The Pen- Sultan's Wisdom

by Dennis Galloway

  Harold witnessed the love Tara had for Al-Hamid, and his heart went out to them both as the scene faded to black.

  A First Date

  Harold woke up and saw the blood stains on his pants. Disgusted, he took them off and soaked them in a large pot of water. He needed to get to work.

  Harold had been going to the library on the weekends for some time now, translating the pages he had written from the week before. Always, Priscilla was there with a smile for him. Each time they met, their conversations lengthened.

  Harold remembered how to romance from his dream travel, and he was determined to give it a go. This day was to be a turning point in their relationship.

  On Monday, after Harold finished work and went home, he decided he would go that evening to the library. He gathered the work to be translated and left his house. On his way, he passed by a flower shop and bought some daisies. After that, he went directly to the library, where he knew Priscilla would be since she had told him she worked the late shift on Mondays.

  As the large oak doors closed with an echo, Priscilla briefly looked up from her book, saw Harold approaching, and looked back down, smiling to herself and pretending to read. She was so happy to see him.

  Harold came through the doors carrying his briefcase, hiding the flowers behind his back. He had a huge smile on his face as he crossed the large marble floor. His footsteps echoed off the walls. Some people looked up and shushed him.

  “Oh, sorry,” Harold whispered as he continued to walk rapidly, but softer, toward Priscilla’s desk. Without looking up from her book, she stifled a quiet giggle.

  Finally, he stood before her, panting slightly at the pace he had set to get there. He thrust out the small bundle of daisies he knew were her favorite.

  “Good evening, Priscilla. How has your day been?”

  She smiled and, not yet looking up from her book, said, “It has been fine. How has yours been…?” Her voice trailed off as she looked up from her book and saw the flowers.

  “Oh, my! What beautiful flowers. For me? Oh, thank you!” she said as her eyes grew wide, and her face lit up with a big smile.

  Again, people in the large room looked up from their reading, irritated, and said emphatically, “Shh!”

  “Oh, sorry,” responded Priscilla. She looked into Harold’s blue eyes.

  “Thank you, thank you,” she whispered. It had been years and years since anyone had given her flowers, especially daisies. Her heart was touched at the gesture.

  “My day has been fine, but now with these daises, it has turned out wonderful!” she said.

  “Shh!”

  “Oh, sorry,” Priscilla repeated.

  Priscilla took the flowers and got up from her desk to go find a vase.

  When she returned, Harold asked, “Priscilla, after the library closes, would you like to get a spot of tea with me at Clara’s around the corner?”

  “Oh, yes, that would be so nice,” she said with a smile in her voice.

  “All right then. I will go and begin my translation. Come get me when it’s time, right?”

  “Right!” Her heart was full of love for this man. She watched him turn and go into the Special Collections room.

  As the evening set in, the main clock in the library struck eight at night. Priscilla got up from her desk and went about the large reading room, gently informing each person that the library was now closed and they would have to leave. They each looked up from their books, nodded their heads, and prepared to leave. When the last person left, and she was sure no one else was in the library, Priscilla went to the Special Collections room to tell Harold the library was closed, and she was free to have some tea with him.

  They left the library through the huge doors, venturing out into the cool of the evening.

  Priscilla turned, closed, and locked the doors. They descended the stone steps onto the sidewalk. Winter was on its way. Dried leaves were blown by chilling winds around their feet as they walked closely, side by side, arm in arm, bundled up against the cold, their breath steaming as they talked.

  They soon came to Clara’s. Harold gallantly opened the door for Priscilla, and a small bell chimed as they entered the warm room with its small, intimate tables and glowing golden lights. A bright fire in a small hearth cast flickers of light into the room. Their conversation lasted for hours, until closing time. Harold walked Priscilla home in the cold, holding her hand in his. At her doorstep, Harold said, “I had a wonderful evening with you, Priscilla. May we do this again sometime?” He looked into her eyes with hope in his heart.

