Truly, Madly, Like Me - Jo Watson Page 0,148

it, or coordinating it. It had come naturally, like the way the desert breathes out in the evenings. Living out here, I’d quickly come to understand that the desert was also a living entity with feelings and moods, just like us.

We were seated on the veranda, stuffed after our barbecue. Fatima and Ahmed were in their carry cots, fast asleep after their bottles of milk. Samirah and Faizel always sat on the swing chair, gently swaying back and forth; Mark and I always sat on the daybed. All of us had a coffee in hand, sipping it. Sometimes we would chat, saying a million things to each other, and sometimes, like today, we would all be still. Wrapped up in our own pleasant thoughts, just sharing this moment of closeness and connectedness without saying a word.

It dawned on me in that moment, the spiritual awakening that I’d been trying so hard to have out there in the desert that day, I’d kind of had it. It wasn’t some lightning moment, some blast from above. It was more subtle than that. And maybe that’s actually how they’re meant to be. Something that subtly, over time, leaks into your consciousness. At first, you don’t really know it’s there, the feeling lurks somewhere just out of reach. But gradually, the feeling becomes a little stronger and more crystal clear until one Sunday, sitting on a veranda in the middle of the Karoo, you realize with every fiber of your being that you are meant to be here. That the strange and peculiar series of events that had started with the elevator had brought you here. To this moment. To this daybed. This place. These people.

I inhaled sharply at the thought and the others looked at me. I couldn’t help the blurry tears that came to my eyes. They smiled at me, no words spoken, as if they understood the moment I was having and were respecting it. Giving it room to breathe and fully form. I reached over and took Mark’s hand. Usually on days like this Harun lay at our feet on his blanket, but today I could see he was restless. In fact, he’d been like this for the last few weeks. Not able to rest and relax, which he was usually so good at.

“What’s wrong, boy?” I finally asked, after the second time he’d paced the length of the veranda. The only words that had been spoken for at least ten minutes.

“He seems restless today again,” Samirah noted.

I nodded. “He does. Come here.” I extended my hand to him. He looked at it for the longest time, before walking over and placing his massive head in it. He relaxed and the full weight of his head was too much for one hand. I reached down and placed another hand under his chin.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, as he closed his eye and nuzzled into me. He kept his head in my hands, eye closed, breathing in deeply, as if inhaling my smell. And then, he pulled his head away and took a step back from me, and suddenly, I could feel him going. I sat up straight.

“What’s wrong?” I asked again, as he took another step back.

I stood up, panic seizing me for some reason.

He took another step back. And then, deliberately, slowly and carefully as if he was trying to take a mental image of everyone, he looked at all of us. Samirah first, then he ran his eye over Fatima and Ahmed. Then Faizel and then his eye drifted over to Mark. He seemed to linger there a little longer. As if he was trying to make sure of something. And then he looked back at me and took another step backwards.

I stepped forward. “What are you doing?” I asked. The tears had already come to my eyes, and I had a sense I knew what was happening. He looked at me with that one yellow eye that at one point I’d feared, but over time had come to love and rely on. And then he barked. Short. Loud. He wagged his tail and lowered his head, in what looked like a small bow. As if his performance had come to a close and the curtain was falling. And then, he turned and ran.

“WAIT!” I screamed, running down off the veranda and into the desert where he was headed. “WAIT! What are you doing?” I ran as fast as I could as Harun raced ahead of me. The sun