly I pulled off her outergarments only to discover she wore nothing beneath. My hands tingled as I touched her firm but smooth breasts. With all her garments to the floor, I stepped back and watched her. By the soft glow of the oil lamp, she looked golden, her brown skin catching the light, it caressing her playfully over her thighs and breasts. She was shapely, her legs coming to fine ankles over delicate, sensually shaped feet. Her buttocks full, round and muscular, insolently defiant. Her stomach had a slight pout, though her waist was slim. She reminded me of women I had seen on my preview tapes, maidens scantily clad, perhaps dancing girls in the Pharaoh's court. Her breasts caught proudly the flickering light, nipples stood upright like soft delicate cones of offering urns. She had let her black curly hair down in a cascade over her shoulders and arms, seductively letting the light reveal the smooth lines of her neck as she coyly turned her head. "Do you like me?" she said. We both stood sensually naked in the flickering light of the little lamps.
"You are beautiful, San'aa. You are a goddess."
"You are my lover."
"My Cleopatra... Enter my Dream."
Hot fire raced through me as we touched. Her lips parted slightly as I caressed her, her head held in my left hand as my right arm embraced her smooth body. I pressed my mouth over hers, she returned my kiss hungrily, her tongue reaching into mine. I felt as if I were devouring a forbidden fruit so rich in passion that it would burst within me. The Light filled me and I could feel her intimately, her very breathing and heart beat as one with mine. I caressed her all over, my mouth kissing the sweetness of her thighs. She reached for me and held me as if she had my life in her hands. Her lips kissed me tenderly around my stomach and legs. Rich perfume drew me nearer, my lips gently, eagerly searching for hers. Her thighs parted for me willingly, easily offering to me what treasures she had hidden within. They were the Earthly treasures of beauty and love. We loved each other smoothly and slowly, for a long time, loving and tender.
It was the love of a man for a woman and a woman for a man. San'aa loved me as I loved her, locked together in a life-giving embrace. But we did not let it go, almost torturing ourselves into letting it linger, squeezing from that wonderful moment all the passions that could be had. We would stop, look at each other by the soft glow of the flickering flame, looking into each other's eyes. Then we would reach for the wine San'aa had opened. We drank together its dark forbidden red fluid. Our mouths savoured sweet dates, their brown syrupy color reflecting the lamp's flickering light, and then would eat of each other's love again. The tea, unattended had gone cold, but it did not matter. We loved again into the night, our bodies intertwined as one long caress, gradually building into an explosion that I would catch and push back again into my being. San'aa had let herself enjoy her passions to the fullest, spent in faint convulsions, leaving her body moist against mine. I held back only to relish the passion again, each thrust a renewed pleasure that would not allow itself to die. Her sinuous motions yielded to my demand. We loved slowly and fully into the night. Thus we spent our first night together by the fireside. Like in Dream time, soon it was dawn. Exhausted, we slept, still locked in each other's arms.
The villagers of the oasis liked San'aa and were happy to see her. After the obligatory inquiries about each other's respective families, they continued about their usual daily activities. They had a deep respect for her, as if they knew she was somehow important and different from them. The children loved her also and always ran up to meet her. I became accepted in the same way, with some reserve, though the older village women eyed me warily. They knew I was not of their world. However, San'aa's happiness, as well as my own, was infectious and whatever misgivings they may have had about two people, unmarried, alone in a house at the edge of the desert, they never voiced a reproach. To them, in some strange way, we were both outsiders, so their laws and codes of conduct applied to us only loosely. After days at the oasis, loving and dreaming on the edge of this little village, we reluctantly decided it was time to return to Khartoum.
Sa'ba was happy to be saddled again, though he raised his lip and sneered at me when I approached. After goodbyes to the villagers in the early morning dawn, we set off across the desert. Sana'aa sat before me, as before. But this time, she wanted me to hold the reins. Sa'ba looked back as if struck by shear disbelief, but then acquiesced. He understood. We would be friends yet. In his head, which I could hear more as a feeling than sound, he was soon humming himself a simple tune he heard from the village minstrel, and now responded without resistance to my holding the reins.
We made preparations to leave. Joseph had been apprehensive at first, but between San'aa's pleading for her freedom and his love for his dear friend's daughter, he felt he had no choice but to let her go.
"Remember my daughter, you are Christian, after your father," was all he could say to her as we waited for the desert crossing bus.
"I will be careful, Joseph. My father would have allowed me to go. He loved Paris as much as I do."
We had negotiated the day earlier for Joseph allowing me to escort San'aa to Paris. I had explained how San'aa being seen with me would endanger her, not because of me, but because of the suspicion that she was of the royal family of the Selassie court, which she was. Joseph accepted my reasoning, but it was San'aa's insistence that finally made him decide in her favour, and mine. So now we were waiting in the dark.
At the first call to prayers, before the first light of day, the muezin called into the night from the minaret across the empty square. Tearful goodbyes were being exchanged around us at the depot. The road we had chosen was to cross the desert by bus from Khartoum to Karima, the ancient Egyptian site of Napata. Then we would see about either catching a Nile steamer or, if the Nile was too low, go by rail to Wadi Halfa, near the Egyptian border.
As we waited, a small gathering of men sat silently in the dark. Joseph and San'aa's two older sisters accompanied us. Three of the men began grumbling beneath their breath. Finally, one walked over to me. I was sitting on the raised edge of the receiving area of the depot. He stood opposite me and began looking at me, silently. I tried making conversation and inquired, in pidgin English: "Bus to Karima?"
