Somewhere in the Eastern Sahara Desert, Egypt (1918)
Nora’s inner monologue:
I was a silent observer, unnoticed and incorporeal.
I knew their thoughts, intentions
I observed but did not interact
Sheena travelled through the arid desert with an Egyptian guide, both of them dressed in the traditional garb of the land, Shendyt and Kalasiris. The duo were wrapped head-to-toe in an attempt to ward off the encroaching sand storm. A small trail extended in front of the pair, winding its way over a low embankment, a vein of solid rock with sand dunes on one side, and a tall cliffside on the other. Canteens bounced off their hips as they walked, fastened with small straps; water, the lifeblood of a desert wanderer. As they crested the hill – Sheena put her hand on her travelling-companion’s shoulder and they both stopped.
“How much farther?” She queried her guide.
“Just over that next ridge.” Amad responded, wiping sweat off his brow.
“Good time to break for water, I suppose.” Sheena sat down, crossed her legs, and motioned for Amad to join her.
*****
The two had first met at a cafe in downtown Cairo. Sheena had been in the process of enlisting the owner’s help in locating anyone able to traverse the Sahara, but Amad Haraket had interrupted their wholly private conversation by springing up from a marble table and exclaiming: “I’ll take you! I’ll take you!”
As he bustled up to the counter, again stating, in breathless, almost impeccable English, “I will take you – I am very desperate for the work.” Sheena listened intently to the man attempting to declare himself her guide. “Unlike many of the men claiming to be guides for tourists; I have a vehicle that is assured to make the journey.” Amad continued making his case while he took a seat at the long polished oak bar. His face was reddened from a mixture of apprehension and a state of perpetual exuberance. Most people around Cairo knew him as the overbearing type; exasperatingly well-intentioned, yes, but ultimately a bit too gregarious – and habitually shortsighted – for his own good. A kind-hearted fool is what the local elders called him, if, and when, his name came up in conversation.
“And most importantly, I know why you’re going. You’re hoping to find gemstones in that abandoned mine.” Amad looked sideways at the cafe owner while he said this then back at Sheena, grinning in a manner that may have disarmed someone else, but made not a minutia of difference to a seasoned traveller like Sheena.
“Am I right, foreigner?” Amad reiterated, “Do you need a guide to escort you out into the sun-baked desert to steal gemstones?”
“Pray tell me, what is your last name?” Sheena posed this question with a tone that indicated tentative interest – but also implied that further information was required. If she was to traverse a climate as inhospitable as the Sahara desert – it would pay to have someone who knew what they were doing.
Nature was a wild animal waiting for the chance to pounce and if you were the helpless sap who didn’t plan ahead, that fierce predator would devour you whole in its gnashing maw. Sheena had learned that in Paraguay. And if at all possible – she hoped to never experience a situation as hopeless as that again. Who knew boa constrictors were so aggressive when angered? Must’ve been the variety; the latin name was occidentalis… Sheena would’ve placed good money on the fact that they were an exceptionally nasty type of giant snake, when compared with others found around the globe.
“My surname is Haraket.” Amad answered Sheena’s question matter-of-factly, cutting her thoughts off mid-stream.
“And what does it mean, if you don’t mind me asking?” She implored, taking a sip out of an ornate teacup in front of her.
“My family name? I’m not sure, I’ve never bothered to learn. Too busy.” Amad replied disinterestedly. He had begun to dump some fodder into a round, black-brown pipe, a piece of smokeware that looked like it had spent centuries in the sun.
“How about you old-timer – have you an idea what Haraket means?” Amad nodded towards the proprietor of the establishment, in hopes that the other man present could occupy the inquisitive woman’s questions while he, Amad, tended to his nefarious habit.
“It means movement.” Espoused the older man, Haddish, who afterwards turned and sniggered quietly; his 180 degree shift was an attempt at being respectful. Sheena looked from Haddish and back to Amad, and realized that some type of inside joke existed between the two of them.
“Okay, be quiet now. It’s not your place to say.” Amad Harakat leaned back in his seat, puffing hard on the noxious smelling stuff inside his pipe.
“What’s all this, why so abstruse?” Sheena sipped her tea and levelled her strikingly hazel eyes at Amad, giving him a withering look. She did not like being left out in the dark: that much was crystal-clear.
