One Day in a Small-Town Desert, chapter 11, page 1

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Chapter 11: Finally, Someone Gets Arrested



Emperor Bhanar of the House of Narakamíníkı dreamed of a soaring throneroom replete with imperial banners and a motorbike racetrack. At the moment, he was not racing, but merely observing the bikers zip around, flying high off the dirt jumps.

Behind him, someone was talking, disrupting his entertainment. He stood up from his throne, adjusted his fur-lined cloak, and circled the ornate wood chair. No one was there.

And yet the voices grew louder.

They were muffled, yet distinctly in a foreign language. Sarıman, perhaps. He knew Sarıman. He could speak it.

The voices said something about a room and a person--a male person. They were going to see him. Something about injuries. They were going to see “Bhanar.”

The young emperor jerked awake. The voices weren’t from his dream, but reality. Someone was coming.

Bhanar sat up on the soft bed and looked at his surroundings. A dark bedroom he barely recognized. A musty odor in the air. Where was he?

The bedroom door swung open revealing several dark forms silhouetted against the brightness beyond. Someone flicked on the lights and Bhanar had to close his eyes momentarily.

A man with a deep voice: “Just as I said, there he is. You can check him if you want, but you’ll find his legs are perfectly healthy.”

Bhanar reopened his eyes to find two middle-aged men in blue paramedic uniforms approaching him. Behind them stood the old man, Pí‘oro. Memories came flooding back to Bhanar. This was Pí‘oro’s house. His wife, Vata, had brought Bhanar to this bed, after Zhíanoso had healed his legs.

One of the medics started saying, “Hi. We’d like to look at--”

Bhanar threw aside the blanket, staring down at his own legs. He still wore his denim pants thankfully, and his shoes, for that matter, but what drew everyone’s attention was the darkly stained white cloth bandage tied around his right shin.

The lead medic reached gingerly toward the bandage, but before he touched it, Bhanar lifted his leg and twirled his foot. No pain, of course. Zhíanoso hadn’t been just a dream. Bhanar had truly experienced a miracle.

“That doesn’t hurt?” the medic asked.

“No,” replied Bhanar, a smile creeping onto his face. “The great Zhíanoso healed me. My legs are not broken now.”

He bent his knee and started untying the bandage. He had to see his unbroken leg with his own two eyes.

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