Web wonders

The once sharp edges of the high Saharan dunes melt into the yellowy sky. The wind swirls and cavorts around the camels, lashes at their hobbled legs and creates a spiralling whirlwind of sand and dust as it heads for the shelter. Harry pulls the colourful blankets over his head to ward off the ferocious needles of sand so only his nostrils engage with the onslaught.

The sand waves gradually stand still, the dust starts to seep back into the ground and Mussafer, the camel train leader, peels off his head gear. A narrow black face with sunken cheeks and piercing grey eyes widens in a smile of crooked yellow teeth. Harry grins back, stares at the sand, virginal and clean, and notices the camels standing patiently, ready to leave. Like a sergeant in the army inspecting the troops, he moves down the line checking the camels’ backs for his canvas duffle bag

“Mussafer, Moooo Saaaaa fer” he yells.

“For God’s sake man, where is Fanny? Didn’t you hobble her to Jasper?”

“Yes Master. Yes, there’s Jasper.”

“Yes, but where is Fanny? Where are my clothes, where are my shoes?”

“Gone Master.”

“Gone! What do you mean gone?”

“She’s disappeared with the sand riders.”

“What?” he’d never heard of the sand riders.

“They are the Spirits in the storm. It’s no good, your clothes have disappeared forever.”

“Oh God” mumbles Harry. His legs turn to jelly and he collapses back into the sand.

“My shoes, not my shoes” he yells to no-one and everyone.

He pulls his Dishdashah around his body, hugging himself and protecting himself. His stomach catapults into his throat. He nearly chokes and his face feels hot and itchy. He tries to imagine no shoes.

“Bare feet! You’ve got to be kidding!” his mind vibrates.

“Mussafer, I can’t.”

“Can’t what Master?”

“Not have shoes. I’ve got to cover my feet.”

Mussafer’s two back gold teeth glisten in the sun as his face creases in deep furrows of laughter. There’s a long unsettling pause. Mussafer’s eyes see through to Harry’s soul.

“Here master, have my sandals.”

“What about my ...?” and he stops short of mentioning his ugly left foot.

Harry takes a deep breath and reminds himself why he’s in the desert. All his life he had travelled to the ends of the earth to source exotic and unique pairs of shoes. The invitation to join a camel train to Timbuktu to find a pair of jewel-studded leather shoes had been too good an opportunity to miss.

******

The trio are almost to Timbuktu and Mussafer and his brother, Mo, are sitting inside a Bedouin tent with their feet soaking in a steaming bowl of oily essence-filled water. The hut is obviously set up to share. Three grass mats that look low, flat and lumpy lie around the walls with striped blankets piled into the corner. A lonely lopsided cooking pot sits on a few smouldering charcoals and smoke ambles around the centre of the room.

“Hurry Master, hurry, the water is cooling fast.”

Mussafer and Mo seem to be meditating, their hairy legs exposed to the knee, their brown beautiful feet submerged. Harry is frozen to the spot, eyes transfixed on those feet. His legs are taut and stiff like a wooden doll and tears seep down his cheeks to sizzle on his embarrassed and confused face.

“It’s our custom Master. It warms the spirit, disperses evil thoughts and relaxes the mind.”

He moves towards the steaming bowls and cautiously guides his robes over his feet. He manoeuvres off the dirty old sandals, his socks long gone, feet now bare.

“Shit, oh no” Harry yells as the little low stool falls backwards and he lands flat on his back, with all, yes all exposed.

Mussafer hoots and cackles. Harry whimpers and whines like a lost puppy.

“Up you get Master, no harm done” and Mussafer helps him to his feet and pats him gently on the back.

“Weird” Harry thinks “he didn’t say anything about my foot.”

Harry relaxes, closes his eyes and day dreams about the Arab shoes.

******

The Royal Palace drips with gold. Lush red velvet drapes hang behind an ornate high-backed chair and potted palm trees line the pearl inlaid floor. King Maimon has his audience enthralled.

“You’re not a prince. You can’t go. Next please.”

“Wait, I must, please, I need those shoes. I’ll do anything. I’ll pay, I’m rich” replies Harry.

“No, the next part of the journey is only for princes.”

“Look, I have diamonds” and Harry opens a little blue velvet pouch and gently shakes the contents onto a low table. They twinkle in the candle light.

King Maimon hesitates, he stutters a quiet “No” but at the same time he peers greedily through the flickering light.

“And rubies.” Harry rushes on pretending not to hear. The red stars join the silver jewels in a kaleidoscope of bouncing light. He watches the King’s eyes widen and glow. The room has gone dead quiet. Harry can sense his own breath as it beats a drum in his temples.

“No, no, no. I will not be bribed” yells King Maimon.

“I can give you camels. I can buy you girls. I’ll give you anything you want.”

“Go away, Harry. Just leave. There’s not a place for you in the camel train.”

Harry’s shoulders droop. If he was a dog, his tail would be down and his ears flat against his head. He would slouch into the shadows.

Then Mussafer pipes up. “Master, Master, show him your feet. Go on.”

“My feet!”

“Yes Master.”

“My feet, my feet, why my feet?”

“Master there’s something you don’t know about those shoes.”

“Oh”

“A long, long time ago there was an Arab prince who commissioned a special pair of shoes is made for him.”

“So”

“He had webbed feet. Or rather his left two little toes were webbed.”

“What. What did you say?” Harry feels his face soften and relax. “Why did he want special shoes? Didn’t he want to hide his ugly feet?”

“No, no, no. The prince wanted shoes that would highlight the webbed toes, show them off to the world. So between each toe the leather was stitched and detailed with gems, then the two left ones which were bare, were studded with diamonds.”

“Harry you have a webbed foot. Go on, show the King your beautiful feet.”

The people from the King’s village and princes from all around the world bend in towards Harry like trees escaping the wind.

Like statues, no-one moves.

Images of the jewellery studded soft leather shoes and his ugly deformed foot jostle in his mind as it works out which is the most important.

“Come on Master” encourages Mussafer.

“I must have those shoes” he mutters as he slowly guides his Dishdashah away from his feet.

The crowd bend forward again. Harry can feel their breath on his face and soft silk robes brush against his legs.

“He’s a prince” yells the crowd. “Let’s party, let’s celebrate. Long live our new prince.”

“What do you mean?” says Harry. He can feel himself starting to roast.

King Maimon rises. The crowd quietens. Harry stops breathing.

“It is written that only princes have webbed feet. Prince Harry, welcome to my Kingdom. Now you can join us on the camel train to find the Prince’s shoes.”

“Wow” is about all Harry is capable of mustering.

All Harry can think about is the massive cover up his life has been. How he’s spent his life being embarrassed. How he’s gone to enormous lengths to hide his feet. How he has run away from relationships. How he’s had such a thing about feet and shoes that it’s driven his career, shaped his travels, dictated his wardrobe and perverted his life.

He breathes. He can feel each breath getting longer and deeper. He can feel the muscles in his back relax and sigh in relief. He can feel his face getting younger, his mouth becomes soft and his lips slightly curve in a smile.

Life does a cartwheel.

“A prince, you’ve got to be kidding.” He bursts out laughing. He laughs at the prince thing. He laughs at his feet. He laughs because he’s in the middle of the desert. He laughs as he imagines wearing those shoes. He just laughs until his stomach has such an ache that tears start running down his face.

“Just imagine. I could arrive at Heathrow Airport with webbed feet and toes studded with diamonds.” He bends over almost double as the giggles come back. The Royal Palace erupts in a cacophony of laughter and shouting.