he breathed was clean. He was like a silk worm in a cocoon, waiting for the morning so it could spread its wings.
Day 2
He woke up with a terrible headache and a stiff neck. Nagur rose above the dunes and the temperature grew fast. He swallowed a Xerun pill and started to fight with the sand again. The heat made walking more difficult, his steps seeming to strike roots in the desert that was opening its mouths thirsty for blood.… After a few hours he stumbled and fell on his knees. Exhausted, he put the canteen to his mouth and was surprised to find he had drunk more than half of it.
“Damn.”
“See what happens if you can’t stop talking?”
“Not you again.”
“Two mouthfuls three times a day! I told you. Where do you think you are, in Urluz, with ten bottles of Pteolean beer on the table?”
“Lay off me, will you? What else can I do?”
“Look at me. Not a drop of water!”
“And what do you suggest, waste the water on you?”
“No, but the least you can do is to think of me when.…”
“Ha. To think of you? What a strange sense of humor you’ve got.…”
He knew the outpost couldn’t be too far. Before the crash there was only about half an hour’s flight left. He stopped every time he climbed down a dune and looked around. The same distressing landscape spread before him.
Night was finally there, over the desert planet, enveloping it with its cold hideous body. He dreamed Naej who warned him sharply: “Lerman, beware of Mud’s temptation! Not so good to borrow, as to be able to lend.”
Day 3
The alarm ticked on for a muffled minute. He found it hard to open his eyes, unwilling to start it all over again. The same sentence, the same ordeal, the same abominable executioner: Nagur. His stamina and motivation had fallen off. He was left with only a couple of mouthfuls of water. That’s what separated him from the big question: to be or not to be?
He looked at the horizon and for a moment felt he was on the bottom of a sand glass in which time was sentenced to silence. The sky was caving in at his feet through the mouth of the green heavenly body. He was like a helpless ant struggling not to be buried alive. He fixed his eyes on an imaginary spot in the North and started to walk, stumbling, like a junkie. The backpack seemed heavier than before, his knees were getting weaker and weaker, and his soles were raw. His nostrils were burning inside like Eldena’s furnaces. He had to stay clear-headed, he had to stand that infernal torture.
“Come on, you’ve seen worse. This is nothing. You’ll get to the outpost soon and that will be that. You’re close.”
“Yeah, I know, what I’ve got to do is keep walking. North, always North.… Just my luck.”
“I’m your luck. Without me you’d have been dead by now.”
“Hear, hear, how much you care for me!… You can always find other fools to keep you company.”
“Where can I find them in this wilderness? You’re the only one I’ve got. So you’d better keep going.”
He tried to forget where he was. The ghosts of the past started to torment him. His remembrances of Suara surfaced one by one. He had spent the best part of his life with her. Eight wonderful years, eight years which now he could count in eight seconds. And that morning when the polluted air came in through the half-open window, turning his stomach. That morning when he placed the pillow under his head, unwilling to start it all over again. That morning when her voice did no longer wake him up.
Do stop your sandglass, time blinded by forgetfulness
Sand is my heart lost in wondering whispers
I weep
Memories are the path of pain
In the very womb of tranquility the dying love
Is born
I shed the shadow that keeps my soul alive
The footsteps lost in the nowhere
I break
Ice is my temple of dreams and thoughts
Pilgrim spirit in the desert winds
To be1
Exhausted, he collapsed on the hot sand. His blue eyes fixed the horizon. Somewhere, a few miles away, he made out an indistinct shape. But the dark was setting in fast, along with the cold. He struggled to get into the sleeping bag.…
…He was in a room full of people. He was wearing white clothes and was surrounded by bunches of flowers. A warm caress waved across his forehead. The wax of a candle was dripping on his hands. He tried to move them but they were too heavy.… A song of sorrow flooded the drums of his ears. He rose slowly, above everyone, and looked at Suara who was lying next to the body of a.…
“Nooo! Nooo! I’m here, my love!”
He tried to embrace her, to make her heart beat like his but he passed through her as if she were made of smoke.
“Nooo! Nooo!”
He woke up soaking in sweat, half an hour before the sunrise. He tossed about in the sleeping bag as if he were in a strait jacket. Eventually he set himself free and tamed his heart beats by taking deep breaths.
Day 4
About three miles separated him now from the shape he had seen the previous day. Instinctively he thrust his knife under the belt. He’d have taken a blaster instead but the outpost had very strict rules.
Fear seized him unawares. Before him lay a corpse half buried in the sand. The arms were torn apart, tatters of dry flesh and brown skin were swaying in the hot wind. The flayed fingers looked like paws trying to cling to invisible steps climbing up to the sky. The hollowed eye sockets of the exfoliated head hypnotized him.
“Don’t stop. Don’t look, keep going!”
“But.…”
“Did you forget what we’d agreed upon? Go North, always North. The outpost is near.”
“What about that corpse? What if.…”
“Stop thinking about it. It could be someone who was sentenced to death.…”
“But if they left it here it means that.…”
“It means nothing, do you hear me? They leave them here without water and they don’t last long. Unlike them you’ve got water and, besides, you’ve got me.”
“Yeah, you, always you. How come I forget it so often?”
“See? Come, keep going!”
He
