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His (Desert) Story

By Sara Nicole

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Young Habib was doing what he loved best: tending the sheep with his father. His father was a tall, strong man with dark features, and Habib loved it when people told him he looked just like him. They were both wearing the common shepherd dress complete with a turban, a long, dark tunic, belt, and tan pants. It was a sunny, warm day without a cloud in the deep blue sky, and Habib could feel the soft grass tickling his feet through his sandals.
He climbed to the top of a little hill and looked out over their flock. They had 32 sheep wandering across the gentle hills and plain eating their fill of grass, and Habib knew the names of every one of them. He had helped his father water the sheep and milk the ewes that morning. Now he was helping to keep watch over the sheep to make sure they did not wander too far away or fall victim to a predator.
He adjusted his turban and stood proudly on the hill with his short staff, feeling very grown up. After all, his family had just celebrated his seventh birthday. Most of the sheep were grazing in a cluster below him, but he saw one troublesome young sheep ambling away from the flock toward the only patch of trees within eyesight.
Habib called to his father at the base of the hill, “Abba! There is a lamb straying to the trees!”
“Which is it?” his father asked.
Habib squinted to see. “I think it is Shihab.”
His father motioned with his hand. “Go and get him, Habib, before he loses himself in the woods.”
“Yes, Abba!”
Habib took off down the hill toward the errant creature, startling the few sheep on the hill in front of him. Shihab, so named for the star-like blotch on his head, made it into the trees before Habib reached him. Habib slowed his pace as he entered the woods so he would not scare Shihab farther in. There were many bushes beneath the trees, perfect hiding places for troublesome young rams.
“Shihab,” Habib called gently.
Shihab was nowhere in sight. How had the creature disappeared so quickly? Habib heard bleating and followed the sound.
“Oh, Shihab.”
Shihab had tried to wander through a thicket, had tangled its wool in the thorns, and was now bleating pitifully. Habib sighed and knelt to free the young ram, setting aside his staff to use both hands.
“Why don’t you stay with your family? There is plenty of good grass to eat by the hill.”
Habib pricked his hands many times before finally freeing the creature from the brambles. He sucked one particularly deep cut on his finger and studied the lamb.
“Oh, Shihab, look at you. You are a mess.”
It was true; Shihab’s front legs were covered in cuts, and he still had many thorns in his coat.
“What are we going to do with you?”
Habib bent over and lifted the young ram to his shoulders to carry him out, not forgetting his staff on the way. He was tramping back through the trees to his father when he heard a small cry. He paused and listened hard. There it was again. Habib turned around and walked towards where he thought the sound was coming.
The noise grew louder, and soon he realized what it was: a baby’s cry. He started to run. Shihab bleated in protest against all the jostling, but Habib could not slow down. He chased the baby’s cry through the woods until he was almost at the opposite edge from where he had entered. There, he found at the base of one of the trees a tiny baby girl wailing. She could not be more than a week old. She was naked and filthy as though she had never been bathed.
Habib looked around for the baby’s mother or father, but there was no one in sight. The child had been abandoned. Habib’s young heart broke for the girl.
He set down Shihab and his staff and picked up the infant, holding her as gently and carefully as he would a newborn lamb. The little girl quieted at his touch. He had no clothes for the child, so he took off his turban and wrapped her in it. Now what was he to do? He was not big enough to hold Shihab and the baby.
Habib knelt down, still cradling the baby, and stared Shihab in the eye solemnly. “Now, Shihab, I cannot carry you both. You must follow me back to the flock and my father. You must not wander away again.”
Shihab lowered his head and began nibbling the grass.
Habib stood and picked up his staff. “Come, Shihab, it is time to go home.”
Shihab lifted his head at the sound of his name.
“Come on, Shihab, follow me back to good grass,” Habib called.
He took a few steps away, and to his relief, Shihab followed. He continued back the way he came, calling Shihab and coaxing him to follow. The young ram stayed with him the whole way, recognizing the boy’s voice and heeding his calls.

