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Djaliil's breath became deep and regular as if he were asleep. The
man progressed in the chanting of the sacred words:
"Then, as for the foam, it passes away as scum upon the
banks, while that which is for the good of mankind remains in
the earth." (Qur'an 13:17)
I listened, reassured by the shallow breathing of Djaliil. He would
maybe live a few more years, I hoped, praying silently with the
invisible man. I was sure now that somehow I belonged to this
culture. I belonged to the culture where truth was preferred upon
falsehood and true hearts were still not rare. Yes, I belonged to
the culture of Djaliil, the culture of pious men who want to give and
receive equally, fairly. Yes, Djaliil had the sweetness of Faith and
he was "the scum" that passed over the earth.
Everybody had to leave someday. I would be leaving too. Truth
remained, invisible to the eyes.
I lifted the boy with fear and hope, but mainly with a new faith.
Under the weight of his body, water and sand intermingling and
burring each other in a puddle. Yes, I thought, the desert is the
sea of sands… the sea of sands…
I remember having in my mind the image of the sculpture I had seen
in a book. The monument was built somewhere in Jiddah, I did not
remember where. It showed a rolling wave as a menacing bird
ready to attack. The wave stayed there rolled like a snail shell,
suspended in the air, darkened because of the erosion against the
natural pigments. It looked also like devotion.
I remember thinking this is life.
Then I headed to the nearest clinic with Djaliil.
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