“That is a myth we were taught as children,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Your father must have told you?”
I shake my head, a gesture he perceives because his hand is still lightly resting against my cheek.
“It is said the harshiali come to our homes in the night, and whisper stories into our ears – that’s why children dream what they do.”
I can’t help but smile at the story. “Only children?”
“Adults do not believe in the power of the harshiali,” he says. “And so the harshiali do not bother to come to them.”
“How can anyone who’s seen them not believe?”
He laughs. “Fairytales, Amy?”
“Look!” I laugh too though. “They’re incredible.” To my surprise, my voice thickens with emotion, tears clogging my eyes. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
“This is simply the preamble,” he says quietly, and I know he’s heard my emotion, and that he’s responding to it. His voice has grown deep and dark, masculine and raw, so that it reaches into me and changes the nature of my soul.
“Preamble to what?”
“Be patient.”
He drops his hand, catching mine, and begins to walk once more. It’s not much further, perhaps another ten minutes, and then the narrow corridor we’ve been walking through begins to widen, and we can walk side by side. Despite that, he continues to hold my hand and I’m glad for that. The ground is uneven and the darkness remains, so his strength and guidance are welcome.
More light filters through and then we turn a corner and there’s an onslaught of it, bright and golden, warmth immediately penetrating the cool of this tangle of caves.
The light though comes from above – there’s a gap in the mountain, so we must be near the top. I’m looking up so don’t immediately see what’s right in front of me but when I take the time to properly examine our surroundings, I almost sob.
It is, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
A rock pool sits directly beneath the opening, dark water rippling in the sun’s rays, so it has the appearance of diamonds floating on the water’s surface. Beyond the water, the cave expands to a view of the desert, all rolling sand dunes. In the distance, I can just make out the ocean, a faraway spectre of water, glistening like diamonds, that floods my soul.
“The drawings on the wall in here date back to the first century,” he says, pointing to the etchings on the walls.
I move closer, breath held. “I have heard of these all my life. To see them with my own eyes is…incredible.”
I trace the pictures with my eyes, simple illustrations that mark the daily minutiae of life at the time. The drawings extend from the ground to the top of the wall, and cover a vast section of it. The sheer scale of pictures is unimaginable. “This must have taken historians decades to decode.”
“They are still working on it,” he says with a nod. “The area is rich with history. Three universities have staff dedicated to the archaeological work here.”
“What an incredible insight into Qabidi past.”
Spontaneously I turn to face him, lifting my palm to his chest. “Thank you for bringing me here.” My eyes are wet.
He lifts a hand, running his thumb over my cheek, his face a mask of control. “You wanted to see them.”
“Yes.” A single tear slides from the corner of my eye. Embarrassed, I shake my head. “I’m overwhelmed. This is so much more than I was expecting.”
“They are incredible,” he agrees. “Take your time. There’s plenty to see.”
I nod, not needing to be told twice. I start at one edge of the wall and slowly move my way along it. Some of the sections have been photographed in books, but much of it is brand new to me, scenes I haven’t witnessed before.
Unbeknownst to me, he watches, his eyes following my progress. It’s only when I turn to say something I find Zahir staring at me intently, and whatever statement I’d been poised to make flies from my mind.
All I can do is smile.
It’s a smile that’s pulled from my heart, from the very centre of my being, and all the little pieces that make me who I am. I have the strangest sense that something vital has slid into place inside of me, that seeing these cave paintings is important and necessary, and I can’t explain that. It’s simply an instinct, drawn from deep in my soul.
He stands, but I barely notice. He walks, and the first I realise is when he’s standing toe to toe with me, a frown on his face, a look in his eyes that has me tilting my face to his even before he can speak.