Missing Soluch (33 page)

And the well? He was just beginning to realize where he was. How tight it was! And deep, three and a half, maybe four lengths of a man’s body. And the well was dug into soft sand. So
even if he were strong enough to do it, there was nowhere to find a footing to pull himself up. As he was sitting there, a handful of dusty soil rustled down onto his head from the walls of the well. He smelled something.

And a sound, the sound of a camel’s steps. The sound of a camel breathing. The cry of a camel’s neigh. The dark camel, exhausted and injured, was still at the top of the well, crying in either anger or pain. It neighed and stomped on the ground. The dust that was settling on his head and shoulders had been shaken loose from the steps of the camel. The animal still wanted blood. It had been unsatiated, so it stayed at the mouth of the well. It had the natural capacity to wait in one place for nine days and nights without water or food, just to keep a hungry and thirsty Abbas trapped below. As for Abbas, he’d never be able to hold out for more than a couple of days. Even now he was desperate for a sip of water. He tried again to wet his lips a little. In the struggle he had waged beneath the sun, his body’s water had been depleted. Now his tongue felt more like a piece of mud brick that had been baked in an oven. If only he could have a cup of water!

Abbas looked up. The camel’s neck cut across the sky, separating Abbas’ view from the stars. He blocked more than half of the constellation of Orion. Drops of blood still dripped from the camel’s neck, dripping onto Abbas’ dusty hair and temples. The camel wanted blood. For it, there could be no end to this other than Abbas’ death. There was only one blind hope left, which was if the herd of other camels wandered back to Zaminej and the Sardar came out from the village looking for the missing black camel. And better if, along with him, Mergan and Abrau were also coming, with a lantern in hand. And if it had
made it back to Zaminej, the wounded neck of the old mare camel could also be a sign of what had happened. That neither Abbas nor the black camel had returned to the village. The Sardar himself had remarked that morning that the black camel was showing signs of the drunkenness of spring fever.

But how could he know if the rest of the herd would head back to Zaminej?

Yet if they didn’t go, that might even be better. Then perhaps the Sardar would be quicker to put on his shoes, take a walking stick and lantern, and collect some others to all come out to the open fields to look for the herd. This was the only hope, this and the outline of the mouth of the well which afforded him a view of the sky, and which brought in a little air for him to breathe. And the stars, how they seemed to be panting!

Another warm drop of blood fell on Abbas’ face. The camel, angry and disturbed, now knelt at the edge of the well. He fit his head and shoulders as far as they could enter the well, and cried out. Another drop fell on Abbas’ lips. He moistened his tongue and lips with the blood. Clearly, his knife had not been effective. If he had stabbed the camel in the right place, the animal would have been dead by now. The camel repositioned itself so that its chest and part of its belly covered most of the well. It rested a while, but this was even more terrifying. Now Abbas could only see one star in the sky, just next to the neck of the camel. Abbas now imagined that the camel would simply remain there until he died. He began to lose hope. If only he had a cup of water!

A soft rustling compelled Abbas to turn his attention away from the certainty of death, and from the camel above.

Rustling … A sound softer than a person snoring. Something like:
kurrrrrr, kurrrrrr
. Night filled the well in the deepest darkness. Where and how could he figure out the source of the sound around him? He’d need an eagle’s senses, or rather, those of a bat!

Kurrrrrr … Kurrrrrr …

What kind of insect could be making this sound? He tried to sharpen his eyes; he placed all his senses into the act of seeing. Something flew, its wings slapping against the walls of the well. A handful of dust and sand poured down, and then the sound began again.

