Basim looked at it curiously, it was the first time he had seen one up close. It had a nice appearance, and its beautiful sandy-colored fur made him want to caress it. Suddenly the little animal hid behind a pile of pillows, leaving a piece of its tail exposed.
Slowly he began to put his thoughts in order, he began to look around and realized that everything around him was different from the last memories he had before fainting. Black fabric walls surrounded it, filtering the warm sunlight that flashed through small tears, the corrugated ceiling was supported by thick wooden poles on which unlit lamps and rags were hung, while on the floor were spread wide white carpets decorated with squares and triangles of red yarn, and then there were red and blue pillows everywhere near the edges. In a couple of minutes, the word “tent” popped into his mind. It wasn't his first time inside a tent, but at that moment it seemed surprising, as well as reassuring.
He tried to get up, but a strong headache prevented him. There was a precise point on his head where he felt a strong pressure that caused excruciating pain as if he had something stuck inside up to his brain. He felt heavy and sore and also felt a tremendous tiredness that prevented him from moving. Suddenly a woman poked her head into the tent. She was dressed in a modest but elegant olive-green garment on which necklaces of yellow and orange beads stood out while on her head she wore an ivory shayla with floral pattern. Their eyes met, and the woman dropped the basket she was carrying and ran away screaming. Immediately from outside came voices of people talking animatedly and immediately afterward the curtain opened and two men and three women entered, each wearing a green dress.
<< Glory to the Gods! We thought you'd never wake up! >> exclaimed one of the men.
He was short, roughly half his size. He had short, disheveled hair and a messy beard as black as coal, his nose was perfectly straight like a bird's beak and the color of his eyes was close to that of his dress.
<< Chief, it would be better to make him drink. He is certainly dehydrated. >>
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Basim pulled up the blanket he was wearing, confused and frightened by the sudden commotion.
<< Everything's fine! Don’t be scared! You are among friends here. >> said the man, trying to control the tone of his voice.
Despite his small stature, he stood out among the others by giving orders in a firm and decisive tone. His expression was kind and his voice, although imposing, had a slightly strange accent that almost made it seem funny.
They began to take care of him by examining him carefully, focusing in particular on his head exactly where he felt pain. After having treated him and cleaned the dirt, they brought him some clothes to change into and a couple of small water skins which he emptied greedily like a thirsty camel. Along with water, he was also given food, a generous portion of Mansafhe managed to silence his stomach which was protesting because it had been empty for too long. All those kindnesses moved Basim so much that he couldn't hold back his tears. He burst into tears…. Understanding that he was safe.
The man, in a reassuring voice, explained to him where he was: he was in a Bedouin camp.
Basim knew well who they were. They were desert nomads, dedicated to transhumant cattle breeding or sheep-rearing, he saw people arriving in the city a couple of times a year to purchase wheat, coffee, tea, tobacco, weapons, and those objects that are not capable of obtaining in another way. Sometimes they even stopped by his shop to buy vases. People said many rumors about them, that they were ruthless and bloodthirsty warriors, dedicated to strange rituals... but in the end, they were just silly rumors. One thing was certain, they had saved him from certain death, and for this, he would always be in their debt. Finding it by chance while their caravan was moving had been his luck. And what luck! Without water and food, it was impossible to survive in the desert, especially when injured.
<< It went well for you. Another day in the sun and we would have found you cooked to perfection like a lamb on a spit. How did you get into this trouble? >>
<< The raiders. They attacked me and I was forced to run away. I had a guide, but he wasn't as lucky as me. >>
<< I understand. Those people are the worst kind. >>
<< I still struggle to understand what happened to me. I feel like I've ended up in a strange dream. >>
<< I assure you that you are wide awake, alive and well. Although after two days in which you showed no sign of waking up, we began to fear the worst. You survived, not everyone is this lucky when they get lost in the desert. >>
Yes, it was true.
The Gods had been kind to Basim, giving him a chance to continue living.
For a few days he was forced to rest, his legs could barely support him, as weak as dry branches gnawed by mice. At that time, he was only able to eat, drink water, take strange bitter-tasting medicines that the doctor said would restore his strength, untangle the knots in his hair, and play with the fennec fox who had discovered that his pillows were comfortable.
When he could, the chief of the tribe, whose name was Zaka, went to keep him company and chat a bit. He was very curious and bombarded him with questions about his life and his passions.
Basim was very happy with those visits, having a friendly person to talk to helped him calm down after everything he had been through.
Now and then someone peeked into the tent out of curiosity, especially the younger boys who commented to each other about how different he was from them before the women arrived to send them away with reproaches. During the day, from outside the tent, he could hear people talking, the lowing of cows, and from time to time the shrill cries of children playing tag whose laughter put him in a good mood, but when night fell, with the silence of the falls, he couldn't help but feel alone, abandoned and helpless, even if that wasn't the case.
Basim woke up early in the morning to the first solo of the cockcrow.
