Heartless
- 4 years ago
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A Camel’s Heart free porn video
It’s been 18 months now since I’ve seen my family and I have no hope yet of going home. The deserts are endless here. The winds blast the sand whenever desert storms rise, but I can see how people have survived here for so long. I don’t know where I am anymore I’ve been a wanderer for so long. My camel’s humps are depleted, and that means one thing to me: he’s dehydrating and will die soon if I don’t get us to an oasis. My skins are all empty, except one, which is only half full of water. Sometimes I find food, sometimes I don’t, I’ve learned to stand hunger like an old enemy. Speaking of which, I haven’t seen any of the enemy in a month now. I must be in a neutral zone, thank God. Like I said, I’m lost, but judging by the dialect I think I’m just south of Tunisia. I keep heading East, hopefully someday I’ll reach Egypt. The language is either French or Arabic, and I’ve picked up on a lot of both. It’s impossible not to when you spend time in the beautiful, small villages scattered throughout the valleys and along the coast. Sometimes I wish I weren’t passing through atop my Bucephalus, just living the simple life among the Burburs, cooking lamb over an open fire, fishing by hand in the deep, blue Mediterranean. Just across the way are the people I used to call family, but not anymore. Now, anyone human is family. The world is my home. Brothers and sisters, there is no need to quarrel over religion and politics. There is only the land, the sea, and the sky.
I am in Eastern Libya, so close to Egypt that I hallucinate and see its ancient pyramids. The ever-constant blasting of wind has worn down my will in the past few weeks. The locals say to get cover, I keep going. Bucephalus died, and I’m riding an adolescent camel I stole from a herd. She attacks anything that moves, so I avoid the cities as much as possible. I understand her, though. Over the wind, broken in pieces, rises the sound of roaring tanks. I dive from Sophie’s humps and take cover by a dune. Sophie lopes off in fear and is shot down. I watch as one foreleg waves and paws at the air. The camel is the passion, the pain of the desert.
‘My heart belongs to the camel
In his humps is a somber vitality
Poured in by centuries of slavery
He hauls his burden, but longs for the cloudy blue
He howls with the fury of love
His patience nurses the desert’ –Sabir
Sophie calls out and her voice is lost in the wind. I am glad I can’t hear her wails. They are coming for me. They have been looking for me but I can’t move. When they surround me with their M16’s and their AK-47’s, I just cry for Sophie. Someone grabs me by the neck and the desert storm suddenly turns to black.
Moaning prisoners surround me closely on all sides. Men are clutching their hands – their fingernails were torn off. One woman lies dead. Blood has turned her blue Hijab violet. The smell of disease and waste chokes me, but I am glad to be alive. I look down and find that my leg is broken and bloody. I can’t feel it, I can’t move, and I can’t cry. Endless verses from the Qur’an is played over loudspeakers. A dark-skinned prisoner prays to A’la incessantly in one corner. He stands facing Mekkah, then bows and kneels, lowering his forehead to the floor, rises and prays in a sitting position, and stands again. He falls, rises, falls, and rises. He is missing one arm and mumbles Arabic while crying. I watch him as I fall asleep.
I am shaken awake. It is nighttime, but there are no crickets. I try to pierce the darkness, and can only see a black form above me. A warm tear drop falls onto my face and I realize this isn’t another torture session. The voice is familiar as it urges for me to waken. Images of photos suddenly appear, flashes of sitting alone in the family car back in America, talking with such a voice over the phone. I know who this is. I reach up to hold him but he is already holding me, pulling me up from the dirty, bloody floor, holding me so tightly I feel safe for a second. I try to hush him, but can’t speak because I am crying. He adjusts his grasp and heaves me up. My leg screams bright colors into the night but I clench my jaw shut. Andy is puzzled but realizes I am hurt, and helps me to favor the wound. We stumble forwards into the blackness, sometimes tripping over bodies, sometimes half-running. I think of Sophie and try to live up to her. I stiffen myself like metal against the pain. Andy is ahead and getting the door. He had killed the guards and is wearing their uniform. I stop and watch him for the first time ever in a lantern’s wavering light. A thick turban casts a deep shadow over his soft eyes, but I know it is my love. He has risked and probably ruined his life by coming so far into this hell.
