vats. I was restrained when I washed him. As Alem had taught me, I did not touch his face or his stomach. Yet afterward I walked back to our tent with my hands tingling as if they had been exposed to the sun for too long, and into my deepest sleep I could hear him repeat to the small, naked man in the dark, “She is beautiful. She is good. Look at the water she brings.”
10
Alem’s End
O n the eighth day after his departure, my father returned carrying little Put on his back. He also carried the carefully woven bit of our donkey and Alem-the-ragged’s gray cloak. Put had an empty look in his eyes. It was ages before they were in a fit state to tell their story.
Alem was a hero, said my father. He had found him from directions given by reed carriers on the way. Alem had not gotten very far, because the donkey had been ill. My father had asked him to come back to the quarry to get my mother and me, and Alem had happily agreed. Of course he wanted to be of service again, he understood without explanation that the boat builder would not prosper in this shipyard. But because of the donkey, the return journey was slow. The animal became bloated. They had spent quite some effort trying to save it, but it was hopeless. First the carrion eaters had come, small dogs who were after the intestines, but the scent of blood had attracted larger animals. Alem had warned of the danger, he had said they should go on that very evening, but my father had laughed off his fear and said he was glad to have found him, that there was no rush now and they should save their strength.
The monster had appeared from nowhere, none of them hadsensed its approach. They had only heard the silence and wondered why the lizards disappeared into chinks and cracks. Then the shadow fell on them. It was a striped animal, its eyes glistening, slaver dripping from its jaws. It wrapped its paws around Alem like an embrace. They heard the cracking of bone. They saw how Alem was knocked to the ground and immediately thrown up in the air again. The incisors closed around the back of his head right through his hood. Probably the animal had observed Alem from behind the bushes and seen how he moved; it knew exactly where, under all the clothes he had on, his vertebrae were.
The tiger dragged Alem into the bushes. Alem grabbed at the grass. Again the incisors closed over his skull. Something tore. For a moment, the animal let go. Alem tried to scramble up, but the tiger clawed at his legs the way it does with fleeing prey.
Alem had pushed himself off with all his strength. He had thrown himself on top of the tiger, as if after due consideration, he responded to the embrace. Very deliberately, he put his hand into the beast’s mouth, first the fingers, then the wrist. “Get away, get away!” he shouted. “I’ll hold it here.” He pushed his fist into the wide throat. The tiger slammed its jaws shut. The hand cracked.
My father grabbed hold of Put and fled. He did not hear screams. All through the night they waited. Only the next morning did they dare go back. When they got there, all they found was the cloak and some splintered bones.
My father grieved deeply for the man for whom he had shown nothing but disdain during our journey. My grief waseven deeper. Alem had taught me about love and shown me the world. Ham had predicted a disaster, he had read the signs, but why did it have to strike Alem? I tried to explain to my father that a donkey was ready waiting, that I had water and food, that, even without a pathfinder, we had to get out of this place as fast as we could.
But he was not to be swayed. “Return that donkey this instant,” he said. “It will attract the wild animals. We cannot go back, the hills are full of untamed beasts lusting after our flesh.” He sat down with his silkworms and fed them the mulberry leaves I had picked on the slopes earlier in the day. My mother rolled and rolled her eye, she was full of horror at Alem’s death. And
10
Alem’s End
O n the eighth day after his departure, my father returned carrying little Put on his back. He also carried the carefully woven bit of our donkey and Alem-the-ragged’s gray cloak. Put had an empty look in his eyes. It was ages before they were in a fit state to tell their story.
Alem was a hero, said my father. He had found him from directions given by reed carriers on the way. Alem had not gotten very far, because the donkey had been ill. My father had asked him to come back to the quarry to get my mother and me, and Alem had happily agreed. Of course he wanted to be of service again, he understood without explanation that the boat builder would not prosper in this shipyard. But because of the donkey, the return journey was slow. The animal became bloated. They had spent quite some effort trying to save it, but it was hopeless. First the carrion eaters had come, small dogs who were after the intestines, but the scent of blood had attracted larger animals. Alem had warned of the danger, he had said they should go on that very evening, but my father had laughed off his fear and said he was glad to have found him, that there was no rush now and they should save their strength.
The monster had appeared from nowhere, none of them hadsensed its approach. They had only heard the silence and wondered why the lizards disappeared into chinks and cracks. Then the shadow fell on them. It was a striped animal, its eyes glistening, slaver dripping from its jaws. It wrapped its paws around Alem like an embrace. They heard the cracking of bone. They saw how Alem was knocked to the ground and immediately thrown up in the air again. The incisors closed around the back of his head right through his hood. Probably the animal had observed Alem from behind the bushes and seen how he moved; it knew exactly where, under all the clothes he had on, his vertebrae were.
The tiger dragged Alem into the bushes. Alem grabbed at the grass. Again the incisors closed over his skull. Something tore. For a moment, the animal let go. Alem tried to scramble up, but the tiger clawed at his legs the way it does with fleeing prey.
Alem had pushed himself off with all his strength. He had thrown himself on top of the tiger, as if after due consideration, he responded to the embrace. Very deliberately, he put his hand into the beast’s mouth, first the fingers, then the wrist. “Get away, get away!” he shouted. “I’ll hold it here.” He pushed his fist into the wide throat. The tiger slammed its jaws shut. The hand cracked.
My father grabbed hold of Put and fled. He did not hear screams. All through the night they waited. Only the next morning did they dare go back. When they got there, all they found was the cloak and some splintered bones.
My father grieved deeply for the man for whom he had shown nothing but disdain during our journey. My grief waseven deeper. Alem had taught me about love and shown me the world. Ham had predicted a disaster, he had read the signs, but why did it have to strike Alem? I tried to explain to my father that a donkey was ready waiting, that I had water and food, that, even without a pathfinder, we had to get out of this place as fast as we could.
But he was not to be swayed. “Return that donkey this instant,” he said. “It will attract the wild animals. We cannot go back, the hills are full of untamed beasts lusting after our flesh.” He sat down with his silkworms and fed them the mulberry leaves I had picked on the slopes earlier in the day. My mother rolled and rolled her eye, she was full of horror at Alem’s death. And
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