Free The Exile Kiss by George Alec Effinger Page B

night of the desert had fallen. I imagined that I could already feel the heat leaching out of the sand. It would be a cold night, and we had no blankets.
I decided to see how far I could push the false hospi-tality of the Bayt Tahiti. I went over to their small fire of dried camel dung, where the six bandits were sitting and talking. "You pray to Allah," said Muhammad with a sarcastic grin. "You're good men. We mean to pray, but sometimes we forget." His tribesmen cackled at his wit._ I didn't pay any attention to that. "We'll need water for. tomorrow's journey, O Shaykh," I said. I suppose I could've phrased that more politely.
Muhammad thought about it for a moment. He couldn't very well refuse, but he wasn't happy about part-ing with any of his own supply. He leaned over and mut-tered something to one of the others. The second Bedu got up and fetched a goatskin bag of water and brought it to me. "Here, my brother," he said with a blank expres-sion. "May it be pleasant to you."
"We're obliged," I said. "We'll just fill our canteens, and return the rest of the water to you."
The man nodded, then reached out and touched one of my corymbic implants. "My cousin wants to know what these are," he said.
I shrugged. "Tell your cousin that I like to listen to music on the radio."
"Ah," said the Bayt Tahiti. I don't know if he believed me. He came with me while I filled my canteen and Papa's. Then the Bedu took the goatskin bag and returned to his friends.
"The sons of bitches didn't invite us to join them by the fire," I said, sitting down on the sand beside Papa.
He only turned one hand over. "It means nothing, my nephew," he said. "Now, I must sleep. It would be well if you remained awake and watchful."
"Of course, O Shaykh." Papa made himself as com-fortable as he could on the hard-packed sand of the desert floor. I sat for a little while longer, lost in thought. I re-membered what Papa had said about revenge, and from the pocket of my gallebeya I took the paper the qadi had given me. It was a copy of the charges against Friedlander Bey and rne, the verdict, and the order for our deportation. It was signed by Dr. Sadiq Abd ar-Razzaq, imam of the Shimaal Mosque and adviser to the amir on the inter-pretation of shari'a, or religious law. I was happy to see that Shaykh Mahali had apparently played no part in our kidnapping.
Finally, I decided to lie down and pretend to be asleep, because I realized that the Bayt Tabiti were watching me, and that they wouldn't retire for the night until I did. I stretched out not far from Friedlander Bey, but I didn't close my eyes. I was sleepy, but I didn't dare drift off. If I did, I might never awaken again.
I could see the top of a gracefully curved dune about a hundred yards away. This particular sand hill must have been two hundred feet high, and the wind had blown it into a delicate, sinuous fold. I thought I could see a stately cedar tree growing from the very crest of the dune. I knew the mirage was a product of my fatigue, or perhaps I was already dreaming.
I wondered how the cedar tree could live in this wa-terless place, and I told myself that the only answer was that someone must be cultivating it. Someone had planned for that cedar to be there, and had worked very hard to make it grow.
I opened my eyes and realized that there was no cedar tree on that dune. Maybe it had been a vision from Allah. Maybe God was telling me that I had to make plans, and work very hard and persevere. There was no time now for rest.
I lifted my head a little, and saw that the Bayt Tabiti had thrown themselves on the ground near their fire, which had died down to pale, weakly glowing embers. One of the Bedu had been ordered to keep watch, but he sat against a wall of sand with his head thrown back and his mouth open. His rifle lay discarded beside him on the ground. I believed all six of them were sound asleep, but I did not stir. I did nothing for another hour but stare at the seconds as they flicked by in