Even for someone so determined, though, ɹnding the
beads took longer than she’d foreseen. In the early half-
light, every broom bush looked the same, and when she
ɹnally found the right one and knelt down, she had to
sift through the piles of dead needles beneath the bush to
ɹnd each bead. Yet ɹnd them she did, one by one, and
returned triumphantly to the camp with the beads tied
securely into a knot in the hem of her smock, only to
discover that the camp was no longer there. The whole
expedition had moved on, and she was suddenly alone in
the desert.
How it had happened was understandable. Her maid,
an Ethiopian slave girl, had seen her climbing into the
howdah, but nobody had seen her slip out again. They
had all assumed she was inside and that since the
canopy was drawn, she did not want to be disturbed, so
they had left without her. What was not quite as
understandable to most people was what happened next,
or rather, what did not happen next.
Aisha did not run after the caravan, even though the
well-trodden route was clear enough. She did not even
walk after it, though it could not have been far ahead.
Camels laden with equipment and supplies do not move
fast. It would have been easy to catch up on foot,
especially in the early morning before the sun has
gained heat, when the chill of the desert night still hangs
in the air, crisp and refreshing—a matter of an hour or
so at the most.