But she did. Or more like it, someone came across her a good forty minutes later.
First it was a shape climbing a steep hill a few kilometres away from where Lara was sitting. She could spot it easily with her infrared goggles but could not make out any features.
Then suddenly it was a tall man, walking straight towards her. Lara wondered how he could he have spotted her in the dark before realizing her goggles had a very much visible red 'ready' light.
It was unusual but not by far impossible to have such an encounter in the desert. In Egypt camel-herders sometimes rode their younger animals after nightfall, and Jordania and Syria certainly had their inhabitants of the desert – the Bedouins.
Lara could not tell if the man approaching her belonged to one of the nomadic tribes, but it was a possibility. The Bedouins numbered about 40 000 in Jordania only. Most lived quite modernly, but a great few had preserved their semiprimitive lifestyles, living in large tents and wandering the deserts following ancient routes. The most prominent tribes of these tightly organized people, the Beni Sakh, the Huweitat and the Sirhan, herded camels of horses. According to legend these people regarded hospitality second only to honour, so it would not be uncommon for a Bedouin to take contact with any strangers wandering the desert and inviting them for a stay.
The man climbed a last portion of the hill, and approached Lara. He wore black, wide trousers topped with a wide tunic and a black scarf – as though he'd walked straight from a remake of 'The Lawrence of Arabia'.
Lara dropped down from her rock. She could now see a lot better in the scarce light and could even distinguish some of his facial features as he walked up to her.
"As salaam aleikum, ajnabi," he greeted in an inquisitive, pleasant baritone. 'Peace be with you, foreigner'. The last word was not an accusation or a profanity, more like a courteous title. He nodded politely as well.
Lara nodded back, being careful not to look straight into his face. He was an Arab, but in his manners there was something different. He was slow in his words and his motions like a gentleman. Lara decided she liked him for some reason. "Wa aleikum as-salaam," she replied. 'With you as well.' "Btahki ingleezi?" she inquired.
The man suddenly smiled. "Yes, I do," he replied with perfect pronounciation. "May I enquire if you name is Lara Croft?"
Lara looked down, feeling slightly smug for the attention. "How did you know?"
"Your face is quite a known one."
Lara sighed inwardly. Usually, if people knew who she was they had all sorts of expectations and prejudices. "May I then know your name unless you want to hold me at a disadvantage?"
The man smiled just as warmly as he had before. "I am Hussain, after my Father. Of the Sirhan."
Lara swallowed, slightly put off but intrigued. So he was a Bedouin! But how could he speak such outstanding English?
"You speak English very well. I did not expect it," she admitted.
The man corrected his scarf. "You underestimate the bedu." Bedu, meaning inhabitants of the desert in Arabic. "Are you alone? Mufrada?"
Lara nodded. "My gear's in the cave." She pointed towards the tomb.
Hussain craned his neck to peek in. "It will be safe there. Would you accept our invitation?"
Lara knew some of what this meant. She was being invited for a meal, perhaps a stay. True, she'd gulped down her peas, but the appalling taste had prevented her from filling her stomach. Why shouldn't she accept?
"Shoukran jazeelam," she replied absently, "I would be delighted," she added.
Hussain peeked a little closer to meet her eyes. His eyes were icy blue and Lara did not dare to hold the gaze for long. "Afwan," he replied to indicate she was welcome.
Lara emptied her backpack of unnecessary things, pulled a gallabia on top of her shorts and cropped top, and followed Hussain down the mountain. After they'd turned a few times Lara could spot the camp area – a collection of huge tents and a fenced area for what seemed hundreds of horses. Numerous fires were burning. It was a scene that brought to Lara's mind images from A Thousand and One Nights.
They made their way through the perimeter area of the camp and Lara was surprised at the speed with what Hussain moved. She was an experienced hiker herself, but he, only scandal-clad, could outwalk her easily. She had to take odd running steps to keep up.
The opened the thick fabric acting as the door for the largest tent.