His eyes silently glared at me. I understood that he did not wish me well. Quite to the contrary, he stood motionless, silent, visibly angry. The other two men were now watching us. My attempt to probe the man's mind revealed only a blank of confusion and that his name was Yasser.
Suddenly I became concerned for San'aa's safety and that of her family. I was not prepared for an attack or abduction. Yet, the danger was present. Americans had been abducted here before. One had been killed recently. He made no move towards me, did not respond to speech, and seemed to have a mind so angry it defied communication. I had already learned that I have no means of reaching with my mind certain types of earthly behaviors. I thought it best to wait. So we both looked at each other in what had become a foolish standoff.
Finally, he spoke: "You are American!" I nodded. He glared at me again. "You not take what not yours!"
I shrugged: "I take nothing." Confusion still reigned.
He looked at me again, and then at his friends, and then said: "The police ask about you. You cause me trouble!"
Now I knew that I did not understand.
Joseph and San'aa and her sisters sat quietly, as if they were afraid to upset this man further. There was something in this Arab's logic I could not comprehend. I wanted to reach over to San'aa and ask her what this was about, but dared not lose my visual hold on the man, nor involve her. Pleasantly as I could, I inquired: "What wrong I done to you?"
Now his friends were getting bolder, edging closer to us. The situation had become uncomfortable, almost alert. I remembered the bombed hotel. My hand moved closer to my watch. For some mysterious reason I was being harassed. Finally, I thought I would hazard a risk.
"Yasser," I said, "what do you want of me?" He looked shocked at the mention of his name.
"Then it was you! Because of you, police arrested me. You knew!"
He was ready to launch at me. He looked pained, as if I had committed a great wrong to him. His friends had begun to rise. Like a shadow out of the darkness, I spotted Abdulah's long white robe. To my eyes, he seemed like one of the desert's jinns, or spirits, that come to people for good or evil. He approached us calmly, the two others withdrawing again to their sitting position. Yasser froze into immobility, as if in the presence of a superior.
"What is the problem, Paul?" Abdulah asked of me.
"No problem," I said, "but this man feels I have taken something of his. I do not know what it is."
Abdulah spoke in a quiet tone: "You have taken something, Paul, but that will pass." Then he turned to Yasser, sharply: "What has this man taken from you? "
Yasser sat silent, as if sulking.
Finally, Abdulah spoke again: "This man is a good man. He has nothing of yours."
Yasser, again staring at me said: "He is American. He is Israel. He take our land!"
Now I understood. I answered: "It is the governments who make policy, not I. I am not Israel. I am not America. I am Paul." I looked into his eyes a long time. "I am only a traveller in your world. Go in peace, Inshalla."
Abdulah looked at Yasser, then at me. "Leave this man to me, Yasser. He is not your enemy. Let him go in peace."
Yasser, still sulky, turned on his heels with a snort, as if he were Sa'ba. His friends rose to accompany him. I understood his pain, or his imagined grievance, and wished I could help him. I could not. His was a Dream in which I could play no part. The small group of vengeful beings walked away from us, taking their confusion with them. Such gentle souls and yet so angry. Across the square towards the beautiful mosque at the other side, prayers had already been called, the faithful doing spiritual ablutions towards the K'aaba at Mecca. The sun was rising. Abdulah said to me: "It is good I came when I did. They could have done you harm."
"Thank you," I said. "Shukrahn. You are like a guardian angel. How can I repay you?"
He looked at San'aa. "You can take good care of her." Then he looked at his red slippers. His eyes suddenly gleamed. "You could also send me desert boots like yours. From America!" he laughed.
How was I to understand the part Abdulah played for us. How could I judge him? He was neither saint nor devil, though I did not feel I could fully trust him. He did what he did because of the bigger world, that it demanded of him to be how he was. He was only who he was, no more, no less. I reached over and put my arms around him:
"You are a friend. Of the many faces of God, Abdulah, that is the most important. You are my friend."
The bus arrived. San'aa and Joseph embraced for perhaps a final goodbye. Her sisters were crying and held her too. Then Abdulah gave her an embrace. I threw our packs on top of the bus. They were secured there. The bus soon filled with Bedhouins and black Africans. We waved our goodbyes and lurched forth as the machine's large wheels ground forward. Soon, our friends were left behind, waving in the early morning light, left in a trail of fine dust.


4. San'aa
The desert stretched empty, grey and yellow in the early morning light, but soon it turned red. The vehicle's large wheels tore up the distance over nearly invisible tracks of the open terrain. The engine's roar and grinding wheels mixed with the loud rush of air and hot dust flying through the large open windows. All the passengers, sitting glumly in their seats and holding on to whatever they could, fought the lurching machine to remain seated. There were no seat belts. The cushions had long given way to the pounding of countless human seats. They were now flat and painful. The bus was in fact a converted truck, with welded metal seats and an improvised sheet metal canopy stretched over steel ribs. This new camel of the desert had no glass windows, only steel bars between the passengers and the red desert beyond. Somewhere, far in space, travelling at multiple light speeds, was the Star-ship. I wondered if they could see me, or my other two fellow travellers, Tenya and Angel. We were not to seek each other out, unless circumstances brought us together. I wondered if they felt so far away from home as well. Even stellar travellers feel isolation and homesickness at times. Speeding and lurching wildly through the rough Libyan desert on the Eastern Sahara, I suddenly felt very far away from home. Where was home? I thoutht to myself.
