Lost in the Desert

The car plunged on through the dark of night, on its way to Baghdad, devouring the desert... It went a mile, then two miles... but it was traveling without direction. Suleiman noticed that he was lost, without a doubt, and no longer hoped for any good in continuing the journey, so he preferred to propose to the companions that they stay where they were until dawn should break — "better morning's ill than evening's good." The companions approved this idea, and they slept that night lost in the open desert, hoping for better things on the morrow.

A day passed, then a second day, and a third... while Suleiman circled about in his car, devouring the desert to no result. Suddenly the car stopped and would move no more. Suleiman was dumbfounded and got up to search for the cause... then he hung his head, drained of color, confusion and perplexity written on his brow, searching wearily... One of the travelers put his head out of the car and asked:

— What is it, Suleiman?

Suleiman looked at his questioner, hesitating over what he should say. Should he reveal to them the secret of the car's stopping?... And what effect would the announcement have on the companions' spirits?... But why should he blame himself... was he responsible for all this? No... he was not responsible... He had filled the tank with provision for the road and more... but the tank had been pierced, for one reason or another — was he responsible for that?

...Only, the Emir was in great haste... and obliged to reach Baghdad on the morrow... How could he surprise him with the car's stopping... its long, long stopping — until God should will to open for them the door of relief in this desert?

And he cursed the hour in which he had decided upon this journey, wishing he had stayed at home, tranquil and content, near his tender mother, and near the one he loved.

Yet why, after all this, should he hesitate to announce the matter?... What befell the travelers would befall him. They were all equals in the ordeal. Well, then... let him tell them the truth of the matter... perhaps one of them would come out with a sound idea...

And before he could begin to speak, the Emir asked him:

— All is well, God willing, Suleiman...

What is the cause?

— The gasoline has run out, my lord!

"The gasoline has run out!" The travelers repeated it inwardly more than once, looking at one another, their faces overspread with the pallor of failure and dismay.

And Suleiman thanked his Lord that the Emir and his companions did not reproach him, nor ask him why the gasoline had run out. They did not say to him: "You are responsible for this." And he marveled when he saw the Emir taking the situation greatly to heart. Then he saw him blaming the guide for having brought them to this deadly pass... Then, when he dismounted and mingled among the travelers, it was as though the emirate had been stripped from him... They had all become men with no barrier dividing them: among them no great man and no lowly one, no emir and no driver — rather, in the face of the intractable ordeal, all of them met the same hardships and thought the same thoughts.

...But the guide was weary beyond all weariness, and thinking the hardest of thoughts: he alone was responsible for this ordeal, and it fell to him, alone, to work for their deliverance from it... He stared into the soft sand, never raising his eyes... Was he thinking of himself, one wonders, or was he thinking of the others?... Was he busy searching for an outlet by which they might escape?... He came to himself only at the voice of the Emir calling him:

— Munif, speak... you know the desert. Is there any way out for us?

He bowed his head a little, then said:

— I know, my lord, in these parts an old building with a well of water near it, which the tribes visit. My counsel is that we make toward it — and our fate is in God's hands.

— Is it very far?

— I do not know exactly.

Suleiman was not confident of the truth of the guide's words, and he almost thought he had invented that way out from whole cloth. Indeed, he did think so — only he did not dare declare what he believed... And if he declared it, and they said to him: "Give us your opinion, then — have you a better way out than this?"... He was compelled to follow the travelers wherever they turned, for he knew nothing of the outlets of the desert... And besides, to meet evil in his own person, alone, was far harder than to meet it with the travelers. He kept telling himself something like this: "Put your trust in your Lord, man, and go with these people. What God Almighty decrees, no son of Adam can escape." And he came to himself only at the Emir's voice, calling him to run toward the spot the guide had fixed. But he was not as good at running as the travelers, all of whom were Bedouins — and the Bedouins' power of running is famous!

Then too, the travelers were running without a look behind them; but he — he would be leaving his car by itself in the open desert... How could he leave it and go far from it, when it was his path to a livelihood, when he owned nothing else by which he could gain anything from life?! And yet he would come back to himself and say: "Why stay here beside this car?... What do I gain if I keep it and lose my life to hunger and thirst?... No — let me go with the men. Perhaps we shall find water there, and drink; perhaps we shall come upon the Bedouins, and they will bring us food."

And he dashed off running with the travelers — a running from which he hoped no good and no profit. Every few steps he would ask Munif: "Are we still very far, Munif?" And he would hear Munif's voice, out of the heart of the desert, full of consolation and encouragement: "Trust in God, Suleiman... we shall arrive." And Suleiman would repeat within himself: "We shall arrive!

"No... we shall not arrive... Ah... we shall not arrive."

