by Kristine Hawes
(10/20/99)

Baahir woke with a start. His eyes slowly adjusted to the murkiness of his bedroom. He glanced toward the window. The wind blew light and steady through the long, gauzy coverings. He searched his mind, trying to find what could have woken him from such a vivid dream. He closed his eyes. Fire. He dreamed fire and death all around him, but curiously, no fear. He explored the darkness for some sign, some reassurance that it was all just a dream. He felt uneasy, unsettled. He opened his eyes again and searched the wind for what he knew must be there.

Baahir slipped into a light, silk robe and walked across the cool sandstone to the window. The moon was nearly full, the brilliant white light pouring across the rooftops of Ha'il. A warm breeze, rich with market spices and camel scents, caressed his rough, tanned face. The air captured his thick black hair and drew it back from his eyes. The city itself was silent. There. Turning his ear toward the window, he caught it. The low sound, a woman's voice flowing on the wind. He strained to hear it, capture it with his ears and mind. The song rose, filling out into a beautiful melody, crystal clear and pure. There were no words, just the sonorous voice, calling. The breeze fell again and the song disappeared. Baahir waited minutes, hoping to hear the lovely voice again. Nothing. He walked softly back to bed and lay back on his pillows, staring at the ceiling.

This was the fourth night in a row Baahir had heard the song. He first heard the song a fortnight ago, before his brother Muaath left on the merchant's route. When Baahir came fully awake, the song ended. He asked Muaath, while they packed the camels, if he had heard the woman's song, the brilliant voice. Baahir described the song to Muaath, who laughed at him.

"You were dreaming, brother, dreaming of women again. You need to find yourself a wife, and soon. You are nearly twenty. Too old to keep living with your brother and his wife. Too old for me to coddle you. Here, bring me the blankets there." Baahir picked up the blankets from the sorted piles of bright fabrics while Muaath continued his tirade.

"Brother, you have scorned every woman in this town. Ha'il isn't the only place on earth, but it certainly must have one woman you wish to have." Muaath tied several of the blankets to one pack, waving his arms as he spoke.

Baahir hesitated, but the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. "Muaath, isn't there some sort of legend, some sort of myth about a nighttime bird-song and a beautiful woman who stole the sun's heart?" Baahir moved to hold the ropes while his brother worked on the last bundle.

"Bird-song? Sun God?" Muaath looked at Baahir incredulously, sighed, and shook his head. "You have sand in your head, brother. Legends are stories told to children, to quiet them. They are not real!"

Baahir thought it certainly must have been a dream. He was being foolish. Still, his stomach twisted and his heart beat just a little faster when he thought about the beautiful voice. Maybe the legend was true. It was what his mother had told him, regardless of what Muaath thought.

If only it was true. He was restless and uneasy around the women of Ha'il. They seemed to want nothing to do with him -- only with his older brother's growing wealth. Baahir was the youngest son of five. He had nothing a woman would want, not even the striking features of his father. His hair was long, thick, and coarse. His eyes were too dark and too wide for his narrow face. His nose spread wide and his lips were too thin. His cheeks were rough as a broken stone. He could not even grow a proper beard! He was the ugly goat of his family's pride. Yet, there was the voice, calling to him. The beautiful, woman's voice.

The next time he heard the song, it was stronger, clearer. Baahir woke up quickly, and nearly ran to the window. When the wind was right, the music carried to his ears as a sweet, melodious perfume. Again, there were no words, but this song needed no words. This was a song of desire, of love, of passionate fires. Baahir listened until the sky lightened. The song faded and eventually could not be heard at all.

Muaath was already on the road to Afif by the time Baahir woke again. He asked Makeen, Muaath's house servant, if he had heard the song. Makeen cast him a sidelong glance and shook his head. No, he had heard nothing during the night. Baahir was confused.

On the third morning, after another night of hearing the voice, Baahir kept his own counsel. He did not want be thought of as crazy. He looked through his brother's scrolls, through the records his mother and father had kept. He could find nothing about a strange song, a legend of a bird and sun-god. Perhaps Muaath was right.

This night, the voice was faded, not so strong. He could not tell from which direction it had come nor how far away it was. His breathing quickened whenever he thought of the face behind the voice. He must see the singer, even for a moment. He resolved to set out the next night in search of the mystery.