  “Yes, that would be grand,” she replied. “I enjoyed this evening with you, talking about so much. Thank you for a beautiful experience.”

  They stood looking into each other’s eyes, holding hands.

  A man all wrapped up in a large coat and top hat came walking by. “Hmmpf,” he said as he saw them and kept walking on past.

  The sound startled Harold and Priscilla, causing their eyes to break contact, but not their hands. “Well, then, until we meet again,” said Harold as he tried to turn to go.

  “When?” asked Priscilla, anxiously, while still holding his hands.

  “I suppose this weekend, if that’s all right with you?” said Harold.

  “Splendid,” said Priscilla with a sigh.

  They looked at each other again.

  Priscilla’s heart leapt, and she decided to take a chance. She kissed him.

  Harold’s eyes flew wide open with surprise. He stood back for a moment, then moved toward her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and gave her a deep kiss. She almost swooned as her knees went weak.

  Still holding her, he said, “Good night, my darling. I can’t wait to see you again.”

  Harold released his hold on her waist, turned, waved goodbye, and started to walk away, watching her over his shoulder.

  She was beaming with a huge, tearful smile.

  “Yes, my darling,” she said. “Good night. I will see you again soon.”

  They waved to each other. Harold turned and walked down the street, whistling. Priscilla watched him until she could no longer see him in the dim streetlights. Then she turned and ran up the steps to the door of her small home, laughing with joy.

  Escape

  Harold and Priscilla soon found they had a lot in common and were even more interested in each other than they had thought possible. Every time Harold met with Priscilla, his heart beat a bit faster. The world faded away and his only focus was her. He took her to the theater, to dinner, dancing, riding in a carriage in the park, and much more. They soon fell in love.

  Harold continued writing with the pen and traveling in his dreams. He never talked to Priscilla about the exact experience he was having with the pen, but he did tell her what the translations revealed. Priscilla was fascinated.

  Harold was grateful for what he had learned about romance in a relationship and how important it was. Each evening during the week, he sat in his study with the pen in hand, ready to learn more. And he did.

  Harold was sitting in a dark corner of a tent, with Al-Hamid lying down, recovering from his beatings. The air was hot, thick with sweat and the smell of blood. Harold almost gagged.

  I remember a day that will always be with me.

  Tara came past the guards into my tent, where I had been recovering from my beatings. She carefully removed my bandages, cleaned my wounds with vinegar water, and placed fresh bandages on the healing wounds. I wrapped my arms about her waist and pulled her close.

  “You know I have always asked you about your life, but never told you of mine. I wasn’t always a wandering Bedouin. I was born on a caravan trail to a mother I never knew. I grew up in the streets of Cairo and became an apprentice to a wealthy merchant. However, the Fates threw me in the Nile river to be found by the tribe of Abbas where I finished my childho
od and grew to a man. There I became a high-ranking elder of the tribe, with my own camels and horses. I was betrayed and came to be captured by these bandits during a heated battle we had with them over a water right in the desert.”

  As I finished, she looked at me, with my tattered clothes, unshaven face, and long hair, shook her head in disbelief, and said, “No matter who you say you are, I love you, and that is all that matters.”

  “But I am—”

  She kissed me.

  A few days later, she came again into my tent and in whispers said, “Be still while I clean your wounds, and I will tell you of a plan I have devised for us to escape.”

  She tended to my wounds as before, but each time she leaned close to me, she whispered part of her plan. It was simple enough.

  Harold had not clearly heard what Tara told Al-Hamid, so he was puzzled when he found himself outside Al-Hamid’s tent, in the cool of the desert night, sitting next to guards huddled about a small fire, rubbing their hands to keep warm.

  On a moonless night, she brought a meal for the guards.

  “Ah, she approaches with our meal!” said one of the guards as Tara came walking toward my tent. They were hungry and bored, since guarding me was what they did all day long.

  “Stop woman,” said a guard as he held up his hand.