And fatigue began to wear Suleiman's body utterly, and to show upon him; he could not keep pace with the companions' running. They outstripped him... outstripped him... and there he was, alone, running far behind them, calling to them to slow down so that he might catch up with them, while they did not hear his call. And he could hear his inner mind repeating the guide's voice: "Trust in God, Suleiman; we shall arrive — yes, we shall arrive!" Then he would take heart, and a flash of hope would gleam within his soul, and he would push on, quickening his steps; but the harder he pressed in his running, the greater appeared the distance between him and them, until his legs grew heavy and his strength betrayed him, and he flung himself upon the sand, panting, worn out — and the bitterness of death seemed sweet to him.

And he became aware of a voice calling him from afar — the voice of the guide: "Suleiman, Suleiman... we have arrived, Suleiman — come!" So he revived and rose to run anew — running while hardly aware of the movements he was making... his eyes straying into the distance, searching for his companions...

...The voice died away in his breast... and the flame of light in his eyes almost died out, for he could no longer see anything. The world had become for him a spinning disk... and he felt as though he himself were turning round and round. And he imagined that he could see, far off, an oasis and a spring of water with the companions seated about it. So he strained himself and took a few numbered steps — the last that remained to him of will to run and of strength to bear the pains of thirst and hunger — and he collapsed like a man paralyzed, senseless, thinking of nothing but "death" and "life."

He no longer hoped that he would live, and he set about preparing himself to meet his Lord. How hard this hour was, and how long!

Suleiman had loved life... this life

filled with troubles and terrors and hardships. He loved it and worked for its sake without tiring. He never weakened when difficulty confronted him. How many a difficulty he had subdued, continuing on his toilsome way, heedless...

He had given life much... given without reckoning. Nor had he hoped that it would trade with him gift for gift and bounty for bounty, for he believed that life takes and does not give. His one concern was that circumstances should favor him, so that he might join to his own life the life of a girl he loved with the most perfect love that honorable love can be, and the loftiest height to which it can rise.

He had never thought that everything has an end... And supposing that were true, was it right for him to despair, and to look toward his morrow hopeless and doubting, when he was still in the flower of his age, with long years between him and the end?...

For he had looked to the future with joy... and he had striven to prepare that future with strong and eager energy.

And in this hour... in this hour in which he was shaking hands with death... and with extinction... in this hour that cut the bond between him and the life he had loved — cut it forever...

And in this hour that carried him away from his beloved, and from his mother, a distance after which there is no meeting... in all of this, Suleiman appeared more attached than ever to life, and to his beloved, and to his mother; and he wished from his inmost heart that he might be granted one single day more of existence, in which to bid farewell to those he loved.

And then he began, in imagination, to pass in review his happy days in the quiet, tranquil village... as though he were bidding farewell, with an inward glance, for the last time, to those dear haunts — the haunts where, for the first time in his life, he had seen the beautiful face of nature.

"...Here... ah, in this corner, chance brought me together, in an hour of the night, with dear Wafiyya. Where are you, Wafiyya... O loss of sweet hopes... Will you keep faith with my love?... Do you still remember Suleiman? Suleiman... if he is absent from you the long absence?...

"How I grieve for you, Wafiyya! You left your family and went against their judgment, to be mine and no other's... Ah, how cruel is tyrannous fate! How can it part me from you... when I... I love you, Wafiyya... O Death, grant me the respite of one day, in which to see the beloved... Ah... death has no mercy... I feel my strength as though it had melted away... and vanished... My heart!... My heart!... it is almost withered dry..."

And then, with an instinctive movement, he stretched his hand to his pocket and drew out a fistful of gold liras, eyeing them with eyes worn down by fatigue, and he fell to staring at the gold and talking to himself:

"I toiled hard to gain these liras... yes, I toiled! But of what use are they?... How ignorant I was!... Will they give me back my life?... No! Money is of no use now... Ah! the way of living is lost!... Would that I could return to my labors, poor... owning not a dirham... but toiling for my mother's sake..."

And he felt a cold shudder when the memory of his mother passed through his imagination. He had loved his mother with a deep love... and he had striven to provide her with the means of comfort and happiness... And now, hovering between death and life, far from her, he pictured her, and had not the strength to fix his gaze on her or think of her for long... He was weary... and the thought of his mother wore him out... for he feared she would die of it after he was gone...

But he returned to remembering Wafiyya... She was there, close beside his mother... consoling her, taking her hand...

"Yes... be a support to my mother, Wafiyya, when I am gone!...

"Help her... I am sure of your faithfulness... You will not let my mother drink the bitterness of despair! Yes, Wafiyya, you will not leave my mother... my mother... Wafiyya... Wafiyya!..."

And he lost consciousness, and drifted into another world, with these two words — "my mother... Wafiyya" — clinging between his lips!