BAB EL SAMA

By Jashi

N O T E: I don't own Hidalgo. A bunch of college-educated millionaires do, unfortunately. Sorry that I take so long in updating. Don't hate me. ;_; I craft slowly so the story is better and I can fix mistakes. Also, I apologize if this seems short.

CHAPTER ONE

I'm in the middle of a terribly long line of people. The wind is harsh today, and it threatens to pull my veil from my head. But I make sure it stays on. There are people here who might recognize me. No doubt they would wonder what Sheikh Riyadh's daughter is doing on a ship bound for America, dressed in a servant's clothes. Even worse, one of the guards standing around this place that lazily watch us, would see me.

The line moves slow, but it doesn't matter. The dock is very crowded with people and buildings, an odd first sight for a foreigner coming here. They all expect white tents, gruff men with long, tangled black beards and half-naked women walking around with gold bangles around their wrists and desert roses in their hair. They do not think of our customs, our gods, our wisdom, or our horses. They are surprised to see a dock like this.

Yes, you must go deeper to find the true heart of the desert here in Arabia. And that heart is always moving, sifting through the sands, dancing in the sun.

I can just barely see the hills and mountains of the desert sand from here. Memories dawn on me, things I have not thought of in a long, long time. Will I ever return to this place? This place which was my home for so many years?

I have not thought of the fact that I shall never see it again in this lifetime. I cannot come back here, at least as myself. Are there Arabian horses in America? I think of the last time I rode a horse. It has been over a year now. It was on the day before my wedding. I snuck out of the tent to climb upon someone's horse, I did not know whose, actually. I smile as I think of it. I rode off into the night, though only for an hour or so. The sky was so dark, and there was hardly a sliver of moon to see by. The sand whispered softly around the horse's hooves.

Someone behind me jars me forwards. Apparently the line is moving again.

It's moving quicker now, and I have to walk to keep up with the person in front of me. My mind races furiously, and I begin to shake. What am I doing? Where am I going?
Why am I leaving?

Suddenly the man taking tickets reaches out and pulls it away from my hands. I get pushed forward onto the plank leading up to the ship; it feels as though we are being herded like cattle.

Minutes pass, and I cannot seem to control myself as I fling myself to the railing, staring out at Arabia, my Arabia. Tears gather in my eyes. Did I ever realize how much I loved this place?

A white man calls out in a loud and heavy voice, "All aboard!"

The tears are burning my eyes now. Eventually the boat lurches and slowly begins creeping away from the sands. The wind blows harsh again, mocking me because I am running away. I clutch my bundle tightly and the ship cuts the water slowly as it moves.
I stand there, watching the desert get farther and farther away, hardly blinking.

And then it is gone.

Just like that.

I blinked, and the horizon of flowing sands and quiet winds and running horses had disappeared.

All that is left is the cold, blue-gray sea.

I cannot watch it anymore. I go below deck to huddle in a corner. They leave me alone. I fall asleep, my head knocking against a cold, steel wall and all my dreams are filled with freezing water.

~

Days pass.

That is all they do now.

They do not linger, they do not rush. They do not come quickly, they do not leave with a goodbye. They come softly and leave without sound. They come without being called, and leave before asking if they may go. I do not notice the days anymore.

Days and days and days have passed.

We have stopped at other places, picking up other people from other countries. Those who speak English with rough, round accents, those who speak other languages in a hard, foreign tongue. I am stuck in my place below deck. There are too many people to move around.

~

I feel stained with the salt of the sea now. I managed to get up today. It started raining and the boat began to rock, but only slightly. I couldn't get back below the deck. A wave snuck up on me and now I feel truly like a trespasser of the sea. Not even the sand leaves such gritty bits and such awful taste.

~

I have met a friend. He calls himself Joe. He says he hates the sea with all his heart. He is from a place called Ireland, from a town called Kinconney. He leaves for America because he needs a new job. He asks me why I have left my home. I say I that I cannot tell him, and he understands. He asks me why I wear the veil. I cannot tell him this either. He asks me if he could see my face. I say no. There is only one man who has seen my face, and I will keep it this way until I get to America and cannot wear the veil anymore.

~

Joe asked me about my country today. He is a few years older than I, but he has never seen anything outside Kinconney. It was dark when he asked me, and we had been below deck several days because of the awfulness of a storm. They had not brought us food in a long time. He said he wanted to hear something that would distract him from the way his hunger pained him. I told him about the way the wind blows at night in Arabia, the way it softly caresses you, and you love the wind, even when it becomes a sandstorm and destroys everything. He looked at me afterwards with something in his eyes that I could not name…and he asked me to tell him more about Arabia. But I could not. I was missing the wind, and all I could think of was the bitter way the sea scourged my mouth and I could not remember my Arabia.

~

They came down today, and told us we are almost to America. About "a fourth" of a way to go, said the sailor. I pull up my bundle to me, and hold it close to me now beneath this deck as the day is gone once again. I cannot move down here, and there is sickness going around.

~

Joe fell ill today. He asked me if I could tell him a story about Arabia. I told him about our horses, the way they moved like the wind. The way that they seemed to dance instead of running, their glossy coats putting both the moon and the stars to shame. They way when I rode upon one of them, even though there was the ugliness and confines of being forbidden to, I felt so free. I think he understood, Joe. When he died, full of shaking and aches, crying out to some old and forlorn god of Ireland, he knew about my Arabia. Now does he come to bab-el-sama, the door of heaven, and he will be happy. I cry as they gently lay him overboard now. The door of heaven is not the sea! Oh, Joe, how will you find heaven in this accursed place you hated? How can you be happy here?

~~~~

To be continued. Hope it wasn't too sad…;_;