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He breathed a deep sigh as the camel passed the final opening in the sheer cliffs surrounding him. Home – finally home again. As he progressed toward the city square, he saw women entering and exiting the opening to the underground cisterns, water jugs on their heads, smaller children clutching at their skirts. Other settlements he had passed through had wells in the center of their towns where the women and children gathered while the water was drawn and distributed. But the springs around his desert home did not provide enough water for the population.
Long before his time, engineers for the King had devised a set of water channels, cisterns, and pipes carved through the stone and arranged to feed underground storage areas. The channels gathered the rare, swift and heavy rains that fell upon their area. The water ran down mild slopes and steps to join with other water in the cisterns. The rain also sheeted off the large central plaza into channels. All of the water went underground, guided to great openings carved underneath the cliffs, protected from the heat of the sun. In years far in the future, men unknown to him would look at the water containment system with wonder at the sophistication demonstrated therein; but for now it merely served the needs of those who lived and passed through here.
Of course, it was impossible to enter the central square without notice. The caravan had been carefully watched as they passed deeper into the tall cliffs guarding the city. They were recognized and allowed to pass. If they had been an enemy, they would have been stopped by a hail of arrows from above. Still, it was as if a wave had struck the populace gathered on the ornate tilework when the men and their camels passed into the open skies and sundrenched pillars. Murmurs of “Look, they return” and “Go quickly, get your father. Tell him they return!” passed through the women, some of whom stopped to remove the filled vessels from atop their heads.
To his right, a bit farther away, came a squeal. “Poppa! Look Maman, it’s Poppa!” He looked in that direction and saw his oldest child, a girl of burgeoning adolescence when he had left, but fully a woman now, pulling at his wife’s arm. “I’ll take the water, Maman. You go.” She arranged her head scarf to cushion the heavy vessel of water, and taking it from the head of his wife, transferred it to her own head before turning and briskly setting off towards their home a mile or so distant.
Convincing his camel to settle down on the ground, never an easy chore for the reluctant, bad-tempered creatures, he dismounted just in time to rescue his youngest son from an unpleasant bite from the beast. The camels might be bad tempered and odiferous, but they could survive travel through the deep deserts that surrounded their settlement as well as others with which they traded.
“Hold up there, Bahir! Not too quickly or you’ll be nursing a camel bite for a month or two.” He swung the child up onto his shoulder and moved toward his wife. Clutching her tightly to him, grateful once again that he had survived to return home to her embrace, he ignored his son climbing down from his shoulder and approaching the camel with more caution. He took the first deep breath he had allowed himself in months, as his wife wept tears of joy against his shoulder.
Pulling her away slightly, he tilted her head up to look better at her face. It looked more tired than it had been when he had left, but the tears she wept were those of joy, not sorrow. He pulled her to him once again and send a silent prayer to the Gods. Once again, he had lived to return home. When he finally released her, he returned to the camel and retrieved his small bag of possessions. They walked towards their home together as his beast followed a young man towards safety and a deep drink in the community stables.
Later that night after the family had eaten and the children had gone to sleep, he sat at the entry to their rock-cut home, arm around his wife's shoulders to keep her warm in the cold of the desert night.
“Was it a successful trip?” she asked him.
“It wasn’t bad. Places that didn’t have trade goods were few, bandits were easily defeated, and almost all of us came back safely,” he responded. “What really matters to me, however, is that you and the children are safe, and that the Gods have allowed me to return to your side once again. I will make sacrifice to the Gods tomorrow to thank them for a safe return and for having watched over you while I was gone.”
She snuggled tighter to her husband. He was home again and in her arms; that was what really mattered to her. Her world was complete once more.
NOTE- Discerning readers will recognize echoes of Petra in this tale. Although it is based on Petra and the magnificent water system they devised, it is purely a tale of fiction.
Long before his time, engineers for the King had devised a set of water channels, cisterns, and pipes carved through the stone and arranged to feed underground storage areas. The channels gathered the rare, swift and heavy rains that fell upon their area. The water ran down mild slopes and steps to join with other water in the cisterns. The rain also sheeted off the large central plaza into channels. All of the water went underground, guided to great openings carved underneath the cliffs, protected from the heat of the sun. In years far in the future, men unknown to him would look at the water containment system with wonder at the sophistication demonstrated therein; but for now it merely served the needs of those who lived and passed through here.
Of course, it was impossible to enter the central square without notice. The caravan had been carefully watched as they passed deeper into the tall cliffs guarding the city. They were recognized and allowed to pass. If they had been an enemy, they would have been stopped by a hail of arrows from above. Still, it was as if a wave had struck the populace gathered on the ornate tilework when the men and their camels passed into the open skies and sundrenched pillars. Murmurs of “Look, they return” and “Go quickly, get your father. Tell him they return!” passed through the women, some of whom stopped to remove the filled vessels from atop their heads.
To his right, a bit farther away, came a squeal. “Poppa! Look Maman, it’s Poppa!” He looked in that direction and saw his oldest child, a girl of burgeoning adolescence when he had left, but fully a woman now, pulling at his wife’s arm. “I’ll take the water, Maman. You go.” She arranged her head scarf to cushion the heavy vessel of water, and taking it from the head of his wife, transferred it to her own head before turning and briskly setting off towards their home a mile or so distant.
Convincing his camel to settle down on the ground, never an easy chore for the reluctant, bad-tempered creatures, he dismounted just in time to rescue his youngest son from an unpleasant bite from the beast. The camels might be bad tempered and odiferous, but they could survive travel through the deep deserts that surrounded their settlement as well as others with which they traded.
“Hold up there, Bahir! Not too quickly or you’ll be nursing a camel bite for a month or two.” He swung the child up onto his shoulder and moved toward his wife. Clutching her tightly to him, grateful once again that he had survived to return home to her embrace, he ignored his son climbing down from his shoulder and approaching the camel with more caution. He took the first deep breath he had allowed himself in months, as his wife wept tears of joy against his shoulder.
Pulling her away slightly, he tilted her head up to look better at her face. It looked more tired than it had been when he had left, but the tears she wept were those of joy, not sorrow. He pulled her to him once again and send a silent prayer to the Gods. Once again, he had lived to return home. When he finally released her, he returned to the camel and retrieved his small bag of possessions. They walked towards their home together as his beast followed a young man towards safety and a deep drink in the community stables.
Later that night after the family had eaten and the children had gone to sleep, he sat at the entry to their rock-cut home, arm around his wife's shoulders to keep her warm in the cold of the desert night.
“Was it a successful trip?” she asked him.
“It wasn’t bad. Places that didn’t have trade goods were few, bandits were easily defeated, and almost all of us came back safely,” he responded. “What really matters to me, however, is that you and the children are safe, and that the Gods have allowed me to return to your side once again. I will make sacrifice to the Gods tomorrow to thank them for a safe return and for having watched over you while I was gone.”
She snuggled tighter to her husband. He was home again and in her arms; that was what really mattered to her. Her world was complete once more.
NOTE- Discerning readers will recognize echoes of Petra in this tale. Although it is based on Petra and the magnificent water system they devised, it is purely a tale of fiction.
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