As we settled into the rhythm of this rough mode of transport, San'aa and I tried to maintain good humour. "Fun, isn't it?" I said. She looked at me with eyes trying to hide her discomfort, then laughed: "It is better than forty days on Sa'ba!" We would cross this stretch of the Nubian desert between Khartoum and Jebel Barkal, Karima, in about fourteen hours at reckless speeds. The driver hoped to find it by dead reckoning as there were no roads in this Nubian wasteland. The sun was now hot and bore down on us. The oppressive pressure of dust and noise was unrelieved by the barren, shimmering landscape. Yet, it was beautiful. It reminded me of the desert Skarala on my world.
On the many stops to the call of nature, all disembarked and the passengers scattered into a wide circle around the solitary bus, all facing off into empty wilderness. There being no shelter, both men and women would kneel within their robes and thus relieve themselves in the tent of their own privacy. San'aa and I would also join this vast circle, though, having western clothes rather than the customary robes, we had no way to maintain our privacy. San'aa, unashamed, was unable to refrain from revealing her marvelous bum into the circle. I must confess I too suffered a certain, uncomfortable shyness. But it must have been a rule of the desert that no one overtly noticed. And on the stops to the calls to Mecca, all likewise disembarked and silently stretched out our prayer rugs, and bowed. It was as if in memory of how hard life was in the desert, that one needs to stop and remember that there is more.
Nevertheless, despite these hardships, the passengers remained relatively cheerful throughout the crossing. We would offer our water bottles to them, from which they they relieved their thirst, their lips never touching the metal spout. They in turn shared with us what little food they had, bread, cheese, nuts. I marvelled at the Arab patience with thirst. Even the small children, riding uncomplainingly in the bouncing bus, suffered patiently. At times we would bog down in soft sand, which would bring the lurching monster to a halt. Young men would clamber down from the roof where they were riding, chattering instructions noisily, and unlatch large metal tracks attached to the rear of the vehicle. These would then be placed under the large wheels and the bus would be inched forward until the soft sand was passed. This exercise proved futile at times, however, and all would disembark to help push the large machine. This was quite an adventure in itself, but it was done in good humor, accompanied by much shouting by those who knew to those who would not listen. Then we roared off again good humouredly into the open desert, the young men laughing, clambered atop the roof, hanging on for dear life. Once again the whole world seemingly became a noisy bouncing turmoil hurling towards the desolate horizon.
After more than six hours of this kind of bruising travel, we approached what appeared at a distance a small oasis in the middle of this red sea of sand. We were in the middle of nowhere. As the monstrous beast lurched and belched towards this one spot on the horizon, one of the boys who had been riding atop hung down off the side and looked into the passenger compartment. Much to my surprise, it was the small beggar boy I had befriended at Khartoum. I had not noticed him before. He as quickly clambered up atop and, as we approached closer the oasis, began a loud rapping on the roof, signaling he was getting off. The bus stopped at the one mud house with a compound wall around it. A veiled woman was standing in the doorway. There were a few palm trees around a well, and nothing but barrenness as far as the I could see beyond. It could have been a house on the planet Remous. The young beggar boy jumped off and came running into the bus.
"Please! You must get off here!" he announced in his young voice.
Aside to San'aa: "I know this boy. He is a beggar boy from Khartoum."
"He is no beggar," San'aa answered. "I know him too." Then to the boy: "Ibrahim. What are you doing here?"
Tugging at her sleeve, Ibrahim was ever more insistent.
"You must come, please!"
San'aa and I disembarked. Ibrahim and I climbed atop to untie our now much dusty baggage. We got off and the bus rolled off noisily into the distance. The woman in the doorway watched all this with her eyes from behind the veil. When we got closer, she exclaimed in a loud, shrill voice:
"Aaiiiii! San'aa! My daughter!"
San'aa was taken aback.
"Fatima? I thought you were in Cairo! Oh, my mother's sister! So that is why Ibrahim is here! You are a wonderful surprise!"
Ibrahim stood by shyly as this exchange took place.
"I want you to meet my dear friend, Paul." Then turning to me: "Fatima is like family to me. I call her aunt, though in truth she is a very dear friend of our family." A note of sadness came to her on her last. "But we are family now, the only survivors of that terrible war."
"Let us not dwell on the past. Please, come inside. You must be tired and thirsty."
Fatima led us into the compound. Ibrahim struggled with the baggage. The yard behind the house was an assortment of small dwellings, chickens and goats, and a half dozen tethered camels. There was also a donkey.
"What does Fatima do here?" I asked aside of San'aa.
"She is keeping an inn. This was what she did before Cairo, but now she is back."
"But who stays here?"
"The camel caravans that still pass through here on their way to Egypt."
Inside the cool house, away from the desert sun, Fatima and Ibrahim treated us like honored guests. I found out that Fatima was lower in station than San'aa's family, though still of importance in the Selassie court. But all that was past now. They had all become family in a common sorrow.
"Ibrahim, were you on the same bus with us by accident?" San'aa asked, as cool drinks of sweet curd were being served.
"No," Ibrahim answered shyly. "I had overheard the police chief in Khartoum. They were going to arrest you at the next stop. I knew this, so I thought to alert you before."
"By why did you not tell us before?"
"Spies. I did not know who had been sent along to watch you."
"Was Abdulah involved in this," I asked.
"I do not know. I only overheard the police chief."
"Then you did well, Ibrahim. You certainly are no beggar boy," San'aa said smiling.