The vestiges of twilight danced over the edges of the city gates. Baahir had taken one of his brother's horses and rode out of the merchant's quarter once the heat of the day had faded. His skin itched and his nerves were raw. He longed for the sound of the song, almost craved it. The horse was jittery, skirting along the busy inner streets. As he approached the gates, he stopped at the well and filled his water bags one last time.

Leaving the city behind, Baahir felt free. He thought his horse could feel it as well as they trotted along the hardened, sand-covered dirt. He rode for some time, content to feel the cool twilight melt into night, content to watch the stars grow to their full luminance. Baahir stopped at a small well, somewhere outside of town, and waited. It could not be long now. He slid off his horse and sat beside the stone well-marker.

Baahir must have dozed; he woke to the sable night surrounding him, the sky filled with plush, sparkling starlight. He looked back toward the city. He could see nothing but sand and more sand. The creamy light of the moon edged the tops of the furthest dunes. He sat silently watching the East as the first curve of the moon crested the dunes. Baahir, always amazed at the sight of the night's ruler, waited as it pulled itself up to its complete glory. This night, it was full.

The first strains of a melody, sweet and fragrant, came to his ears. He moved hurriedly, mounting his horse and settling in to his saddle. The song was weaker, but no less gentle than the first time he heard it. He turned, listening one way, then the other. He could finally trace the sound...there, to the West. He kicked the horse's sides and sped off toward the exquisite song.

As his horse ran, the bird-song became louder, even over the sound of his horse's hooves. He crested dune after dune, hoping to find the source of this voice beyond every one. He could find nothing. He turned, moved again; the voice continued to get louder and yet he could find no one. He looked toward the heavens. The moon had disappeared behind errant clouds. He could get lost here. Fear held him fast for a short while, even as the voice soothed him. He spurred the horse on again, cresting another dune.

He had to pull up short for almost running into something. His horse reared, nearly throwing him backward. He looked down, toward his horse's front legs. A large bird looked up at him. Its wings were ruffled, partially unfolded. On the crown of its head were short, golden feathers glinting in the bright moonlight. Baahir could tell its plumage to be a brilliant purple, swirling with ruby and opal casts. Its long legs, covered in short, red and golden feathers, bent elegantly as it moved across the low grass. It gazed up at Baahir, its deep, charcoal eyes firm and intelligent. Baahir, eyes fixed on the large bird, slipped from his saddle and thudded on the firm sand. The bird continued to watch him quietly. Baahir dropped the reins and moved toward the bird. The bird cocked its head, as if it knew what he was thinking, and took flight. He watched as the storm of plumage danced across the night sky, skimming the light of the moon.

Baahir looked around and was surprised to find an oasis in front of him. A large circle of palm, fig, and date trees ringed a small pond. Nearby, an immense bonfire illuminated the glassy water. Grasses, short and thick, moved slowly in the light breeze. He was not sure where he was at all. He could not remember an oasis so close to Ha'il. He collected the horse's reins and moved toward the water. He became aware, at that moment, that the song, the voice -- it was gone! The bird must have been the source of the song.

Baahir tried to get his thoughts in order. He walked the still-skittish horse to the oasis. They both drank deeply. Baahir tied the horse to a small rock and left it as he wandered around the oasis. The bird, not a woman. He brushed some sand from his arm. Not a woman after all. Was it a legend told to children to entertain them? Baahir sighed. Perhaps the bird would be back. Such a bird would be a great prize to his brother, perhaps bring an enormous wealth to their house.

Baahir moved amongst the low trees and bushes, hoping for a sign of more of the precious birds. He listened to the night's wind, to the dusty sand as it swirled around the palm fronds. The woman-bird song was faint but he could hear it once again. Far off. Baahir decided to wait for the bird to return. He sat against one of the palms, drawing up his knees for warmth. He really was a dreamer, he thought.

Baahir shook himself awake. He looked at the sky. The moon was clearly on a downward path. He had slept a good deal of the night. He moved his head to the side, listened intently. He heard a rustling in a nearby bush. The bird! He sat very still, hoping the bird still thought him asleep. The rustling grew louder, closer. Baahir moved slowly, crawling toward the bush. The rustling continued. Baahir suddenly leapt toward the bush, his hand extended. He had... a leg! Something yelped.

Baahir pulled on the leg and a shriek erupted from the bushes. A woman's shriek. Baahir pulled again, hoping to pull out the rest of his find. Two slender legs, entwined with red and plum-colored silk, kicked back at him. The yelps and shrieks continued until Baahir had the entire woman out of the bushes.

