Author's Note:
It has really been a while, sorry folks. But I'mbaaacccck - had a good time overseas, being with friends, seeing new things. But I haven't forgotten this at all! Won't keep you starving of Ardeth any more. Yes, he undergoes a serious bout of denial and we see more of his dark nature here, that angsty bit that I was itching to write.
So here goes, Chapter 9.
Chapter 9: It was No. Always no.
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went-and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
- Darkness, Lord Byron
No, it could not be. No, it was never such.
Not often was there time for regrets, and he allowed himself the luxury and pain of it now, lying on a cot, faceless and nameless among the many injured Medjai, gauging his own open wounds, the wounds that his brother had dealt him, the slighter wounds inflicted when he madly scuffled with O'Connell.
It was a no, the most unfortunate of replies that the fleeting silence brought to him from the heavens in the plague of all guilts, that Mejdan Bay should not have died, although it was his brother's own hand that had drove the sword into himself with that defiant move. Savagely, he tried thinking instead, of the reverse. Still, the thought of his brother as his murderer instead turned his insides weak.
They had carried Mejdan's body at Ardeth's insistence the way they proudly carried their own, wrapping it simply with cloth, returning the dignity, posthumously, to Mejdan Bay, before gently lowering it into the ground. And then he had ordered them to tend to the rest, as he dug the hard earth with his fingers, refusing help, until his brother was laid snugly to rest. Using his hands once more, down on his knees to sweep the dust back into the grave, he deliberately left it unmarked, before plunging his scimitar into the disturbed sand, bowing his head heavily over his dead.
He now whispered the same prayer that he had earlier murmured over his brother.
O Allah! Grant him protection, and have mercy on him, and keep him in good condition, and pardon him, and make his entertainment honourable, and expand his place of entering, and wash him with water and snow and hail and clean him of faults as the white cloth is cleansed of dross.
Oh brother, may you find a greater state of happiness in paradise.
The wounds, physical and emotional were fresh, the emotional ones less likely to heal well.
There was a slight night breeze; so slight that only one at rest could feel it. He was one of the few who felt it then, lifting the hair on his neck gently, tugging and twirling, flirting with the airborne sand, with his nose that smelt the unique desert sand. Nature initiated, and his response was natural, smiling briefly at the familiarity of being wounded in the company of soldiers who pottered around in easy camaraderie.
Ardeth Bay winked his eyes shut, surprised by the guttural and sharp sting of tears at that point, that all too familiar sting that he jealously kept to himself, unwilling - unable to let others see, too proud to be pitied, too weak to allow the release of emotions. They could not be blinked away this time; the torrential rage and despair flooded furiously, his body tight and barely convulsing, no sound escaping from his face that his hands had tightly covered.
Had it always been no? No, that it was not meant to be, no, that Allah would not let him yet see happy days, no, that he and his tribe, their identity and his family loyalty forever bound?
That wail of abandonment, cried eloquently out in silence, had only manifested as a tiny sigh that escaped his lips, only the desert and its inhospitable folded arms watching.
Ah, merciful Allah, if you would remove this cup from me, am I now alone to weep, with no comforter near?
That tedious, dull throbbing was left, Ardeth Bay was discovering when the tears had been shed. The tears that had reassured him hat his heart was flesh swiftly faded and the ache, devoid of sympathy, that followed transformed it into stone, more so now. The ache that he intuitively knew could stay for a long time.
And then he struggled, clenching his fists, straining his throat and muscles, trying to recapture that episode that fleetingly brushed him.
She had come to him, drenched with dark passion, thirst to be slaked, thirsty for all she saw. He had opened his arms eagerly; his hunger had matched hers pulse for pulse, breath for breath, the twinge that refused to desert him until her very own soul was demanded and surrendered. That titillating young wife of his, that spirited Lena. And in her face he thought he saw a young child emerge as it would have gradually emerged from her womb, the father that he would have become, smiling, until that tender loving moment exploded, shards of regret immediately occupying the delusional space where happiness had briefly sat.
Their marriage prayer, so different from the one he uttered over Mejdan, joyous.
O people! Be careful of your duty to your Lord, Who created you from a single being and of the same created its mate; and spread from these two many men and women; and be careful of your duty to Allah by whom you demand one of another your rights and to the ties of relationship; surely Allah watches over you.
But that remembrance of joy now came in the form of bitterness, that the goodness which was supposed to unite the couple had only flashed itself briefly before disappearing, leaving him to chase that preciousness in a sandstorm, only to return a friend of darkness and a foe of light, wild-eyed, mad with grief. His wife, Lena Shirin, whose death had devastated him.
He must have fallen asleep, part of him waggled and nudged. And his dead wife returned as an apparition, this time distant and unapproachable, her pale lips moving, as one did when death was not the end, but the beginning.
Ardeth Bay felt terror, and at a blink of his mind's eye he vanquished her into nothingness once more, until his racing heartbeat roused him into wakefulness.
It was still night; barely a few minutes must have passed and he turned once again, into the deep world where grief, memories and fantasies merged, an amalgam of imprisonment, astonished once more that he was captured by forces stronger than he thought he was able to fight.
And soon after Lena - all hope had died, yet he was unaware of its death, trudging through hour after hour, day after day, and mindlessly, month after month before something sparked anew, like the belated knowledge of his heir, that had lived and died that infinitely short span of time, merging into the sea of forgetfulness before its own heartbeat was heard by human ears.
Merciful Allah, I am only a man, whose breaking point is near.
That disquietude that had followed the news of his heir's unborn death sometimes sparked dispassion, sometimes wrenching pain; the vacillation of his reactions alarmed himself even.
Until the gladness and trepidation in his heart was awakened, when he saw Evelyn Carnahan, lost in Egypt once more, although she professed otherwise.