  “Show me the bundle you have brought for us,” he said with a frown. She set down the bundle and opened it up. It had dried figs, couscous, flat bread, and some cold lamb slices. Their eyes widened at such a banquet. Their mouths watered with hunger.

  “I also have brought sharbat for you hard-working guards,” Tara said with a smile. She poured out liberal servings for each of them, as they sat and devoured the banquet.

  Tara laughed with them and kept pouring the sharbat. Soon they were laughing and telling jokes. The drink for the guards was mixed with a potent sleeping herb, and they quickly fell asleep at their posts.

  Harold saw what Tara did next, and then he understood that an escape was about to happen.

  He sat next to one of the sleeping guards and watched.

  Tara grabbed a knife from one of the guards and ducked into my tent.

  Harold also grabbed one of the curved knives and hid it inside his coat. He found by doing so, no one could see it.

  I immediately sat up, hearing someone enter my tent in the dark.

  “Al-Hamid, it is I, Tara, here to set you free!” Tara whispered, as she cut my bindings.

  We kissed and quickly embraced. Then I opened the front flap of the tent and saw the guards, snoring as they slept around the entrance. Carefully, we slipped out of the tent, stepped past them, carrying additional food and drink she had brought.

  Harold got up and followed.

  We slowly made our way past several tents and out to the edge of the wadi, where we were encamped. There we followed camel tracks from the day before. Carefully, we stepped where the camels had before us, so as not to leave any trace of our passing, and then we vanished into the desert night.

  Harold started to follow them, but instead, he went to where the camels were staked or hobbled and cut several of them loose with the knife. He then pushed and shoved them so they slowly walked away from the camp. Harold then ran to catch up to Al-Hamid and Tara.

  For long hours we traveled along the same trail until we found the stony crossing of an old streambed. That is where we turned off the camel path and made our way down a gully toward the hills some distance away, leaving no trace behind. We knew that come morning, the camp would stir and discover my escape. The guards most likely would be beheaded and a search party sent out to recover me. We could not afford to stop, even as the day began anew with its searing heat.

  As the heat rose from the desert floor, so did the wind. Off in the distance, a huge wall of windblown sand was racing toward us.

  “Tara, look; a hoodo is coming fast this way. Wrap your scarf about your face and head. It will be upon us soon,” I said. I put my arm about her small shoulders and held her close.

  The wall of sand overcame us, and the sun was dimmed to a dull yellow haze. We walked on with the wind tearing at our clothes and the sand stinging any skin that lay exposed.

  Harold was not affected by the wind at all. He simply traveled alongside them.

  The wind howled in our ears, so it was impossible to talk. For hours it blew until the sun went down. Then it did abate and calm. The stars in the heavens above shone brightly in a clear, black sky. Allah had seen to it that all traces of our escape had been swept away.

  We traveled on for several days without sleep, until we reached a rocky outcrop rising above the desert floor. It offered some shade because of shallow caves that cratered the surface of the cliffs. We stopped, and I scanned the horizon for any dust or sign of pursuit. Satisfied that we were alone, that we had indeed lost our captors, we crawled into one of the deepest caves we could find and fell asleep. We woke to find several venomous snakes curled up near us. Apparently, they had crawled into the same cave to get out of the cool of the night and found our warm bodies to lie next to.

  Harold was frightened stiff at the sight of the snakes. He was standing in the midst of a large clump of them. They were moving over his feet and around his ankles.

  “Tara,” I whispered to her, “do not move quickly. Snakes have curled near your body.” I pointed them out to her.

  They hissed at the vibration of my voice.

  We slowly got up. I took her hand gently, and we stepped over the heap of snakes beginning to writhe and squirm at our movement.

  The hissing grew louder, so we ran to escape their lunges at our legs.

  Harold followed Al-Hamid and Tara slowly, careful not to step on any of the snakes. They, on the other hand, could smell him with their flicking tongues, and moved out his path ahead of his step.

