Forty days he was wandering in the desert. The devil was riding on his back and what a burden it was to bear in all that soft sand, mountains and mountains of shifting sand without solid ground beneath it. The weight of only another devil could send a man to the bottom.
The devil had a black hair tail like a horse and it sat upon the man's shoulders, warding away the flies for both of them. The flies, the circling birds, the ribcage dogs, fine and lean despite mangy coats — some animals were there to remind you of your death.
One desert dog came to walk beside the man. The devil hissed and spat and tightened its legs around his torso, but the man greeted the dog kindly. The dog had no problem looking him in the eye. Its eyes were sharp and black, the eyes of a meat-eater, but not cruel and not ironic.
When I fall you'll eat me, Dog, said the man. He moved one foot after the other and the dog swaggered beside him, panting lightly despite being used to the heat.
Yes, said the dog, but take your time. I'm not too hungry yet.
Forty days is a long time to wait, said the man and at this the devil trilled with laughter, flicking its tail so that it whipped the man in the eye.
Forty days? it snickered, My Lord, you're human remember? This is a desert. I am the devil and that is a dog.
The dog laughed at what the devil had said. It wasn't a wicked laugh but the laugh that a grown-up gives at the antics of a child.
Right enough, said the dog. Right enough.
And they plodded on together, the man and the devil and the dog.
The day began to close and the night sky drew over, littering the desert with millions of ice-cold stars. The sand was already cool on the surface when the man lay down upon it to sleep. His body was a little out of his control now, the way it fell so heavily before him as soon as he decided to rest.
The dog lay down beside him and asked, Aren't you going to eat something?
The man shook