The Masters of Sand,Chapter 11: One Mans Success,sunny boy books

The music produced by coins jingling together is the favorite symphony of anyone who has known poverty. The adage "money doesn't bring happiness" may be true in many cases, but it seemed to be the opposite for the desert nomads.

 Basim's performances had been a resounding success.

 The echo of his musical performance with the Sand used unusually never seen before had spread like wildfire, and people, intrigued by the novelty, now came to see his shows in ever greater numbers, and so did the other street artists, who usually disdained attending other people's performances, believing that they were the best, were now present mixed among the public, trying to steal his secrets. Each show added something new to the previous one, also thanks to the resourcefulness of the spectators who challenged the musician to follow the rhythm of their dances, which were different each time. The money raised to that point was a lot, but not enough to say that they had become rich; however, for all of them it was enough to be able to shake off the memories of those sad days when they had to put aside every crumb of bread to survive. They had immediately spent some of the money judiciously to purchase the best breeds of cattle and goats, fresh seeds, and new curtains for the tents. It was still early to say that their life was returning to normal as before the famine, there was still much work to do, but they were certainly more confident about the future.

 << And we owe all this to our savior Basim! >> Chief Zaka exclaimed.

 All the nomads exploded with joyful shouts, applauding vigorously. Basim smiled sheepishly, twisting some locks of his curls. His fingers were almost all bandaged, the exhausting hours of music had put a strain on an amateur like him who until then had only played as a pastime.

 << The credit also goes to my nephew Sadin, I'll say it straight away, otherwise he'll be offended, that he had this idea. I didn't think I'd say it, but I'm happy his exaggerated resourcefulness worked. >>

 << Thank you, thank you all. I know you already loved me, but I'm really happy to know that now you adore me like crazy. >> Sadin said proudly.

 << Sadin, at least tonight spare us your nonsense... >>

 << But uncle, it's the best part of me. >>

 Everyone at the camp celebrated, it had been a long time since there had been an opportunity to party.

 The large bonfire was constantly reinvigorated so that its heat and light fueled the joy of the nomads who danced and sang with an energy never felt before, without the need for help from wine or spices. There was no one in that moment who wasn't smiling; with their green dresses they looked like flowers dancing around the sun and the children instead looked like the petals that the wind harmoniously scattered around, it was an almost magical vision of pure joy.

 Basim watched with a new sense of satisfaction.

 It was different from what he had felt in his work as a potter; he didn't have to satisfy a customer's requests or commit to carrying on the family tradition; in this case, he was giving serious support to people in difficulty. There was something in their "thank you" that made his heart beat faster. Regardless of who told him, the feeling was always the same and now and then he felt a few small tears moisten his eyes. Suddenly the dancers, exchanging a nod of understanding, grouped around him, forcing him to dance around the bonfire like one of them. They had already been there for a while and still showed no signs of tiredness, continuing to move their bodies without pause. Luckily, they didn't ask him to play, at least for that evening he had had enough of music. He noticed that Sadin was enjoying the party too. The boy hopped from side to side like a cricket; when he laughed, his laugh was bizarre, very similar to the sound of a hyena, which managed to infect other people who started laughing too.

 He hadn't yet understood Sadin's character and when he thought he had, there was always a reason to start over.

 He was an eclectic guy, it was amazing how he could transform himself into a different individual simply by modulating a little the voice and changing posture; even a small adjustment to his hair or even the way he dressed was enough to become a perfect gentleman or a shy little man; he was able to move from simple and frivolous speeches to others with profound contents with acute observations. He had to admit, he was an incredible person. But precisely for this reason, he was unable to place complete trust in him.

 With all those facets of character, who was the real Sadin? His grandfather had always told him not to trust those who deliberately say what they want to hear. But could he really be a bad person? Him, who seemed to care so much about his people?

 << Basim! My friend! >> Sadin suddenly shouted, moving towards him.

 He was slightly tipsy and his gait was a little wobbly, but he enthusiastically invited Basim to dance with him, so they began to dance with awkward movements but miraculously managed to remain standing.

 << You were born to be a musician! Trust me, you're wasted on clay, follow your passion for music, your true reason for living! >>

 << Thank you, you are very kind >>

 <>

 << Ah yeah, I didn't expect it either. Speaking of Sand, I wanted to tell you something... >>

 << What? A new idea for the show? Of course, I'm listening! Speak up! >>

 << No, it's not a new idea. It's just… well, anyway. I think we should stop using it. >>

 << What?! >>

 Taken by surprise by that statement, Sadin lost his balance and after a twisted pirouette fell badly, hitting some dancers. Everyone laughed, seeing the scene as a funny accident, not realizing his frowning expression.