He pulls me out into a corridor I can’t remember and takes me to places I never thought existed. I wonder how long I’ve been in the prison camp. The ceiling retracts and there is nothing but stars and sand. The immensity of the open sky is thrilling and terrifying, and I turn to run back into the camp. They have noticed the downed guards and the hive is suddenly swarming. Arabic killer-bees whiz to and fro, and can’t see us just beyond in the dark. A siren fills the silent night and flood lamps clack on around us. We are surrounded in blue-white light. I turn to look at Andy, and he is frozen with fear, swaying slightly with his eyes closed. For an instant, iron replaces the blood in my veins. Shots kick up sand around us and I pull him after me, diving behind a dune. I look beyond into the night while Andy snaps out of it. I am watching Sophie die, and he is drawing a rifle and shooting over the sand hill.
We run into the night, the bee swarm still searching the land around the camp.
I choke and turn away from the light. Ice cold water drips from my lips onto the dry sand, and I squint. The sand is blinding and hot. Andy gently turns me over by one shoulder and insists I drink. The taste of water on my dry lips is excruciating. My lips are swollen and cracked. I wonder how long it has been again, but remember that time is lost in prison camps. It always is. I drink, vomit, and drink some more.
When the water stays down, I sit up to study the new day. Somehow, we have managed to clear the site entirely. Andy watches me silently and I’m afraid to talk. I haven’t said a word in English and rack my mind for something to say.
‘God, Stephanie,’ he says incredulously. His voice again brings me back to our telephone conversations, the closest we had ever gotten to each other before now. ‘I thought you were dead back there.’ He starts to cry. I rise slightly and hold him, crying myself. After carefully rehearsing the English, I say to him:
‘I’m glad you came.’ Still crying, he violently kisses my forehead and clutches me, rocking me. For the first time, I find comfort in a living being other than a camel. I realize that this was the answer to all my suffering. Andy. He is stupid to come all the way out here, but he saved me, and I owe my life to my friend. For weeks thereafter he splits his food with me, hunting for the both of us. I am weak and lie here in the sand everyday, feeling like the sick back at the camp. My wound smells, and Andy says it is rotting. We both know what he has to do but don’t talk about it. He was gone for several days but is back now with more supplies and a camel. One of the things he brought was a saw and a bottle of whiskey. I scream and fight when I see them but he hits me and knocks me unconscious. I awaken to the white-hot pain in my thigh. Andy is crying, blood is on his huge, shaky hands and he is trying to get me to accept the whiskey. As soon as I realize this, I down half the bottle and choke on it from convulsing. The pain is incredible. I look down and find that he hasn’t finished. The bone is bare and the sand is soaked with blood. He hits me again, crying louder than me and grabbing the saw up again. He has to finish the job.
I lie awake during the night, looking up at constellations which would eventually pas
s over my home in America. Andy is asleep. I lean over and kiss him, seeing that he is crying in his sleep. I’d give anything to stop him from crying. My entire leg is numb. I flop back onto the sand. Off to my side, our camel sleeps in a gigantic hulk. His humps are thick and swollen, he will last. It is a miracle they haven’t found us yet. We have to get on the move. These thoughts keep me awake until morning. Andy stirs in his sleep and snaps awake, uttering a muffled cry. I watch as he regains his bearings. He is beautiful. He is starved, terror-stricken and covered in my blood up to the elbows, but he is beautiful. I hand him water and he takes a quick swig.
‘How long have you been awake?’
‘A while.’ Talking to the stranger is unreal, yet natural for me. I remember how easy it had been to fall in love with him, years ago.
‘Did you eat?’
‘I’m not hungry.’ I’m ravenous but afraid I’ll vomit again. He force-feeds me and I find that I can stomach the lamb meat and suddenly crave for more. I feed on burnt lamb until the sun climbs into the sky. We are on the move. Andy holds me from behind on top of the camel, and it seems he will never let me go. I never want him to.
For weeks we travel. At nights, sometimes we talk and rediscover each other. Other times we make love and sleep in each other’s arms. Being with my friend over-compensates for the time I’ve served in the desert. We are getting closer to Cairo by the day. The Libyans gave up hope looking for us. We follow their progress by reading newspapers in the cities we pass. No one recognizes us because they are only looking for me, not Andy, and my place is the desert. Andy goes into the towns we pass to get supplies, and always newspapers. We have named the camel Darhan. The name befits the desert king. The desert becomes Savannah, Savannah becomes rocky dirt. The camel finds difficulty over the rocks and we trade him for two Arabian horses. Mine is young, like Sophie. I promise I will not let him die. Soon, we will be in Cairo, where we will find an embassy. Soon, we will be home. I couldn’t believe, sometimes, that there would be an answer, yet he rides atop his stallion mere feet from me. He sees me watching him and watches me. We smile. We cry.
Grace
- 12.06.2021
- 39
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