"Is this horse yours?" I asked.

"Yes. Nusel doesn't know what to do with him. Poor guy, he will not eat if I am not around." He turned and spoke to the Arab stableman, who nodded every few seconds.

"It is too late in the morning to reach my home before midday. I suggested to Nusel that we relax with coffee until the sun's zenith has passed. The horse should eat as long as we relax in here.

"We should arrive at my home just before dark, in time for dinner. Are you hungry now?"

"Yes very," I said.

Clovis put his hands together and gave a slight bow as he spoke to Nusel. The stableman nodded and bowed deeply, then withdrew out the open side door. Nusel returned minutes later with three tall glass cups of black coffee along with bread and a large sugar covered pastry. I mimicked Clovis' bowing gestures as Nusel set the tray down between the stools on the dirt floor. Undaunted by the thick stench of manure hanging in the stagnant air, I broke off a section of the pastry and began to eat.

Clovis spoke at length with Nusel, periodically translating for my benefit. The temperature rose relentlessly inside the barn as the day wore on. Of the three of us in the circle, I was the only one sweating.

"How are you holding up?" Clovis asked, after the second cup of coffee.

"I'll be fine."

He leaned over to check the progress of the shadows visible through the open door. "We should leave." He turned and spoke to Nusel, who stood up and began to round up pieces of tack hanging on the walls. Clovis motioned for me to help the stableman as he led the lean horse out of the stall toward the back door of the barn. The sun dominated a cloudless blue sky. I carried the weathered leather yoke out to Nusel, who backed the horse up to an old, black painted, short buckboard wagon. Clovis immediately began work at the leather straps that confined the animal.

"Put your bag in the back. We are leaving," he said.

I placed both of our bags behind the seat and climbed up onto the bench. Clovis stepped up and sat next to me before taking a water soaked leather bottle from Nusel's outstretched hands. The reins cracked against the horse's back and we rolled out the open side gate. Nusel waved enthusiastically behind us as Clovis turned the corner. He turned south onto the wide boulevard, passing several abandoned buildings half consumed by sand. The wagon's wooden wheels reported of every small bump in the road.

"What's the story with that town?"

"What do you mean?"

"It looks like it's dying."

"It is dead compared to what it once was. Take a look behind you, Evan. That is the town of Al-Mocha, it gave the world coffee."

I turned and looked at the ghost town getting smaller behind us. "Al-Mocha is the same as the coffee Mocha?"