***

It took longer than he had expected it would, but Habib eventually made it back to where he had started with both the wayward young ram and the infant girl. He thought he had never been so glad to see his father.
His father was very glad to see him. “Habib, what happened? Where did you go? I was worried-” His father’s words trailed off when he saw the softly crying bundle in his son’s arms.
“Shihab wandered into a thicket, Abba, and after I got him out, I heard a baby crying, and look!” Habib showed the baby to his father. “I found her at the other end of the woods. I think she was abandoned. Why would someone leave their baby?”
His father looked sad. “I don’t know, Son. When people are selfish, they think only of themselves. It may be they thought a baby would be too much trouble to keep.”
Habib gave a sour look and was about to reply when the baby started wailing again.
“She is hungry, Habib. Take her home to your mother; she will look after her with your sister.”
“Shihab scratched himself in the thorns, Abba,” Habib made sure to tell his father before he left. “But he followed me all the way back through the woods.”
“I will take care of him,” his father reassured. “Hurry home now, but be careful with the child.”
“I will, Abba!”
And he did. Habib held the baby protectively as he sped towards home, taking every shortcut he knew.
“Ima!” he cried as he neared the large tents that made up his community. “Ima!”
His mother stepped out of their tent, wearing her usual plain dress, belt, and headscarf and holding his two-month-old baby sister in her arms. “Habib, what is it?”
“I found a baby, Ima!”
His mother looked shocked. “You what?"
Habib stopped in front of his mother and unwrapped his turban to reveal the child. “I found a baby. She was abandoned in the woods near where the flock was grazing. I heard her crying and found her beneath a tree.”
“Bring her inside, Habib! We must bathe her and feed her.”
Habib followed his mother into the tent, then took his baby sister, Saida, as his mother traded him for the abandoned infant. He stayed with his mother rather than return to his father and the sheep, and he watched over Saida while his mother tended the newborn.
His mother nursed her and bathed her, then bathed her again. The poor child was exhausted and fell asleep right after eating. When she was finally clean, Habib’s mother swaddled her and laid her down on a blanket.
Habib handed a now-cranky Saida back to his mother and sat down beside the baby. “She looks much better than she did,” he told his mother. “She smells better too.”
His mother did not reply; she was preoccupied with quieting Saida, who was stubbornly resisting her nap. After much soothing and pacing, Saida finally fell asleep. Habib’s mother laid her down on a blanket and sat beside her son. He was staring at the baby with a serious expression. “What are you thinking about, Habib?” she asked.
“Ima, what will we call her?”
She smoothed his hair and kissed his bare head. She had washed his turban, but it was hanging to dry. “What would you call her?”
Habib thought about it long and hard. “Ariella,” he said at last. “I would name her Ariella.”
“That is a good name. She will be a beautiful woman when she is grown,” his mother predicted.
Habib peered at the baby. “How can you tell?”
His mother laughed. “It is a special gift mothers have sometimes.”
He looked up at her, his dark eyes pools of wonder. “Will she grow up and be as beautiful as you, Ima?”
She hugged him close and kissed his brow. “Do you think I’m beautiful, Habib?”
“I think you’re the most beautiful person in the whole world,” he said earnestly.
“You have the charm of your father,” she answered, laughing. She brushed his dark hair back from his face and smiled at him. “With your father as my husband, Saida as my daughter, and you as my dear son, I am the most blessed woman in the world. I am content.”
He smiled back at her with his boyish grin, then they heard the baby start crying. “Ariella is going to wake up Saida,” Habib worried.
“She is just hungry. I will feed her, and she will go back to sleep.” His mother picked up the infant to nurse her again.
“Ima, how long do you think she was there under the tree?”
“I do not know, Habib.”
He looked troubled. “Who would do that, Ima?”
“I don’t know, Habib.” She hesitated, then shook her head. She had heard of a group of people passing through the area within the last few days, a band of coarse and vulgar gypsies, well-known for their barbaric behavior. But she would not speak of such things to her little Habib. She would talk to his father this evening, after the children were asleep.
Habib was getting restless, so she gave him his turban and sent him back out to his father to tend the sheep until suppertime.

***

Habib and his father returned that evening to find the dinner all laid out and ready. They had dressed Shihab’s cuts with oil and cloth and led all the sheep back to the large pen that protected all the shepherds’ sheep at night. It was another shepherd’s turn to guard the gate, so Habib’s father walked home with his son.
After dinner, Habib entertained his sister, Saida, and held Ariella for a little while.
When all three children were finally laid down and asleep, Habib’s father and mother discussed the abandoned infant quietly.
“Habib has named her,” said his mother, whose name was Naima.
“He told me,” answered the father, Harun. “Ariella?”
“Yes. Do you think she came from the gypsies?”
Harun considered the question. “Yes. Yes, I believe she did. Her skin is darker brown like theirs, and I cannot imagine anyone else doing such a thing to their child.”
Naima gazed at the sleeping infant with pity. She glanced at her husband. “Will we keep her?”
Harun studied her. “Is that your wish?”
Naima looked back at the children. “Habib has grown attached to her.”
He smiled and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “So, I think, have you.” She smiled back, and he ran his fingers through her long, dark hair that streamed loosely down her back. “Can you handle having her and Saida both?”
Naima nodded. “Habib will not mind helping me when I need him.”
“Then I do not object. We will keep the child.”
She turned into his embrace. “Ariella.”
“Ariella.”

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