Chapter 7
The “Privacy” sign had been a wise move, for Jocelyn slept until after ten the next morning. She’d taken her time getting ready for the day, hoping to pass a few hours. After enjoying a long bath, she treated herself to a facial, deep-conditioned her hair, did her nails and slathered on lavish amounts of an expensive body lotion she’d found in the hotel shop. She tried to focus on what she was doing, but was haunted by the face of the Med-jai. Her efforts to avoid looking at the dark horsemen in the corner of the mural had proved so futile that she finally gave up, letting her gaze rest on them from time to time.
Jocelyn dressed in one of her favorite outfits among those she’d purchased for the trip. It was made of lightweight cotton in a soft gray-blue and consisted of a tunic that came to mid-thigh over a pair of drawstring pants. The tunic buttoned up the front with fabric knots and loops, and it was embroidered in several shades of blue, rose and pink down the center and around the cuffs of the tunic. It looked nice enough to wear almost anywhere but was cool and wonderfully comfortable. By the time she was dressed, it was past lunchtime, so she decided to order room service again and have a quiet meal alone. Perhaps that would be a calming start to the rest of the day.
After she ate, she’d batted around for quite awhile, trying to settle down to reading over her notes or working on the novel she’d started the second night of the dream, but being in her room was making her crazy. “Or, rather, crazier,” she thought, wryly. She was sorry she had nothing scheduled for the day. When she’d planned the trip, a day off after a busy week seemed like a good idea. Now she was tense and restless, unable to relax. A few moments spent with her current needlepoint project had only made it clear how thoroughly distracted she was: after putting and taking out the same mistake four times, Jocelyn decided she’d better stop before she ruined the piece completely. Coming to the conclusion that getting out of her room might be the best thing, she grabbed her purse and headed down to the lobby. Maybe they had some ideas for filling what was left of the day and into the evening.
Approaching the front desk, she meant to inquire about nearby attractions she might visit, but the first words out of her mouth took her by surprise. “Excuse me,” she asked the clerk. “Do you know anything about the murals in my room?”
“Murals? Oh, yes, you’re in that room, aren’t you? No, I’m sorry, I don’t. Would you like me to check with the manager?”
Jocelyn hesitated, and then decided her question was a not unexpected one, after all. No reason for them to suspect why she wanted to know. “Yes, if you would, please.” The young man left the counter and disappeared into the office area of the hotel. Before long, he returned with Mr. Fahmy, the day manager. “Yes, Mrs. Reese? I understand you’re interested in the murals on your walls? They’re very striking, aren’t they?”
“They are, Mr. Fahmy. They’re beautiful. I enjoy having them as part of the decor in my room. But I was wondering . . . do you know anything about the artist?”
“Not much, I’m afraid. The murals were painted before I joined the staff here. It must have been four or five years ago. I do know that the artist was not a local man. He was an itinerant from one of the desert villages. The hotel was doing some redecorating then, and the manager at that time happened to see some of this man’s paintings displayed in a street market. He was very impressed with them, and got permission to have him do some wall paintings. It was odd, though. Apparently, after he finished just the one room, he left. Didn’t even collect his pay. The hotel made inquiries, trying to locate him, but he was . . . gone. Poof!” Mr. Fahmy made a magician’s gesture with his fingers and then laughed. “I’m sorry I cannot tell you more.”
“Oh, that’s all right, really. It’s a very interesting story. It’s nice to know even that much about him. While you’re here, I wanted to ask you—I don’t have anything planned for today, and I thought you might have some suggestions for things to do? Something different from standard tourist fare?” Jocelyn was excited by the information that the artist had come from a desert settlement. Perhaps he, like the old woman she’d met in the street, had seen a Med-jai in his lifetime, and wanted to leave testimony to their existence in his art.
“I will certainly try. Let’s see . . . I don’t think I need to encourage you to visit our museums; you seem to be covering those quite thoroughly on your own. There are some lovely parks, if you’d like a place to sit and read or just people-watch. What else, what else . . . ” Mr. Fahmy brightened, snapping his fingers. “I know! You must visit the ‘Bazaar of all Bazaars’!” Joss reeled backward slightly, tightening her fingers on the edge of the counter to keep from falling over.