Lena, forgive me, I did try, to hold true to your memory.
That cloud had lifted, just a bit when she smiled in that innocence that was not quite so wide-eyed any longer, that concealed hard-edge in her now privately bringing him satisfaction. Would she have been such had she married O'Connell? Would she have grown into a different woman otherwise? She was a shadow that hung in the periphery, a worthy distraction if he did not take care, moving him to feebleness.
Could the duty to the Medjai be of utmost importance? Ardeth Bay liked to have thought so, but in the blatant admission that he was merely a man, not unlike his warriors, separated only because of birthright, broke certain chains that had weighed and restricted so heavily.
The firelight flickered, and the movement of booted feet under sand sounded relaxed, slow.
"The brooding chief," Came that taunt in the now-familiar American accent. "You paint a perfect picture of the lonesome and unsmiling chief, who rescues the girl at the end of the story."
O'Connell, that 'son of a gun' who was too valuable to lose in any circumstance.
"There Ardeth - you're giving me that dark look, the one that sweeps women away, but fails to intimidate me."
He never failed to bring that grudging smile, even though slight and meagre.
"How may I help you, O'Connell? Perhaps you can tell me something that will cheer the spirits of everyone."
"Demanding of you, Ardeth Bay."
"You would expect less of a Medjai chief?"
A small smile that Rick O'Connell had difficulty hiding emerged.
"Should have seen that one coming eh?" Something was on his tongue, a piece of news that he wished to let on, yet he sensed that Ardeth was not open to anything but gloom and the time to -
"There are many others, capable of chieftainship." His long time friend was speaking again, melancholy, quiet. Perhaps more capable than him, yet unknown, because they were never allowed the responsibility.
"But they also lack that privilege of testing themselves." Rick was succinct, open, staring.
No, that the fickle forces which rose against him, had morphed, swarmed and gathered, against each other, against the enemy, and against him. The self-pity was great, for that moment, and trying to hold on to it sapped his energy more than if he would let it loose. But pity - that pity for self, was in itself a triumphant feeling, the knowledge that it was a weapon he could use against others, and also against himself, for without it, it was vulnerable and all be damned should he find himself there once more.
"O'Connell, sometimes you surprise me with your depth." Ardeth clapped him lightly on the shoulder, shaking his head slightly in amazement.
"I'm not the all guns, women and drink kind of guy, if you know what I mean."
"Believe me, I am still getting used to it."
Rick O'Connell hesitated and plunged ahead.
"Ardeth. I want you to rejoice with me."
"So you bring good news?"
"Uh-huh."
"And you did think that I was in no shape to receive your joy? That I would fall over in jealousy that such joy is unattainable for me?"
"Um..well, since you put it that way, Ardeth."
"Is there really no difference between an ordinary warrior and a chieftain save for his birthright? Am I that small a man?" He sighed deeply. "Perhaps I really am. But I will rejoice with you, even though there is darkness at the back of my mind, ever clouding me. Now tell me."
"I am going to be a father, Ardeth. That was Taqiyyah's news, nothing more!" The words could no longer be contained, the joy that suffused on Rick's face spread, and seeing it made him ache and envy deeper, for the loss of his own made it ever more poignant. But it showed on his face but a brief instant, swept aside by a genuine rising happiness, resigning himself that such happiness, if not for himself as yet, was still evident in and available to others dear to him.
And then he looked at O'Connell's beaming face, seeing that he was terrified and blissful all at once, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder this time around.
"It is a comfort to me at least, that Allah grants moments of great celebration in such times. Your kin will grow up in a hard world, and in here you must find space and time to rejoice. Congratulations, O'Connell, you've done extremely well." They shook hands, hard. "And your lovely wife, I wish her the best of health and the heartiest experience of motherhood."
Immediately after he turned away, leaving O'Connell basking in his temporarily blithe daze, deserting his cot and pulled his mask back in place, unable to hide the anguish that contorted his features, that surely hurt more than the physical blows he had endured, lest anyone stare at his face and recognise the weakness in their leader.
No, it could not be. It was never such.
He stumbled on; hot tears flowing freely of its own accord, staining the thin mask, blurring his vision until his faithful mount appeared in sight and he climbed atop it with the greatest ease, spurring it on blindly towards the cliffs that protected the Medjai camp, the place of savage refuge that offered tortured soul where the pathetic offering of healing were its merely own jagged, dangerous edges.
Endnote:
**Prayer/Service for the Dead
A Divine service is held over the dead body of every Muslim, young or old, even of infants who have lived only for a few minutes or seconds. When a person dies, the body is washed with soap or some other disinfectant and cleansed of all impurities which may be due to disease. In washing the dead body, the parts which are washed in wudzu are taken first, and then the whole body is washed. It is then wrapped in one or more white sheets, and scent is also added. In the case of martyrs, or persons slain in battle, the washing and wrapping in white cloth is dispensed with. The dead body is then placed on a bier or, if necessary, in a coffin, and carried on the shoulders to its last resting-place as a mark of respect; though the carrying of the body by any other means is not prohibited. The Holy Prophet stood up when he saw the bier of a Jew pass by. This he did to show respect to the dead, and then enjoined his followers to stand up as a mark of respect when a bier passed by, whether it was that of a Muslim or a non-Muslim.
***Marriage Sermon
According to the Islamic law marriage is a sacred contract between the husband and the wife; it is expressly called a covenant in the Holy Qur'an (4:21). A contract can only be made by the consent of the two contracting parties and it is necessary that the husband and the wife should "agree among themselves in a lawful manner" (2:232). Hence the first requisite of marriage is that each party should satisfy itself as to the desirability of choosing the other as a partner in life.