Inside, the sight that greeted Lara was spectacular. An open but controlled fire raged in the middle, surrounded by round and flat pillows on which dozens of people sat, talked and laughed. Intricate carpets covered the ground, the tent fabric flapped in the wind, and brass objects including star-shaped lamps were everywhere. Nargiles burned and three men with strange-looking instruments were playing a rhytmic melody to which some small children were dancing to.
Lara stopped, unsure whether she could enter as most of the persons present were male. Her plain white gallabia felt embarrassingly cheap compared with the colourful and decorative wear of the nomads.
Hussain gestured her forward and she trailed in his wake. While they were walking across the luscious carpets some women walked in to fill the nargiles. Most of their dresses were dark-blue, the colour of the night-sky. Lara hoped she could find such a dress from somewhere. They were utterly beautiful.
In her job she usually witnessed the glory of the ancients and tended to forget that existing cultures had often equally wonderful things to offer. This was how these people had been living for centuries and centuries.
Still, modern world crept slowly everywhere. Lara noticed a kerocene stove in a corner.
An elderly man with a crinkled face but a very distinguished look was sitting on the softest and largest of pillows. Hussain nodded to him and whispered something.
The scene was so arcaic it seemed amusing to Lara. It was as though she'd been windswept into the past.
The old man listened to Hussain, and then raised his palm upwards at the musicians. They paused, and all the people gathered near the fire turned their attention to the old man.
The old man's eyes were twinkling as they fixed on Lara who was standing on the carpet feeling forlorn. "Ahlan wa sahlan!" he shouted, and raised his cup of coffee. The others shouted the welcome to Lara as well, and soon she found herself sitting next to Hussain around the fire on a huge, soft pillow with a cup of strong coffee steaming in her fingers. The musicians began playing again, and several people came to address Lara in Arabic, asking where she was from, how long she'd been in Jordan and how on Earth had she learned to speak Arabic? And most of all, was she married and why not?
There was the possibility that some of them were entertaining the idea that Hussain had kidnapped himself a Western wife but Hussain himself definitely was not thinking in these terms. He regarded Lara with warm politeness, answered her curious questions but gave her leeway.
Soon the women reappeared, carrying with them huge brass trays of chicken, kebab, beans, yoghurt-based sauces, lemon and coriander paste and other delicacies. Lara was nearly forced to taste each and everyone.
She felt like home, and was glad for the experience – she'd gotten some company and they were making her feel more welcome than she even felt in her own home. And the food was marvellous – she wasn't certain she could walk back to her camp later with her bloated stomach.
Then it was time for dessert – bowls of hot, syrupy pastries. Lara ate several, but she had to thank now when she heard tafadali – 'go ahead' – for the eleventh time, and settled for her third cup of coffee.
Lara kept asking questions, and Hussain and the others replied kindly. When the plates were being gathered away, she dared to ask Hussain what had been puzzling her for a long time. "Who is that man?" she carefully nodded at the old man in the corner. She had a good guess, but wanted confirmation.
"My Father, Hussain."
Lara smiled. "So you still live at home," she joked, and Hussain laughed.
"With the Sirhan and other tribes, we both live at home and with our own families, those who have one. Our camp is a village, where everyone has a tent of their own, but in the evenings we gather for food, music and stories. It is how the old ones teach the young ones."
Lara felt sad. This was a tradition that was lost in the West. "You still haven't told me where you've learned English?" She decided not to ask him if he had a family.
"I studied in Toronto. Three years."
"Oh." She wanted to ask him what he'd studied but he somehow gave the impression of being reluctant to discuss the subject. Lara swallowed down her coffee. "I'd better be going. I have a lot to do tomorrow."
"It is a long walk back. You could stay the night."
"Thank you but no. I'd better get to work early so I wouldn't want to do the hike back in the morning. Otherwise I won't have much energy left for my work." He's asked about her profession and she'd told him she was an archaeologist. She half expected him to try and persuade her, but again, he gave her space.
"Then, we can ride. But first, you must greet my Father."
Lara stood up to wobbly feet. She'd been sitting for so long her muscles were sleepy. He followed Hussain to meet the old man.
He grabbed Lara's hands into his own. His skin was worn and paper-thin but warm and smooth. He stroked her thumb and said, "Fi aman Allah", 'go with God.' Then he added something else.
