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Bob Heman
In the Desert
The magician drew from the sand an army a hundred thousand strong to
drive from within the city wall the invading mongol horde. He was our
saviour. Once again we were able to go on about our lives beneath the
caliph's protective eye. The mongols fled across the sands and did not
return. Weeks passed and we became more and more aware of the warriors
who packed our streets and markets and alleys where before they had not
walked. Somehow we had assumed they would be gone as quickly as they
had appeared, once they were no longer needed, but still they moved
within our midst. Whether the magician was unable to send them back or
merely unwilling we could not tell. But it did not matter, they were
still here, the city swollen to three times its normal size. The
newcomers were just like us. They prayed and dined and smoked with us.
They knew the same songs and tales our people always knew. In fact it
became harder and harder to recognize them at all. The desert
surrounding us seemed as impenetrable as before. Often we went back to
wonder how the mongols ever were able to stage their strange invasion.
Now we notice every week there seems to be less food and fewer goods.
The market stalls grow emptier each day. Our poor methods of production
just can't keep up with so many. The caliph has not been seen for weeks
and no one seems to know where the magician has gone. There are those
among us who think perhaps this all has been a dream, a vision conjured
by the magician to explain why the caliph seems no longer able to
provide us with our basic needs, that in reality we are the same number
that we have always been, that we are just more aware of each other as
the things that enable us to live seem increasingly to be in short
supply.
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