This was what Abbas was facing, what he could be facing at any moment. His destiny. Oh no! The camel grabbed at his shoulder. He shook his body in defense, but the camel’s teeth continued gripping his shirt and jacket. The flag of death was rising. Abbas sent the last of his strength to his knees, but it was already too late. The crazed animal was already like a tent above him. Now he grabbed at Abbas’ head. The crazed scream of a human echoed across the fields. The camel was about to lift him and to throw him to the earth when Abbas pulled his head from its jaws and fell to his knees. Now the camel’s hooves were upon him. Abbas slid and rolled like a snake on the ground. The camel dropped to its knees to try to grab him again in its jaws. This was Abbas’ last chance. He raised himself to his knees and drew his knife from his waistband. There was no other choice so as to end the battle. But to slaughter a crazed camel is not something any man can do on his own. Even the oldest and weakest camel of a herd needs to be tied down, and it takes six men with six lengths of rope around its limbs and body for the seventh to be able to slit the animal’s throat at the jugular. And this itself isn’t the end of the story. Even at this point the animal, in the throes of pain with its throat cut, can tear off the ropes holding it down and crush the men who are near to it. So what hope could there be for a single boy with no assistance and no rope to tie down the crazed animal to be able to defend himself with a single knife? To be able to slay the animal on the spot? To be able to kill it quickly and escape the death throes of the dying animal? Even if this camel is already struck by madness?
Abbas knew that he would have to thrust the knife directly into the jugular, just at the base of the animal’s chest. He would have to do it without hesitation, and plunge the knife in to its handle. But this usually is done with the camel in your control, not the other way around. But then this was a battle, not the slaughter of a farm animal. Customs and traditions were irrelevant and were replaced by instinct and emotion. Mergan’s son, his eyes swimming in sweat, with the sound of the sun beating in his head, began to stab at the animal hopelessly. He stabbed at its face, eyes, neck, and chest. The blade glinted in the crimson sun. His sleeve and shoulders and face were covered in blood. His nose, forehead, and eyes bloody. Drops of blood in the dusty sunlight. Streaks stained the earth, streaks on the dust, red reflections. The sunlight, the dirt, and the sand were purple and violet and yellow. The colors swirled together and yet also separated, pulled away from one another. Were not the earth and sky crimson from before? Breaths of air, breaths of wind blew. Wind, such a wind! A deed in one stroke, a battle in one blow. Beneath the camel’s neck. The jugular. A clean stab, directly in the hollow of the camel’s neck.
He pulled out the knife. Blood poured, a river of it. But things were worse now. The camel was a thousand times more enraged. It was now also a matter of life and death for the animal. And so if death was about to take it, was it going to just sit and wait for it? But just then it seemed about to do just that by lowering its head before Abbas.
Could it be that this river of blood had finished the camel, broken it?
* * *
The camel suddenly reared itself again and threw Abbas to one side, twisting upon itself with a cry of fury. Its mouth now foamed blood, as it renewed its attack. Abbas collected his wits, but his strength gave way. His only hope was the well — it was his last chance. The old, dry, salt-water well. He dragged his body toward it. Exhausted, spent, and in pain, helpless and hopeless, he had one thought in his mind: in only a moment he could well be dead. The camel also gathered its own strength, like a viper, to pour the last cup of death into Abbas’ veins. It leapt toward him, but just before it reached him, Abbas threw his body into the dry well.
With a flutter of birds escaping as he fell, Abbas felt something hit his head and he was unconscious.
When did Abbas awake? It was night … How late was it? Abbas couldn’t tell.
Above his head, he only saw a small patch of the sky. A tight, circular field of sky dotted with white stars. Bits of constellations shone, the Big Dipper. How the stars twinkled! They seemed to be panting, almost as if they were thirsty. Abbas’ tongue was dry, as was his throat and entire mouth. He licked his lips with his dry tongue, and it felt as if it were a lump of sod. There was no moisture, so also his lips were dry. Even the stars seemed to be panting, panting from thirst!
Abbas moved his body. His entire body cried out in pain. The pain wasn’t just in one limb; it coursed through the whole of his body. His hand was still grasping the handle of the knife. Conscious or unconscious, the imperative to defend himself had kept his grip on the knife throughout. He slowly lifted his hand from the powdery floor of the well. It was as dark as a grave, and nothing was visible. But he could feel that something was caked onto his hands, dried on them. He brought his hand to his nostrils and smelled it. Blood. His own blood, the blood of the camel. But where was he injured? It felt as if part of his shoulder had been torn. He felt at his legs and sensed that a part of the heel of one foot was gone. Where else? He couldn’t recall what had happened very clearly. Only pain filled his mind. Pain where the camel’s hooves had struck him, where he had been thrown against the earth, all over his back, his waist, his shoulders. His legs, his head. Pain all over. Exhaustion. Being pummeled. Thrown against the ground, rolling beneath the hooves of the camel. Struggle, a hopeless struggle for life and limb. Blows. Muscles beaten with blows. His joints felt as if they had been pulled apart. He felt as if it was impossible to even move.
And the well? He was just beginning to realize where he was. How tight it was! And deep, three and a half, maybe four lengths of a man’s body. And the well was dug into soft sand. So even if he were strong enough to do it, there was nowhere to find a footing to pull himself up. As he was sitting there, a handful of dusty soil rustled down onto his head from the walls of the well. He smelled something.
And a sound, the sound of a camel’s steps. The sound of a camel breathing. The cry of a camel’s neigh. The dark camel, exhausted and injured, was still at the top of the well, crying in either anger or pain. It neighed and stomped on the ground. The dust that was settling on his head and shoulders had been shaken loose from the steps of the camel. The animal still wanted blood. It had been unsatiated, so it stayed at the mouth of the well. It had the natural capacity to wait in one place for nine days and nights without water or food, just to keep a hungry and thirsty Abbas trapped below. As for Abbas, he’d never be able to hold out for more than a couple of days. Even now he was desperate for a sip of water. He tried again to wet his lips a little. In the struggle he had waged beneath the sun, his body’s water had been depleted. Now his tongue felt more like a piece of mud brick that had been baked in an oven. If only he could have a cup of water!
Abbas looked up. The camel’s neck cut across the sky, separating Abbas’ view from the stars. He blocked more than half of the constellation of Orion. Drops of blood still dripped from the camel’s neck, dripping onto Abbas’ dusty hair and temples. The camel wanted blood. For it, there could be no end to this other than Abbas’ death. There was only one blind hope left, which was if the herd of other camels wandered back to Zaminej and the Sardar came out from the village looking for the missing black camel. And better if, along with him, Mergan and Abrau were also coming, with a lantern in hand. And if it had made it back to Zaminej, the wounded neck of the old mare camel could also be a sign of what had happened. That neither Abbas nor the black camel had returned to the village. The Sardar himself had remarked that morning that the black camel was showing signs of the drunkenness of spring fever.