"This man was good to me when I was hungry," Ibrahim answered simply. That was all he needed to say.
"Then you did a very important service, Ibrahim," said San'aa. "You are a noble man. Thank you."
Ibrahim smiled shyly at the acknowledgement and went out to play with the animals in the yard.
We discussed the matter further, retelling to Fatima our circumstances, when she offered:
"Please stay the night," Fatima offered. "Tomorrow, you can take my camels to Merowe. By where the Nile doubles back, there is an airport there. Ibrahim can show you the way. Then I will send for the camels later."
San'aa and I were given one of the dwellings for the night. Ibrahim brought us wine, and San'aa lit the little oil lamps for the evening. After our meal had been served, we lay about lounging, grateful that the night was not being spent in some miserable Sudanese jail cell, both separated, maybe forever. Our joint thoughts left us in a sullen silence.
"Life is so simple here. It is beautiful to me," I spoke to break the silence.
"There is a simplicity to the desert people I cannot describe. They can sit quietly for hours, doing nothing. I love that about them. It is peaceful here. Would you like some wine?"
"I'll take some, if you take some."
San'aa smiled seductively, and poured us two goblets.
"I'm surprised Fatima let us share this room."
"I asked for it. And she never refuses me," San'aa said to me, her eyes watching me over her glass. "But what if they had captured us?"
She was testing me as her protector. I answered truthfully.
"I am not defenseless, even if I carry no weapons."
"Then how would you stop them? With magic? Or would you be clever, and talk your way out?" She laughed at me lightly.
"I have other powers." I thought about it awhile, drinking the warm red liquid, watching San'aa stretch sensually on her mat. "I could control their minds." She looked at me with amusement, disbelieving. Seeing she did not take me seriously, I added: "You want me to show you?"
"So you are a magician? Or a hypnotist?" she asked, teasingly.
I took the Light source from my wrist and held it up to her.
"See this? It could do magic. I could make this device play back to you your innermost emotions, and you would be helpless. Then, you would do exactly as I say." I smiled at her, since in her mind I was entertaining the absurd.
"I don't believe you."
"Allright. Let's see if it works on you." I went over to one of my bags and retrieved another instrument, one which looked like an Earth lap top computer. This was remanufactured on board the Star-ship to appear of Earth manufacture. I activated it and calibrated it for what I needed. Then I pressed a command into the wrist device and suddenly it burst into a pinkish glow, filling the room. The larger machine responded with its own series of flashing lights, the two machines playing off each other. San'aa gasped, her eyes wide, as if witnessing some devilish magic.
The fire light was overpowered by this new light, but it soon subsided, and again her lovely features were reflected by the soft glow of the oil lamps. Her lips parted, as if she was about to whisper to me, then she put down her goblet, and looked intensely into my eyes. Outside, Ibrahim took up his flute and was playing it softly, like an offering to the gods of the night. I put down my goblet too.
We both stood there, looking into each other's eyes. This was not the first time desire filled us so. It happened even on the bus. But this was more intense, like you could feel it flow from the bottom of your feet to the top of your head, holding a warmth in the middle. We were enveloped in it, rich and perfumy, and sweet like chocolate. Our breathing became heavy.
San'aa stepped closer to me, and I reached over to her and undid the fastener that held her gown. It fell to the earthen floor in a helpless heap. She was naked, beautifully naked, the light playing off her firm breasts. I was about to unzip my trousers when she stopped me. Her hands reached over to me and she tenderly pulled me over to her. Then she undid my trousers and slowly pulled them down, and then my shirt. We were both nude, standing a few feet apart, watching each other for a sign. What had been a gentle play turned into a seductive game of desire. I was about to pull her down to the mat when she held out her hand to hold me back. The flute stopped, and a beat of silence separated us for the briefest moment. Then her eyes refocussed into the room, as if she had suddenly woken from a sleep
"No. Not like this. This is a magic... it is unnatural. I don't want it like this."
I understood instantly, and also removed my mind from the the drug like light from the Light source machines. I then reached down for the gown and brought it up to her shoulders, and covered her nakedness. San'aa was a woman of integrity and self respect, and to be seduced by an artifice was not the love making she desired. It had to be real, a genuine passion because of inner desires, and not one fabricated by forces she could not understand. I reached over to her, and pressed my lips gently on her forehead.
"It's okay. It doesn't have to be like this."
San'aa closed her eyes, as if suppressing some inner desire, clinging to her inner self. We did not notice when the oil lamp sputtered out, but the darkness once again reclaimed the night when the Light source, sensing it was no longer needed, shut itself down. San'aa and I lay in the dark side by side on the woven mats, not speaking for a long time, letting the passions that had risen in us dissipate slowly into the night. I could feel her breathing next to me, feel her inside myself. She gently placed her hand on my chest, feeling my breathing. Then her lips found mine, and I returned her kiss hungrily.
The next morning San'aa was up before me. She was with Fatima. I rose, reluctantly, still exhausted from the night. When I dressed and stepped into the already brilliant sun, San'aa and Fatima were outside watching me, smiles on their faces. Fatima was unveiled. She was a pretty woman, perhaps in her late thirties.
"What a beautiful place this is, Fatima! I believe the jinns of the desert had play with me last night."
This brought mirth to both their faces.
"I hope you slept well," Fatima replied.
"I've never had a more wonderful night. It must be the magic of Nubia." My face betrayed amusement.