“‘Bazaar of all Bazaars’?” she asked, faintly.
“Yes, yes . . . it’s marvelous! Each year at this time, the largest bazaar of all is assembled at the edge of the city. They’ve been setting it up for nearly a week, and it opened last night. There are hundreds of sellers, every kind of merchandise you can imagine and it becomes like a festival. The bazaar only lasts for a month; you were very fortunate to be here at the right time!”
“Yes . . . wasn’t I?” Jocelyn’s mind was churning. Was this just too much of a coincidence? She knew that the bazaar in her dream was bigger than any she’d seen anywhere else since arriving in
“That sounds perfect,” she said. “How do I get there?”
Moments later, she was in a taxi on her way to the outskirts of the city. Jocelyn tried to contain her excitement, but it was impossible. She told herself over and over that it was just a strange coincidence and that this bazaar had nothing to do with her dream, but deep inside, she couldn’t believe it. There had been too many “coincidences” over the last few days, enough so that it seemed less extreme to call it the working of fate than to chalk it up to the overlapping of random incidents. She could tell they were nearing the bazaar long before she could see it . . . the crowds were incredible. Her driver was getting frustrated, trying to maneuver his vehicle closer to the actual bazaar, and Joss finally told him to drop her off where they were. She gave him a large tip to make up for the shortened ride and joined in the flow of people moving towards the market.
When she finally reached the edge of the bazaar, she was greeted by an explosion of colors, sounds and smells. Small bands of musicians were scattered about, playing as much for the joy of it as for the coins that people dropped into bowls beside them. Merchants called out to the shoppers, trying to convince them that only at their booths would they find the finest of goods for the lowest of prices. Children bobbed and darted through the sea of adults, many of them holding sticky treats which they waved about enthusiastically. Jocelyn made a mental note to keep track of any small, gooey people who got too near her; she didn’t relish wearing the pastries she loved to eat. Despite the gnawing tension in her stomach, she was glad she’d come. If anyplace on earth could provide a distraction, it was this one!
She walked and walked and walked, staying in the shade as much as possible since she’d left her hat behind in her distraction. There were some restaurants set up, giving off wonderful smells, but Jocelyn preferred buying small snacks from the many individual stands when she got hungry. Some of her anxiety had melted away; she wasn’t feeling any of the cold dread or wild excitement that had marked her dream, and she was seeing some fabulous buys at the stalls. Even with her marginal bartering skills, she knew she could get things for less than it would cost her to buy them at home. So far, she’d decided to purchase a beautifully-worked brass bowl, two alabaster candlesticks and a glass perfume bottle, but she was waiting until she was ready to go. The market was too crowded and some of her choices were too heavy to lug around while she shopped.
Drifting along, Joss paid little attention to where she was going. There was no chance of getting lost. All one had to do was find an aisle that led to the edge of the bazaar, walk down it until you were outside of the assemblage of stalls, then walk around the edge until you were back where you’d entered. Her inattentiveness was undoubtedly why what happened next took her by surprise. The wonderful array of candied fruit at a small booth had been irresistible, so Jocelyn bought a mixed skewer and was just finishing it when she looked up to get her bearings. It was then that she went cold, and the empty skewer dropped from her fingers to the ground. She was at the end of a long aisle which met the next one like the upright of a T . . . .
For a moment, Jocelyn willed herself to turn left, but she couldn’t do it. Feeling as though she were dreaming again, she moved ahead helplessly, her feet carrying her down the right-hand path. She could see the desert at its end, hot and shining in the late afternoon sun. The sounds around her became muffled; even the edges of her vision seemed to darken, making it look as though she were going down a long tunnel. “Oh, no . . . this isn’t happening . . . this isn’t real. I’ll wake up . . . I’ll wake up . . . .” Joss couldn’t understand why she so dreaded this. Wouldn’t it mean she’d meet him at last? But what if he didn’t come? What if this would only prove, once and for all, that she was passionately in love with a phantom? No, oh, please, no. She’d already had too much tragedy; couldn’t she keep her dream?
