Chapter VII

He remained there, on his knees in the sand, for a few more minutes. Briefly, he felt, absurdly, that if only he could prove to the nomad how important he was to him, that the nomad would then decide, somehow, not to leave him. Angry at the world, which had taken away his friend, he felt abandoned and alone, and blamed himself for the nomad’s death. Thalam moved on his arm, as if to remind him that he was not alone, and that he was still with him. Thalam, he felt, although he did not speak, seemed to say everything. He looked at the nomad’s closed, cold eyes, which seemed finally at rest.

He stood up and looked around him, at the tall peaks of the dunes that surrounded him. In the dark of the desert night you could not see the dunes, but you knew they were there because they blotted out the stars of the night sky, painting a deep, black shadow all around. There was no way that he would have been able to carry the body of his fallen friend back to the village – he did not even know in which direction the village existed. He felt sad that he would not be able to afford Esma a final goodbye to her father, since he knew that he would have to bury his friend right there, in the middle of the desert, to be swallowed by it, forever lost in its harsh emptiness. He could not bear the thought of facing her. How could anyone?

He took one of the pieces of firewood, which was the right size, and wrapped the sleeve around it, constructing a perch for Thalam. Then, with both his hands, pierced the surface of the soft, cold sand, and began to dig.

It had taken him many hours to bury his friend, as the soft sand would keep collapsing onto itself. Eventually however, the task was complete, and he stood up and mourned the nomad’s death in silence. The world had not stopped to mourn with him, the death of his friend. Instead, it did, as it always does, and it simply moved on.

He wanted to hate the scorpion, to relieve himself of some of his guilt; but he heard the nomad’s voice in his head, “do not blame the scorpion, it was only defending the place it calls home”. He wished the nomad was there, to give him words of advice – he always had something to say. Alnilam would believe his words this time, and would not debate him, but the nomad, was gone.

He took one look at Thalam, who was on his arm again, and then looked up at the stars above him. He inspected them all for guidance, and he focused his attention towards the three stars of Orion’s belt. “Follow them”, every fibre of his being seemed to call out. He would not follow them, for he was angry at the world. Instead, he turned around and began to walk in completely the opposite direction. Thalam let out a single screech in protest, but he ignored him. His anger and despair had blinded him into believing that he had achieved some small, arrogant triumph over the world. Truly, Man is an ignorant creature.

He walked, and walked some more. The sun rose, and it wasn’t until it had set again, that his anger at the world would slightly subside, and he would begin to doubt his current course. As he watched the sunset, he remembered Esma. To watch a sunset was a beautiful thing, he thought. But to see the sun set on her eyes, was another thing altogether.

He barricaded his heart against melancholy, and removed the thought of her from his mind. He had already walked too far, and did not know whether or not he would ever see her again.

Thalam had spotted something, and took off in an instant. His heart began to beat faster. He was hungry and excited that perhaps Thalam had discovered some delicious meal for them to share. He crouched down on one knee and marvelled at the manner of his friend’s flight. He was incredibly fast, and every single time he beat his wings seemed to be with known purpose – nothing about him appeared to be spontaneous or without meaning. As if, in the instant just before he made any movement at all, he knew precisely what movement to make, and the purpose of why he would make it. Alnilam envied this knowledge of the world that Thalam possessed.

He could now see clearly the object of Thalam’s pursuit. It was a houbara bustard – a slender bird that lived in the desert and rarely used its wings to fly. Its feathers were a combination of black, and the colour of the sand, which camouflaged it well in its environment. It would serve finely as their dinner. By the time the houbara had even noticed the peregrine falcon, it was already too late, and, in the small cloud of dust that Thalam stirred when he swooped down, met its fate.

Alnilam travelled quickly and excitedly to congratulate his friend on his catch. Thalam stood proudly beside his prey’s fallen corpse. “Thank you”, he said aloud, both to Thalam and to the houbara. There is something strange about hunting when it is necessary for food - it makes one deeply grateful for the sacrifice made by their fellow creature.

He prepared the catch and set up the fire, as well as Thalam’s makeshift perch. Thalam by this point, had already eaten – being a falcon, he did not have much of a taste for cooked meat.

The meat was tender, and he was satisfied with his meal. When he was finished, he drank some water from the flask that Esma had given to him, and wished for a cup of tea, which made him sad, because it reminded him of Esma and the nomad. He wished he could have shared this meal with them; he wished he could argue with the nomad, and listen to Esma talk to him about the stars.

He lay down, closed his eyes, and thought about everything that had happened to him. He thought about how Esma had given him a name, and how he did not have one before her. He thought about the nomad of his dream, who had claimed to be a demon. He felt he now understood what the nomad meant, when he had told him that he had lost his name.

The villagers all knew the nomad, as the father of Esma, and his daughter, called him ‘father’. Only the nomad’s wife, ever called him by his name, and she was gone. Like the nomad, there was no one to call his name; he was alone, and had no one for himself. He had no use for a name and so, he too, had lost his name.

He fell asleep.

He was now dreaming again. Alone, and in the middle of a starry night – he was well acquainted with this predicament. He looked at the three stars he was told to follow the last time. He wouldn’t give in this time; no, this time he wouldn’t follow the stars of Orion’s belt, instead, he would move in the opposite direction, just as he had done whilst awake. He didn’t care for the dreams of the desert anymore.

He put Alnilam and the other two behind him, chose a star at random that appealed to him, and began to walk in its direction.

He walked for many hours, and all along the way he thought of the nomad and his sacrifice, he thought of Esma whom he was now sure he loved, and of Thalam, who was his friend. He wished he could rid himself of the guilt he felt for the nomad’s death, and the pain he felt for his loss, and most of all, he wished he would never have to see the ache in Esma’s eyes, when she discovered by his tongue that she would not see her father again.

The sun did not rise - he was not surprised.

He stopped walking. In the distance, he saw a fire.