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| Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Smoke Rings From Tassili by Jeffrey LimOn Sunday morning, an hour before dawn, a southern wind rose up over the wreckage. In the east, the deep starry hue of the sky turned pale. The Sun was coming. Soon, the dunes would grow blindingly bright. And when the fire was back in the sky, Jude's broken body would burn. Jude struggled for breath. His ribs ached. It hurt to breathe and he could taste iron in his spit. Some part of the plane had pinned his legs. He could no longer see the other few passengers. Perhaps their bodies had been scattered far from the site of the crash. It was possible that they were buried by the shifting sand. There had been no explosion, at least none that he could remember. He recalled the pilot say something about the fuel lines, and having insufficient fuel to reach a landing strip. Someone mentioned Djanet. It might have been Alphonse. Alphonse had been to the Tassili plateau before. It was Alphonse who had suggested that they drive. An hour later, all power had gone. The propellers on either side of the fuselage were dead. The pilot was forced to glide the plane. Jude had remembered the passengers buckling in for a crash landing. Aside from the pilot's staccato speech as he radioed for assistance and called out their location to whoever was listening, there were no other sounds. Each of them sat in their seats, dreading the inevitable, fingers clutching at seat belt straps, prayer beads, each other. Jude found himself wishing that Lydia was here. She would have told him not to worry, to believe that they would be okay and he would have believed her. He tried not to think of her, interred in a small plot of earth near the Chapel of St Ignatius. Lydia had lost so much weight she used to tell him that she felt as though she had been "hollowed out". They had tried herbal remedies, seen all kinds of doctors, and had even gone to Lourdes but nothing had arrested the cancer. Whenever they met a friend or a relative who had not seen them in a month or so, they would invariably be surprised at how thin she was. Jude would catch them holding back a gasp or trying not to do double take, see them politely refrain from mentioning it and trying their best to put on a brave front. One night, as they lay side by side, he caught her looking at him, as if trying to puzzle him out. "What is it?" he asked. "I’m trying to think," she asked, "about where I would like to have gone with you." And she had said this so matter-of-factly that he had been tempted to get up out of bed and head to the bathroom so that she wouldn't see him cry. "Well," he said, "once you get well, we can go to Africa." She smiled, happy for the kind words. "Yes, we must. …Africa." As the plane was losing altitude, he steeled himself and thought: If she could not be there, then he had no use for memories. As if it would force the past from him, he looked physically ahead, past the shoulders of the pilot and through the window. The mountains reassured him. They seemed steady on the horizon, drifting slowly towards them as they lost altitude. He could not remember falling to Earth, nor of being thrown from his seat. Now, unable to raise himself to a sitting position, he lay back to watch the stars above him fade from view. Jude had pulled Stuart aside. "There must be something you can do." Stuart brushed Jude’s hand from his sleeve as gently as he could and looked him in the eye. "It's best that you help her make all the arrangements that need to be made." "Why are you talking like that?" Jude was trying to keep from raising his voice in case she could hear them from inside the ward. A couple of nurses who passed them by in the hallway turned briefly to look at them but said nothing. "Why are you saying this?" Jude demanded again. "You told her it was a minor episode." Stuart nodded. "I thought we were clear on this," he said. "We agreed, didn't we, that it would be better if we tried to keep her spirits up... All I'm doing is leveling with you." Jude turned away. "Damn it." Stuart spoke softly. "Jude, understand this. We've done all we can... I think you need to be ready for when she has to go." When Jude did not reply, Stuart left to attend to other patients. She smiled wanly when Jude returned to her room. She said, "Stuart means well... Don't blame him." "What?" he asked. "It’s okay," she said, reassuring him as she placed a thin hand on his, the intravenous tubes in her wrist flexing as she did so. "Jude, listen. It has to happen... You need to be ready." When he awoke, the sky above him had been replaced by the contoured lines of a cave. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he began to make out images. Soon, he became aware that he was staring at a large mosaic of shapes etched, daubed or painted into the rock. He gasped at the sight. The figures of animals, beasts of every kind, were etched as far as his eye could see. Some were familiar, others seemed alien. He slowly began to make out individual shapes. There was an antelope, springing forward, as if pursued. An elephant, its trunk raised. A bird of prey circling with its wings outstretched. He became aware of a centre to the piece. His eyes struggled at first to recognise it but gradually, he made out two human shapes, flanking the skeleton of a bare-branched tree. "You're awake." The voice startled him. As he gasped, his side felt as though it was tearing apart. He choked and spat blood. "Lie still," the voice commanded. It was pitch perfect English and the voice carried its way through. Jude assumed that it was the acoustics of the cave. It was a soothing baritone. A cool sensation washed over him. Jude realised that light in this cave must have come from an entrance nearby. He sniffed the air and could detect the whiff of the burning air of day. He looked out about him and caught sight of the entrance. The speaker stood in the middle of the light, his tall silhouette moved slowly towards him. He was in black robes. A scarf was wrapped about his face. His eyes were dark and Jude could hardly make them out under the turban. "Help," was all Jude could say. The figure nodded and leaned over him. Jude could feel long fingers press gently into his side, as if examining him. The stranger said that there were no other survivors. He did not explain anything else other than to confirm that he was the one who had pulled Jude from the wreckage. He did not seem concerned. "Listen to me. There will be a rescue