NOW, AS DANTES APPROACHES A FORK IN THE ROAD, he hears an inner voice say, “Our destiny is to the left, turn left.”
Startled, he concentrates and hears more thoughts in his inner ear, surreal feminine whispers. He mentally questions, “What destiny? Who are you?”
The answer comes in that other-worldly, inner voice, “In the direct line of the progeny from Abraham through Ishmael is a man named Abram, who will accompany us to Shechem, where I will further reveal myself to you, and we will find oneness. He and one of his daughters are a part of our plan.”
“What plan?” asks Dantes under his breath.
“Wait and hope for the plan to unfold, naturally, in due course.”
“Who are you?” he asks again.
“My name is ‘Wisdom.’ I am your true mother, your parental principle. Only I reveal noumenon and phenomenon, cause and effect. Phenomenon is without form and void, yet our thoughts move upon my visage of all elements, declaring, ‘let there be enlightenment and there is enlightenment.’ We see that the enlightenment is good, so we call it the first dawning stage of stable consciousness, which brings about peace and progress.”
“How can I hear you, yet not see you?” asks Dantes.
No answer comes, so he thinks he might be hallucinating. In this deepest part of the desert, the stars shine more brightly than Dantes has ever before observed, and the austere beauty of starlight on sand touches his imagination.
The full moon appears on the horizon, and shines upon an approaching camel.
The man riding thereupon shouts, “Ho! Good tidings of peace. I come in the name of my master, Abram, ruler of the nearby oasis. He invites you to rest and refresh under his hospitality, if you are the Sultan of Albania.”
“I am he,” says Dantes, “and glad to accept the kind hospitality of your master, Abram. Please lead the way.”
While they travel, two burning questions occupy Dantes’ thoughts. How did Abram know that he was traveling nearby, and how had that strange inner voice known of Abram? Dantes decides to act like this coincidence is of no consequence, choosing to leave the mystery alone for the time being.
When he reaches the oasis, the sight astounds him — luxurious silk tents, topped with waving flags, stand alone in the desert. Between the tents, white-robed servants bustle, and the rich smell of roasting lamb fills the air.
The man who approaches him from the largest tent is tall and gaunt, with a shock of white hair, but he moves with a slow authority that marks him as the master of the oasis.
“Sultan Sinbad,” he exclaims heartily, “welcome to my home! Come, come, dismount; I will introduce you to my wives and daughters later, but for now you must relax in our healing waters.”
“Water flows in the middle of the desert?” Dantes asks in disbelief. “This I must see.”
Abram leads him to a natural hot spring that bubbles up from a small grotto sprouting from the sand, and Dantes sits in the bubbling water as he enjoys the cool evening air.
A young lady, veiled, places her feet in the water next to him, whispering, “Enjoy this delicious date, my Lord,” and gently presses the fruit to his lips. “Your beard has grown very long since you became Sultan of Albania.”
Dantes inquires, “How can you know that?” The woman’s voice is warm like honey and smooth as silk; he hopes her face is as beautiful.
“My father read us the big book, The Count of Monte Cristo, and nowhere did it say you had a long beard, except when you escaped from D’If prison on that fateful night, and then you cut it the next day.”
“You are the daughter of Abram?” inquires Dantes.
“One of twenty-two; my name is Raymee, ending with a double ‘e’ like that of your favorite wife, Haydee. I don’t think this is an ordinary coincidence, and I am sure you being here is but a step along the path of our mutual destiny.”
“That book doesn’t say Haydee and I are married, so who was it that told you this and gave you the book?” Dantes questions. “How is it you know so much about me, and I know so little about you?”
“It was one of the characters in the book — he was recently here, and he was an excellent source of information about you. Can you guess which one?”
“Ah-ha! Danglars!” declares Dantes. “The other candidates from my tale are either dead or in an asylum; there is no one else it could be.”
