Story

The story below was written as part of the creative process in the 'Cuentos que cuentan' project at Hechos. The original version is in Spanish (!) and can be found with this link - thank you to Mundo Catarata for believing in us!

Dreams in Goatskin

There was once a boy called Ali who lived in the Great Desert with his father and his goat called Saul. Sometimes, in the mornings, when the sun was still hanging low in the sky, Ali and his father would talk about the dreams they had the night before. Ali’s father always dreamt of the desert, as if his very flesh was made of it and would return to it someday. And it was true – for Ali’s father had never thought of leaving the desert.

Ali, however, always dreamt of water. This had been the case, ever since that day in the village when the elder had approached  him and said ‘ in the water is the destiny of man. If any man could carry his reflection to the other side of the desert, he would find paradise’. Since that moment Ali could not dream of anything else but water and freedom.

On one those mornings, eating breakfast beneath the orange sky, Ali’s father said to him ‘Son –tonight we will eat goat and tomorrow you will be a man and you will make your own destiny’. And so it was, that with the smell of burning meat in the air and the fire smoke dancing in the dark wind, Ali had an idea.

The next day Ali gathered up the skin of his beloved goat and went to the banks of a small oasis to wash it. He then began to sew 2 bags out of the skin with great urgency. At twilight, Ali had finished his work and was looking at his reflection as he often did, but this time, Ali plunged both his bags into the water and scooped up as much as he could. He then got straight to his feet and embarked determinedly on the journey across the desert towards his freedom.

Now, in the pitch dark with the cold of the night surrounding him, Ali could see the lights of a distant city, shining like stars that had fallen on the other side of the desert. Ali knew that that was where his destiny lay. He had heard it said, that there was a fountain in the central square of the city where pilgrims would go to drink and regain strength. Ali was sure that if he could get his reflection to that fountain, he would find his paradise, just as the old man had explained.

Two days of walking later and the city didn’t seem any nearer. Ali was feeling disheartened and thirsty – very thirsty. No-one can imagine the thirst of carrying two bags full of water across a vast desert. He felt tempted, so tempted, to forget all his silly ideas about paradise and simply drink and drink and drink. Right now, Ali thought, satisfying my thirst can be my paradise. But something, like a small bird fluttering in his chest, stopped him, and he continued on his way.

A little bit further on, Ali saw a cactus plant. He remembered nostalgically the day he had eaten one of these for breakfast with his Dad. Ali knew he could get water from inside the plant, so he approached it. Suddenly he felt his back soaking with water and he realised that a mischievous thorn from a branch behind him had punctured one of the bags. Water spilled to the floor..’No! No! No! My reflection!!’ Ali cried as he tried to gather up the water, but now it was all sand. Ali fell to the ground exhausted. He ate what he could of the cactus and before long found himself lying down to a deep sleep.

Again the orange sun woke him. But this morning was different – Ali could hear and smell the city –he knew he was close. With renewed energy, he picked up his bags again and set off for the city. He arrived at midday and with the sound of the minaret still ringing in his ears, he saw the fountain in the centre of the square. He saw the pilgrims washing their feet, he saw the grandmothers drinking, he saw the children playing in the water. But Ali was no longer a child … he knew what he had to do. He ran up to the fountain and poured out all the water from his bag.

Ali looked at his reflection and it took him by surprise – because it was no longer him, it had changed, now he saw his face as wrinkled and tired, dirtied from the road. An so he waited and waited and waited but nothing ..’Where was his paradise?’ he thought, ‘where was his freedom?’. Was it that his reflection had tricked him with the veils of time and change or was it because he had failed to bring both bags of water safely to the fountain? Ali grabbed the second bag, now full of sand, and poured it into the fountain. Suddenly the water from the fountain began to rise and rise until it overflowed on to the street and soaked his feet. Ali stayed concentrated on his reflection.

Meanwhile, the overflowing fountain was causing a disturbance in the square and people began to come out of their houses to see what was happening.  In amongst the shouting and the hysteria Ali began to cry, ‘I am not a man, I am still a child with a dream that I don’t know how to fulfil.’ Another pair of wet feet met with his. Ali looked up through his tears and saw some very familiar eyes. Before he knew it, he was caught up in the arms of a woman. ‘My son! How brave you are! How have you found me in this Great Desert?’ but Ali returned the question ‘Mother! How is it that you have recognised me after all this time?’ And she answered him ‘Son, your reflection may change, but water always remains the same, like the tears of a child that a mother can never forget.’ And right there, in the arms of love, Ali knew he had found his paradise.