Chapter 6
So many wonderful things in this bazaar! It was the biggest one she’d ever seen; the aisles of merchants branched out from one another like the stems on a large vine. Jocelyn wandered down one path and then another, content simply to browse. “I’ll come back again,” she thought. “Today I’ll find the booths with the things I like the best, and then I’ll make a second trip to shop.” But how would she ever choose? There were treasures on every side, each more alluring than the last. She saw supple leather goods as soft as butter and gleaming silver worked into rings, earrings and necklaces—some plain, some engraved, some set with gems. The weavers’ booths had beautiful rugs, table covers and other items displayed; the patterns and colors held Jocelyn’s attention for long stretches of time. She stayed nearly half an hour at a tent that had galabya for sale, admiring the exquisite embroidery and fabrics, trying to decide which one she’d like for herself and which she’d take back home to the friend who was house sitting for her.
On and on the booths stretched, displaying their tempting goods. She walked past brass ware that shone like gold; examined translucent alabaster carved into lovely boxes, vases and bowls; admired basalt sculptures of pyramids, obelisks and scarabs; and dreamed over trays of brilliantly-colored glass perfume bottles highlighted with gold. Jocelyn was in no hurry, getting enormous pleasure from her browsing. She enjoyed seeing the people and listening to the endless flow of voices, hawking goods, bartering over prices and just talking. She wished she understood Arabic, but in many ways it was more restful not to. Without comprehension, it seemed more like a complex musical composition than competing conversations. Glancing ahead, she saw that the aisle was coming to an end, meeting the next one like the upright of a T. Jocelyn paused, trying to decide which way to go, when a peculiar compulsion swept over her. Right . . . she needed to go to the right.
Her contentment fled as she moved down the aisle. She felt an urge to walk to the end of the aisle—out to the desert beyond—that was so strong it was as though unseen people were pulling and pushing her along. Joss felt her heart beginning to race, and sweat broke out on her palms and forehead. Why was she feeling like this? What was happening? The end of the pathway lay ahead; past the semi-shaded aisle of the bazaar she could see brilliant blue sky and golden sand, the air above it shimmering in the heat. She began to walk faster, her stomach tightening, her breath coming in short, hard gasps. Despite the heat, she felt cold. Something was going to change; her life was going to make an important shift, but she had no idea what or how or when that would happen. All she knew was that she had to walk to the end of this path and step beyond it.
As she reached the final booths, she heard gentle music. On her right was a seller of bells and chimes. The air stirred the display, adding the clear, sweet sounds to the area. The other merchant at the end of this aisle sold cloth—bolt after bolt of fabric in colors so lovely they made you ache. Spread out on the counter was a length of silk in a dazzling peacock color. Joss was drawn to it, her fingers stretching out to savor its softness. But, no . . . she couldn’t linger. She had to keep moving forward, to whatever it was that called to her from the rolling dunes. When she stepped out from the shade of the cloth merchant’s awning, the brilliant light of the desert sun left her gasping. Jocelyn knew that it was hot, but somehow she could not feel the heat. Anticipation and fear were chilling her too thoroughly for the sun to warm her. What had drawn her here? She scanned the area, but saw nothing unusual.
Then, from the far end of the bazaar, she heard a swell of sound that moved steadily towards her. It was the people—everyone was shouting excitedly, calling to each other. Bodies streamed past her, hurrying out from the booths and carts to the desert. Many were gesturing wildly; even adults were jumping up and down. Women clutched one another, their voices high and shrill. The children were beside themselves, shrieking and dancing. “Med-jai! Med-jai!” they called, over and over. Jocelyn saw that the crowd was pointing off to the right, and her gaze followed the gesturing fingers. She felt sick, wound up too tightly, almost unable to breathe. Then she saw the reason for the frenzy: far away, four dark specks were moving down the face of a high dune. It was four men on horseback, heading steadily towards the bazaar.
Jocelyn feared she would faint. Her hand flailed out until she felt the edge of the booth behind her and she clutched it for support. Everything in her was fixed on the lead rider. It was as though she could sense him . . . the strength of his body, the power of the horse between his thighs, the wind tugging at his clothing, the rhythmic thump of the scimitar at his side. This was why she had been drawn here . . . to see this man. Forcing herself to move, she stepped away from the bazaar, her halting steps taking her in the direction of the dark riders. They came ever on, their speed never faltering. Joss called out to him, not even knowing what she said, only that he had to hear her. If he didn’t come to her, she was certain she would die of a broken heart.