Kurrrrrr … Kurrrrrr …

A blanket of fear slipped over him, from whatever was silent all around him. A hesitant fear rising from uncertainty. If you know what it is that threatens you, then just by knowing what the instrument of your death is, you can try to prepare yourself. You can even choose just to give in to it. You may find no option but to go calmly. You might faint, and in a sense die before dying. You’re relieved from the endless possibilities that your imagination can conjure up, stinging you with each fear. If you know what the instrument of your death may be, you are less anxious. Instead, all of your anxiety is focused on one thing. And what kills you isn’t the anxiety, it’s death itself. What Abbas faced in the struggle against the camel was simply to run, attack, strike, and to defend himself. There was nothing unclear about the threat to divide his fear into a hundred different possibilities. His opponent, the camel, was the essence of the danger. One may eventually forget pain itself, but one will never forget the threat of pain. The spirit flutters its wings, like a pigeon caught in an enclosed well. It’s anxious; it flutters
its wings against the walls. Fear overtakes, waves of fear. Something spreads through its body and soul. Again and again, without a moment’s respite. The poisonous tongues of fear liquefy your fortitude little by little. You sense that you are slowly encompassed by the fear. Your inner focus collapses; it’s at this very moment that your inner defenses crumble. An impossible hope pulls you: O sudden death, when will you strike? Why doesn’t this well just collapse in on itself?

A rustling …

Then, a small, faint light. Like a night crawler, on the bottom layer of the well. It was as if it was inside a hole or sunken into the dirt. He tries to look. The sound is coming from these same spots. Small light spots are faintly pulsating. They’re visible, then invisible. The sound stops and starts again. It seems something or some things are moving. It’d be impossible for anyone to see in such a deep darkness. But if you were stuck in the depths of the well as Abbas, you would feel that the essence of all human perception has been granted to you, just so that you can perceive what it is that is rustling beside you.

Oh, God …! Snakes …! They’ve sensed a new prey, inside their lair.

In some situations, it seems as if some people must die and be reborn a thousand times. This was Abbas’ experience. He was circled by snakes. Desert snakes. Ancient snakes. If one was to breathe the fire of its breath at you, you’d be ashes.

So why was Abbas still alive?

That he would die inside the well now seemed a certainty for him. But to know when and how the snakes would come for him was something he couldn’t know. He’d only heard scattered sayings about snakes from those who were snake catchers,
herders, farmers, or older villagers with their own experiences of snakes to relate:

“A snake will never harm an innocent person.”

“A snake knows the good of your soul.”

“Never step on a snake’s tail.”

“If you see a snake move away, move away as well.”

“A house snake is a blessing; don’t bother it.”

But none of this was of any use to Abbas now. He was not even able to ask himself what he could do. He couldn’t even pin his hopes on some far-fetched possibility. His mind was simply empty. A silent terror had so thoroughly woven itself into him that he couldn’t think at all. What should he wish for? What could he desire? Above, a merciless night. Beneath the night, the hell of the well. Between the night and the well stands a bloody and enraged camel. With his own battered body, Abbas couldn’t ask himself how to escape? Whom to call to for help?

For one to begin to accept the need to give in, to accept the certainty of giving oneself to death, is certainly an extraordinary experience. And usually, when one happens to consider or give voice to such a sentiment, it is when death is in fact by no means a certainty. When death rears its head, one usually has no time to give a thought to surrendering to it. You don’t have a chance to, either to surrender or to try to defend yourself. In a moment, you become a mass of particles that are all at once finished. Or one can say, it’s like fire, or rather it’s fire itself. You are entirely in flames. You burn quickly and are finished. Even if you’re dried out, nearly dead already, even if you’re at the bottom of the sandy walls of a well and you’ve aged a thousand years. Even if fear has frozen you, so that you can’t move or allow yourself to hear yourself breathe.

Mergan’s son was going to die, quickly and certainly. Even though it was as if he had been dead for hundreds of years and now it was only his ghost that was tracing a silent, hollow outline against the wall of the well before him, embodying something deeper than silence within itself. Oh … if only he could be certain that he was still breathing!

Is it possible for time to freeze in one moment? Of course not … However, a certain illusion sometimes leads one to imagining it has frozen. It is this very moment that ties you to the world by a thread of hair. In another moment, these experiences could be separated. For this reason, at the height of this fusion, one can only sense silence, total silence. But time has not stood still. The well grows slowly lighter by the crack beside the neck of the camel. If you had the strength to move, if you could look above yourself, through this crack, you would see that the sky was filling with light. The star, that only star you could see earlier, was losing its brightness.

