The following is a segment of story about a woman who used to be a desert spirit. No blue funny-guys here,folks. These are the real djinn.
Once there was a man who had nothing. He lived in a village near the desert, and every day he walked the soft sands searching for something that would be his alone. Whatever he found in the desert he would take back to the village. Sometimes he found only meat to eat that night. Sometimes he found clay with which to make a pot. Sometimes he found plants he could weave into clothes. Whatever he found he eventually lost, or traded or sold. He lived alone at the edge of the village and because he spent his days in the desert he had no friends. At night he slept wherever he sat, against the wall of the houses which held families and lovers. The village gates kept the wolves of the desert out, and so he stayed.
One day he stood at the gate of the village. He looked out on the desert that he knew so well, and his heart sank within him. “Why do I search out the things of the desert only to sell them to the villagers who don’t even know my name? Why do I come here at all? What good is my life if I have nothing?”
And he swore then that he would not return to the village, even if the wolves came for him. He left to go into the desert, as the sun rose high above.
The man walked across the soft sands of the desert, going in a direction he had never gone before. Always he kept the village over his left shoulder, because even if he did not intend to return, he knew he would not truly want to be lost. He came upon a hard and rocky place, where no plants grew and the winds sang a mourning dirge. He sat upon the rocks, and his voice was hoarse. “I wish I had some water.”
The winds heard him and sprang up around him and there before his eyes whirled a Djinn. Eyes of embers and hair of sand, and a mouth that was like a desert cave, dry and barren. “What will you give me for this wish?” The Djinn asked. It had no hands, and was more wind than being, whirling slowly in the center of the flat rock. Even as it’s body turned the ember eyes stayed fixed on the man.
“I have nothing.” The man replied.
“You have your memories.” The Djinn’s voice was deep and low, the rumble of dry heat before a rare rain.
“I don’t need those.” The man said, his own voice cracked and dry like the sand. “They are all as sad and lonesome and barren as this place I sit now.”
So the Djinn took the man’s memories, all but his name and his way home. Up from the rocky ground sprang a fresh spring of water.
The man drank until he was no longer thirsty, and where the spring flowed, little green plants began to grow. The man tended the plants, hunting for his food in the evenings, until the place was a beautiful oasis in the desert. The Djinn whirled above the spring of water, watching the man work. Occasionally he sang songs over his plants, songs that were lonely and sad. Some nights he sat up and watched the wolves around the edge of the oasis.
“I wish I had a bed to sleep in and a roof for shelter.” The man said one night, when the wolves got especially near.
What will you give me for this wish?” The Djinn asked. It bent low over the spring, almost sitting itself, although it lacked legs.
“I have nothing.” The man said.
“You have your plants you have tended with the water I gave you.”
“Take my oasis then.” The man said. “I want a house.”
So the Djinn gave the man a house, and the Djinn claimed the oasis. The spring still flowed and the flowers grew, and the Djinn allowed the man to eat the fruit he tended. After all, what need had a Djinn for food? The winds and the sun of the desert were food enough. But now the Djinn whirled over the spring, and the water went into it’s sandy hair, and where the water touched the Djinn, the Djinn was changed.
Now a spirit of the oasis, the Djinn waited.
The man spent many years near the Oasis, with the Djinn as company. The man never wished for anything, but they spoke together, for without memories of loneliness the man was no longer as sad. He didn’t need to tread the hot desert every day for he had a home, and the fruits of the oasis were good. Sometimes the Djinn would slow its whirling long enough to almost seem to stand. The man saw that the Djinn had changed.
“You no longer look like yourself, Djinn.” The man said. “You are greener, and softer.”
“You are no longer yourself either.” The Djinn the pointed out. “We are both changed.”
The man looked at himself in the reflection of the spring. His skin was wrinkled and dark, and his hair was almost gone. But his eyes, even without his memories, were still sad.
“I wish I was happy”. The man said.
The Djinn whirled slowly over the spring, taking in more and more of the water. “That is a wish too big to grant.”
“What must I give you?”
“Your heart.”
“Take it then, if it will make me happy.”
So the Djinn reached out and took the man’s heart. But a Djinn had never before held a human heart, and it was too big for the Oasis to hold. All of the man’s wishes came undone. The spring dried up and his house fell to pieces. The Djinn felt the human heart break, and the pain of the breaking was too much for the spirit to bear.
“Take it back!” She told the man. “It has changed me too much!”
But the man could not answer. He had no heart. He smiled at the beautiful girl who stood at the edge of the rapidly drying spring. He died, and the oasis died with him.
The Djinn buried him in the soft sand of the desert, in the ruined Oasis. She sat by his graveside for a full night, guarding it from the wolves. Despite her human heart, she still had some of her power. Her hair was long and dark, like the shadows underneath the trees. Her eyes were dark too, with a glint of ember in their depths. She clothed herself in the man’s clothing in the morning, and turned away from his grave. Her human heart was heavy within her. “I wish I knew what to do.” She said aloud. But she could not grant her own wishes.
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