 His gaze was clear again; That was enough to make it clear that the effects of the alcohol had worn off. He took Basim aside, moving away with him into the shadows of the curtains that protected both the light of the fire and the attention of people.

 << Have you gone crazy by any chance? Why do you want to stop now when business is good? >> he told him irritably, pointing his finger at his chest. <>

 << Our agreement still stands, but I am convinced that we should no longer abuse the Sand. That's all. >>

 << What are you saying? It's luck in powder form! >>

 << Sand should not be treated as a toy or prop, and without proper control, its power could become extremely dangerous. >>

 << Yes, I know, you must have repeated this chant to me at least a hundred times. When I said you were a Master it was because of your skills, but you are also good at making controversies. In any case, I think you worry too much. So far everything has gone well, and people are having a lot of fun and therefore spending. >>

 << What I mean is that Sand should be a tool used only for good, help, and support, not as a source of income or play. >>

 << Well, isn't that what's happening now? It is helping my people get back on their feet from poverty. I don't understand why you're suddenly afraid of Sand. >>

 << It's not fear, it's fearful respect. >>

 << Fear or respect, I see no reason to stop. If you fear some retaliation from those haughty growlers, you need not worry. Everyone knows that they have been trying for years to stop the Street Masters by making them look bad, but up until now all their attempts have been just talk. >>

 Basim was indeed afraid of the Masters but, in reality, there was a deeper reason why he wanted to stop. It was absurd to say it, but he was beginning to perceive strange effects on himself, perhaps due to the "magic" imbued in the grains of that substance.

 Defining it "magic" was probably an excess, he had little knowledge on that particular topic but, on the other hand, he didn't know any other terms that could describe that feeling of strength that day after day he felt growing within himself.

 It was like a gentle pulse, weak when he approached the Sand, but more energetic when he touched it.

 The first time he had had that strange sensation, he thought he had accidentally grabbed a small animal hidden in the sand and heard its heartbeat. Looking carefully and seeing nothing, he then tried to convince himself that it was tension building up in his hands or something. That feeling had scared him and he had been tempted to abandon everything and forget about it, but he had realized that he couldn't do it or, rather, that the "Sand" wouldn't have allowed him. That force attracted him to it and, even when he was far away, he felt its whisper hovering around him, and he didn't understand if it wanted to punish him or confide in him some dark secret. The Sand had revealed a sinister aspect that Basim had never imagined existed, and it troubled him greatly.

 He rubbed his hands nervously, unsure whether to tell Sadin his fears, but he had strong doubts that he would be understood. He didn't want to be told once again, in that particular sarcastic tone of his, that he was exaggerating. It often happened to him that people didn't understand or didn't want to understand his concerns because, due to his cheerful and carefree character, he was never taken seriously, and instead, especially at that moment, he needed to talk to someone who could help him, to be listened and gave him the security of being able to say what troubled him.

 Suddenly the singing and music stopped, and a buzz arose from the center of the camp accompanied by exclamations of surprise.

 Five knights in sumptuous blue and silver tunics with black turbans entered the field and dismounted from their horses without paying too much attention to where they put their feet. Half hidden by a large leather belt hooked around the waist, daggers were sticking out with handles forged in gold and adorned with small precious stones. The knight at the head of the group, probably the leader of the group, greeted and asked proudly who among them was the Street Master called Basim because he was carrying a message for him.

 Upon hearing his name, Basim shyly presented himself in front of the knight, greeting him with a small bow.

 << Caliph Ghaali el-Meer, lord of the city-state of Shagreb, has learned of your abilities with the Sand and has ordered you to come to the palace immediately. >>

 << Am I in trouble? >>

 << On the contrary, he is fascinated by the stories he has heard from your shows and wants to witness them in person. >>

 << Really? Does he want me? >>

 << So he said. >>

 The individual handed him a scroll, tied with a red string that prevented it from opening, and added: << We will return tomorrow morning to escort you to the palace. Be ready with your tool and your Sand. >>

 << But I don't…>>

 Basim was about to say that he could not accept the request, when Sadin abruptly interrupted him, preventing him from speaking.

 << One cannot believe how high the caliph granted him such an honor! What generous soul is he, to grant our humble artist this opportunity? >> he said theatrically.

