It was the end of the day now, and the temperature was dropping rapidly.
Dr. Jackson walked dreamily over the sands, and finally sat on a convenient
sand dune, facing the setting sun. It cast a reddish light over the paper
in his hands. He glanced down at it, hoping it would make more sense to him
in the dusky light. It was ancient writing, unread for thousands of years,
but he knew he would understand it in time. That was all it needed. Time.
As he sat on the sand, he became aware of another presence. Someone with extremely soft footfalls had walked up to him while he was lost in thought and was even now sitting at his side.
He looked up and smiled to see who it was. A child, no more than five or six years old, with bare feet that made no sound upon the sand. He was dressed in denim dungarees, covered in sand and bleached pale blue by the hot desert sun. This child was loved by everyone here, regarded as a pet and a mascot by everyone from the archaeologists on the dig, to the tourists who visited occasionally, to the native Arab Egyptian workers who did all the errands here, and even to the camels that frequented the place. One of the natives, a friendly soul named Khalid, had had the inspired idea of giving the child a sand-coloured, rough woollen cape such as he and his compatriots wore. That had been more than a year ago, but the child still delighted in the gift even now. At the moment, it was draped over his shoulders, covering his head. It half-hid his distinctively long, sandy blonde hair, but he was instantly recognisable nonetheless.
Dr. Jackson gave up his attempt at translation. Instead, he turned to the desert child, asking: "What's the matter?"
"I'm tired," replied the child, in dulcet tones. "And it's cold!"
"The desert cools down quickly," the archaeologist replied dreamily. "It's different by night and by day."
"Coming forth."
Dr. Jackson didn't understand the child's words at first. Seeing this, the child added, "By day."
"Coming forth by day?" the archaeologist said, understanding suddenly. "The Book of Coming Forth By Day?"
The child nodded. He was tired and drowsy and comfortable on the soft sand, still warm from the heat of the day.
"What manner of land is this to which I have come?" Jackson didn't mean to say the words; they just sprang forth, timeless words, thousands of years old.
The desert child lifted his head slightly. "It is not water, nor air…" he said softly.
"It is depth unfathomable. It is black…" continued the archaeologist.
"…as the blackest night, and men wander lost and helpless," took up the child, whose blue eyes were now closed.
"In it a man cannot live in quietness of heart, nor may the longings of love be satisfied," said Dr. Jackson. He didn't go on, content to let the desert child finish it.
"But let the state of the eternal be given unto me instead of water and air and the satisfying of the longings of love, and let quietness of heart be given unto me instead of cakes and ale."
The words hung in the silence for a few seconds, and the child sighed contentedly. The sun had nearly set; its last few rays were falling on the papers the archaeologist had left on the sand beside him. Suddenly, his eye was caught by something. Seizing the top page, he began running his fingers through the text, saying the odd word aloud, suddenly confident he knew was he was doing. A few minutes later, he had the key. It was late now; perhaps he would go on tomorrow, but the revelation had come. He had the key to it. He placed the papers back in order, and then smiled to see the child had fallen asleep on the sand, like a true desert child.
Dr. Jackson stood up, and leaning down, lifted the child in his arms, who stirred a little, whispering a few words.
"Hush," the archaeologist said gently. "It's all right. Go back to sleep, Daniel."
Bearing his son in his arms, he began to make his way back, unconsciously whispering to himself the immortal words Daniel knew so well. "Let quietness of heart be given unto me…"
It was the end of the day.
As he sat on the sand, he became aware of another presence. Someone with extremely soft footfalls had walked up to him while he was lost in thought and was even now sitting at his side.
He looked up and smiled to see who it was. A child, no more than five or six years old, with bare feet that made no sound upon the sand. He was dressed in denim dungarees, covered in sand and bleached pale blue by the hot desert sun. This child was loved by everyone here, regarded as a pet and a mascot by everyone from the archaeologists on the dig, to the tourists who visited occasionally, to the native Arab Egyptian workers who did all the errands here, and even to the camels that frequented the place. One of the natives, a friendly soul named Khalid, had had the inspired idea of giving the child a sand-coloured, rough woollen cape such as he and his compatriots wore. That had been more than a year ago, but the child still delighted in the gift even now. At the moment, it was draped over his shoulders, covering his head. It half-hid his distinctively long, sandy blonde hair, but he was instantly recognisable nonetheless.
Dr. Jackson gave up his attempt at translation. Instead, he turned to the desert child, asking: "What's the matter?"
"I'm tired," replied the child, in dulcet tones. "And it's cold!"
"The desert cools down quickly," the archaeologist replied dreamily. "It's different by night and by day."
"Coming forth."
Dr. Jackson didn't understand the child's words at first. Seeing this, the child added, "By day."
"Coming forth by day?" the archaeologist said, understanding suddenly. "The Book of Coming Forth By Day?"
The child nodded. He was tired and drowsy and comfortable on the soft sand, still warm from the heat of the day.
"What manner of land is this to which I have come?" Jackson didn't mean to say the words; they just sprang forth, timeless words, thousands of years old.
The desert child lifted his head slightly. "It is not water, nor air…" he said softly.
"It is depth unfathomable. It is black…" continued the archaeologist.
"…as the blackest night, and men wander lost and helpless," took up the child, whose blue eyes were now closed.
"In it a man cannot live in quietness of heart, nor may the longings of love be satisfied," said Dr. Jackson. He didn't go on, content to let the desert child finish it.
"But let the state of the eternal be given unto me instead of water and air and the satisfying of the longings of love, and let quietness of heart be given unto me instead of cakes and ale."
The words hung in the silence for a few seconds, and the child sighed contentedly. The sun had nearly set; its last few rays were falling on the papers the archaeologist had left on the sand beside him. Suddenly, his eye was caught by something. Seizing the top page, he began running his fingers through the text, saying the odd word aloud, suddenly confident he knew was he was doing. A few minutes later, he had the key. It was late now; perhaps he would go on tomorrow, but the revelation had come. He had the key to it. He placed the papers back in order, and then smiled to see the child had fallen asleep on the sand, like a true desert child.
Dr. Jackson stood up, and leaning down, lifted the child in his arms, who stirred a little, whispering a few words.
"Hush," the archaeologist said gently. "It's all right. Go back to sleep, Daniel."
Bearing his son in his arms, he began to make his way back, unconsciously whispering to himself the immortal words Daniel knew so well. "Let quietness of heart be given unto me…"
It was the end of the day.