This brought more giggles from them as they eyed me with dancing eyes. I knew what Fatima suspected but did not say. San'aa looked ravishing in the hot morning light.
"I have saddled two camels for you. They are my best," Fatima said.
"They are tireless."
This last was said with knowing emphasis, which also brought their hands to their mouths, to hide their smiles. I smiled back.
"I am sure they will carry us all through the night." They giggled again.
Young Ibrahim saddled the camels with the provisions we would need for the long journey, especially with the mandatory water bags. Fatima gave us directions to the water wells we would need. Then, when all was ready, after embraces of goodbyes, we were ready to go. But I needed to do one more thing, at San'aa's request.
"Ibrahim," I called to the shy boy. "I have a special gift for you."
I took off my communicator device and handed it to him.
"This is a very powerful device which I wish to leave in your safekeeping. I will not need it for now."
Ibrahim took it and looked at it, turning it over in his hands. A puzzled look crossed his brow.
"What is it?"
"It is a way to call for help. See that red button? If you press that, no matter where I am, I will know you need our help. But do not do it frivolously, as this will set off a chain reaction and many, many are liable to answer. So press it only if the danger is real."
Then San'aa added: "Ibrahim, you are a serious boy. Do not let this fall into anyone else's hands, ever, except Joseph. So hide it for now. It is very important. If you can do this, then I will know you are a man, worthy of my father's court."
Ibrahim looked very serious, as he took back the device from me, and nodded a silent agreement, and hid the wrist mechanism into a pocket in his gown. Then Fatima entered the courtyard to bid us safe journey.
"You will have all you need, except for additional water, which you will find at the wells. When you get to the Nile, you know where to leave the camels. We will send for them later."
With that, she gave San'aa a kiss and me an embrace.
"Allah be with you, in peace and safety."
We both shook hands with Ibrahim, who held his other hand over the Light device hidden inside his shirt. We knew the path following a great wadi that would parallel the ancient road across Nubia, but would keep us hidden from view. As the day's heat rose with the midday sun, we tightened the burnooses around our head, so only the eyes were showing, and rode off into the desert. From a distance, we would have passed for local Arabs.
Having travelled on Sa'ba, I became easily accustomed to the swaying motion. It really was like being at sea, swaying with each passing swell. But here, the land was barren. There would be forage for the camels at the water holes. We first rode towards a long escarpment to the east, and then followed a large wadi, which was totally dry, that ran north. From time to time, we would exit the wadi and resume some ancient path left by the human and animal footprints of a thousand years. This was a very old trail long used by slavers from central Africa. White bleached bones of animal and man marked our way like sinister cairns. Now, it was little used, except for two lone figures swallowed by the vastness of the desert around them. After a golden sunset, we found an ancient shelter under an overhanging rock on the side of the wadi. We made camp and built a small fire from dried camel dung. Over the fire, by the light of a million stars, and the small starved flame before us, we made tea.
"This is the time of the year serious wind storms can come out of nowhere," San'aa said seriously.
"Now, I wish I had my Light device. Then I could have called on the Ship and they could have stopped it."
San'aa looked at me, with that look that betrays impatience.
"Oh, really. You have such stories. I believed you could take me to Paris. But I'm not sure about your stories of your space ships."
"Oh? Then why did you suggest I leave the device behind? If you thought it had no power."
"It definitely has power," San'aa answered seriously. "But you Americans are very ingenious. Everyone knows that. Look at your rockets that sent men to the moon, many times. I do not doubt the power of the device. But I cannot really believe you're from another world." She stopped to think about it. "If you are, then prove it to me."
"I can't. But even you said that my almost Asian eyes and reddish curly hair makes me look like a spaceman. Do you trust me?"
"I trust you. But not your stories of outer space. You're exactly like me... except you're a man. If you were different, somehow, I'd know it. Anyway," she paused for a moment as if remembering something, "all Americans are from mixed races, so you probably look normal there."
"Allright. I will prove it to you. But not now. I'm very tired."
"Me too, my spaceman." Her testy mood changed. "But can we snuggle just a little? It's so cozy by the fire, in this little cave." She gave me a mischievous smile.
"Allright, my wonderful Earth beauty. You're warmth against me will remove all my tiredness." The night was cold, but we did not know it.
We watched the crescent moon rise late into the night, and finally sleep took us. By the time we rose, the sun had already crested the escarpment behind us.
A windstorm caught us on the next day, making breathing difficult. Sand stung our eyes, and soon we were the color of the desert around us, the sand having covered both camel and rider with a fine veneer of reddish brown dust. But then it passed, and a water hole we had been looking for came into view. I dismounted and immediately lowered the long rope and rubber bucket attached to it deep into the black well. When it hit, I could hear a splash rise to the surface. From nowhere, feral camels and donkeys showed up. I poured the first helping into a stone trough which was for watering animals, and the second was poured over San'aa and I, much to our delight. As we watched the animals drink, our camels as well, I asked:
"Where do these animals come from? Are they strays, or abandoned?"
"Probably both. But somehow, they survive. But if humans don't come here for water, they die."
"Then drink hardy, dear ones. But leave some for the jackals. We're all in this together."
I pulled up more water for them, and did not stop until they all seemed satiated. Then I filled the trough again, just in case, and also refilled our water sacks. Then we again mounted, heavy laden once more. The sky was a perfect azure blue with a hint of gold in it. We rode off towards the northern horizon. Another day.
