ATLANTIS ON A PICKUP TRUCK

Blankets of sand rose and fell almost rhythmically in a pale non-descript tract of nowhere. Everything about the landscape was pallid and dull—there were almost no trees to speak of, save a few thorn bushes scattered amongst random outgrowths of cactus and rock. A lone rat went scurrying from one thorny oasis to the next in the quest for moss or mate or both. The sunlight glinted off a dry cement road blinding all clouds in sight and the three men who stood by the side of it.
Omar, Marco and Isaac had travelled long and far—on foot, on camel and donkey, amid caravans of Bedouin tribesmen, in spluttering trucks, and on dying motorbikes.
“Not the best day to be hitchhiking, eh?” Omar muttered flatly.
“Bright idea it was to run amuck in the mountains, Omar,” Marco countered irritably.
“With no food, water, transportation or sense of direction, we are sure to reach Marrakech in another million years, Omar,” Isaac continued.
No one said a word. The pregnant pause was broken by the approaching rumble of a diesel engine. The three men looked up to see a red pickup truck drive towards them on the narrow road that could barely contain it. Isaac pulled out a tattered sign with the word “Marrakech” written boldly and started waving it around furiously. The other two flailed their arms wildly in all directions pleading for the driver to stop.
The truck pulled up by their side and a dark-skinned man with two front teeth missing smiled at them broadly. While Isaac let out a huge sigh of relief, Marco began tentatively, “Sir, we are travellers and have been waiting to get to Marrakech somehow.”
The driver looked back at them with a blank expression. Omar repeated the word “Marrakech” lingering on each syllable distinctly. After a brief silence, the man smiled again seeming to have registered the name. He then nodded and motioned to the three men to get in at the back.
The engine rumbled back into life and the three men sat turned towards the road they were leaving behind. A sudden jolt threw them all in different directions and, dusting their sleeves, they sat upright again. A few more minutes passed with no sign of life anywhere.
Strains of a melody began to waft in from the front; a deep voice chanting indistinguishable Arabic words accompanied the music. It was mellow, intoxicating, faint, yet stirring.
The pallid yellows and greys of the desert swirled around and suddenly exploded into an expanse of colour. The sun burst into flames scorching the sky to a deep red; particles of sand shimmered violently seemingly drunk on solar excesses; previously shy clouds shed their modesty dramatically to reveal bellies of bright yellow specked with gold. The desert disappeared. Row upon row of olive trees stood guarding an invisible horizon. On the winding branches of the trees diamonds grew wildly amongst the humble olive fruit. The snow fell; the sun still breathed her flame; leaves danced around in the subtle breeze. It was as if all seasons and climes were held captive by the capricious desert. Today they all danced together, the best of friends.
Omar just smiled.
Stars returned. The moon came out of hiding to bathe the desert in sickly yellow. Date palms stood desolately strangled by sinuous fingers of thorn. Not a single fruit emerged from the struggling trees. Camels lay dead under half-whipped sand graves. Vultures circled above ready to kill or eat or kill and eat. The wind whipped particles of sand into a violent frenzy; splinters of ice began to fall into the sand diagonally. Together the ice and sand rose as a wall of fury, gashing dead animals and tearing away their skin. The wall was approaching rapidly.
Isaac clutched his face and screamed.
The desert thawed into milky whiteness. The yolk-like moon ruptured back into an incandescent eggshell. The stars faded behind fading clouds. Life seemed drunk back into a state of non-existence.
Marco looked on motionless.
Minutes later or days, the truck stopped. As did the music. The driver walked out and smiled some more. The three men looked at each other speechless. The gaping hole between the teeth of the Arab was gone; he had wooden stumps where his right knee and right arm were supposed to be. Placing his left index finger on his temple, he raised his eyebrows and nodded questioningly. He smiled again. This time he spoke, and spoke in measured tones.
“The desert is an obsessive lover. You create her; and in her image you find yourself.”
The three men looked at each other and walked away without a word.