companionship. There is so little left of him, with no purpose in life but to serve and die for the Emperor. To die
alone in this barren, godless wasteland. Unloved. Forgotten. But with this boy, though, that can be prevented.
The man’s elation is further augmented by hope and determination. Hope to die with a loved one at his side.
Determination to care for and love the boy, as if he were his own. Back home.
For the next few months, the man shares his food, gets a mat, and care for the boy. As they trudge through fields,
hills and trespass the desert, the boy supports the man. Together, they pull the carts of supplies. Communicating
through occasional eye contact, gripping of arms for support and steady pats on the back.
They stop after about a week traveling on the desert. Their destination point is end of a wall about three men
high. Its sandy insides within the standing rows of stone slabs spill out, exposed. There are others already
slaving away at the wall. Their eyes are clouded with grief, anger, sympathy and a terrible sort of longing.
Longing to die.
For the first time since their journey, they unveil the carts hidden underneath the stiff fabric. There are
massive stone blocks. The soldiers bring their horses impressively on their hind legs, and crack their whips in
the hot, dry air.
During the rest of the day, they stack slabs of stone, continuing the procession of the wall. The stones
are quickly heated up by the sun’s merciless rays. Waves of heat carried by the wind. Their hands and feet
become scalded. Blisters bubble endlessly from the skin, likening to the surface of boiling water.
The man stays close to the boy. He passes the load from the boy up the ladder. Together, they fill
barrows of hot sand that shone like gold under the sun. At night, they huddle against the side of the wall, sharing
their warmth, and bury their feet in the icy grains of sand. To freeze and harden the blisters into protective
callouses for their next day of labor.
The boy is filling a separate barrow of sand. A few lengths away from the man, who is also filling his own
barrow. Both dig near the side of the wall, evening the floor of sand, where the largest pits lay farthest from the
wall. Near the wall, there was the risk of having the stone slabs dropped from above or ladders fall on a man.
Here, in the extreme climate conditions of the desert, fainting spells are common.
The man, every so often, glances at above the boy. Then, with a falling heart, he sees another stumble
in his step on the wall. Carrying a stone slab. Above the boy.
His feet sink and burn in the scalding sand. As he runs. But he moves, oh, so slowly. His heart nearly
stops by the dread that he will not make it in time.
His hands reach forwards. For the boy.
His body is above the sand. Flying. Free.
His body is spread-eagled on the sand. Unmoving. Caught by the heavy, slab of stone on his back. He
finds it hard to breathe.
He hears an agonizing, throaty scream. The boy, with the help of others gathered around for the
spectacle, heaves the slab off the man. It is easier to breathe now. The grains of sand near his mouth shift as he
exhales.
He sees the boy’s eyes, too big for his gaunt face, wide and flooding with tears. He feels something wet
fall on his cheek. He feels at peace. Content. And when he feels another hand squeezing his own hand, he knows
that he is not alone. But loved.
* * *