“You better watch whom you give a look to like that in this city – we are well-travelled the two of us, Haddish and I: but some men here are of the mind that females shouldn’t be out-and-about without being accompanied by a male. Staring icicles at someone will get you nowhere fast in Cairo, lady.” Amad said, dumping ash on the counter-top with complete disregard. “Besides, it’s a private story; involving me, a donkey, and twenty cages of tropical birds, I had to smuggle across the border.” Amad lit another match, after rattling off the details of a story he would never tell.
“It never should’ve been on the road. But you never should’ve hit the brakes, so many feathers! Just hit the gas in the future…” Haddish grinned, but failed to elaborate any more than that, and instead twisted around to busy himself with rearranging ceramic saucers and fine china; polishing a teapot for good measure.
“Ahh, I see it was some mishap or minor fiasco you overcame?” Sheena concluded while nodding; her auburn locks shaking and jostling underneath the customary head-wrap she was wearing.
“Oh, it’s a tale that doesn’t demand retelling – but oh yes, I overcame it. I moved that damn donkey because – that’s my name “Haraket’: I move things. And I got those retched, squawking birds across the border and was paid handsomely, mind you.” Amad declared all this with great temerity; making sure to look staunchly dignified while he did so. As he continued to draw from his wooden pipe, it glowed like an ember in a clay oven, the luminosity accentuated by the low-light of their surroundings. The cafe was only equipped with a select few lanterns to provide the minimal visibility needed, as oil was not cheap.
“That must be a truly embarrassing story when told outright…” Sheena smiled slyly, finding the highlights deliciously entertaining, these brief glimpses of a Chaplin-esque tale that were provided had tickled her funny bone. A guide who had a good nature and an undying sense of humour were indispensable attributes – a truth she had learned the hard way while on an endeavor in Morocco. A sixteen-hour hike with someone that droned on endlessly about the unforeseen dangers of the jungle was almost as detrimental as having an ill-equipped guide. Since nothing was more dangerous than falling asleep during a quest: especially one that demanded vigilant thoughts, Hheightened senses, and required great awareness. Bringing someone who was a complete and utter bore on such a perilous junket – was akin to requesting a lullaby be sung to you while attempting to tightrope walk across a wide expanse. A sense of calm was desirable in tense moments, yes, but outright monotony…was objectively not a friend of those attempting the impossible.
Amad continued, “Indeed it is quite a ridiculous story, that’s why, I choose not to tell it in its entirety.” Amad grinned and formed crows feet in doing so, “So, is there anything more you wish to know – I can show you my car, it is parked out back. If you’d like.” – he must’ve been approaching forty-years-old. Sheena knew enough about this country, Egypt, that even when speaking to such nonsectarian, anodyne men as these she should be respectful of cultural norms and that asking such a question of a man with whom she was newly acquainted would probably be deemed rude. But he was certainly getting on in his years. Which meant he must have experience in driving, nay navigating the brutal sandstorms that could whip up so pernicious, and fast-like, that it was impossible to predict where and when they would strike.
“No, I’m plenty satisfied that you’re trustworthy – of stalwart nature. The automobile is your domain, I know little of machinery so I wouldn’t be able to tell a dysfunctional one from a pristinely operating model – even if I tried.” Sheena’s lithe form rose from her cafe seat, turning to Amad, she said with finality:
“Tomorrow at 7am we leave – I shan’t be late, so my hope is that you are punctual as well. You have the job Amad Harakat.”
Now, roughly twenty-four hours later, bereft of the Renault automobile that had overheated and bitten the dust (quite literally mind you) we were sitting on a rapidly disappearing pathway that cut through the sand, with granules beginning to rush around us from a sandstorm hurrying to and fro. We could hear as freshly formed whirlwinds tore their way through the desert, soon to combine into one massive gale that would buffet the region with its forceful currents. High/low pressure fronts were mixing and the results promised to be tremendously chaotic, mercurial even. Sheena knew all this, as she had a knack, and intuited most things about the natural elements (wind, earth, fire, water) but still failed to truly manipulate them – like some members of her tribe had been able to long ago. Those ancient days before the first bout of pestilence, and even before The Great Floods had rushed over the land. She did not blame her guide for their current situation. In fact – she was simply thankful he had not abandoned her. Sheena’s assumption, he was loyal and possessed stoic qualities had proven true.. So her choice was not made in vain. Later when the overheated and sputtering automobile broke down, Amad declared that “this was to be expected” showing her he’d brought supplies for a long haul – expecting they may be forced to trek on foot through the desert.
