Chapter 8
The Desert Thief ~ continued from Chapter 8 | To The Desert
The woman brought figs, dates and water to the tent. Inside the tent was a simple wooden chest and dusty boots. The folds of fabric were hot to the touch and the dust blew in from the caravans but the old lady’s smile was calming.
“You are brothers?”
“Yes,” Shimea said.
“You have traveled far?” the old woman asked.
“Yes.”
“You don’t know each other,” she said. “You are like strangers to each other.”
She smiled.
Shimea looked down at his sleeping brother with the long, wild, red hair, the upturned nose and fair features so unlike any of the other brothers.
“No,” Shimea said, “I don’t know who he is.”
“Do not worry but protect him. He is your flesh and blood,” she said. “You have seen all that has happened to him, his pain, his anger and how he has helped you.”
She glanced down at the sleeping David. “Love him.”
The next day the two brothers attached themselves to a caravan leaving for Medina and then the City of Palms. They paid the caravan leader the last of their dinars and made ready for the long trip home. The entire trek would be 700 miles. Camels carrying 300 to 500 pounds would walk 70 miles a day and sometimes four days until the next watering hole. The caravan stretched six miles in a snaking line of dust.
The boys were relegated to the supply wagon pulled by a nasty dromedary. The animal turned on them and spat bile onto the sand.
“We’d better hurry.”
Shimea threw his satchel onto the already-moving wagon and jumped up onto the wooden platform in between bags and tools. He reached out his hand as David did the same and both found an area to sit amongst the supplies.
“Home,” said David as he sat back against a bag of grain.
“We have to cross the desert first, brother,” Shimea smiled.
The wagon sped up as the six-mile caravan lurched forward in an endless stream of dust and wind.
David punched Shimea in the arm and yelled, “Into the desert.”
Shimea shook his head and laughed at his baby brother with the wild eyes and an angelic smile plastered on his ruddy cheeks.
The line of camels raced far ahead of the supply wagons and the dust rose up into the great sky so that nothing was seen for miles.
The two boys coughed in the dust and covered their mouths and noses with their head scarves.
The old woman’s words resounded in Shimea’s head, “Love him.”
“I will love him,” Shimea whispered to himself as the camels broke off and disappeared into the distance.
The wagon struggled up a hill and then fell downward, throw- ing the boys headlong into the front. They laughed loudly as they both landed headfirst in the bags of grain.
“Secure the wagon,” said a leader of the caravan who galloped up from behind.
He was a small, squat individual mounted on his beautiful, white Arabian stallion. The man’s eyes gleamed as Shimea had counted out the 700 dinars and placed them in the lead- er’s hands. His smile grew wide and his gold tooth glowed brightly as the money was safely placed in a pouch tied to the wide, black belt that hung under his robes.
“We are 300 camels and 500 men.”
“Yes,” Shimea said as he moved the supplies.
David put the bag of grain behind his back and settled in for the long journey.
“Nobody would attack us.” His horse moved as the leader handled the reins. “But be careful and tell me if you see anything.”
The boys nodded in agreement.
“David,” Shimea said as the wagon jerked forward on its way over the desert. “I know why they put vinegar in your meal and dislike you.”
David sat up and watched his brother.
“Father doesn’t think you are his.”
“What?” David’s face turned red.
“It’s a long story but I think I understand.” Shimea scratched his face. “It’s simple.”
He dropped his hands as the wagon hit a bump.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that father thinks you are not of his blood.”
“What?” David looked around the great open sands and tried to comprehend. “Not of his blood?”
“This is what the brothers said.” Shimea tried again. “Grandmother was a Moab and she was a convert.”
“So?” David turned on Shimea.
“Hear what I have to say,” Shimea continued. “Moabs weren’t allowed to become part of our tribe but Moab women were accepted.”
“Okay, Moab women,” David said.
“Father recently felt that he was not a part of the tribe and somehow wanted to feel more like he was.”
Shimea looked around for words.
“There’s nothing out there but sand,” David said. “Look at me.”
Shimea turned toward his brother.
“David.” He reached out and took his brother’s hands. “I love you and will stay with you always.”
David believed his brother and grasped his hands as well. The entire desert had awakened his soul.
“Yes,” he said. “I, too.”
The two boys hugged and felt their bond growing stronger.
“And so what about Father?” David sat back.
“He wanted to have another son, a pure one from a pure woman, so he left our house.”
Shimea was not proud of this and so looked out over the great expanse as the wagon pulled forward on the rough trail.
“He asked the maid servant who he knew was a pure woman to lay with him.”
David shook his head.
“David,” Shimea continued. “It never happened. The maid servant told Mother and it was she that laid with father in the dark.”
David took a moment; his eyes focused on the hills that rose and fell on a never-ending carpet of sand. Above them were high plateaus that jutted out angrily over the vast expanse.
“We are never going back,” David said.
Continue reading… Chapter 8 | They Have Taken David
[…] Continue reading… Chapter 8 | Never Going Back […]