The temperature needle edged its way into the red danger area as steam hissed out from the bonnet of my car.
I, in my wisdom, had taken a short cut and was now well and truly lost.
This was the desert, the middle of the desert. I had drunk the last of my water; the bottle was now mockingly warm. There was nothing to be seen for miles, save the odd dry bush or an unsure scurry in the sand as some desert creature hid from the scream of my engine.
This is it, I told myself. Time’s up. My mind ran over the situation again and again. I laughed inwardly at the irony of it all at my wallet stuffed with money, my bag packed with clothes and a new pair of running shoes in case I had to walk any distance. And yet I had nothing.
I was without water except for the pearls of sweat running down my face and into my mouth. I tasted salty. My heart was gripped by despair and fear. Here was I, surely about to die, and all I could think about was the contents of my boot.
I sent out a prayer, not expecting to be heard at all.
I was without hope; My dreams of escape and a new life were to be buried in the scorching sand.
I drove on. I can’t say how much later it was that I sighted a wooden shack in the distance, but it took what seemed like an age to reach.
As the car shuddered to a halt outside the dwelling, I saw a young boy, his eyes wide and staring, come out from behind it.
I got out of the car trying to look friendly and harmless, to hide my desperation but my uncontrollable smile betrayed me.
I asked the boy for water. His looks surprised me. He was fair with long hair and clear blue eyes unlike most of my fellow countrymen who, like myself, were darker skinned and brown eyed.
I noticed he was not wearing any shoes and yet, amazingly, he was standing on the hot sand. I thought he would not be able to understand my language because he lived so close to the border of the country so I decided to illustrate my need for water dramatically.
The boy turned to look at an old man who had followed him from their home. Their silent exchange said much; water in this place was the most precious thing in creation.
For one horrific moment I thought that their glances would signify a refusal. I went weak with a fear which went to the very heart of me. Then the old man nodded his head and without a word the boy turned and ran behind the hut to a primitive well, hand-dug into the solid and parched earth.
The old man’s gaze fixed steadily on me. There were signs in his eyes of a lifetime’s hardship and yet a tranquillity I had never seen before the like of. There were deep wrinkles in his face from age and sun. He had long hair and a beard which had turned almost white. He was wearing traditional clothes, which reminded me of a Dervish; he had a stick in his hand and he was barefoot.
I was absorbed by his appearance, when the boy finally returned with an animal skin full of water.
He offered it to me, and I gratefully drank until I almost choked on its cold sharpness. The taste of that water will stay with me forever, such was its purity.
As I drank, and splashed the water on my head and my hot face I asked them discreetly where we were and what I heard made me happy. It was such a relief. I was close to final escape. Now I could feel a gentle breeze blowing, so nicely so refreshingly.
” I am alive.” I mumbled cheerfully.
The boy and the old man watched me intently.
What happened then has burned itself into my memory forever. I, in my fast, material, city ways offered the boy a handful of bank notes from my wallet. “Take this, please.” I said, “you’ve saved my life”.
The boy’s blue eyes, which again stared deeply into mine said a lot as he slowly shook his head. “You are our guest Sir” he calmly told me, “What is ours is yours to share.”
My embarrassment must have been evident as I thanked them both and turned to go towards the car. I felt empty and powerless. Money has no value here.
The boy followed me and as I filled the radiator with the rest of the water he asked me where I was heading. “towards the border city of ‘ Zahedan ‘ I have some business there.” I added. Even here I was on guard. He begged me to wait a moment and ran into his house.
He returned with a few coins which he pressed into my hands. ” I heard they sell shoes there.” he said excitedly, “Could you bring me some?” The coins would hardly have bought a new pair of laces, even less new shoes. ” I am sorry, I will not be coming back this way. I cannot take this.” Even as I spoke the boy’s expression changed to disappointment – a look I recognized and knew well.
How could I possibly tell him that I was going to the border to escape, to save my life; that I was running from fanatics ready to kill me for difference belief. “I am sorry.” I mumbled again as I got into the car. He took a few steps back to stand with the old man.
Neither spoke as they waved me off their stares as steady as ever, their lives barely touched by this brief encounter.
As for me, my mind was now a scrambled mess of emotions.
My only consolation was that I had in some small way repaid their kindness, for as I drove away I left behind me my new pair of running shoes, the ones I had bought should I have had to walk any distance.
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