The Amulet and the Guns

The air is burning in her lungs, as she bare-foots her way up the dune. Above, the sky is an empty blue, falling to a metallic glare on the horizon. Below, the desert is dust and stone. A lunar surface. The truck, parked besides a rocky outcrop, looks as tiny as a child’s toy.

The silence here is as big as the desert itself. She can only hear the low thud of her heart, the slip-slapping of her feet on the grains of sand.

She is following other footsteps, larger than her own. Three-quarters of the way up, the footsteps vanish.

How is this possible?

Back at camp she shows Simon the amulet.

‘Where did you find this?’

‘Close by the vehicle, lying in the sand.’

‘Lucky.’ He holds in in his hand; the hand she knows so well. ‘It’s old. Valuable, I imagine.’

‘There’s writing. Here, on the side. What does it say?’

Simon can read Arabic but he shakes his head. ‘I don’t know the script. We’ll get an expert to examine it.’

This the last day of the trip. That night they make love for the first time in weeks and they listen to the thud of their hearts, the vastness of the desert.

She and Simon had spent ten years trying for a baby. The doctors had no answers. A normal sperm count for Simon, no abnormalities they could find in her. She had early bleeding, three miscarriages they knew about. Endless visits to doctors, clinics and experts. So many tears, so many questions, and finally, a miracle.

Nine months after that trip to the desert she births a healthy baby, a boy. They name him Anir - Angel. The boy’s complexion is dark. In time he grows tall. She and Simon are pale-skinned and freckled. Neither is tall, and no one in their immediate family is above average height.

She does not tell Simon what happened. He would never believe her. He’s a scientist. He deals in facts that can be proved and, in any case, all these years later she is not certain she believes herself now.

The man appeared, seemingly, out of nowhere. She did not hear him coming, nor did she see any vehicle, camel or companion. An old man, his dark-skinned face half-covered by the blue fabric of his turban. Tall. Upright. Proud. A faint smell of wood smoke clinging to his clothes.

He spoke with a musical lilt but she did not understand his language. He held out his hand; the skin there was cracked and dry like the desert, and a silver amulet lay in his palm.

She felt embarrassed. She had no money on her – she could not buy it. She shook her head. He insisted. She offered him an orange from the truck.

The man took the orange, held the amulet to his heart and then pressed it into her hand.

The amulet burned on her skin like the desert air. She almost dropped it on the sand. When she looked up the man had vanished. Like a djinn.

She would like to return to the desert, to show Anir where he came from. He is fourteen now, old enough to understand. He is not like his father, only driven by what can be proved without doubt. But the men carrying guns and ideologies have smashed the ancient paths and the old man will have turned to dust now. One day the guns will fall silent. Perhaps one day Anir will return.