Amad explained: he ‘always prepared for things necessitated by unforeseen circumstances.’
“You just have to keep moving afterall! Put your tired foot – over tired foot.” He was half-boasting as they began their long hot hike through the (second) most blister inducing – and hellishly scorching – region that existed on the continent. Clearly, he had a morale about him that wasn’t easily shaken. Sheena had chosen the appropriate guide.
Of that she was sure.
*****
Hours later, caked in dust, both parched from the heat, Amad and Sheena arrived at their destination: a mineshaft entrance that had been carved into a cliffside on the outskirts of the desert. This portal into the Egyptian depths below had been roped off profusely in an half-hearted attempt to deny access to the nosy public.
A sign was posted at the entrance:
‘Property of the Weathering Mining Company: No Trespassing’ in big, bold lettering. And another that warned of ‘imminent cave-ins’
“Apparently this is not a safe site to go spelunking.” Amad remarked upon reading it.
“And here we are – ready to enter it. Lucky us.” She added, slyly. Sheena raised an eyebrow at her partner who seemed taken aback at such a nonchalant attitude.
“I only agreed to bring you here.”
Amad said this, musing, “However, I can wait for you outside if you’d like – but if you happen to never return… I’ll be missing out on my pay. I need those bills, payment is top priority. So, how about we settle up now instead of later, keep in each others’ good graces, employer?” Amad paused his pitch, letting his implication really sink in before finishing. “It would go a long way to ensuring your faithful guide is here – waiting for you upon your return.”
“Yes, yes. Here – take what I promised you,” Sheena stuffed some English banknotes into his hands, but she held a few back, which interested Amad greatly.
“But these…see, these extra bills I have here are for a guide who is brave. Brave enough to enter this mine with me – a meek little woman – and help me find a treasure that would make this infinitesimal amount of money look like nothing more than a handful of tissues, useful only for emptying one’s snotted nose on.” After saying her piece Sheena gave him that same withering, baleful look she’d levelled at him in the cafe a day earlier – her words and scathing expression constituted a clear challenge to his manhood.
“Alright!” Amad snarled. He snatched the bills out of her hand and marched toward the entrance of the mineshaft, then unsheathed a long blade from under his robe, using it to slash at the ropes barring his entry.
“But I want you to know this–” He looked over his shoulder at his companion standing behind, “If we both die in that mine it will make no difference how much treasure or money we have. We’ll be dead. Dead men tell no tales and dead men buy nothing – except maybe a coffin. So, safety must be top priority.”
Sheena nodded, and said solemnly,
“I am well aware of this.”
*****
Upon entry into the abandoned mineshaft, both Sheena and Amad realized that it was troublesomely difficult to see. The only light came from the sun’s rays beaming in through an opening in the rock behind them. There was illumination enough, to see that the oval-shaped antechamber held a few oddly placed pickaxes, three carts on a track, and rails continuing down a slight descent farther into the darkness. A number of torches were bracketed to the walls; the brackets held in with spikes that had been driven into the relatively soft shale and soapstone formation that this section of the tunnel was made of.
“I’ll light one of these – hold on.” Amad announced, grabbing a torch out of one of the holders. He knelt on one knee and pulled a box of matches from a pouch he kept attached to his hip.
“You never asked for my name before taking the job. Would you like to learn it now? Sheena asked this question of her guide with a slightly quizzical tone in her voice; bemused by the realization that she knew his name, but he was still oblivious to hers. She felt that would not do at all. Not at all.
“I chose not to ask you because I have witnessed many who’ve ventured into caves such as these and never returned… My hope was to avoid learning the name of someone who was destined for such a dangerous venture.” He paused as he tried to strike a match that would not ignite, frustrated, Amad began to furiously try another, and another – until Sheena swiped the box from him and tossed it on the ground leaving a bewildered look on her guide’s ruddy, bearded face.