Onward she walked, hardly feeling the crush of people around her. As she reached the end of the aisle, Jocelyn feared she would faint, or worse, be violently ill in front of all these people. There, at the end of the path, were two booths. The right-hand one was festooned with metal chimes and bells, which added their soft, mystical music to the air. Her heart was pounding so hard Joss wondered if she weren’t about to have an attack. Slowly, unwillingly, she forced her head to the left. Among the bolts of fabric, a single swath of silk was spread out over the counter . . . glowing, peacock silk.
“I have to do this. I have to.” Jocelyn continued past the two final booths, forcing herself out into the open. It was all there, just like her dream. Rolling dunes, air so hot that looking through it made any object vibrate to your eyes. People milling about near the bazaar, but the outlying waves of sand were empty. Jocelyn stood, waiting. Sweat rolled slowly down her face and she could feel it trickling over her chest until it trailed between her breasts. Yet, she was cold . . . terribly cold. Cold and tense. Every muscle in her body was clenched. She waited. She didn’t think she could bear this much longer; she was going to shatter into a million pieces. But she waited. She had no choice.
Then she heard it, off to her right. The swell of voices, the excited shouting. People rushed past her, jostling her, pushing her about in their haste to get outside the bazaar. Squeals, shrieks, bellows, yells: “Med-jai! Med-jai! Med-jai!” Pointing . . . everyone pointing and waving. Joss turned her head slowly, following the noise. Coming down the farthest dune to the right were four moving dots, one out ahead of the other three. She began to weep, tears of absolute joy coursing down her face. The closer the riders came, the higher-pitched was the ecstatic frenzy of the crowd. Jocelyn began walking towards the horsemen, moving as quickly as the sand and her shaking legs would let her. Still onward they came. She could see him, now, see the black brows against his dark skin, the gleam of his scimitar. She forced her legs to keep going, focused only on reaching him.
When the Med-jai neared the bazaar, the people grew reverently silent; it felt as though the raucous crowd was holding a single breath, awed to see these legendary figures in the flesh. The three other men remained mounted, but Jocelyn watched, trembling, as the leader flew from his horse and ran to her. He stripped the scarf from his face, and she cried out, unable to help herself. It was her Med-jai . . . it was the very man she’d seen in her dream the night before. The same beautiful mouth, the same crisp, dark beard and waving hair, the same deeply-set brown eyes. This time, instead of a look of passion, they held an expression of wonder. In two long strides he was before her. She didn’t dare breathe, fearful that the slightest exhalation would cause him to vanish.
The man reached out, tentatively, as though he were afraid that she, too, would disappear. Then she felt the warm reality of his hand caressing her face. He spoke, and to her surprise, it was in accented but perfect English, the richness of his voice touching her soul: “You . . . you are real!” His thumb stroked her cheek, wiping away the tears that clung to it. Jocelyn’s eyes closed for a moment as she tried to find her voice. She leaned into his touch, savoring the feel of his palm moving against her skin. Opening her eyes, she smiled into the endless depths of his gaze.
Her lower lip trembled as she spoke. “Oh, yes . . . I’m very real. And . . . so are you!”
He smiled, perhaps relieved to hear her speak and have more confirmation that she was, indeed, human. “I have always been real, my little one. But you . . . you were . . . I only knew you . . . .”
Joss was trying not to cry again as she finished his sentence. “ . . . in a dream?”
The Med-jai drew back slightly in surprise, and then cupped her face in both hands. He looked earnestly into her eyes, as though the answer to his next question were of absolute importance. “Did you . . . dream of me? Did you?”
Reaching up, she covered his hands with her own, drawing reassurance from their strong warmth. Jocelyn nodded. “Yes . . . I did. For three nights. But I never saw your face until last night.”
Straightening up, he let his hands drop from her face, though his eyes never left hers. She saw in his expression that he had made some kind of decision. Turning his head, he called to the other Med-jai in Arabic. The mounted warriors responded with quick nods before wheeling their horses around and riding towards the desert. To Jocelyn’s horror, he spun around and walked swiftly away from her. She was too shocked even to cry out and started running after him, hoping to make him stay. The next thing she knew, he was beside her on his horse. He bent low and a strong arm pulled her up onto the saddle. For a long moment, they just looked at each other, their eyes saying things for which no words existed. Then he settled her firmly across his lap and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. He turned his horse and together they headed out to the dunes.
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A Dream Realized – Chapter 8