The Last Camel Died at Noon - Elizabeth Peters [72]
My initial optimism proved false. The breeze that rose toward evening did not suffice to cool my burning brow. The terrain became ever more rough and broken, making walking difficult. Some distance ahead a range of low hills, as arid and hard as the desert floor, crossed the route the compass indicated. They promised some illusion of shelter, and I kept telling myself that when I reached them I could rest. But a sudden stagger betrayed me; the ever-watchful eye of my devoted spouse saw me falter and his stalwart arms broke my fall. The soft sound of muted curses came like music to my ears as he lifted me, and such was the relief of resting against that broad breast, I let myself sink into a swoon.
The blessed trickle of water between my parched lips roused me. It was blood-warm and tasted like goat, but no draft of icy spring water has ever been more refreshing. I sucked greedily until reason returned; then sat up with a cry, striking the container from my lips.
“Good Gad, Emerson, what are you thinking of? You have given me far more than my share.”
“Mama is feeling better,” said Ramses.
They were gathered around me in an anxious circle. I lay in the shadow of a great rock, wrapped in a blanket.
“There are dead trees on the slope,” said Kemit, rising. “I will make a fire.”
It was welcome; the night air was intensely cold. After consultation we agreed to pass around the brandy I carried for medicinal purposes. It lessened my headache, but made me uncommonly sleepy, so that I drowsed and woke and drowsed again. During one of these periods of wakefulness I overheard the others talking.
It was Kemit’s voice that woke me. He spoke more loudly than was his habit. “There is water, I know it. I have—I have heard the desert men say so.”
“Hmph,” said Emerson. “We made slow progress today. At this rate it will take two more days.”
“Half a day for a running man.”
Emerson’s snort of skepticism was even more emphatic. “None of us can run at that speed, Kemit. And Mrs. Emerson…” He had to pause to clear his throat, poor man.
“She has the heart of a lion,” Kemit said gravely. “But I fear the demons are winning over her.”
I heard Emerson blow his nose vigorously. I wondered, vaguely, what he was using for a handkerchief.
A small, hard hand touched my forehead. “Mama is awake,” said Ramses, bending over me. “Shall I give her a drink, Papa?”
“Not under any circumstances,” I said firmly, and drowsed off again.
It seemed to me that I lay in that state, half-waking, half-sleeping, for the rest of the night, but I must have sunk into deeper slumber, for I woke with a start to find myself clasped close to Emerson’s body. He was snoring loud enough to rattle my eardrums. I felt light-headed and weak, but comparatively better, and as the light strengthened I found great comfort in contemplation of the dear face so close to mine. Not that it was looking its best. A prickly stubble of black beard blurred the contours of his jaw, and his firm lips were blistered and cracked. I was about to press my own lips against them when a shrill voice broke the silence.
“Mama? Papa? I hope you will forgive me for waking you, but I feel I must inform you that Kemit is gone. He has taken the waterskin with him.”
Half a day to water, for a running man. That was what Kemit had said, and apparently he had decided to act upon it. By abandoning us he had a chance at saving himself. I did not doubt that those long legs of his could eat up the distance as quickly as he had claimed, especially when he had water to replenish the moisture lost through perspiration.
“I am sadly disappointed in Kemit,” I declared, as we passed round my canteen. Each of us took a sip; there was enough left, I surmised, for one more such indulgence. Fastening it onto my belt, I went