By now the people around her were in a furor, but she heard them only distantly. The horsemen were close enough now that she could see them in some detail: the black turbans and the scarves covering their faces below the eyes; the black tunics and pants, whipped by the wind; the polished scimitars hanging from their waists. Closer yet, until Jocelyn thought she would scream from the tension. At last they reached the bazaar, pulling their dark mounts to a halt. Three of the men remained in their saddles, but the lead rider leapt from his horse and began running straight toward her. Joss staggered forward, slipping in the sand. A few feet from where she was, he stopped and pulled the scarf from his face. She gasped, unable to believe the beauty of the man before her.
His thick, shoulder-length hair was very dark; some silver strands near his temples told her he was in his middle years. Below the edge of the turban, coffee-colored eyes looked at her from under strong, black brows, the eyes glowing with a hot light. A finely-shaped nose led down to a goatee that continued outward from his chin to edge his jaw line. It, too, had silver hairs scattered through it. Framed within the goatee was a mouth so full and sensuous that just looking at it made her stomach flutter. Beneath each eye were mirror-image tattoos that added to his exotic appearance. This man was tall, over six feet, and the loose clothing he wore did not disguise the magnificent body beneath it. Jocelyn just stared, speechless. He was a living fantasy, more splendid than anything her imagination could create. The horseman reached out and she leaned towards him, eager to feel his arms around her. But before he could touch her, he vanished, melting into the air like mist dispersed by the sun. Jocelyn screamed, high and shrill, before collapsing, unconscious, to the ground.
There was a loud pounding that pulled Joss from her nightmare. She was drenched in sweat, and her face was wet with tears. She realized the pounding was someone at her door, and she heard an anxious voice calling, “Mrs. Reese? Mrs. Reese, are you all right? Mrs. Reese!” Grabbing her robe and struggling into it, Jocelyn made it to the door. When she unlocked and opened it, she found the night manager of the hotel and two security men looking at her in great concern. “We had a report of a scream from this room. Please tell me you’re all right, madam?”
“Yes . . . I’m so sorry to have disturbed anyone.” Joss knew she looked anything but “all right;” however, she was not at all eager to explain what had happened. “It was a nightmare. I might have screamed out in my sleep.”
“Do not worry about the disturbance, please, Mrs. Reese. The couple who reported it were only afraid for your safety; they were not angry. Would you like me to summon a doctor?”
“Oh, no . . . no, that’s not necessary.” Jocelyn composed herself and steadied her voice. “It was just a very . . . VERY . . . vivid dream, that’s all. I’ll be fine. But thank you for coming to check on me.”
“But of course, madam. Do let me know if you decide you would like to see a doctor, won’t you?”
“Yes, I will. Thank you again.”
Thankful to have that over with, Joss closed and locked her door again. She made her way to a chair and sank into it. Why had the dream changed that way? This time, they had not ridden past . . . he’d come straight towards where she stood. She thought about the dream, thrilling to the memory of how the Med-jai rider had vaulted from his horse and come running to her. Jocelyn relived the moment when he’d torn the scarf from his face and she’d seen him clearly for the first time. Her blood pounded in her veins and she was weak with desire. She knew that he could have taken her then and there, in front of the mass of people from the bazaar; not only would there have been no protest from her, she’d have welcomed it, reveled in it.
“But he’s not real!” She wanted to scream, sob and smash things, so great were her pain and frustration. Joss wished tonight had never happened, because seeing him up close, coming so near to having him in her arms was far worse than watching him ride past, heedless of her pleas. Part of her believed that the change in the dream had just been her own need affecting its course, and part of her clung to the hope that the change meant something good. Perhaps next time, he wouldn’t disappear. Maybe, at least in her dream world, she’d finally feel him against her, have his mouth on hers.
Then she sighed, a long, bitter sigh. What if she did? How did that make things any better? Tears slid down her face as she faced the situation. “What good does it do me to have a ‘dream lover’ if he’s really just a dream?” Joss was definitely starting to worry that she was losing her grip on reality, becoming seriously unbalanced. “Perhaps I should just go home—cancel my other plans, cut my trip short and go back to the States. What if I finally do snap, and I’m here, away from my family and friends and the medical people I know and trust? How would I ever get home again?” No. This was her one and only trip to
Joss decided to take a quick shower, change her pajamas and go back to bed. This she did, and within fifteen minutes was lying down again. The side of the bed she’d been sleeping on was damp with sweat, so she folded the covers back from that area to let it air and settled herself on the other side. If past experience held true, the dream would not come back tonight, so she hoped she’d be able to rest undisturbed. It was almost two in the morning and she had no early plans for the coming day. Getting up briefly, Joss hung the “Privacy” sign on her doorknob and slipped back into bed. She shed tears at the thought of trying to banish the dark man from her dreams, but she wiped them away firmly. Dreams could be wonderful, but, after all . . . you can’t live in them.
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A Dream Realized – Chapter 7