Work in Progress - Alex in the drink
Write what you know?
For a novel set in 7th-century Syria, there’s a limit on how much personal experience I can bring to the story. In truth, I’m not an advocate of the “write what you know” limitations on storytelling. I prefer, “write what you have researched or can imagine”.
What if Milton, Verne, or Tolkien had stuck to what they’d personally experienced?
That said, the following is based on something I do know. It wasn’t on the Euphrates in AD 636, but it was on the Zambizi in 1992.
Oh, the trials we put our characters through! I hope you enjoy this excerpt.
*** A “kellek” is a raft made of inflated goat skins with a rope and wood frame. Below, I’ve posted links to two articles describing them. I did not want to lift the photos, out of respect for their copyright.
Countless days passed by, the landscape and sky’s majesty now too familiar for awe—every escarpment, riverside town, and flight of ducks the same as the last. Alex and Pharphar lolled in the heat with the rest of the travelers, dreading to move lest they stir their internal furnaces. But the evenings began to cool. They endured those among the mosquitoes on shore, the river too swift for anchorage.
As the emerald serpent continued its loops and turns southward, they encountered more obstacles. The oarsmen steered around shoals with finesse but were unable to miss them all. When they’d maneuvered through challenging sections, they would lift praises to God, then insist on collecting additional contributions in coin from their passengers. As the river’s force increased, the general mood turned from lethargy to anxiety.
Once, they jammed between two boulders where they sat watching other kelleks race by. With every male pushing and kicking, they gained their release and rushed on again, past watch towers, palm plantations, and increasing numbers of irrigation canals joining the life-giving Euphrates.
On the seventh day from Anah, they careened around a bend to find themselves in waves as if on the stormy Roman Sea. The raft spun, whipping them through a narrows. Its forward edge soared and crashed, sending the soaked travelers sprawling. The canopy collapsed. The raftsmen cursed. The women wailed as everyone called out to their gods to save them. Alex rolled to the side, fearing the baggage pile would collapse, and to avoid the canopy’s poles now spearing every which way.
Finally, the kellek righted itself in a smoother run. Alex sat up, dripping, but positioned to kick them off the boulders when needed.
More white water loomed ahead.
With a loud CRACK, Alex heaved upward. The world swirled blue, then green, then brown. Roaring thunder filled his ears. He’d barely snatched a breath, his arms flailing to find the sky, to gain control. Something hard. Something smooth. The raft. Above him. Rushing along over the top of him. Blocking his way. To air. He clawed at slick skins. Finding a rope that bound the floats, he hung on as his legs bashed against the rocks passing below. A pocket between two skins offered no relief from the churn. He had to get out from under the kellek. He let go, but traveling at the same speed, he remained beneath it, pressed between the roar and the raft. In desperation, he pushed backward, as if climbing down a wall. He popped free, gagging, just as they entered another run of green and white. Alex shot past a boulder and was ripped away from the floating camp. He pulled his feet around to place them out front rather than taking the beating with his head and shoulders.
Solid ground rushed by—right and left. Before him, Pharphar was attempting to stand, hands waving, shouting something back at Alex. The man’s cap was gone, his bald crown reflecting the sun, his tunic skewed, showing knobbed knees above thin calves.
Alex tumbled again. As he surfaced, the raft burst apart, sending people and property into the air and into the boil.
Everything slowed. In the distance, dark smudges filled the afternoon sky. He floated past a man thrashing in an eddy. Inflated goats bobbed and spun free of their rope bindings. A large bird passed overhead, oblivious to the humans gasping for life below. Sucked downward, bashed as if by fists from above, held with a force more chaotic than the waves of the sea, too exhausted to fight, Alex closed his eyes.
*** If you want to see what these “kelleks” look like:
https://www.aramcoexpats.com/articles/kelleks-the-inflatable-rafts-of-yesteryear/
https://itshistoria.com/social-history/kelleks/
Vivid description! I was right there with Alex, struggling against the rapids. Keep writing!
The kelleks look a bit like nightmare stuff, tbh - and I hope Alex makes it out of the river alive 🫣