He had slept a few hours and felt groggy but, nevertheless, he had no qualms about getting up, now tired of lying down. Waddling like an infant learning to walk, he managed to get out of his shelter; the sun was still a pale-yellow segment on the horizon and the sky a pale pastel blue, many of the nomads were already awake ready to get to work.
Zaka was already darting from one part of the camp to the other to give orders or comply with some request. With his slightly rounded shape and the pale green of his clothes, he seems like a tangle of twigs at the mercy of the wind.
He noticed Basim and went towards him smiling as usual.
<< Already up? Our doctor worked a miracle! You're already better! >>
<< I'm standing, yes, but to say that I'm "fine"... it's still early to say. >>
<< It's still a good result, I mean it. Come. I'll show you around. >>
The nomad camp was much larger than Basim had expected.
Each tent was large and equipped with small comforts, some had a pyramidal "roof" while others instead; had the shape of flattened spheres and could be distinguished from each other by their finely decorated colored drapes and particular designs. As the light irradiated the sky, the torches used to keep wild animals at bay were extinguished; the men prepared to go hunting or take the herd to graze, while the women took care of the domestic chores of their fabric houses and cradled their children while they were still in swaddling clothes. Even the older children busied themselves with simple but important tasks such as collecting water from the nearby oasis or preserving meat and cereals.
Stolen novel; please report.
Zaka, holding his arm, told him the whole history of his people. A simple story, without twists, but in an interesting way. When he talked about it, his voice filled with enthusiasm and his eyes shone and his people, who had listened to him many, many times by now, managed to complete his sentences, demonstrating that they knew it by heart. You could see how proud he was of his people and their traditions. His tribe was neither rich nor of noble lineage compared to many others that inhabited the region, governed by caliphs who displayed wealth and power without hesitation, but he was still happy to belong to those people, and sharing their history was his way to honor them.
<< Very interesting, but all I think about is my house. I would like to go back as soon as possible, could you help me? >> Basim managed to ask him, taking advantage of a brief pause in his monologue.
<< I understand your wishes. After this experience, you will certainly want to reunite with your people. Which tribe do you belong to? Is it very far from here? >>
<< No, I come from the capital: Baharmis. >>
Zaka opened his eyes wide in amazement and so did those few people who were nearby and had the opportunity to hear the name of that famous city.
<< Seriously? From Baharmis? By golly, then you are an important person. >>
<< Who? Me? No, for goodness’s sake. I am just a humble potter, nothing more. >>
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For Basim, however, it was the first time he had heard such a statement. Did they think this about the citizens? It was quite funny.
<< Well, I'm flattered. But going back to my initial question, can you help me? >>
<< There's no talking about it, pal. >>
A strange character suddenly entered the conversation.
He appeared from behind them without them noticing. He walked in a graceful and controlled manner like a feline approaching its prey with feigned distrust before deciding whether to pounce on it or not. The people who had gathered around to listen to the conversation moved away, giving way to him, some showing disappointment and others, instead; they were a little scared. His clothing was a much darker green than that of the other nomads who instead tended towards lighter and more lively shades, his face was almost completely covered by the traditional keffiyeh, except for his eyes which, to Basim's surprise, were blue as much as his, if not clearer.
He stared at him intently: it wasn't a bad look, but it wasn't friendly either.
There was something "sinister" about him, which alarmed Basim's instincts, suggesting him not to trust too much.
<< In a few days we will enter the "Green Passage" and then follow the trade route from there. Because of you, we are already late, you should reimburse us for the time you have made us waste. >>
<< Sadin…! What is this way of addressing our guest? >>
<< It's the truth. He should at least pay us the trouble for saving him. >>
<< Sadin! I apologize on behalf of my nephew; I assure you that he is not always so disrespectful. >>
<< But chief... on the one hand, he is right. >> Someone intervened at that moment. << We have been preparing for this trip for a year. In the situation we are in, we cannot afford any more interruptions. >>
A murmur arose among the nomads. Evidently, the topic was very important in the group, so much so that it divided people's moods and opinions.
Zaka repeatedly scolded his nephew for his behavior. But the more he talked, the more Sadin seemed to enjoy teasing him, like a magpie who found amusement in molesting a dog's tail.
What a strange individual, Basim thought.
Zaka dragged Basim away, away from the attention of his strange nephew.
He took him aside and confessed that the tribe was going through a difficult time. In recent years the nomadic life had become increasingly harsh, they were experiencing a period of famine and many animals had fallen ill and died; even the weather had not been kind, the frequent sandstorms and the invasions of locusts that had devastated the crops had given the final blow. To solve their problems, it would have been enough to buy new seeds and livestock, but very expensive goods and they did not have enough money to afford to buy the right quantities of supplies they needed.
Zaka said that it was his nephew, during a meeting with the elders, who made a proposal to get out of that dramatic situation.
His idea had been to organize street performances to earn the money they needed. He had an excellent sense for business, he knew how to understand the desires of others, and he also had the particular gift of easily enchanting with his persuasive words. Precisely with these qualities he had convinced his people to undertake that road.