The sun burst brilliant yellow from the earth every morning, and sank hot red or gold in the evening sky. Finally, after six days, we came to the Nile. The last yellow sand dune seemed interminable. Our tired legs pulled the flagging camels behind us. As we reached the crest, San'aa and I both sank into the sand, looking over the crest. We could hear activity in the distance rising from a cloud of dust. The Nile's belt of greenery was just beyond, its water reflecting the near evening light. Beneath us, at a distance, were military vehicles on maneuver, dust clouds punctuated by sharp bursts of far off explosions. They were playing war games. Beyond them was the small airport, our destination.
"Best if we wait them out," I ventured. "Or they may ask too many questions."
San'aa's eyes, visible through the burnoose, raised against the sand and glare, spoke the same sentiment. She nodded. Over to our right were the ancient pyramids of Kush. I pointed to them and San'aa understood. Like thieves we backed down the dune and, sheltered by the mountain of sand, made our way towards the pyramids. We would wait there until the vehicles left.
The sun was close to sinking in the sky by the time we reached the stone structures. They were made of limestone, about the height of a seven story building, each stone rectangle block placed upon another over two thousand years ago by hands that died long ago, their bones hidden somewhere in the desert, some dying in the hardship of building. The desert yields little, and the stones even less. But these monuments were now silent testimony to their ancient efforts to please their gods, their kings. Now they were tombs to those long ago dreams.
"I know of these pyramids," San'aa said, pointing to the tallest. "That one, with the flat top, belongs to a great king of Kush called Taharko." Then she pointed to a mountain across the Nile. "And that mesa over there is Jebel Barkal. It was a sacred mountain crowned by a pinnacle which once held a small temple of gold at the top. It was believed this pinnacle was the mountain's uraeus, like the cobra in the pharaoh's crown. The mountain was dedicated to the goddess Hathor, a goddess of love, and temples were built below."
As we looked into the distance, the vehicle continued on their maneuvers. I motioned we should climb to the top of Taharko's pyramid. We climbed the stone blocks opposite the military activities and crouched on top. There was an energy in the air here, so I had an idea.
"You want to see some more magic?"
"But you don't have your power device."
"This monument, combined with the mountain, have power enough. I can use my mind to show you something you may not believe."
"Oh?" San'aa looked at me a moment, then decided she would trust me. "Okay. Show me."
We had now forgotten the distant danger and again became engaged in ourselves, much as we had through the desert crossing. No one existed for us, but each other.
"Okay," I said. "Sit opposite me, like this." We squatted, cross legged. "Then hold my hands." San'aa took both my hands in hers. Then as an afterthought. "We'd better have a drink of water first."
After we settled in, we closed our eyes as if in meditation. Then I added:
"Now let your body relax... Let your mind empty, like water... just slipping away... Do you feel it? . ..until every drop is gone."
"I feel it," San'aa murmured at long last, her eyes closed. "It feels cool, draining..."
Sitting like this atop the pyramid, I began a low chant:
"There is water in the Earth; there is water in the sky.
The power of the pyramid joins with the power of the mountain."
We sat in silence, with nothing around us but for the wind blowing in gusts.
"We descend into the Earth... And rise into the sky... Feel the power..."
We felt as we were sinking into the stone, and then the soil. A vision appeared:
There was a din in the distance, and over it we could hear the familiar chant:
"Ra'am! Ra'am! Ra'am!..."
It looked like a battle scene, though we knew that it was the scene of men and women working, driven mercilessly by their overseers. They were the laborers of the builders. They thirst and they toiled. They died from exhaustion. Young mothers with their small children crying by their sides. Neither were spared when the stones moved, sometimes their thin bodies caught beneath the crushing blocks. Some were trapped, slaves of war or ill fortune. Their souls cried out into the sky, to their god, to Ra! But to no avail. They were damned to be slaves of Ra, or raabs.
Another scene rose into our now receding dream, vague and distant, but still real. It was a battle scene, of men rushing to and fro with weapons, charging at each other, Egyptians banners flying, striking at limbs and torso, the clash of metal on metal, or flesh. There was a loud roar of hoarse voices as they fought, frustrations vented or screamed in anguish as lances and swords pierced them, some mortally, mixed with the screaming neighs of horses. Arrows flew in clouds, men and horses fell, rose and then fell again, to die in puddles of blood. Cries mixed with fury and dust and despair. High overhead hovered large metal disks, flashing multicolored lights, like beacons. They stayed in formation, a dozen or more, high above the battle. Then one after another moved into file and descended on the tumult below, as if for a closer look. Some men stopped and looked up, others cut them down. Then the fury of battle parted, like in a dream, and a silence reigned over the dusty desert, now bathed in light. Then one by one, the ships fired a red ray into the men below, striking some but missing others. Bodies exploded in this new quiet, surreal ballet of limbs and brains blasted from existence, exploding into clouds of blood and flesh, left to fall like a fine red mist on the men who were spared. It all happened quickly and silently, so that those who lived were stunned, confused and frightened, or left angry. Somehow, they had been cheated of their rightful victory. They had no right, and some raise their fists to the sky in defiance and anger. Then the ships departed, one by one, leaving behind only the anguished, red matted dust over the living and dying men. The battle, fought at another level, remote, from another world, was over.