"Ana ma afhan?" Lara inquired, saying she had not understood.
"May you return to us tomorrow," Hussain translated, whispering into her ear.
Lara nodded. Perhaps she would. "Yarhamukallah," she said quietly, 'God bless you'. The old man nodded, and let go of her hands.
Together with Hussain she walked out.
They walked to the horse fence. The animals were Arabian horses, stunningly beautiful with their varied colours and gentle eyes. Their breath steamed in the icy night air.
"Choose one you wish to ride," Hussain offered, and gently touched Lara's back to steer her closer to the fence.
Lara flinched at his touch. Usually she would have been offended, but in Hussain she could read nothing improper. He watched her in the starlight, his expression quiet but serene. Lara felt she was under some sort of strange protection.
She watched the animals. "Can I really pick any horse?" she inquired, feeling like a child in a toyshop on Oxford street. These were magnificent animals.
He nodded, opening the gate and walking into the midst of the horses. They did not become alert at his presence, just breathed gently into his neck as though going through some sort of an identification ritual.
Lara climbed up onto the fence to see better. It was very late but she did not care to know the exact time. It wasn't of importance.
She pointed at a charcoal-black animal with thin but powerful legs and curvy figure. "That one."
Hussain smiled. "Good choice," he commented and brought the horse by pulling from its halter. He didn't exactly have to pull as the horse followed him voluntarily. He grabbed a whitish, speckled mare for himself and walked to meet Lara after closing the gates.
He gave a pair of reins to Lara to attach to the halter. No saddle. "His name is Shway," he informed her.
The dark horse eyed her benevolently. 'Shway' meant 'slowly'. It probably did not refer to the horse's maximum speed, rather than some poetic image. What first came to Lara's mind made her blush. She hoped he would not notice.
After all, a sexual innuendo wasn't likely to be too far off. Arabic poetry was often quite excuisitely erotic. He had not seemed to take any secret pleasure in informing her of the name, so she felt embarrassed and childish.
The mounted their steeds and set off for the mountain. They indulged in some wild galloping in the valley area but when the hills got steeper they slowed down to gait.
"Do you live with your family, Lara?" Hussain asked all of a sudden.
Lara snapped out of her reverie. "No, I don't." Now this was a subject she didn't wish to delve into.
"Does your Father still live? Is he hoping you would marry?"
Lara rode in silence for a moment. Not this again. She felt annoyed but not at Hussain – how could he guess this was a delicate subject? No, she was more enraged at herself for feeling so jittery.
"He died recently." She quickly replied, ignoring his second question.
"Ma sha Allah," he muttered. 'God's will be done'. Lara considered it slightly offending, but reminded himself that Moslims were fatalists and this was his way of comforting her.
They arrived at her camp tomb. The dark cave did not seem inviting at all, but Lara had had worse. A lot worse. They dismounted.
They stood silent for a moment. Usually such a silence would have been uncomfortable, but Hussain's calm demeanor only made it into a quiet moment of reflection which did not invade Lara's thoughts at all.
He did not expect anything of her. Nor did she expect anything from him. Still, she couldn't just bring herself to thank for the evening and retire to the cave.
"Fursa sa'ida," he finally whispered. 'It was lovely to meet you'.
"You, too." Lara yawned. "Sorry."
"You are tired. Perhaps we shall meet tomorrow. You are welcome to join us for a meal. We would serve a mensef." A traditional meal for a honorary guest, the mensef was a delicate lamb dish usually served in portions large enough for the whole camp to enjoy. Lara felt honoured but she could not be certain she could promise to come.
"Yimkin," Lara replied. 'Perhaps'. Lara looked down, unsure what to do.
Suddenly Hussain touched her chin with his forefinger and lifted it so that she was looking into his eyes again. They held only sorrow, nothing else. "I am sorry for your Father, Lara."
Then he dismounted his horse and rode off, the darker animal Lara had ridden running free following them.
Lara stood and watched him disappear, feeling like crying again.
What a silly, weak sod I am.