party," Jude said calmly. "You must look for help." He grimaced with the effort of breathing. The stranger shook his head. "Talking will hurt. It will make you feel worse." "Before we crashed, the pilot... he radioed for help..." The stranger did not reply. He reached into his robes and produced a worn and stained leather flask, raised it to Jude’s lips. Jude drank the cool water in sips, swallowed what he could and lay back as the stranger removed the flask from his lips. "Have you got a radio? A phone?" The stranger shook his head. "Do not worry," he replied. "You will be saved." Jude found himself relaxing, his body growing limp. "Thank God..." The person reached under Jude and gently lifted him to a sitting position. "Where am I?" Jude asked, squinting in the half-light. "Where I live." Jude’s eyes widened. "You live here? In the Tassili?" The person nodded. "Can you walk?" Jude nodded. "It hurts but I can manage... why?" "I have something to show you." He felt stronger, and in less pain, whenever he leaned against the stranger. He was so preoccupied with the struggle of walking and half leaning against his rescuer that it did not occur to Jude to ask for the stranger's name until he reached the entrance of the cave. And by then, he could say nothing for a few moments as he tried to take in the view. The cave overlooked an encircled ravine. Though the ground on which they were on was probably over a hundred feet below, giant fingers of rocks stood up like pillars, as if holding up the sky. At first, they seemed like natural formations, but Jude soon realised that their weathered shapes were not entirely randomly distributed. They were placed in what appeared to be rough concentric circles and there was something in the centre, in the distance and below. The stranger pointed to what appeared to be the centre of the ravine. "There," the stranger said. "We must go there." Jude could not see a dwelling. "Will we find help down there?" he asked. The stranger did not reply, merely led Jude out of the cave and into the blinding light. The priest had shook his hand. A dry, warm and fleshy palm with a solid grip. Jude had looked up and shuddered. "I'm sorry for your loss," Father Peele had said. Jude nodded. "Thank you for the kind words." Father Peele shook his head, "Remember that she is not lost, she is home. She has gone back to where she came." Jude could not shake years of Sunday school from his mind, could not forget how these priests had told him that death was their forefathers' punishment for disobedience to God. He nodded, said nothing as the priest made his way from the burial and a line of other mourners came, one after the other, to shake his hand. When they had climbed down to the ravine, Jude was breathing with great difficulty and covered in sweat. He looked around him but saw nothing but an almost perfect circle of the tall lean rocks, each at least a hundred feet high. "Where is your home?" Jude asked, gasping. "I need the shade." "No," came the reply. "No shade for you." Jude shook his head. "Why?" "You will die." Jude swallowed as he stared into the stranger's eyes. Here were no pupils, only black pools. When Jude tried to turn away, aiming to make his way into the shade and out of the merciless sun, he felt the stranger restrain him. Summoning his might, he tried to wrest free of the stranger. "Let me go…" he said. Instead the stranger's grip on Jude held fast, and Jude found himself doubled over, exhausted. "It is better if you do not fight," was the reply. With his strength gone, Jude dropped to his knees, felt the burning sand beneath him. He fell forward and rolled on his side, just a few feet from the centre of the circles. The stranger sat beside him. "Why?" Jude asked, his strength ebbing. The stranger lifted Jude's torso up and rested it on his lap. Jude could feel the cool shadow of the stranger's presence. "Because none of you may return to this place and live." Jude shook his head, "I don't understand." The stranger gestured to the sky. "Behold... my sword..." The decision had been final. It had been His command. Around the garden was a circle of stones. Raise them into mountains, He had said. Burn the grassland around you. The Man and the Woman must never return. "I will do as You command," was the reply. And, he was told, he was to stand guard. "For how long?" He received no reply. "How long, Lord?" But by then he had fallen to earth. The tall grassland was stretched out before him. The garden was behind him. He raised his hand to the sky and spoke. "Your will be done… When I have done your bidding and the time has come, deliver me from this place." Jude understood. He coughed, blood flecking his lips. The insane desire to smoke arose and Jude feebly felt for the packet of cigarettes in his sweat soaked shirt. His hands trembled with the effort. The stranger obliged, placed one between his lips. Jude smelt the flame as it lit up from the stranger's palm. And then, the air he sucked filled his lungs with warm smoke. He coughed, sputtering. Jude smiled. "I guess you're here... waiting for your task to be finished?" By now, his skin was blistering and his body fat was beginning to burn. He tried to calm himself and even managed a smoke ring as he puffed away. Slowly, Jude's body began to die. As his life was beginning to ebb, he heard the stranger speak. His voice was gentle, soothing, as a father to a frightened son. "You should not worry....You are saved....Soon, this waiting will end and you will be home....Remember, she is waiting ...for you…" "I'm going home? ...Lydia?" Jude said, his voice barely a whisper, his breath exiting in a thin vapour.' ' It was the last word he spoke. ' The stranger stared down at Jude's broken body, cradled it in his lap, as if lost in thought. ' "Tell Him," the stranger said, "that I am still here and that I await His command." The stranger rose, leaving Jude's body on the sand. Above them, the sun burnt their shadows from sight. *** "...therefore the LORD God sent him out from the garden of Eden, to cultivate the ground from which he was taken. He drove the man out; and at the east of the garden of Eden, He stationed the cherubim and the flaming sword which turned every direction to guard the way to the tree of life." (Genesis 3:23-24) This story by Jeffrey Lim Sui Yin was first published in his second collection of short fiction, "The Coffin That Wouldn't Bury" (Ethos Books, 2008). He can be contacted at jeffreylimsuiyin (at) gmail (dot) com
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