Chapter 6
The Leper Messiah ~ continued from Chapter 6 | The Rose
The Rosarians traveled from desert town to desert town preaching about the codes and laws that had changed their lives.
One day they stopped at the blacksmith in the town of Bethlehem as one of the horses had a problem with its leg. The blacksmith stroked the horse and picked up its leg to look at the foot.
“Easy boy,” he said. “Forty shekels.”
He put down the horse’s leg.
“Mira,” Abe called. “We better be on foot and let the man do his work now.”
Ten families were moving slowly along the Euphrates Valley in two wagons during the heat of the late afternoon desert sun.
“We must travel to Damascus,” Abe said.
“Why?” asked Arlemay, who was nervous of returning to his beloved city.
The donkeys brayed as they walked while tied to the back of the wagon.
Abe looked at their leader.
“We have no funds, little food and the children are crying.”
The traveler was silent as they walked along the trade routes he had once traveled with Ali and Omar. The dust rose up while the wind beat about the wagons and the desperate souls within.
He knew what was in Damascus but hid his selfishness and decided to return from his five-year sojourn.
“Yes,” Arlemay said. “We are for Damascus.”
Abe ran ahead and told the group their destination.
“Mira, we are going to drink from the mighty Barada River. We are going to Damascus.” He jumped up and kissed his wife.
“I will find work as a teacher and Omar will go to school. You can shop all day long in the marketplace.”
They kissed and began the long journey to the jewel of the east, the crescent city.
Arlemay saw his dream dying and knew that once in the city it would be hard to keep his company together. He disappeared under the cover of a wagon.
“Why?” he cried as he scratched at his legs and ankles.
His thumbs and fingers were stubs now from the leprosy and he hid his hands underneath his robe.
He remembered the first time he saw The Desert Rose and the passion that overtook him. Was it all for nothing? He remembered his torn youth:
Arlemay dipped his water bag into a cool mountain stream, a worn and haggard face surrounded by long, dirty hair and etched with sorrow appeared in the still water. He shrank from the sight as a wild animal would from civilization.
He drank greedily, gathered his bow and arrows and his fox pelts and left the mountain stream with the image burned into his mind.
The man-child dashed through the forest bed up the winding mountain trails and looked out over a stone ledge for the last time: the forest stood still, and far down below the treacherous coast was empty. The rough seas heaved dangerously. He heard the wind sweep through the trees while watching the great snowy owl take flight, swirling and swirling above.
“Will I always be the unwanted?” he thought. “And now the unclean.”
The wagon shook slightly and the wind blew through as figs, dates, nuts and loaves of bread began to fill up the hot, dry wagon.
“Replenish yourself and journey to the city of Jebus,” the voice said.
The wagon continued to sway in the noonday sun as the food poured in. Arlemay continued to cry as he looked at his disfigured hands and feet.
“Will nuts and dates help my fingers now?” he sobbed. “How will bread help me walk?”
He threw a loaf of bread into the air.
“Who will listen to me, who will listen to a leper?” he said. He pulled back his sleeves to show his ravaged hands. “Who will look at me and smile?”
“Go to Jebus.”
Arlemay’s sunburned face was lined and caked with the Persian desert. He rode slowly toward the watering hole and cautiously dismounted away from the band of men that surrounded the well. The men wore brightly colored, rough tunics and large leather belts.
The morning sun rose like a diamond and all one could see in any direction were hills of sand and beyond them great drifts of sand.
He drew near and quickly filled his animal hide bag with water.
From behind the men he could see boys playing with a small ball. They kicked at it and he heard their voices ringing far out into the desert. One child kicked the ball and it landed at Arlemay’s feet. He smiled and kicked the dried piece of leather back to the children. The men smiled and looked on.
“Come, my friend,” one man called out. “Take some mint tea with us.”
Arlemay drank from his water bag and tied it to his camel.
“You want tea?” another called.
“Yes, yes,” Arlemay said. “I want tea.”
He walked over to the colorfully dressed men.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Just to the market,” a large man said. “For bread and cheese.”
He spread his arms wide and motioned to the desert sands.
“Just to market.”
He started a small pantomime: looking from a doorway he put out his hand then brought a rug to cover his head as if it were pouring rain. His friends laughed and they all started to run and hide from the rain.
One man handed Arlemay a hot bowl of mint tea.
“We are for Damascus,” he said. “Join us; we are only five days ride away.”
“Where are you from?” Arlemay asked.
“We are Roma from the Hindu Kush.”
The man who had given him tea now did a soft shoe sort of dance among the sands.
“We entertain in Damascus in the open markets.”
The boys yelled as one kicked the ball through the great legs of a camel. The camel spat and tried to bite one of the boys.
Arlemay sat down in the sand near the water hole.
“Hindu Kush,” he said to himself. He was glad to think of something new rather than Greythorn and his pain.
“Great mountains and all manner of danger,” the man smiled.
“I could entertain,” Arlemay said to himself. He drank his tea.
“You are for Damascus?” he asked again.
“Damascus,” the man said as he continued his dance among the sands. “We go.”
Continue reading… Chapter 7 | You Know Not What You Do
[…] Chapter 7 Arlemay in Damascus ~ continued from Chapter 6 | The Crescent City […]