The dawn was breaking. Hours had passed; many moments had given their lives. You could now see the camel’s neck more clearly against the mouth of the well, but only once you find it possible to move your head upon your neck. When you’ve escaped your paralysis and the spell upon you has broken and your eyes are no longer frozen on what is just in front of you. What you were staring at, captured by, even as dust has settled on your eyes and draws webs over all you can see. Your gaze has exceeded itself, broadened itself, grown distant. In your eyes the particles around you are not what they are. They have been transformed. Dirt is not dirt. The wall is not a wall. Day is not day. You are transfixed, lost in your gaze. The snakes … two dark
snakes, two old snakes, perhaps two vipers can now be seen more clearly. Morning has probably broken.

The snakes were looking at Abbas. But Abbas no longer exists. He has become ashes. One of the snakes moves, slithering slowly. It unwinds its coil softly. It grows longer and longer. It faces Abbas. If only it were possible to say, “Put me out my misery!” If only it were possible to say this sincerely. But this is now impossible; the soul is frozen. The snake approaches, puts its head on Abbas’ knee, and slides over. It slithers softly and settles itself, coiling again and waiting. How long? Not for long, just as long as Abbas’ life is spent, then it will no doubt move on. It slithers over his naked belly, slides over his chest, and on his shoulder begins to circle around his neck, passing through his hair. Then heading to the wall, it softly departs from Abbas’ body and stops at the edge of the floor. Abbas no longer felt anything. He was blind, deaf, dumb, and numb. A corpse plunged into a cold sweat.

* * *

Hey … Hey … Abbas … Ahay!

Hoy … Hoy … Abbas … Hey!

Ahay … Aha … Abbas … Ahay!

The drunken cry of the camel sounded both near and far over the fields. The near and distant sounds of the field were caught in the camel’s cry. Sounds, not those sounds that are familiar, but those that are confused, incredible. The onset of sounds, cries, wails, prayers, shouts. The long shadows of hawks, vultures.

How much time has passed? How many suns?

The sounds came from another world. The world that they spoke of, the Day of Judgment. The so-called day of the fifty-thousandth year. The blistering hot day that they say will find mothers seeking their children and not finding them, brothers seeking brothers, children their mothers and fathers. The day of fifty thousand years! The day no one is no one to anyone. Where one hand will not recognize the other, nor one eye the other. Abbas is dead, and he is dragging his battered body across the hot desert sands of the Day of Judgment. Abbas is dead and hears the lamentations of his mother, brother, sister, and father from within his grave. But then Mergan pierces a crack into the grave; Mergan’s shouting and crying is heard. Mergan on the year of the fifty-thousandth year. The refugees of the hot desert, carrying the load of sins on their shoulders, beneath the hot sun. The sun of hell’s fire. The dead have raised themselves from their graves and are silent. The day of reckoning. Hands are shaking in all directions. Hands and shoulders uncovered. Uncovered bodies writhe against each other, their mouths, tongues, cries, all silent. Fear and terror. Bodies in shrouds. Thirst. Panting from thirst. Fire rains from the sky. Abbas is dragged from the grave. He’s uncovered, nude. The sun. The desert is panting. They encircle him; the camel is dead. Its body is bloated. The poison from the snake’s venom has bloated it. The Sardar is beating himself with his fists. The camel lies to the side of the well; its legs are stiff. Hajer is hiding herself behind Ali Genav. Abrau cannot bring himself to look at his brother. Ali Genav cannot remove his eyes from the shock. Mergan can’t believe it. No! This is not her Abbas! She comes forward. Abbas is at the edge of the well. He doesn’t
move. He’s spellbound. Paralyzed. The sun shines. The hairs on Abbas’ head are all entirely white.

The boy’s sack falls from Mergan’s hand to the ground. Mergan comes closer. No! How can one believe it? An old man stands before her. She comes closer. Her eyes are like the outlines of two dry wells. In the depths of her eyes, two old vipers are coiled. They are lost. The sun of hell shines over the fields and into Mergan’s eyes. Her gaze is lost in the fields. She puts her hand upon Abbas’ hand. His hand is in his mother’s hand. Mergan begins to walk; everyone begins to walk. The Sardar remains with the body of his camel. They walk slowly. An old man is holding Mergan’s hand. They are silent. Silence, sun, the sun of hell fire rains on the fields. Where is water?