 << Tomorrow our Basim will be more than ready. However, I would like to inform you that he needs to bring his collaborators with him to be helped. Do you understand what I mean? >>

 Stolen story; please report.

 << All right, let them come too. As long as you don't waste too much time. >>

 << Of course, we will be very punctual. >>

 With that confirmation the soldiers set off again, spurring their horses.

 When the galloping of the animals was no longer audible in the silence of the night, the excitement among the nomads was palpable. An engagement by a caliph? Now that was a great honor! Performing in front of a noble was a privilege that only a few established artists enjoyed, and it was rare for this to happen to someone who came from the street. In Basim's case, the occasion was even more important, considering that he had only started playing for a few weeks. It was yet another affirmation of his special talent, even if he thought otherwise at the time.

 << Are you scared right now? After you've already performed in front of hundreds of people? >> Sadin told him.

 Basim had to sit down and was breathing heavily due to anxiety. Performing in front of common people did not bring him discomfort... but doing it in front of a nobleman, and moreover, a caliph, was too much for a person like him, the meek and shy one of him.

 << If you make a fuss about a caliph, what will you do in front of the Sultan, give yourself a heart attack? >>

 << Don't joke... >> Basim said, between gasps. <>

 << Refusing is not an option; nobles don't like being told no. >>

 << What if he doesn't like the sound? What if something doesn't work? >>

 << “If you stop every time a dog barks, you'll never run out of road.” >> Zaka intervened at that moment.

 He sat next to Basim and gently stroked his back in slow, steady circular motions. Using his usual calm tone, he tried to reassure him and encourage him about the imminent new challenge he would have to face.

 << All you need to do >> he told him << is to continue playing in the same way as you have done at this moment, without racking your brain looking for strange alternatives and without tormenting yourself unnecessarily. Just be yourself and everything will be fine. Why does it have to go badly? >>

 Basim tried to answer that question by reiterating all his uncertainties, but the incredible encouragement that Zaka and his people showed him at that moment dispelled any doubts. With all that positivity around him, he felt the dark cloud of fear that gripped him slowly dissolve.

 <> The man finally concluded.

 One after the other the nomads retreated to their tents, to enjoy the right rest after an evening full of many emotions. Everything was quickly put back in place; the fire was put out and the smell of ash and wood hung intensely in the air, some mothers started singing a lullaby to make their children's sleep happier and the men smiled unconsciously at the serenity that was blossoming again in their families and those of their friends.

 Zaka was the last to go to sleep, as a good leader he should have been the one to sort out any last tasks in the village, he made sure the animals were taken care of or if anyone needed help. Only after carrying out these final checks, he was finally able to go to rest. This was his duty as village leader, even if lately he was starting to feel the weight of the years. Just as he went to his tent, he found his nephew intent on arranging the supply of Impure Sand, probably to have an account of the quantity he had left. He noticed that he had a cheerful expression, without anything cunning as he usually appeared.

 << Are you excited for tomorrow? >> Zaka asked him.

 << You can say it, uncle. Opportunities like this don't happen often. >> Sadin replied smiling.

 << For Real. However, I am annoyed by the fact that you decided to accept the assignment for Basim. >>

 << As I told him, refusing the offer of a person of such high prestige would have been a terrible idea. You too know how much nobles can resent the rejection of their request. >>

 <>

 << It will all be fine. The talent of our musician will surprise even the caliph. >>

 <>

 << After seeing Basim's show he will never want to see anything else. >>

 << Tomorrow I will pray to the gods to assist you. >>

 << You know what makes me laugh? >>

 << What? >>

 << That for once some soldiers didn't come looking for me. >>

 As they had agreed, the knights returned to the camp on time the following morning and, as promised, Basim and his small company were ready.

 After a quick goodbye and having taken the bare essentials, the group left for the city of Shagreb.

 Accompanying Basim were Sadin and four other boys. On their creaking cart, slower than the horses of the men who escorted them, there were four large bags of Sand, the last supply left at their disposal. They had to take care of those precious grains because with them they would have had to win over the caliph who was so eager to see their performance. The Yasirpipe was on Basim's back, bundled up so that not a single string was visible. The fame of the instrument, which by now had spread across much of the territory, had attracted the attention of many people, not all of whom had good intentions, but, fortunately, no one had attempted to steal it until now.

 Basim considered himself, in a certain sense, the Master's heir and now saw that instrument as his property. But who knows what poor Fawzi would have said if he had seen his precious treasure used in that inappropriate way!

 They arrived in Shagreb after a morning of travel.