I felt I was merging as one with all this pain, like the red swirling dust around me. I felt anger, hatred, resignation, thirst. The pain of injustices, of conquest and destruction, and of masses of human beings, caught between moving armies, fleeing, leaving behind loved ones, and the bones of those who died. It was suddenly a vast drama of the whole Earth, of thousands of years of suffering, of famines and plagues, and war, of man pitted against man, of rapine and bastard children. Then, in the dream, we could see this was a paradise lost, a world which had been violated and, in the loss of its innocence, had fallen into patterns that would haunt it through the ages. The vast genetic pool of human beings moving en mass to escape, or to conquer, merging into new races, new breeds of white and black, and mongol. It all reduced itself to a simple end: slavery and war. It was they who were the men and women who built these large monuments, like the pyramids, to their gods. But the gods were us. And the monuments were to us. And we failed them. Even hunted them. We were dreaming of human pain, of pity and deceit and abuse and cruelty, all suffered by one human being at the hands of another. Then finally we had a dream of resignation, of sacrifice, and of forgiveness. That too was our Dream. But it was the wrong dream. We were no longer there for it.
These burning painful images were then followed by another dream. It was what felt like another lifetime. As best I could, I pieced it together, for this had become very hazy now. We were both looking into it:
"I was poor, a priest of lowly station, in what is now Northern Africa. I had adopted the ascetic life style of my order, a life of self-denial, which left me in constant fear of dying by starvation. While trying in that lifetime to overcome this fear, which I thought was the lesson I had to learn, I fell in love with the beautiful young daughter of a local nobleman. She was rich and aloof to my approaches. In fact, she loved me too, but could not bring herself to reveal this to me. In the dream, I could see clearly that this self-denial of her love was not because of my lowly station, which in fact she secretly admired, but because she felt inadequate in herself. Her leg had been twisted by a slight deformity at birth, which was a secret she never revealed to anyone outside her household. Though she was very beautiful to all who saw her, nevertheless, because of this slight deformity, she never allowed any suitor to approach her. And thus, though she loved me, she could never show me her love. Because of this, I suffered in that life and finally, because of total self denial, I died. I had starved to death."
As the sun touched the horizon, we opened our eyes. San'aa looked dazed, having difficulty focussing on where we were. As her mind slowly realigned itself, as did mine, we again focussed into our presence in this reality. We now looked into each other's eyes with a new understanding, a new kinship. We had looked into a hell, and had returned from it sadder, with a new awareness of who we were.
"It's like I'm remembering," whispered San'aa.
"You are remembering... When we were there, long ago." She looked around at the desert. I continued: "What you see is what is stored in this land. And it is also stored in you, and in me."
"Then I have known you?"
"A very long time ago, we did. But now your seed had mixed over the millennia with the seed of Earth. So that is our difference. Only that."
San'aa and I rose, holding onto each other.
"It was sad to see it so. There was so much pain."
"It is why we left. The Earth needed to heal itself."
"Has it healed?" Her inquiring look penetrated deep into me with a new awareness.
I nodded silently. "Almost." But the inner vision lasted only a moment, and San'aa's mind began to forget the dream to reasserted itself into the present.
"You're teasing me! You're a hypnotist, aren't you?" She pushed me down, playfully, rolling atop of me. "Tell me it was all a trick!" Then she began kissing me as we rolled together playfully atop the ancient stones. Their secret was revealed to us only in that moment, now once again locked within the silent energy that held them together in defiance of time. But the ancient machine still worked, if only briefly.
Kissing her back, I gasped between kisses: "No! Really! It was all true." And then I smiled, which broke the seriousness of what I was trying to say. It was no use. Her ego no longer wanted to believe me.
"And you did it without your power device," she managed. "You are a hypnotist!" We rolled down and then lay on our bellies, watching the sun's final rays fall behind the horizon. When we looked towards the military vehicles, they had formed a long line and were leaving the area past the small airport. We decided to descend and make our way into Merowe before darkness fell.
Just then a strange vacancy in my mind warned me of danger. I had already known this feeling while on this world, like I was about to die and all became very still. It always came on the heels of ill will by others. I turned to look down the way we had climbed and saw men silhouetted in the approaching dusk. There were a half dozen men, silently climbing the dark stones, and they were heading for us. Amongst them, I spotted one man who was dressed in Western clothes. The others looked Arab.
Their leader approached us first, his head covered by a burnoose against the desert sand. I recognized him first in my head, and then when he spoke.
"Did you think we would abandon you?" He stopped a few feet away from us and watched us, knowing that our escape was impossible. Neither San'aa nor I answered, both knowing who was addressing us. I could confirm his identity by his size, and the way his eyes recognized us. "Did you think you could lose us?" His voice was almost mocking.
Our pursuer had caught up with us, and now was playing this game to test our helplessness. I had to force myself to recall all I had learned aboard Ship from my learning tapes. I had prepared for almost all contingencies, but the effort left me confused. Then, as if from a deep recess of my mind, my mouth formed words, as San'aa stared at our attackers. She also knew the man standing there was Abdulah.
"Who can protect you from Allah if it is His will to scourge you? And who can prevent Him from showing you mercy?"
A sadness came over me, realizing that the man before me, whom I thought was a friend, now had come to capture us. We were caught. Abdulah chose his words carefully.
"I see you know the Koran. The Prophets have fear of Allah and do not yield to the unbelievers and the hypocrites. Allah is wise and all knowing."
Sensing danger and my desperation, San'aa quickly interjected:
"And He is merciful!"
But Abdulah only raised his hand, as if signalling her to silence. She stopped and looked away, as her culture had trained her to do in the presence of a dominant male. Abdulah addressed me again:
"Are you a spy, Paul? This man tells me you are a spy."