"Stop, please stop. Calm down!" Baahir tried to hold her thrashing body still while talking to her, soothing her. She would have none of it. She bit his hand and he cried out, letting go of her. She scrambled backward to her knees and stood quickly, still backing up.

"Please, don't go. I'm sorry. I believed you were an animal." Baahir stood himself, dusting off the sticky sand. The woman stopped at the sound of his voice, stood very still. The moonlight glowed behind her golden-red hair. Red, purple, and orange silks, disrupted by her struggles, flowed over her dark, creamy shoulders, down her small, firm breasts, and across her hips. She turned her head to the side, as if examining his words. Her wide, charcoal eyes glittered at him, as if smiling behind her trepidation.

The woman stepped closer to him, a small step. Baahir stood very still. This woman did not speak; she examined his quiet face. "I am Baahir." He made a motion to point to himself. "Baahir." He didn't know if she could understand or not. She gave the illusion of an animal, yet, she was healthy, dressed in fine silks. She must be from some family in Ha'il.

"I am Sahar," she whispered. The sound was raw, strange. Baahir could tell her voice was beautiful, yet, it seemed unaccustomed to words. Sahar looked over her shoulder, toward the East. She closed her eyes and sighed.

"I heard your movement. I thought you were...something else." Baahir continued to hold very still, fearing Sahar would run.

"I will not run. You...startled me. I wasn't sure it was you, " she said. Baahir's eyes fixed on hers. She hesitated, looked down. "I called you. I knew you would come. "

Baahir shifted from foot to foot. He suddenly felt out of control. Sahar seemed to grow, her skin glowing brighter in the fading moonlight. It would be dawn soon. Baahir glanced at the moon. He could have sworn it had not moved at all. Sahar walked over to him, her feet padding softly on the thin grass. She stood inches from him, her hands at her sides, her eyes piercing his. He felt heat rising from her body, flowing against him. She was very warm, even in the chill of the deep night.

"I have been calling for nights. No one came. Not until you."

"You called me? Why me?"

"You can hear. Only the ones who can hear come. You are the only one."

Sahar looked into his eyes. A tiny smile played across her lips. A sad smile. "My time is done. I need you, Baahir. You are the only one who can hear me. The only one who believes...still."

That was true, as far as Baahir could tell. Baahir closed his eyes, swallowed. He opened his eyes, tried to force the fear from his voice and his hands. Sahar raised her hands to his face, to his thin, ragged beard and wind-blown cheeks. Her hands were warm, soothing the chilled skin of his face. Her fingers lightly brushed his eyelids, his forehead. She cupped her hands on his face, then moved them down to his neck. She pulled his neck down, his lips towards hers.

He could not move, could do nothing but allow her lips to brush against his. She felt at once cool and hot against him. Her silks shifted and twined around him, moving in the soft wind. She moved with an easy grace, her hands teasing the nerves of his skin. Fingertips shifted over his neck, his bare shoulders. This could not be real, Baahir thought. His body soon blanketed all rational thoughts. He dove in to her kiss, parting her lips with his tongue, tasting the sweet juices of her mouth. His hands pulled her close, fingers mingling with the soft caresses of silk. His fingers wove their way through layers of fabric to her skin. He absorbed the heat radiating from her. She offered him her entire mouth, her tongue. He broke the kiss, his mouth moving to her neck, her cheeks, her eyelids. His hands moved to her face, holding it still. His zabourah, his skin, his hands; all of him ached with desire for her. She radiated passion. His head felt light, he swayed against her. When he opened his eyes, he could barely focus. His body felt incredibly warm, burning within. He fell to his knees against her, her hands softly stroking his head.

When Baahir opened his eyes, she stood naked before him. He was dizzy for a moment...when...? Her silks were laid out around them, under her feet. His mind registered a fire close to them, keeping them warm...when...? She knelt beside him, pulling him down to lay on his back. He forgot about the fire, about the silk, about everything but her body over his. Her hands, ice and hot coals mingled, seared his skin with every touch.

She parted his robes and ran her hands across his shirt. An aura of fire surrounded her head as she leaned forward and kissed him. Her tongue was cool against the burning under his skin. He leaned up, pulled off his robes and shirt; nothing seemed to stop the heat. Her hands moved over his body, stroking the flames within him. He laid back once more, began to undo his chalwar. Her fingers swept his fingers aside as she untied the loose pants and helped him slip them off. He watched her move closer, kneel beside his chest, her hands resting on him.