“Yes! And that same Danglars is trying to earn a finder’s fee for helping my father sell me in marriage to the Caliph of Mecca. I am a damsel in distress needing a clever prince, or comrade of your caliber, to rescue me. If you can save me, my prayers will be answered and I will be forever in debt to you. Can you deliver me from the fate of the harem prison awaiting me?” asks Raymee.
“You won’t be the first girl I have delivered from an unwanted betrothal. And as charming as you are, how can I say No?’ Is there another man you are already in love with?”
“Perhaps, but I can’t say yet what his name is, so please don’t press me further. A lady should never reveal her true love, if she’s not sure he returns her sentiment. Do you promise?”
“Very well, enough said. Trust me to keep your secrets.”
After a few minutes of silence, Dantes notices a hawk perched near the hot springs and comments, “I have just such a hawk. Does your father hunt with it?”
“No,” replies Raymee. “That is my hunting partner, Zingi. Do you bring your hawk on your journey?”
“Yes, I always do,” Dantes says. “My servants were several miles behind me, and should have already arrived — one of them has the raptor in his keeping. Would you like to pair our birds of prey for a hunt in the morning?”
“Would I? I would love to,” Raymee says with excitement. “In fact, that is one of the reasons I don’t want to be locked up in a harem, because I would miss this life of hunting and freedom.”
“Perhaps I can persuade Caliph Saad to give you more freedom, by explaining to him how my wives run their own affairs and businesses, with total freedom,” replies Dantes.
“That might help, if I decide to marry him; but for now, I have no plans to do so. I do not love him — how can I, a man I have never met?”
Just then a shooting star streaked across the sky, so bright it seemed as if they could reach up and catch it in their outstretched palms. Their jaws dropped, as they looked at each other in awe, each taking a deep breath.
“What a wondrous sight,” whispers Raymee. “Do you think this sign is a symbol of our new friendship, marking the importance of our meeting?”
Dantes, his mind still wrapped up in the glory of the firmament, agrees. “We must indeed take this omen seriously. In the future, it may guide some significant decision we make together.”
At that moment, as their eyes meet through her veil and a warm feeling flutters between them, Mumad approaches with an angry expression and says, “Raymee, your father is looking for you. What are you doing here?”
“Cousin, I am checking on our guest, the Sultan of Monte Cristo, the same one we have heard so much about. Please see to his needs, while I say goodnight to Father. Goodnight, cousin. Goodnight, Sultan. Mumad, will you go hunting with us in the morning? His Majesty has his own hawk.”
Sounding less agitated, Mumad says, “Oh, is that what you were discussing? Certainly, include me. I will be ready at dawn.”
Sinbad wonders if this Mumad might be Raymee’s true love, but he doesn’t sense that type of chemistry; yet it is clear that Mumad is in love with Raymee. He can see it in the looks Mumad gives Raymee when she is not looking — half full of longing, half angry that she does not notice him in that way.
Raymee sashays off, well aware of the picture her slim figure makes in the moonlight. After she goes, Dantes rises from the hot spring and begins to dry himself. When he is fully clothed once more, he reaches into his pack and pulls out a brass object, topped with a glass globe. He fiddles with a knob on its side, and the object soon produces a bright light. Mumad, captivated by what he thinks may be magic, asks,
“How do you make that lamp burn so brightly?”
Dantes responds, “I created in this lamp a small upper chamber full of water and a smaller lower chamber, filling it with rocklike calcium carbide. This valve lets the water drip into the calcium carbide at a steady rate. When the water makes contact with the carbide, it develops acetylene gas, which I set to be directed to a nozzle in a parabolic reflector, which you noticed I lit manually. I can keep this lit continuously for days. See if you can blow it out.”
Mumad blows as hard as he can, but he cannot extinguish the flame.
“Allah Akbar!” cries Mumad. “Your invention is magnificent.” He is impressed with this interloper despite himself, and feels a secret worry inside — with such a man around, how could Raymee ever care for her cousin, instead?