 With the sun high, the buildings shone with the golden yellow color due to the material with which they were built; the river that enclosed the city inside formed a perfect rhombus with the two tributaries of the Shams River that joined in the South-East and then divided again in the West; it was like a turquoise necklace that wrapped it elegantly. At first glance Basim compared it to Baharmis; the splendor and refinement of the place reminded him of home; but observing it better, however, he noticed some details that diminished it in his eyes compared to the capital; like the limited presence of gardens and greenery in general, to which was added that monotonous yellow color that after a while it annoyed the look.

 In his opinion, Shagreb wanted to be an imitation of Baharmis.

 The streets were very wide and on the edges, palm trees with thin foliage and acacia trees rose: the squares were embellished with statues representing the rulers of the royal dynasty and the most important palaces were adorned with exaggerated architectural ornaments and small towers without windows and flags bearing the symbol of the country; along the way they met people with a very well-groomed appearance, dressed in brightly colored clothes who made an exaggerated display of jewelry; but also tired-looking individuals, dressed in disused clothes and dull colors who with weak voices asked for charity on the street corners. The distinction between rich and poor was evident.

 Basim soon began to dislike the place.

 There was too much contrast between social classes.

 What he had seen up to that point led him to think that the beautiful things that existed could only be a privilege for a select few. Of course, Baharmis was not like that; there were certainly less fortunate people there too but, at least the community did its utmost to help them, while here he noticed a total indifference towards the less well-off. His traveling companions did not agree; accustomed to the monotony of the desert, they were still enchanted by that apparent splendor. For them, who had never seen such a place, even a city like that seemed like a paradise that they would describe as something extraordinary. Sadin also made numerous comments of appreciation as he walked through the city, but a strange light shone in his gaze that seemed closer to interest than amazement. It was so similar to a cat facing a mouse.

 The palace of Caliph Ghaali el-Meer appeared in all its dazzling splendor.

 It had a central dome that featured elaborate geometric patterns crowned by six smaller domes. The color of the building was like the different shades of desert sand and all around there were swimming pools filled with crystal clear water and palm trees that made one think of a luxury oasis. On the sides of the long staircase that led to the entrance, a waterfall descended with a quiet gurgle which, reaching the base, flowed into some basins.

 The caliph welcomed himself comfortably seated on a large blue velvet armchair, surrounded by his splendid consorts who delighted him with food and drink, while a boy in his early teens slowly waved a fan larger than him. In the same room, there were also the soldiers of the royal guard, lined up along the perimeter of the walls as if they were columns, and a small group of court dignitaries who looked at the new arrivals with a sort of indignation, as if they were intruders who had entered a place sacred. In that group the figures of the Sand Masters stood out; it was impossible not to notice them with their symbol sewn on their clothes. Usually, the Masters were individuals who preferred to be on their own, but some placed themselves at the service of the nobles to carry out various important tasks, especially that of enforcing justice.

 << Welcome gentlemen. Welcome. >> said the caliph.

 The man was plump, not very tall, and had a slightly dark skin. He had a long, thin mustache and a well-groomed beard with the tip curled up. He was wearing a simple white thwab, however, the dressing gown was lavender colored with intricate floral embroidery and on the turban that encircled his head, a pompous light pink feather stood out.

 <>

 Sadin had to nudge Basim to make him understand that he was addressing him.

 “Sand Dancer? Seriously? Was that what they call me now?” Basim thought.

 << Congratulations for inventing such a fun pastime. I have always appreciated those who have a lot of imagination with art. >>

 << Thank you, Your Highness. >>

 << Can I dare to see the famous instrument? >>

 Reluctantly, Basim took out the Yasirpipe, showing it to the noble.

 A muffled buzz of amazement arose among the court dignitaries, while they exchanged opinions on that strange object in a whisper.

 The Sand Masters were among the most surprised, of course. However haughty and aloof, it was clear how enormous their curiosity was.

 << It is truly a peculiar instrument; its reputation is more than deserved. >> said the caliph, tempted to touch him. << Now that I remember, did you read the letter that was given to you, didn't you? >>

 How could Basim forget that message he had read and reread?

 All night he had done nothing but think about it and ask himself if what was written was real: Ghaali el-Meer ordered him to organize a performance for the anniversary of his rise to power.

 He didn't have to limit himself to just playing, he had to organize a majestic choreography complete with dancers, acrobats, and even snake charmers, who in the meantime would have had to interact with the Sand. It was also up to him to set up the stage and how to make the artists move and a lot of other things. That parchment looked more like a shopping list than a formal invitation.

