A conscript in the Kara Kum (Part Two).

MIDWIFE IN A YURT

I WAS ONE of the very few Europeans able to speak some of the local words. It got me into a totally unforeseen situation. We were in the midst of the desert, building terraces for the rice fields. I was a team member of the military clinic, serving the builders. Our connection with the locals was limited to waving at each other from a distance.

One day I was called to the commander's tent. He ordered me to attend to one of the wives of the local Communist Party chief. I asked what the problem was and was brusquely told to be ready for anything. Two non-Russian-speaking natives loaded me and my medical bag onto a disdainful camel and off we went.

A camel moves slowly in an undulating, fluidly rhythmical way. Chronically sleep-deprived, like everyone else in the army, I fell asleep almost immediately. I woke up on the burning hot sand. After hauling me back up between the humps of the camel, my guides lashed me to the saddle with rope and let me sleep in some safety. Ironically, hard as I tried, I was not able to get back to sleep.

The overwhelmingly hot air burned your nose the moment you decided to breathe, seeming to singe the hairs inside the nostrils. Unending, silent dunes passed slowly like petrified waves, complete stillness interrupted by the whispers of rivulets of sand flowing down from the crests of the dunes like foam. The still air was fuzzy and out of focus and gently undulated, distorting all lines, hinting of untold discoveries, tantalising the curiosity of the observer. The horizon seemed so close that one felt compelled to touch it, to find out what was hidden beyond.

Thin wisps of denser air drew together, making strange figures suspended between the sand and pitiless sky. A lonely vulture glided in the immense depth of the blue, looking like a fish in an upturned aquarium, making giant circles in search of dead or weakened flesh below.

We arrived at the nomadic outstation. Several brightly coloured yurts--round tents made of felt and supported by a wooden frame--huddled around a desert well, which was marked by the skull of some animal and a large flat stone used as a lid. A small group of men and kids watched our arrival. Kids giggled, pointing their fingers at me as I was unglued from my Rosinante. The sand seemed to keep moving long after my feet touched the ground, and I felt nauseous.