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In a flash, the fear was gone from her eyes. She stared at me suspiciously. ‘Are you being unusually noble, or do you simply not want a girl to save your stony behind?’
Interesting question.
And the answer?
Both.
She seemed to take my silence as an answer, though. Her eyes flared hotter than the desert sand.
‘So that’s the way it is, is it? Well, I’ve got news for you, Dick, my darling.’ She gave a firm tug on my arm again. Suppressing a groan, I slid a few inches in her direction. ‘I’ve still got a wedding ring on my finger, and so do you, however temporary it may be. Do you know what that means? That means that right now I vow in the presence of God, a camel and a buttload of sand, to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health, in good times and in bad, in happiness as well as in sadness, and even when you behave like a bloody arrogant idiot!’
Well, thank you very much, darling.
‘I promise to hate you unconditionally, to support you in your aspirations as long as you pay me for it, and to honour and respect you as long as I get a free day off every week. This-’ she gave another violent tug, and I slid closer to the shelter of the camel, ‘is - my - solemn - vow!’[31]
I cleared my throat, spitting out sand.
‘How moving.’
‘You think it’s moving? Then move your behind! We have to get over there, pronto!’ She pointed to the dark outline of her camel, which was lazily snoring through the sandstorm a couple of yards away. ‘At least Ambrose will give us some shelter from the storm!’
‘You,’ I rasped, somehow managing to stagger to my feet and stumble over to her mount, ‘are going to change that camel’s name!’
‘Oh, I am, am I?’
‘Yes!’
‘We’ll see about that.’
Exhausted, we slumped to the ground next to the erroneously named camel. My dear wife started rummaging in the camel’s saddlebag and, a second later, pulled out - of all things! - a headscarf, pouring some of the remaining water from her flask over it.
‘Here!’ She held the thing out to me. ‘Put that over your mouth and nose!’
I gave her a look - the same kind of look with which I had sent gunslingers, highwaymen and aristocrats running for the hills.
‘That is Arabian women’s clothing! I will most certainly not-’
Smack! The rest of my words were drowned in wet cloth. I choked, trying to pull the thing from my face - then stopped. Somehow, even with the cloth over my face, it was suddenly easier to breath.
‘Leave it on if you do not want to choke to death!’ came the voice of my beloved wife from beyond the moist barrier. ‘If you do, be my guest and remove it.’
‘What was that about honouring and respecting me?’ I enquired from behind the wet cloth.
‘You remember the conditions, don’t you? I haven’t gotten a day off since we started on this accursed trip!’
‘Well, then I have good news for you.’ Reaching up, I pulled the infernal effeminate cloth off my eyes. But, as discreetly as possible, I left it over my mouth and nose. To some degree, she appeared to be right. It was easier to breathe with the thing on.
‘Oh yes?’
‘Oh yes, indeed.’ I swept my arm around, gesturing at the storm raging around us. ‘I give you the rest of the day off.’
‘Thanks so much, Sir!’ Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. For some reason, in the safety of the wet headscarf, I felt one corner of my mouth twitch the tiniest bit in some kind of muscle spasm. ‘I’m going to the nearest café right away to enjoy a nice cup of tea and a piece of apple pie!’
‘You’re welcome!’ I rasped. ‘And don’t forget-’
Whatever I would have said was cut of by a bellow of storm wind. Darkness descended around us, closing in from all directions, cutting off the sunlight as efficiently as a guillotine cutting the heads off the French aristocracy.
Hm.