The adults, in reality, were not convinced that such a bizarre idea could work, the young people, on the contrary, had enthusiastically joined the project.
<< The boys have trained all year for this moment and we need the money... this is the best opportunity to take advantage of it. >>
<< Baharmis is the right place for this purpose, I have seen many companies of street artists perform with great success. Why is your nephew against going to the capital? >>
<< it's too far from our route. We headed south, towards the end of the "Green Passage". If we headed towards Baharmis, it would take us maybe a month, or even two, and that would be too long. >>
<< But-but I need to go home! I can't stay away this long! >>
<< I'm sorry, but I really can't. Ours is a rigid itinerary to follow to avoid accidents, we cannot afford to change it. >>
<< Lend me at least a camel... or at least have someone accompany me! >>
<< Lend? Accompany? And how do you plan to pay for all these favors? >>
Sadin reappeared unexpectedly again. This time, he was playing with a ball of cloth that he deftly rolled back and forth in his hand.
<< Sadin, have you started eavesdropping again? >>
<< Nooo uncle, I just happened to pass by the tent while you were talking. >>
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The boy chuckled.
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<< I lost everything when I ran away from the raiders... >>
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<< I would be a potter... >>
<< A potter? How lame. It's the most boring job in the world. >>
<< Hey, it's the family business! Show respect! >>
And as he said this, his ears picked up music. It was out of tune, yes, but still music. In the situation he was in, he wouldn't have given it any importance, but he recognized something familiar in that sound. He gave a start and, stunning everyone, ran away in the direction of the sound, wandering nervously between the curtains, until he reached the source.
A small group of boys were attempting to play Fawzi's Yasirpipe.
The teenagers were discussing the nature of the instrument, expressing lively opinions on its origin, while in the meantime they passed it from hand to hand causing it to fall repeatedly and whoever tried to play it pulled the strings clumsily with the risk of breaking them.
Basim shouted to stop and told them to give it back to him.
The boys, instead of returning it, ran away and began to make fun of him, exchanging it among themselves to confuse him, laughing at his still lolling walk. Poor Basim's head was spinning from the excessive effort; he could faint at any moment but his biggest worry was that the instrument might break. If that had happened, he would never have forgiven himself. At a certain point, the Yasirpipe ended up in Sadin's hands and everyone stopped. Basim held his breath without realizing it.
The boy, with his lively eyes, studied the object with great interest, caressing every corner and detail with care, moaning thoughtfully. Suddenly those mischievous eyes looked at him again, triggering a leap in his heart.
<< Is it yours? >> he asked him.
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<< It seems precious. >> he said, realizing its importance. << We could resell it for a nice sum. >> he added.
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<< No! Because it's…! It’s…! It's a Yasirpipe! >>
Maybe he shouldn't have said it, maybe it would have been better to make up a lie, but at that moment he couldn't think of better solutions. He had no obligation to protect that object that wasn't even his, but he felt that it was his duty to guard it until he found a worthy successor, not so much because it could control the Sand, but rather because it deserved to end up in the hands of nobler than his. Meanwhile, a silence full of amazement had fallen among those present, even Sadin showed great surprise through his gaze. In an unusually serious tone, he asked him if he was telling the truth; Basim swore it in the name of the Gods.
The boy left the instrument without saying a word and quickly went to a distant tent. When he returned, he had with him a voluminous bag in which colored powder with light and dark shades was stored. Impure sand, Basim thought. With all the shows he had witnessed, he had learned to recognize the so-called "worst" category of the element at first sight. But why did he have a bag full of them with him?
<< Prove that what you say is true. >> The boy ordered him.
Basim realized he had no other choice. He had already "played" with the instrument a couple of times, but only to play music, never to move the Sand (also because he didn't have any). His hands were sweating and trembling as he tried to play the first song that came into his head, hitting repeatedly as he had never done before. However, it mattered little whether the notes were right or wrong, the Sand suddenly shot out of the bag like crazy, pirouetting up and down or forming small whirlpools with its colored pigments.
<< Ok! Okay! I believe you now! That's enough! >> Sadin shouted.
Basim was happy about it because his fingers hurt terribly after less than a minute of performance.
Who knows what the Masters would have thought if they had discovered that a simpleton like him had used their Sand without a diploma.
At that moment Sadin untied his keffiyeh, finally showing his face; Basim realized that the boy was unusual in his appearance as well as his words.
The hair was long and thin like the threads used to weave a carpet, dark and with slightly coppery reflections, the forehead was spacious with a large mole in the center and the nose was very pointed. His facial features were much squarer than those of his people who, however; tended towards rounder features and, now that he noticed it, even the shape of his eyes was much larger and more expressive; he couldn't decide if his skin color was too light, "unusual" for an individual of that tribe.
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<< Basim. >>
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[1]Long and rectangular veil. It wraps around the head and is pinned to the shoulders.
[2]A traditional Arab dish, consisting of lamb meat cooked in a cheese-based sauce and served with rice.
[3]The name Basim in Arabic means "one who smiles"