Just Deserts (15 page)

“Riding across the country?”

“No, we've been there, done that. We were talking about another adventure. Just me and him, again, spending time together.”

“Your father … you're really close to him, aren't you?” I said.

“He's my dad,” he replied simply. As if that was all that needed to be said on the subject.

I slowed down. I didn't want to continue this conversation. Andy slowed down to match my pace. Again a surprise.

“You don't have to wait for me,” I said.

“That's okay. We're all going to be stopping soon.”

I looked up. On the horizon, like a mirage, was the oasis that was our midday destination.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE WATER BUBBLED UP
to the surface and pooled in a large cement trough. From there it leaked out along little plastic tubes that extended and then disappeared under the ground, which was covered with bushes and bulrushes and trees—palm and date and orange. The oranges were very, very little. I had the urge to pull out L'Orange to both introduce him to his kinfolk and also let them see what a
real
orange looked like.

The trees weren't tall, but many were big enough to provide the shade that protected us from the blazing noonday sun. Almost straight overhead, it was unbelievably searing, boiling, broiling, baking hot.

Sitting under these trees with my feet in the cool water, listening to the sound of chirping insects and twittering birds, was as close to heaven as I could imagine. That seemed fair, because it felt as if I'd already walked through hell.

Andy was sitting with his back against one of the trees. His eyes were closed and he was gently rubbing
his knees. That gave me a feeling of quiet satisfaction. Connor had his feet in the pool of water as well, and Kajsa was off in the bushes adding her own water to the oasis.

“When do you think Larson will get here?” I asked.

“I don't know, but I'd be pretty happy to spend the rest of the day here,” Connor said.

“We need him to come back within the next two hours if we're going to meet our goal for the day,” Andy said.

That thought had been in my mind, too. I had only so many days to get to Tunis before I started to lose money. Where was he? I was getting a little annoyed with his frequent and unannounced departures. What sort of guide kept abandoning people—especially in the middle of the desert?

“There he is!” Connor yelled.

I spun around in the direction he was pointing. At first I didn't see anything, and then I caught sight of him, or at least his head, in the distance above a dune. The dark-blue turban stood out clearly against the colour of the sand, but there was something about the movement that seemed wrong, or strange. More of him appeared, and then disappeared, and then reappeared. It was like he was jumping up and down—and then the head of a camel appeared!

“He's riding a camel!” Kajsa shouted as she came back from the bushes.

“That is so cool!” Connor said as he got to his feet. “Maybe he'll let us take a ride on it, too!”

“He'd better let us!” I snapped. “We've been walking all this way and he's been riding a camel? That's not fair!”

And then another head popped up above the dune. Another turban-clad figure. And then a third and a fourth … and all around them were camels! There had to be dozens and dozens of camels, and among the camels were even more goats, scrambling among the oversized feet of the larger animals.

Larson had brought a whole lot of friends—or—was it even Larson? He'd talked about there being nomads in this area. Was this a bunch … a herd … a
tribe
of nomads who were bringing their livestock here to get water? Certainly from this distance there was no way to tell.

“What's that sound?” Andy asked.

I cocked my head to the side. There
was
something, like a buzzing sound. It got louder and clearer until there was no question. It was an engine. Not a plane or even a car or truck. It was too high-pitched. It sounded more like a hive of bees rushing toward us.

A small motorcycle burst over the dune, flying through the air before landing in a spray of sand! Then a second and a third cycle landed right behind the first! The three dirt bikes rounded the dune and
then shot off, disappearing from view, the droning sound fading as they raced away.

Andy stood up. He looked a little anxious. If the Terminator was nervous, there had to be a reason, and that made
me
anxious. I pulled my feet out of the water and quickly started to put on my socks and shoes. I figured I should be ready to run if necessary. But run where?

More and more camels and goats kept appearing over the dune until a whole herd was moving toward us—toward the oasis—getting bigger and louder and smellier. There was a distinct odour, probably coming from the camels, as they closed in on us—and that's how it felt, like we were being closed in on, surrounded, trapped. Then the motorcycles reappeared, three abreast, and in front of them were more camels, maybe another three or four dozen. They were being herded, driven, by the men on the bikes.

The four of us crowded together, almost instinctively seeking protection. The camels were coming closer and closer, crowding toward us, rushing forward, bumping and jostling each other, driving the goats ahead of them. It was as if they were being panicked by the motorcycles, as if they were stampeding right toward us and—

“We have to get away from the water!” Connor screamed.

Of course! They were going for the water! We moved backwards and I tripped over my own feet. Andy's grip on my arm was the only thing stopping me from falling down into the sand and under the feet of the onrushing camels!

We moved back into the bushes just as the camels moved right into the space we'd been occupying. The whole herd surged forward, pushing past each other to secure a place at the watering trough. It was a strange symphony of sounds and smells and sights that was overwhelming after the quiet, the emptiness that had been everywhere around us.

There were eight men with dark turbans and flowing robes—eight Larson look-alikes. One of them waved at us. Was that Larson? We all waved back. Either way, we needed to be friendly. One of the mounted camels seemed to collapse, first its front legs buckling and then its back legs—and then a second camel did the same, and a third! They hadn't collapsed, they were just letting their riders down.

It was soon obvious that none of these guys was Larson. They were smaller, darker and looked more like locals. These were real nomads. As they moved toward us, they each smiled and extended a hand in greeting.

“Whoever they are, they're friendly,” Kajsa said.

“Whoever they are, they're
armed,
” Andy pointed out.

Each man had a rifle strapped to his back. I had a split second of panic and had to fight the urge to run before I realized that there was no place to go and no way to get away from them if they decided to chase us. We had no choice but to believe the smiles and outstretched hands and not the guns.