“The matches are no good, they’re crumbling as you strike them. Your canteen was leaking – is my guess – not a noticeable amount; but enough to moisten the matchbox. Which means the sulphur that the matches use for their reaction is damp, and therefore completely useless. A man in France explained to me that this is how some chemicals work, oxygen is required as well as the spark, no spark, no fire. It’s quite enlightening knowing even a smidgen of science.” Sheena took the torch from him as she said this, gazing at it intently, before twirling around in a quick motion.
“What are you doing; how do you expect to get it going with no spark?” Amad asked, scoffing at the woman’s bullheaded nature – she had just explained as much to him and yet now she would not heed her own advice; how bizarre. As he stood and dusted off his pants. He said, “Well then, we should leave and make the trek home, there’s no use going any farther in the dark. Or we could wait and hope that they dry out from the heat.”
“No, I will dry a match. I know a trick.” She told him, telling a lie, and very concisely.
it was a white-lie though.
“I didn’t even see you draw one from the box…” Amad tried to saunter closer to gain an angle from which he could see what she was doing but this woman, a strange tourist with strawberry-blonde hair (it was now peaking out from her headscarf or tarha) and her vividly hazel eyes, made sure her back was to him, even going as far as saying, “Don’t come any closer! – this requires more concentration than you could possibly imagine.” And at that instant, Amad heard a sharp sound; sort of a crackling noise, or a deep humming; or the sound of lightning in a bottle striking against the glass interior. That was it. The darkness in the mine’s antechamber seemed to brighten for a moment, and then Sheena swung around with a lit torch in her hand. It was over before it had even started. There was visible perspiration on her upper lip. She had exerted herself – that’s what Amad Harakat concluded and it was true. Anything else about what had just happened was an utter mystery, but he knew that whatever technique she had used had worked to light the torch. So, that’s all that mattered for the time being.
“Shall we take the carts down, seems the fastest way, I think – hmm?” Sheena suggested, lighting another torch with her own. She passed him the other source of light before climbing into a minecart, wiping some of the oil residue from the torch onto her clothes as she did so. It couldn’t be helped, Sheena thought. I’ll deal with the stain later.
Amad nodded, still a bit puzzled about how she had lit the torch without using a match, or flint and steel, but he acquiesced and climbed into the minecart in front of Sheena.
“The brake is on the right, it’s the one lever in front of you – pull it toward you, after squeezing with your hand.” Amad instructed her pushing at the back of his minecart to propel it forward before hopping into it a moment later.
“Ahh, thank you very much Amad, I become so perplexed when faced with anything mechanical. I’m afraid I am a bit of a technophobe – or at least that’s what I’ve been told by those with a more apt understanding of such metallic monstrosities…” Sheena’s tangent jogged along as she rolled her cart to the start of the downgrade in the tunnel and jumped in a second later. The device steadily began to roll, gaining inertia due to the pull of gravity.
Sheena clutched the handle of the brake hard, knuckles tightened – she was fairly certain she understood how the thing worked but mistrustful all the same….
*****
The last visions of those two that I saw were hazy, somewhat indiscernible. They were both standing around a formation of quartz crystals that grew from a rock wall. There was a small hole hewn through the mine’s ceiling – what must’ve been hundreds of metres of rock – and from this hole shone a solid circle of moonlight. It refracted through the crystals, creating a disco ball like effect; tossing small circles of light all around the chamber. As Sheena approached the crystalline growth, the bed of crystals started to emanate a pulse; soft at first but intensifying with each step forward. Amad dropped his torch, startled, now uncaring for its light since the entire chamber was lit up with the brilliance of the crystals’ glow. He stepped forward, I saw him mouth some words to Sheena (I could no longer hear what was happening, my connection was weakening; the ethereal thread fraying…) and in response she threw the rest of her billfold at him; and motioned for him to exit saying something that I could hardly make out: ‘take the tunnel to the surface – I’m currently occupied with things beyond your comprehension’. Amad did so, looking over his shoulder only once.
Meanwhile; Sheena approached the bed of quartz as the eerie power reverberated throughout the chamber, the very rocks and sand rising from the ground, hovering, stuck in a sort of stasis. Her goal was to touch it – I knew that much – and the results would be unbridled energy like no one had ever experienced before. I knew that to be true.
But as Sheena drew close to the nexus, of such overwhelming power, the images playing in my mind abruptly stopped–
And I woke up.
Thankfully, I was in my family’s farmhouse and not the hospital.
This was Nora’s dream that occurred the night after returning home.
END OF PART III