And yet the thought of losing Shunu was more terrifying to me than the sand. She was the companion upon whom I depended for survival. It was her milk that I drank, her back that I rode, her nose that pushed against my neck when I was lonely.
So I lunged wildly, praying with each step that I would run into her.
“Shunu! Shunu!”
I had been in storms before, but never without shelter. It is known that the darker sands in the southern Nafud are heavy and do not blow so freely. But we were in the white, and the ferocity of that wind flung the sand at me with biting fury.
It had just become clear to me that I must stop and protect my eyes and face from the sand when the ground beneath me gave way and I tumbled down a long slope.
When I came to a stop, I was sure that a mountain was crashing down on top of me. I pulled my mantle over my face, bowed to the ground, and waited as the wind roared over me.
Where Judah was, I couldn’t know. He was surely as blind as I. I understood now that he’d wanted me to pull Shunu to the ground, perhaps even hobble her forelegs to keep her from rising. Any attempt on his part to find me now would be futile. He could not abandon his own mount.
It was dark and difficult to draw clean air, even beneath the covering of my cloak. The finest sand pierced straight through, coating my face and hair with dust. Only by slowing my breath could I manage not to choke, and then only by drawing at the air through clenched, sand-filled teeth. I kept my eyes closed.
There are two kinds of sandstorms. The first and the kindest is called a haboob, which often arrives before a thunderstorm and is short-lived. But in the deepest desert, even a haboob may come without cloud or rain.
The second, called the simoom, brings no rain and may last for days. I prayed we had been visited by a haboob, because I knew that I could not withstand those conditions for long.
The howling wind seemed not to care about the plight of anyone in its path. Many said the sandstorm was the fury of the gods visited on those who had not properly sought their mercy. If so, I knew not how I had angered Isis or Dushares. Or was this Judah’s deity, angry at him for showing kindness to a woman who was not a Jew?
But I refused to believe any of these thoughts, and instead I prayed for the mercy of all deities.
For a very long time I remained huddled on the ground, and still the sand blew until, to my horror, I realized that it was building up around me. Indeed, I was already half-buried. So I crawled forward to be free of that grave.
Once again my breathing quickened in panic.
Once again I had to calm myself so as not to suffocate.
I was utterly alone in that storm. My prayers could not reach past the sand. I imagined Judah’s voice calling out to me, his arm snatching me from the ground. My heart ached for rescue.
None came.
Once again the world mocked me. In one moment my father and all his great power had been crushed. In one moment my son’s life had been snatched away. So in one moment this storm had come from a clear sky to smother us, uncaring of the waste it would leave behind.
What security, then, was there for me?
I crawled out of the sand six times before the wind began to calm. And then, nearly as quickly as the wind had risen, it departed. And soon after, the dust.
I pushed myself to my feet and looked at my cloak, somewhat surprised to be alive. It was covered in dust, as were my head and hands. Sand was my new skin. Gazing about I saw a desert that I did not recognize—whether the sands had been reformed or I’d wandered farther than I’d thought, I didn’t know.
Above, the sky was blue again. There was no sign of life.
“Judah?”
I scrambled to the top of a dune and studied the horizon. To the west I saw receding dust clouds. In every other direction, only white sand.
“Judah!” This time I screamed his name.
I heard a very faint reply.
I stumbled forward, calling out as I plunged down one smaller dune and ran up another, my sandals slipping over the sand.
I saw Judah on his camel when I crested the dune. He rode in a fast trot toward me with Saba hard on his heels. The sight of him striking toward me filled my heart with gratitude.
He slid from his mount and rushed up to me. Not concerned with propriety, he threw his arms around me and pulled me close.
“Thank God, thank God.” He drew back and quickly began to brush the sand from my head and shoulders. “I feared you were lost.”
He looked like an old man with white hair, white eyebrows—even the hairs of his arms were coated in a film of dust. I laughed, not because he looked strange but because I was flooded with relief. But I blamed it on his appearance.
“Just look at you,” I laughed.
“And you! Is it a woman or an ash tree?”
Saba slowed his trotting camel as he approached. “Where is Shunu?”