One of the men said something to us—something I couldn't understand. I didn't even know what language he was speaking. Was it Arabic?

“As-salamu Alaykum,”
Andy said.

The man excitedly shook Andy's hand and then kissed him, first on one cheek and then the other!

“What did you just say?” I exclaimed.

“‘Peace be with you.' It's an Arabic greeting,” he said as the second man began pumping his hand and offering a kiss.

“You speak Arabic?”

“Only how to say hello, goodbye and ask for the toilet. Things I thought might be useful.”

Each of the men worked his way down the line, shaking our hands and offering kisses. When they came to Kajsa, they nodded their heads respectfully, but offered neither hands nor lips. I'd have preferred that treatment myself.

One of them started to talk excitedly to Andy. He must have thought he spoke Arabic.

“Sorry,” Andy offered, holding his hands up in front of him, “but that's all I can say.”

“Ask him for the toilet,” I suggested.

“I just wish I could ask him about where Larson is.”

“Larson?” one of the men asked.

“Yes, Larson, do you know Larson?” Connor asked.

They all started to talk excitedly, quickly. The only word I could understand was
Larson
and they repeated it continually. Then one of them turned and yelled it out to the others. They all obviously knew him. I just hoped they knew him
and
liked him. He struck me as the sort of guy who you either really liked or really, really didn't like.

The men in front of us now all wore serious expressions. One of them, staring right at me, barked out something that I obviously couldn't understand. The whole atmosphere had changed, and it hadn't changed for the better. If only I could talk to them, I could explain that I wasn't that crazy about the guy either. Strangest of all, even the camels seemed to have changed. Those closest to us were backing away, bumping into others, pawing at the ground.

The man pointed a finger at me and gestured with his other hand for me to be silent. Everyone was serious. No more smiles. But why?

He spoke to me, looking straight at me. At least now his words were soft and calm, though still completely impossible to understand. What was he
trying to say to me? I went to take a step forward, and he yelled out something and I froze in place.

Slowly he brushed back his robe and there was a glint of light—sun reflecting off metal. He had a sword strapped to his side. Why would he have a sword, and why was he showing it to me? And then all in one motion, he drew the weapon, raised it above his head and swung it toward me!

And when my life flashed in front of my eyes, it was a very sorry sight.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

THE SWORD CUT THROUGH THE AIR
, brushing by my side as Kajsa screamed and I jumped, practically knocking over Andy and Connor. In a tangle of arms and legs we scrambled away, my head spinning, trying desperately to think what to do, how to react, where to run and—

“It's a snake!” Kajsa called out.

I looked where she was pointing. The man with the sword was now also holding a snake—no,
two
snakes—no,
one
snake cut into
two
pieces! All the men began smiling again and cheering and patting him on the back. He hadn't been trying to kill me. He'd used the sword to kill a snake that must have been just beside me.

“That's a sand viper,” Andy said. “If it had bitten you, you would have been dead within a few hours.”

My whole body convulsed.

The man with the sword walked toward me and proudly held up the snake pieces for me to see.
“Voilà!”
he exclaimed.

I backed a step away. Dead or alive, this wasn't something I wanted to handle. Wait, he had said
voilà.
Did he speak French?

“Merci beaucoup,”
I tentatively said.

His face brightened.
“Parlez-vous français?”

“Um,
un
little,
petite
,
parle français
.”

He started to talk to me in French. Unfortunately my French was only slightly more extensive than Andy's Arabic.

And then Kajsa started talking to him. Obviously she
did
speak French—although as she continued to talk, it was equally obvious that she didn't speak that much French or with much of an accent. I'd been in a couple of international schools in France and travelled enough around the country to at least know what a French accent was supposed to sound like.

She and the men—three of them had now joined the conversation—kept talking. I could tell there was a big communication gap, but I also heard her mention Larson's name again. It was greeted by big smiles and I recognized a couple of words, including
mon ami
. He was a friend—that was very good.

One of them gestured, and at first I thought they were pointing to him, but then I realized they were just aimlessly motioning toward the whole oasis.

Kajsa turned to us. “They know Larson. He's their friend.”

“That's good,” I said.

“And it's good you speak French,” Connor added.

“It would be better if I had more than grade twelve French. Anyway, they say they haven't seen him but that we shouldn't worry. He comes and goes, they said, I think, like the wind.”

“That makes sense. He does move like the wind,” Connor agreed.

“But the other part doesn't make as much sense,” she said. “Maybe I didn't understand … I probably didn't understand. They said that this whole oasis
belongs
to Larson.”

“Can an oasis belong to somebody?” I asked.

“I don't know. It's probably just that I don't understand. Maybe they meant that he's going to be here, or the last place they met him was right here.”

“I guess that makes sense,” I said.

“And here's a good part—they also offered to feed us. They want to give us a meal.”

“I like that idea,” Andy said. “Did they say what they were going to feed us?”

“I don't think they're going to order in pizza,” I offered. “But what does it matter? Is there any food you don't eat?”

He looked thoughtful. “I'm not really crazy about haggis.”

“Then you're probably in luck, unless these guys are part of a lost nomadic Scottish clan.”

“Then please tell them we'd be honoured to share a meal with them!” Andy said.

Kajsa translated and the men erupted in cheering and smiling, with more shaking of hands, slapping of backs and more kisses on the cheeks. I wasn't sure if these guys wanted to feed us or take us out on a date. Either way, though, I was pretty sure I'd get something to eat.

OUT OF THE PACKS
on their camels they quickly produced, and erected, an open-sided tent. Along with that, just off to the side, two men had dug a pit in the sand and filled it with pieces of wood and what Andy explained was dried camel dung. Apparently it burned well.