Shadows from the large fire next to them danced over her golden-brown body. Baahir could only lie there and watch her move over him. Her long hair shifted in the light breeze. More so, it seemed to sway with the fire. Her dark eyes glistened, her lips smooth and wet and smiling. He had never been so helpless and yet, he was unafraid. Sahar ran her hands over his stomach, down his hips and thighs. He watched her focus on his stiff member, her hands reaching out to explore. His pleasure cried out as her fingers grasped him, waves of heat flowing through already-full veins. Her soft hands pulled his skin, stroking him once, twice, then flowing down the sides of his shaft. She traced lines of warmth over his balls, down the inside of his thighs, back up into the hollows of his hips. He raised his hips to follow her hands, a moan escaping his clenched teeth. Every place her hands moved, streams of heat followed, stirring his blood, begging for more.

Sahar leaned forward, her lips and tongue moving along the burning skin of his chest. Wet tongue cooled the fires briefly. Baahir's breath was coming faster, he was close, so close. The release she offered seemed so far away. Her teeth nibbled along the skin of his stomach, and lower, to his navel. He wound his hands in her hair, the softness flowing over his palms and wrists. Like water. She moved lower still, to his legs, the inside of his thighs, the tender skin of his balls. Small pricks of pleasure jolted his nerves. Her tongue and fingers swam over him until he felt close to exploding.

Sahar leaned back, a smile on her face. She moved up, kissed him long and lingering on the lips. Faint scents of honey and jasmine shifted around his head. Dizzy again, he closed his eyes. Sahar swung her leg over him, leaned forward, and pressed her small breasts against his chest. Her body was incredibly warm, warmer than his own. Baahir's hands circled her small waist, moved to her hips, and back around her firm cheeks. His hands ran swiftly over her, filling up with her body. She continued to kiss him as she slowly slid down his body. Baahir's nose filled with the scent of her sex which now covered his chest and stomach. Her long legs clenched him firmly. He rested his hands on her thighs as she continued backward, pressing against his zabourah. She looked him deep in the eyes as her hand wound behind her and guided the head of his shaft into her. Baahir shivered. Her back arched, her breasts stood out from her firm body. She let her head roll backward as she shifted and pushed her hips backward.

Baahir closed his eyes once more. His member was entering a wall of fire. Flames of desire licked the entire length of his shaft, squeezing the head of it, circling him in a long, wet kiss. He raised his hips, lifting her off the ground. He wanted his zabourah to press into the very heart of her. He lowered his hips and opened his eyes. Her eyes were closed, her face a mask of ecstasy. His hands rose to her breasts, cupping them. He rolled her golden nipples, like juicy raisins, between his fingers, then filled his hands once more with the full flesh of her breasts. Sahar moaned. She circled her hips, her wet atouche moving over every inch of him. His hands moved down her stomach, stroking the soft down that flowed from her navel to the thick bush pressing against him. She began grinding herself against him. Sealing herself to him.

Sahar leaned forward, her palms resting on his chest. His hands moved around her once more, stroking her back. Hair covered him in a shimmering sheet, her eyes sparkling. She raised her hips slightly, then pressed herself against him once more. The slick sucking of her juices, her small, pulsing movements; each motion drew him higher. His head swirled and he could barely breathe. His hands moved to her hips once more, trying to hold her firm. She bucked against him, crying out each time she pushed back on him. Her hair swung wildly as her head rolled side to side. He couldn't hold on. He thrust deeply into her, each time lifting his hips higher. His body felt alive, full of starfire and pleasure. He wanted to caress her entire body with his stiffness, erupting inside her as she melted with him. His balls tightened. He felt the flood begin to rise within him. Sahar moaned and writhed against him. She leaned back, his shaft straight up inside her, filling her.

Tides of come pulsed through him, rising and shooting into her. His voice echoed against the night, crying out as she pulled his seed from him in thick swallows. He shook with the effort of not passing out. White diamonds cracked open in the darkness of his closed eyes. His zabourah throbbed, her sinuous movements drawing out the last drops of come and energy from him.