  Fortunately, their strikes did not hit us, and we emerged safely into a cool dawn.

  Harold followed them through all these things, periodically stealing food from their bags and drinking some of the water they carried. He kept it to a minimum, and they did not notice.

  Fortunately, because of my knowledge of the desert, we survived for weeks until we came upon the tracks of a passing caravan in the sand.

  “Tara, look at these tracks,” I said as I closely looked at them. “They are coming from west of here, so I don’t think it is our captors. I think it is a merchant caravan that recently passed this way.”

  Suddenly, we heard the bleating, bellowing sounds of camels and their tinkling bells beyond the hill of sand before us. We did not want to be captured again, so we dropped to our bellies and crawled to the crest of the dune to see who the travelers were.

  Harold knew he could not be seen, so he stood up on top of the dune and looked at the travelers.

  It was my tribe. My eyes widened with joy. I stood up tall on the dune, shouted, and waved my hands.

  “Haaaa eeeee! Haaa eeeee! It is I, Al-Hamid. It is I!”

  Tara was terrified and tried to pull me down, grabbing at my clothes. I stayed her hands with a reassuring nod and continued to shout, “Haaaa eeeee! Haaa eeeee! It is I, Al-Hamid. It is I!”

  The mounted guards turned toward us and galloped furiously, swords at the ready. The sand was tossed in high plumbs behind their galloping mounts as they raced up the dune toward us. The horse’s snouts were fuming with hot air, and the riders’ robes were flowing behind them as they rose and dropped in their saddles. As they drew closer, they shouted, “Aaaaaahhheeeee, Aaaahhhhee!”

  As the first of them came near, his eyes grew wide in recognition. He stopped his horse in a surge of sand, sheathed his sword, and swung down from his saddle. He ran toward me with open arms and embraced me with hugs and kisses on my cheeks.

  “Al-Hamid, it is you! We thought you dead and grieved at your passing. Oh, Allah be praised, you are alive!” he sai
d between tears and hugs.

  The others galloping toward us saw what was going on, pulled in their reins, and stopped, surrounding us.

  “It is Al-Hamid. He is alive!” my first friend cried to the others. They all dismounted, sheathed their swords, and came over to embrace me as well.

  As the hugs and cries subsided, the questions began.

  One of the men bumped into Harold and knocked him to the sand. The man looked directly at Harold but, of course, could not see him; however, he saw the sand indent as Harold fell. His eyebrows jumped up, but he shook his head, thinking it was only the sand shifting as it does on these dunes, and he turned his attention back to the reunion.

  “Where have you been? How did you not die? Where did you come from? How did you get here?”

  “Oh, wait, wait,” I said. “All will be explained in due time.” I held up my hand. “First, I want you to meet my rescuer and the love of my life. She is the reason I am here today with you.” I pointed down the dune to Tara. She was sitting in the sand, looking up at me and my friends, amazed that I hadn’t been cut to shreds. Tears were running down her face, which gleamed with joy in the hot sun. She got up and ran to me. I embraced her and lifted her off her feet, hugging her close. We were home.

  They gave Tara and me a horse to mount double, while the rider mounted double with another, and they took us back down the dune to the tribe caravan.

  Harold scrambled up onto his feet, grabbed the saddle of another rider, and swung himself up behind him. The rider felt his horse stumble a bit at the extra weight and thought his robe had caught on his saddle as Harold held on.

  Justice

  Abbas had been watching the guards with interest when they swept up the dune toward us, but then the encounter had shifted out of sight. The guards brought us to him directly, and he separated himself from the caravan to greet them.

  The horses coming to Abbas stopped quickly in front of him, throwing sand into the air. I dismounted and ran over to Abbas with my arms held wide. When Abbas saw me, he wept tears of happiness and hugged me so strongly that he lifted me off the ground. He called for an immediate halt to the caravan and had the tribe gather around us. The tribe yelled shouts of joy and greetings with many tears shed.