loaded with sturgeon caviar, the town of Hamadan
which was ancient when Cyrus captured it from the Medes, Tabriz with its
exquisite mosques, Meshed, the holiest of Iranian cities. The sun there was
Warm, the mountain valleys green with flowered meadows. As he spoke, the
girl closed her eyes and settled close to him. He was at once aware of the ripe
firmness of her body through the tattered robe. He swore inwardly at
himself. She nestled closer, her soft hip and thigh against his stomach and
legs. Now and then a shiver went through her body, but he didn’t think now that
it was from the desert cold.
“Durell, you have seen all these green places?”
When he nodded, she went on, “If things were different, I—I
would like to go to some of them with you.”
“It’s not impossible, some day.”
She shook her head. “Do you have a girl?”
He thought of Deirdre Padgett, back in the sanity of
Switzerland. “Yes, a girl.”
“Do you love her?”
“Very much.”
“Is she—like you—in your profession?”
“Yes, she’s in the business. I wish she weren’t.” He stood
up, and she shivered as she lost the warmth of his body, He said, “We‘ll have a drink now, and go on ”
She smiled strangely. “Yes. You are angry with yourself now.
That is good. It is best.”
Their water canteen was almost empty.
Toward dawn, they heard the thrum of a motor vehicle in the
bleak desert to the north. They had passed the second of Durell’s landmarks.
Ahead, a low range of hills marked the end of the desert, hovering
tantalizingly in the starlight. It seemed as if they would never reach it. They
would not reach shelter before the sun came up. With its heat, their last
strength would ebb rapidly away.
“I must rest,” the girl gasped.
“No."
“I must.” She staggered and fell.
“Get up, Tanya.”
“Let me rest!” Her voice echoed in high agony over the bleak
dawn of the desert. “I must sleep. I was in the pit so long—I am not strong, as
I used to be. . . .”
He stumbled, and realized that the ground had begun to slope
upward. He looked over his shoulder. The sky was pale. He looked ahead. A star
shone with unnatural brightness on the horizon. He watched it carefully. It was
not a star. It was a light. A campfire or beacon of some kind. He
staggered against a small clump of brush. It was the first vegetation
they had
met, all through the night.
“Fine. We’ll rest, Tanya.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
There was a loom of trees, a clump of thorny bushes up
ahead, He pulled her that way, fell on his hands and knees, and forced her
under the bushes. It was not perfect concealment. But it would have to do. He
went back then, in the half light, and saw that they had left no footprints in
the gravelly soil. That was good. He crawled under the brush after her and
heard her breathing and knew that she was asleep. In less than a minute, he
slept, too.
Chapter Five
SHE was gone when Durell awoke.
He swore softly. Through the sunlight that filtered
through a canopy of yellow leaves, he saw the depression where she had slept,
and put his palm flat on it. It was not cool, but it was not warm,
either. She had been gone for some time.
He sat up slowly, aware of thirst and fatigue and an empty
belly. His face was scratchy with beard. He tried to wet his lips, but his
tongue was too dry. His fingers shook slightly as he reached for his
sunglasses and put them on. His head ached.
He started to call Tanya‘s name, then thought better of it
and lifted himself silently in the scraggly brush. The sun was in the west. He
had slept much longer than he had expected. But where was the girl?
She had left nothing except the shirt he had lent her last
night. His blue eyes darkened almost to black. He put on the shirt and walked
up the slope through the waist-high brush. The sun struck hammer-blows against
his head. The top of the ridge seemed an endless distance away. His feet
dragged in the sandy
which was ancient when Cyrus captured it from the Medes, Tabriz with its
exquisite mosques, Meshed, the holiest of Iranian cities. The sun there was
Warm, the mountain valleys green with flowered meadows. As he spoke, the
girl closed her eyes and settled close to him. He was at once aware of the ripe
firmness of her body through the tattered robe. He swore inwardly at
himself. She nestled closer, her soft hip and thigh against his stomach and
legs. Now and then a shiver went through her body, but he didn’t think now that
it was from the desert cold.
“Durell, you have seen all these green places?”
When he nodded, she went on, “If things were different, I—I
would like to go to some of them with you.”
“It’s not impossible, some day.”
She shook her head. “Do you have a girl?”
He thought of Deirdre Padgett, back in the sanity of
Switzerland. “Yes, a girl.”
“Do you love her?”
“Very much.”
“Is she—like you—in your profession?”
“Yes, she’s in the business. I wish she weren’t.” He stood
up, and she shivered as she lost the warmth of his body, He said, “We‘ll have a drink now, and go on ”
She smiled strangely. “Yes. You are angry with yourself now.
That is good. It is best.”
Their water canteen was almost empty.
Toward dawn, they heard the thrum of a motor vehicle in the
bleak desert to the north. They had passed the second of Durell’s landmarks.
Ahead, a low range of hills marked the end of the desert, hovering
tantalizingly in the starlight. It seemed as if they would never reach it. They
would not reach shelter before the sun came up. With its heat, their last
strength would ebb rapidly away.
“I must rest,” the girl gasped.
“No."
“I must.” She staggered and fell.
“Get up, Tanya.”
“Let me rest!” Her voice echoed in high agony over the bleak
dawn of the desert. “I must sleep. I was in the pit so long—I am not strong, as
I used to be. . . .”
He stumbled, and realized that the ground had begun to slope
upward. He looked over his shoulder. The sky was pale. He looked ahead. A star
shone with unnatural brightness on the horizon. He watched it carefully. It was
not a star. It was a light. A campfire or beacon of some kind. He
staggered against a small clump of brush. It was the first vegetation
they had
met, all through the night.
“Fine. We’ll rest, Tanya.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
There was a loom of trees, a clump of thorny bushes up
ahead, He pulled her that way, fell on his hands and knees, and forced her
under the bushes. It was not perfect concealment. But it would have to do. He
went back then, in the half light, and saw that they had left no footprints in
the gravelly soil. That was good. He crawled under the brush after her and
heard her breathing and knew that she was asleep. In less than a minute, he
slept, too.
Chapter Five
SHE was gone when Durell awoke.
He swore softly. Through the sunlight that filtered
through a canopy of yellow leaves, he saw the depression where she had slept,
and put his palm flat on it. It was not cool, but it was not warm,
either. She had been gone for some time.
He sat up slowly, aware of thirst and fatigue and an empty
belly. His face was scratchy with beard. He tried to wet his lips, but his
tongue was too dry. His fingers shook slightly as he reached for his
sunglasses and put them on. His head ached.
He started to call Tanya‘s name, then thought better of it
and lifted himself silently in the scraggly brush. The sun was in the west. He
had slept much longer than he had expected. But where was the girl?
She had left nothing except the shirt he had lent her last
night. His blue eyes darkened almost to black. He put on the shirt and walked
up the slope through the waist-high brush. The sun struck hammer-blows against
his head. The top of the ridge seemed an endless distance away. His feet
dragged in the sandy
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