against the winds that had already started acting up. The families hammered long stakes into the ground to secure the tents against what I already knew would be a severe wind storm. Through the tent window I could see the huge swirling dust storm that still lay ahead of us. We worked fast, burying in the sand whatever wouldn’t fit in the tents and then hurrying inside with our dogs.
When the storm arrived, sand and pebbles buffeted the tent with a force we knew could slice skin. My family sat quietly, thankful that our tent was near the middle, surrounded by others, and at the same time knowing that in fairness next time we would have to take an outside spot. Maruk clutched at a map of Bakshami he’d brought. He studied that map the way Leisha studied her list of jokes, and he even slept with it. My mother lit one of the candles we sometimes used for rituals, and I watched the tent list perilously with the bursts of wind. Outside the window, I saw swirls of dust rise like apparitions. The tent tilted so much I felt certain that in a moment everything would fall apart—our tent and everybody else’s—and a hundred and some-odd families would go flying into the night air like the smallest pieces of sand in the desert. I closed my eyes, but that made the sound of the sand battering the tent seem louder, louder, as powerful as the wave of sand I’d once seen engulf a man, and I opened my eyes once more. This time I stared at the ground rather than the wind against the tent.
We needed our rest, but we sat unmoving until the storm calmed down. When it finished, sand covered the window and we could no longer see outside. Then we got up and laid out our bedmats. They felt soft on the sand. I felt so relieved the storm had ended that for the first time all day, I felt safe, even cozy, there squeezed into a tent with my family, all of us listening to the funny snores of our flea-bitten dogs as they lay at peace on their blankets. Artie always remained awake until I fell asleep, and though exhausted I combed out his fleas.
“Don’t spend time only with him,” said my father.
“But Artie hauls more than anyone.”
“Just a bit more time then. The other dogs work hard, too.” He looked very sad for a moment. “A long time,” he finally said softly. “A long time.”
I didn’t know precisely to what he referred, but I knew it wasn’t good. I had never seen my father look so burdened. My mother was firm, kind, extremely practical, but my father was the philosopher, more delicate and more outwardly emotional. He thought about every step he took, thought about it when his children or wife smiled at him and thought about it when they frowned at him. He evaluated how much food and water we needed and then evaluated whether his evaluations were accurate. On the other hand, generally whenever my mother finished evaluating something, that was that. On to the next thing. If her evaluations proved right, well, why was that surprising? And if she’d erred, she would simply start over again. But to worry, what a waste of time! She might check on us each night, but she didn’t worry about the viruses the rest of the time.
I got under my covers. The sand sprinkled softly on the tent, making a comforting pitter-patter that I’d heard many times before. Artie came over and lay down across my legs, which I gently pulled out from under him. The candle had died on its own, and I wondered sleepily how many candles we’d brought. Then Maruk asked: “How many candles did we bring?”
“Ten,” said my father.
“Just ten, and we used one tonight?”
“That’s right, it was important to have light tonight. You children are in charge of saving the wax and making new candles out of it. In fact, since you asked the question, Maruk, I put you in charge.”
He nudged me and whispered, “And I delegate you.
I kicked Leisha and whispered, “Maruk says you should make the candles.”
I heard
When the storm arrived, sand and pebbles buffeted the tent with a force we knew could slice skin. My family sat quietly, thankful that our tent was near the middle, surrounded by others, and at the same time knowing that in fairness next time we would have to take an outside spot. Maruk clutched at a map of Bakshami he’d brought. He studied that map the way Leisha studied her list of jokes, and he even slept with it. My mother lit one of the candles we sometimes used for rituals, and I watched the tent list perilously with the bursts of wind. Outside the window, I saw swirls of dust rise like apparitions. The tent tilted so much I felt certain that in a moment everything would fall apart—our tent and everybody else’s—and a hundred and some-odd families would go flying into the night air like the smallest pieces of sand in the desert. I closed my eyes, but that made the sound of the sand battering the tent seem louder, louder, as powerful as the wave of sand I’d once seen engulf a man, and I opened my eyes once more. This time I stared at the ground rather than the wind against the tent.
We needed our rest, but we sat unmoving until the storm calmed down. When it finished, sand covered the window and we could no longer see outside. Then we got up and laid out our bedmats. They felt soft on the sand. I felt so relieved the storm had ended that for the first time all day, I felt safe, even cozy, there squeezed into a tent with my family, all of us listening to the funny snores of our flea-bitten dogs as they lay at peace on their blankets. Artie always remained awake until I fell asleep, and though exhausted I combed out his fleas.
“Don’t spend time only with him,” said my father.
“But Artie hauls more than anyone.”
“Just a bit more time then. The other dogs work hard, too.” He looked very sad for a moment. “A long time,” he finally said softly. “A long time.”
I didn’t know precisely to what he referred, but I knew it wasn’t good. I had never seen my father look so burdened. My mother was firm, kind, extremely practical, but my father was the philosopher, more delicate and more outwardly emotional. He thought about every step he took, thought about it when his children or wife smiled at him and thought about it when they frowned at him. He evaluated how much food and water we needed and then evaluated whether his evaluations were accurate. On the other hand, generally whenever my mother finished evaluating something, that was that. On to the next thing. If her evaluations proved right, well, why was that surprising? And if she’d erred, she would simply start over again. But to worry, what a waste of time! She might check on us each night, but she didn’t worry about the viruses the rest of the time.
I got under my covers. The sand sprinkled softly on the tent, making a comforting pitter-patter that I’d heard many times before. Artie came over and lay down across my legs, which I gently pulled out from under him. The candle had died on its own, and I wondered sleepily how many candles we’d brought. Then Maruk asked: “How many candles did we bring?”
“Ten,” said my father.
“Just ten, and we used one tonight?”
“That’s right, it was important to have light tonight. You children are in charge of saving the wax and making new candles out of it. In fact, since you asked the question, Maruk, I put you in charge.”
He nudged me and whispered, “And I delegate you.
I kicked Leisha and whispered, “Maruk says you should make the candles.”
I heard
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