But how could he know if the rest of the herd would head back to Zaminej?
Yet if they didn’t go, that might even be better. Then perhaps the Sardar would be quicker to put on his shoes, take a walking stick and lantern, and collect some others to all come out to the open fields to look for the herd. This was the only hope, this and the outline of the mouth of the well which afforded him a view of the sky, and which brought in a little air for him to breathe. And the stars, how they seemed to be panting!
Another warm drop of blood fell on Abbas’ face. The camel, angry and disturbed, now knelt at the edge of the well. He fit his head and shoulders as far as they could enter the well, and cried out. Another drop fell on Abbas’ lips. He moistened his tongue and lips with the blood. Clearly, his knife had not been effective. If he had stabbed the camel in the right place, the animal would have been dead by now. The camel repositioned itself so that its chest and part of its belly covered most of the well. It rested a while, but this was even more terrifying. Now Abbas could only see one star in the sky, just next to the neck of the camel. Abbas now imagined that the camel would simply remain there until he died. He began to lose hope. If only he had a cup of water!
A soft rustling compelled Abbas to turn his attention away from the certainty of death, and from the camel above.
Rustling … A sound softer than a person snoring. Something like: kurrrrrr, kurrrrrr. Night filled the well in the deepest darkness. Where and how could he figure out the source of the sound around him? He’d need an eagle’s senses, or rather, those of a bat!
Kurrrrrr … Kurrrrrr …
What kind of insect could be making this sound? He tried to sharpen his eyes; he placed all his senses into the act of seeing. Something flew, its wings slapping against the walls of the well. A handful of dust and sand poured down, and then the sound began again.
Kurrrrrr … Kurrrrrr …
A blanket of fear slipped over him, from whatever was silent all around him. A hesitant fear rising from uncertainty. If you know what it is that threatens you, then just by knowing what the instrument of your death is, you can try to prepare yourself. You can even choose just to give in to it. You may find no option but to go calmly. You might faint, and in a sense die before dying. You’re relieved from the endless possibilities that your imagination can conjure up, stinging you with each fear. If you know what the instrument of your death may be, you are less anxious. Instead, all of your anxiety is focused on one thing. And what kills you isn’t the anxiety, it’s death itself. What Abbas faced in the struggle against the camel was simply to run, attack, strike, and to defend himself. There was nothing unclear about the threat to divide his fear into a hundred different possibilities. His opponent, the camel, was the essence of the danger. One may eventually forget pain itself, but one will never forget the threat of pain. The spirit flutters its wings, like a pigeon caught in an enclosed well. It’s anxious; it flutters its wings against the walls. Fear overtakes, waves of fear. Something spreads through its body and soul. Again and again, without a moment’s respite. The poisonous tongues of fear liquefy your fortitude little by little. You sense that you are slowly encompassed by the fear. Your inner focus collapses; it’s at this very moment that your inner defenses crumble. An impossible hope pulls you: O sudden death, when will you strike? Why doesn’t this well just collapse in on itself?
A rustling …
Then, a small, faint light. Like a night crawler, on the bottom layer of the well. It was as if it was inside a hole or sunken into the dirt. He tries to look. The sound is coming from these same spots. Small light spots are faintly pulsating. They’re visible, then invisible. The sound stops and starts again. It seems something or some things are moving. It’d be impossible for anyone to see in such a deep darkness. But if you were stuck in the depths of the well as Abbas, you would feel that the essence of all human perception has been granted to you, just so that you can perceive what it is that is rustling beside you.
Oh, God …! Snakes …! They’ve sensed a new prey, inside their lair.
In some situations, it seems as if some people must die and be reborn a thousand times. This was Abbas’ experience. He was circled by snakes. Desert snakes. Ancient snakes. If one was to breathe the fire of its breath at you, you’d be ashes.
So why was Abbas still alive?
That he would die inside the well now seemed a certainty for him. But to know when and how the snakes would come for him was something he couldn’t know. He’d only heard scattered sayings about snakes from those who were snake catchers, herders, farmers, or older villagers with their own experiences of snakes to relate:
“A snake will never harm an innocent person.”
“A snake knows the good of your soul.”
“Never step on a snake’s tail.”
“If you see a snake move away, move away as well.”
“A house snake is a blessing; don’t bother it.”
But none of this was of any use to Abbas now. He was not even able to ask himself what he could do. He couldn’t even pin his hopes on some far-fetched possibility. His mind was simply empty. A silent terror had so thoroughly woven itself into him that he couldn’t think at all. What should he wish for? What could he desire? Above, a merciless night. Beneath the night, the hell of the well. Between the night and the well stands a bloody and enraged camel. With his own battered body, Abbas couldn’t ask himself how to escape? Whom to call to for help?
For one to begin to accept the need to give in, to accept the certainty of giving oneself to death, is certainly an extraordinary experience. And usually, when one happens to consider or give voice to such a sentiment, it is when death is in fact by no means a certainty. When death rears its head, one usually has no time to give a thought to surrendering to it. You don’t have a chance to, either to surrender or to try to defend yourself. In a moment, you become a mass of particles that are all at once finished. Or one can say, it’s like fire, or rather it’s fire itself. You are entirely in flames. You burn quickly and are finished. Even if you’re dried out, nearly dead already, even if you’re at the bottom of the sandy walls of a well and you’ve aged a thousand years. Even if fear has frozen you, so that you can’t move or allow yourself to hear yourself breathe.
Mergan’s son was going to die, quickly and certainly. Even though it was as if he had been dead for hundreds of years and now it was only his ghost that was tracing a silent, hollow outline against the wall of the well before him, embodying something deeper than silence within itself. Oh … if only he could be certain that he was still breathing!
Is it possible for time to freeze in one moment? Of course not … However, a certain illusion sometimes leads one to imagining it has frozen. It is this very moment that ties you to the world by a thread of hair. In another moment, these experiences could be separated. For this reason, at the height of this fusion, one can only sense silence, total silence. But time has not stood still. The well grows slowly lighter by the crack beside the neck of the camel. If you had the strength to move, if you could look above yourself, through this crack, you would see that the sky was filling with light. The star, that only star you could see earlier, was losing its brightness.