 << Sure. Until the last line. But… >>

 << Perfect. Then I don't need to repeat myself. In four days, I want to witness a spectacle that will amaze the other nobles. You can start immediately and if you have any special requests, contact my advisor directly. >>

 The caliph dismissed him with a hand gesture similar to that of someone trying to chase away insects. He would see them again just to get updates on his party.

 The small group was escorted to a modestly furnished accommodation, located in one of the many areas of the palace, dedicated mainly to servants. The boys were excited for that prestigious opportunity, but as soon as they were alone Basim openly expressed his opinion.

 << By the gods of the sun, moon, and stars! I hate this place! >> he exclaimed angrily, throwing his stuff on the floor.

 << It wasn’t that bad.>> Sadin said very calmly.

 << But do you realize that I must invent it myself? It is already difficult to compose a simple melody, let alone a drama as complex as the caliph requests! And in just four days, by the way! >>

 << Relax my friend. We just arrived and you're already stressed? >>

 << It's this city's fault! It's a sleazy paradise of glitz! >>

 << Sleazy? What are you saying? It's an open-air treasure chest. There are lots of opportunities to get good deals, I can already smell the gold... >>

 << Who cares about business! I wish I had never come here! And it's all your fault! >>

 << Hey! Hey! Let's not start with the buck-passing game! I told you that the caliph's offer could not be refused. >>

 << You are the one who accepted, I never gave my consent. >>

 << If you had refused, know that by now you would no longer have your dear little hands. And anyway, as a musician, you are obliged to play for anyone. You can't choose your audience. >>

 << There's a big difference between playing for people like me or a nobleman who just wants to show off. The Caliph may have paid me compliments, but they are superficial and empty, like a refined vase that contains nothing. >>

 << Look man, you're too nervous. Let's take a step back and calm down… >>

 <>

 Having said this, Basim locked himself in a separate room, starting to work, albeit reluctantly, on the caliph's requests.

 From behind the door, he could be heard grumbling loudly.

 << Maybe we expected too much from him, he seems very stressed to me. >> said Zaafer, one of the boys in the group.

 << Does that sound like you? He'll get over it. Business is business. >> Sadin said nonchalantly.

 << Yes, but maybe it wasn’t right to force him to do this. He's not entirely wrong, what they asked him to do is a lot of work, and the effort he has to make is enormous. >>

 << Oh quit it. What do you know about it? >> Sadin said frowning.

 <> Zaafer said, looking at him suspiciously.

 Zaafer looked like the youngest of the group, when in reality he was a year older than Sadin. Despite his almost boyish appearance, every time he spoke, he demonstrated that he had considerable maturity and a strong charisma. He was very thin in appearance and had thick eyebrows that almost met, his hair was thin, and his eyes were dark like obsidian, he was a boy accustomed to hard work since he was a child, and this justified his already calloused hands.

 << By the way Sadin, why are you still covering your face? It's not like you to keep your face hidden for so long. >>

 << Oh… there's no particular reason. I'm comfortable like this. >>

 << With this heat? >>

 << Yes! It doesn't bother me at all. >>

 The other boys, realizing that detail only at that moment, began to look at Sadin with caution, sensing something shady in his way of acting. Sadin was certainly a genius in his way and always had the solution at hand for everything, but at the same time there were aspects of his character that made most people hate him. Worried, they hoped that this "dark side" of him would not emerge at that moment when they were in a too delicate position and there was no need to have problems.

 They began to regret not having convinced Zaka to come with them too, to keep an eye on him. They had good reasons to be worried.

 << Don't get us into trouble as usual. We cannot afford mistakes. >> Zaafer told him.

 << Why are you telling me this? I always behave well. >>

 << Oh heaven! That's exactly what you said last time. >>

 << Get it over with. Instead of babbling, get to work. We must show the Caliph what we can do. Chop! Chop! >>

 Sadin gave each of the boys a task to do, to keep them busy and not allow them to express other opinions about him. One of them exchanged a statement in a low voice to the companion who was next to him which made the other nod in agreement: << The liar is the worst of the dishonest.>>

 [1]It is a sort of sword with a short blade, in any case longer than that of a dagger, broad and double-edged, similar to the gladius of the ancient Romans.

 [2]Arab proverb to indicate how we cannot stop at every difficulty we encounter, we cannot give up on every problem that presents itself to us, otherwise we will never reach our goal.

 [3]Arabic proverb.

Chapter 11: One Mans Success

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