"No, I am not a spy." The Westerner had now joined the others, and stood looking at us impassively. "But no more questions now. We must go and catch a plane to Egypt You are my friend, so let us go."
Abdulah looked to the Westerner, and then back to us, his eyes sad but glazed with the duty of following orders.
"I'm afraid not. San'aa is coming back with us. And you..." He paused a moment, as if wondering if the next words were the ones he wanted to speak. "...And you are in the hands of the American."
"I thought you were our friend..." San'aa looked at me with pity, seeing how impossible our situation was. There was little chance of escape, and now we were posed with separation, maybe forever. Her face showed her anger and sadness.
"Come over here San'aa, and talk with me."
Abdulah took San'aa to another face of the pyramid, away from all of us. In my mind I could hear voices like whispers, but could not recognize what was said. This left me more puzzled, because only an enemy can hide his thoughts so well. Even San'aa's thoughts were veiled.
The American now stepped over to Abdulah, as if to gain his full attention.
"Take the girl." Then he looked at me with steel blue eyes that might have been beautiful once, when he was a young child, but now were clouded with the drug of power. They had turned cold. "And you know what to do with him."
"No! He has done nothing!" San'aa cried with a strength that masked her plea. But new words formed themselves in my mouth.
"Is there no law in the desert? Did Mohamed not say: You shall not kill one another. Allah is merciful, but he that does that through wickedness shall be burnt in Hell-fire."
Quoting from the Koran stopped Abdulah short for an instant, his mind quickly assessing where he was, and what he was doing. It was the momentary confusion I counted on, the one that also caught his men off guard. I could have at that moment reached for his pistol, which was still tucked into a sash at his waist, and held it against his head. As a shield I and hostage, it would have given San'aa and me an avenue of escape. But I used my mind in another way. With my training, the momentary confusion gave me a wedge I could force into his mind. Abdulah responded as I had thought he would.
"But I do not kill you through wickedness. I am ordered to."
"Then you are slave to an infidel," I said loud enough for the other men to hear. The American looked sharply at me, his steel cold eyes rounding suddenly with an awareness of fear. The hardness of his face dropped into a slack uncertainty. The other men looked at him, and then at Abdulah. They did not like what they had just heard. An awareness rose in them, as I had hoped it would, that they were being used by an infidel to do his dirty work. Abdulah stood his ground, trying to remain in control, but he knew he had lost it for a moment. His men were now turning against him, and he could read the signs. So could the American. He reached down to the crisp crease on his pant leg, as if to straighten it, and then looked up at us, and waved his hand as if to dismiss us.
"Let them go, for now." He briefly glanced towards Abdulah, and then to San'aa, as if his eyes were able to tell them something. It was the briefest exchange of glances, but in that instant I felt my angel had fallen from grace.
The tension that had built into that moment was suddenly lost, as if it had melted into the stone beneath our feet. In their minds the pursuit had just ended, and there was no longer reason to remain. They turned from us, as if one body, and began the long descent down the side of the pyramid. San'aa and I were left standing alone at the top in the near darkness. When they had left, we both let out our breath as in a long sigh of relief, as if we had been holding it all the time they were there. Then San'aa rushed over to me and put her arms around my neck, burying her face into mine.
"I was afraid. I thought you were going to die."
"So was I. So was I. This was their intent."
When we got down to the desert, San'aa's eyes looked inquiringly into mine, very seriously. They had a light of their own, as if the stars above us had condensed into that beautiful being who was not standing troubled before me. She raised her hand to my eyes and caressed them, as if imparting wisdom with that simple motion.
"What did Abdulah say to you?"
I watched her face in the approaching dark.
"Nothing. He wanted to know why we got off the bus. That's all."
Then she reached for my lips with hers, and with the gentleness of a feather, kissed me. I took her hand and we cautiously made our way back to the camels waiting in the dark. But I felt in her hand something had stepped between us, like a furtive shadow of doubt. As we walked silently in the darkness, I prayed to Ra'am that it would heal.
Fatima had given us introductions to a friend's house. We were greeted with a warm welcome and brought in for dinner. Our camels were unloaded and watered and fed. We learned that a plane would leave for Cairo the next morning. But that the airport had been sealed to entry, and only officials of the military were allowed to enter. Without proper papers, we could not go. So we would have to take another route, by rail through the desert to Wadi Halfa, and then on a Nile steamer down Lake Nasser to Aswan. Once there, we would be safe. So the night was spent in good company. Later in the night, both unable to sleep, we walked in the desert in the shadow of Jebel Barkal.
As the moon lit the horizon, San'aa and I walked towards the mountain. We mounted it from behind, the moon rising like a jeweled disk in the sky. It was a large moon, like the disk in Hathor's crown. As we approached the summit in the dark, we were surprised to find a young boy softly singing to himself. The pyramids in the desert caught on their flat, triangular surfaces the rays of Earth's sister heavenly body. Darkness reigned within the shadows. I explained to San'aa my dream and how it was significant to us. She said at one point: "Paul, how do you know these things? Who are you?" I explained that it always could be just imagination, but that in my profession, in my training, that was not very likely. Than she earnestly asked: "Where are you from?"
"I'm from up there." I pointed to the stars.
She seemed very serious for a long time, not saying anything, as if thinking it through. Perhaps it was too phenomenal to accept and she had chosen to ignore it. But in some part of her mind, she knew.
We were now at the shrine atop the mountain. Dark shapes of hawks soared high above us, riding the warm currents of ai