His breathing slowed even as his body was covered in sweat. Baahir opened his eyes and smiled weakly up at Sahar. She smiled back, her hips still rocking slightly against him. He could not tell where his body ended and hers began. She leaned forward and pressed her chest against his. He wrapped his arms around her protectively, lovingly. She still hummed with warmth.

They laid together for long, silent moments, their breathing quietly caressing their bodies. Her body seemed to grow warmer. The fire beyond was still roaring, only slightly diminished in the passing time. Sahar raised her head and kissed him on the lips, her hair draping across his cheek. She smelled of sand and water, tinted with sweet smell of fresh jasmine. His body relaxed and he sighed. She pushed herself up and shifted off his now-limp member. She knelt beside his body and he curled up next to her. She smiled and pressed the palms of her hands together. She raised them to her forehead, lowered them to her lips, and then pressed them against her heart. She was saying goodbye.

"Sahar...wait. What are you doing? Where are you going?" Baahir rolled to his knees as she rose and walked away from him, toward the fire. He didn't know what to do. Where was she going? She stood on the edge of the firelight, bright orange and red flames tickling her silhouette. She turned to him. Her eyes looked strangely yellow and her skin took on a light of its own.

"Baahir...you have given me a new life. You have given me the next generation. For that, your family will be blessed, in all the generations to come. But you must never forget me, Baahir. Your family must never forget. " Baahir watched helplessly as Sahar turned and walked into the fire.

"Sahar!" He yelled. The roar of the flames filled his ears. The fire licked her ankles and calves, rising as she moved to the center of the pyre. Sahar threw her head back, her hair spiraling upward in the warm air of the fire. Smoke and sanguine light began to fill the clearing, circling Baahir in a strange-smelling cloud. He dropped to his knees, afraid he would not be able to breathe. His last vision of her was her arms spread wide, long streams of hot orange flames engulfing her body. Baahir dropped his head into his hands and curled over his knees. The smoke blanketed his vision. The howl of the fire rose and exploded in the night wind.

He stayed hunched over for many minutes. Slowly, he opened his eyes. The smoke around him was gone. Dawn was very near; the sky began to breathe the first tinges of a sapphire morning. Baahir looked at the fire. The wood and leaves were crisp and blackened, fully consumed. Small flames danced around a large, thick pile of ashes. Baahir moved toward the dying flames. He could see movement below them. Puzzled, he stopped and looked around. There was no heavy wind, nothing to stir them from the outside. He watched as the pile of soot seemed to melt, the flames growing again. Tongues of red and orange began to roll together, forming a small ball. The burning sphere grew, orange and yellow becoming white and brilliant. Baahir covered his eyes as the glare began to hurt. He leaned back, waves of warmth flowing over him. The ball of light rose from above the spent fire, growing in size as it rose.

Suddenly, the sphere exploded in streams of white light. Golden sparks rained over him. He looked up and soaring from the circle of the fire was a brilliant bird. Its tail feathers, indigo and red, glowed behind it as it flew high above him. Deep-burgundy wings, edged in gold and orange, spread wide, embracing the dimming starlight high above. Baahir looked toward the East. As the sun edged the horizon, the bird called out. Its distant voice was crystal clear. Pure notes of love and desire caught the wind and caressed his ears. A song of birth and gratitude.

Baahir stared at the sky for a long time, his mouth set and eyes distant. A single tear rolled down his cheek.

The afternoon shadows grew long and the air had finally become cool. Baahir rubbed his eyes as he woke. The dream brought a smile to his face, as it always did. He laughed as his youngest granddaughter, Ameera, ran to him and threw her arms around his neck.

"Papa! Papa! You must tell us a story." Haytham, Ameera's older brother, ran up to Baahir and sat at his feet.

"Yes, papa! Please tell us a good story. Something long." Baahir laughed. He leaned back against the cool stone, his walking stick resting against his legs. He shifted and looked down at their eager faces. They had the almond eyes of their mother, his second wife. Baahir loved them deeply, as he did all his children and grandchildren. His family was large and his home even larger. The Benu's wings had indeed blessed him.

"All right, children. All right. But you must promise me that you will help your grandmother with dinner, when she calls. Agreed?"

With their exuberant nods of agreement and delightful laughs, Baahir settled into the shadows of the tall garden wall. His eyes glazed slightly as he looked up at the warm, Spring sky.

"You must never forget this, children. It is a true story. There once was a beautiful bird named Sahar, who was graced with a beautiful voice, and the Sun God was in love with her...."