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“Maktub,”
the boy said, remembering the crystal merchant.
The desert was all sand in some stretches, and rocky in others.
When the caravan was blocked by a boulder, it had to go around it;
if there was a large rocky area, they had to make a major detour. If
the sand was too fine for the animals’ hooves, they sought a way
where the sand was more substantial. In some places, the ground
was covered with the salt of dried-up lakes. The animals balked at
such places, and the camel drivers were forced to dismount and
unburden their charges. The drivers carried the freight themselves
over such treacherous footing, and then reloaded the camels. If a
guide were to fall ill or die, the camel drivers would draw lots and
appoint a new one.
But all this happened for one basic reason: no matter how many
detours and adjustments it made, the caravan moved toward the
same compass point. Once obstacles were overcome, it returned to
its course, sighting on a star that indicated the location of the oasis.
When the people saw that star shining in the morning sky, they
knew they were on the right course toward water, palm trees,
shelter, and other people. It was only the Englishman who was
unaware of all this; he was, for the most part, immersed in reading
his books.
The boy, too, had his book, and he had tried to read it during the
first few days of the journey. But he found it much more interesting
to observe the caravan and listen to the wind. As soon as he had
learned to know his camel better, and to establish a relationship
with him, he threw the book away. Although the boy had developed
a superstition that each time he opened the book he would learn
something important, he decided it was an unnecessary burden.
He became friendly with the camel driver who traveled
alongside him. At night, as they sat around the fire, the boy related
to the driver his adventures as a shepherd.
During one of these conversations, the driver told of his own life.
“I used to live near El Cairum,” he said. “I had my orchard, my
children, and a life that would change not at all until I died. One
year, when the crop was the best ever, we all went to Mecca, and I
satisfied the only unmet obligation in my life. I could die happily,
and that made me feel good.
“One day, the earth began to tremble, and the Nile overflowed its
banks. It was something that I thought could happen only to others,
never to me. My neighbors feared they would lose all their olive
trees in the flood, and my wife was afraid that we would lose our
children. I thought that everything I owned would be destroyed.
“The land was ruined, and I had to find some other way to earn a
living. So now I’m a camel driver. But that disaster taught me to
understand the word of Allah: people need not fear the unknown if
they are capable of achieving what they need and want.
“We are afraid of losing what we have, whether it’s our life or
our possessions and property. But this fear evaporates when we
understand that our life stories and the history of the world were
written by the same hand.”
Sometimes, their caravan met with another. One always had
something that the other needed—as if everything were indeed
written by one hand. As they sat around the fire, the camel drivers
exchanged information about windstorms, and told stories about
the desert.
At other times, mysterious, hooded men would appear; they
were Bedouins who did surveillance along the caravan route. They
provided warnings about thieves and barbarian tribes. They came
in silence and departed the same way, dressed in black garments
that showed only their eyes. One night, a camel driver came to the
fire where the Englishman and the boy were sitting. “There are
rumors of tribal wars,” he told them.
The three fell silent. The boy noted that there was a sense of fear
in the air, even though no one said anything. Once again he was
experiencing the language without words…the universal language.
The Englishman asked if they were in danger.
“Once you get into the desert, there’s no going back,” said the
camel driver. “And, when you can’t go back, you have to worry only
about the best way of moving forward. The rest is up to Allah,
including the danger.”
And he concluded by saying the mysterious word:
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