Daniel Sada - Almost Never

Next: the glow of a piquant sun. At the caress of its first rays Demetrio made ready to rise and start walking. Achy grumblings, indeed, but how much greater the suffering if he failed by the end of that day to reach a town, one with a hotel. A tall order, but if we consider it under a different light, maybe returning to the train station wasn’t such a bad idea, now that he was convinced he’d encounter no trouble. In fact: from that moment on his intuition would be his guide. So vast were his surroundings that merely locating a hill would offer comfort: and: to walk in that direction. Cottages here, train tracks there. He decided to head in the direction of the nearest hill, and as he walked he began to recite the Lord’s Prayer: so — phew! not since he attended church with his parents as a child, he didn’t even remember it, he made it up as he went along, and as he didn’t want his entreaties to be bogus, he simply muttered again and again, God, help me. Now we can take an even broader view: a man measuring more than six feet tall walking through the desert carrying a suitcase. Miles: three, five, to which we’d have to add the first signs of thirst. Fortunately, he came upon some cottages at the foot of the aforementioned hill. He received a peaceable welcome. The arrival of an enormous and unexpected visitor who, of course, asked for water. He spoke Spanish — really?! How could a local peasant imagine that a man of such magnitude would speak this language of ours without stumbling? With a different accent, to be sure, but not haltingly. And they posed the question that you and I (and others) can already guess: what was he doing in those parts, and so — must he lie? We’d guess as much, though that he did so with misgivings. The need for an untruth, even one pulled out of his sleeve. Here are the good bits: they were chasing him; he ran like the devil, leaped like a gazelle (though carrying a suitcase, packed with personal papers); he changed direction ten times to shake off the three or four villains (perhaps killers; no, not that, because they didn’t shoot at him); they probably called off their pursuit when they finally lost his trail. And in response to a key question from a young sombreroed man as to the reason for the chase, the recent arrival said his pursuers had confused him with another man of his same height, one who had fled in a different direction, one who was carrying a hefty sack, indeed, and the contents — eh? what were they? and the answer: I don’t have a clue! The sprinkling of questions soon abating met with a bittersweet counterpoint of lies? Yes, which he had to maintain until he reached a village: a fully fluent supersized scammer, aware that any sharp query, formulated by any tomdickorharry, would be like an itch that would mean a pathetic scratching: almost a swelling. So, at least at this impasse, luck in the abstract seemed to take the form of a redeeming angel, the one who had accompanied him from the moment he got off the train. Because the peasants believed him, out of pity, or tenderness, but they believed him nonetheless, or better yet, they forgave him, so much so that nobody dared ask him to open the suitcase. A pistol inside: a real probability, or an unhealthful mystery. Better to meet the unknown with meekness. Better to enter the realm of respect, and a small dose of decency, don’t you think? Nor did he receive any indirect abuse, no suspicion, nothing, for as he appeared, he appeared to be a good man, just to hear his woeful voice … The luck of the crossroads! merciful … Back to the important subject: when the visitor asked the whereabouts of the closest town, a peasant said there was one about twenty-five miles away, and another offered to take him on his burro to a dirt road where passed trucks and people on horseback, if only rarely. A head start of six-odd miles: some sort of favor, but — oh prodigy of prodigies! For Demetrio was born under a lucky star, and now its luster was beginning to be felt, a beneficent and honed luster it turned out to be.

A burgeoning lie becomes a crass albeit pleasant reality. Watching that duo atop a burro retreating into the distance must have greatly amused those peasants. Poor burro carrying a dwarf and a giant, an unexpected oddity in that open country: the giant’s feet constantly brushing against the ground, inevitable: glorious dust, a yellow seam sewn by hooves and feet: an image soon to become a faint point before it disappeared. Few questions along the way, rather comments from one or the other but not about the pursuit. The conversation, such as it was, was too oblique to matter; in fact, there’s no point in mentioning even a sentence at random, or rather, if you’ll forgive me, perhaps only those spoken upon parting.

“Well, sir, here’s where I leave you. I hope all goes well by you.”

“Thank you very much, really. I am very touched by all you have done for me.”

“Good-bye and good luck!”

This apparent conclusion to the episode was the sign of an almost unbelievable elucidation, in which the coming mishap implied roads going in all directions: how could Demetrio be certain that trucks and men on horseback passed by here. His four-hour wait was weighty (as bad as that sounds), and nothing, and then hunger and anguish, thirst as well, for the sun had baked him dry. He was sweating, he was trembling. Then he remembered the money in his suitcase — would it sweat? A drenching. A softening. What was going on in there? So he opened it, just to see: yes: humidity, the dangerous eventuality that the money would be worthless if it began to fall apart. Gripped by such fears, the wayfarer grew more and more concerned at the unlikelihood of a truck picking him up to carry him to village x. Unless all that stuff about a village was those folks’ idea of a joke, uh-oh, he was talking himself into an ill-fated end: going the way of dry toast … Getting toasted, indeed: iron willed and gullible. Something extraordinary would have to happen before evening: salvation like a hanging bough, but for hours not even the distant hum of an engine, nor of horse’s hooves, nor of any phenomenon that might bubble up into a mirage. The process of penitence, for having done what he had done, while his body’s stuffing was already wadding up from hunger and thirst, so much so that taking even mincing steps was as painstaking as trying to climb a eucalyptus tree would be for an obese man.

Evening came and nothing.

Night came and nothing.

Falling asleep in spite of himself, impotently … Making do with the gravel of the road … Better to be resigned to vanquished immobility than attempt …

Hope that torments then slowly swells the soul …

Again the suitcase (with no give) for a pillow — phew! though now corrosive and pervasive hunger and thirst prickled him everywhere, even his thoughts, which already made diminished sense and were jagged and sharp and malevolent.

And his lucky star: was it melting? Just one of its points drooping, perhaps turning black, because the following morning, very early, a rickety vehicle drove by carrying two sombreroed men, who, upon espying that vast human form facedown and expired: ah! a death in the middle of the desert, sunstroke be the cause. The men descended from their truck to see for themselves the horror they imagined. They found the giant half alive though nearing the end, for it took several long minutes for him to respond and engage in conversation. Neither of the above-mentioned opened the suitcase — just so you know. Phew, at least one of the points of Demetrio’s star hadn’t melted entirely.

“I want to get to a town … I need a hotel … I’m hungry and thirsty … Help me!”

Almost exactly twenty-four hours without water or food, which wouldn’t have been so catastrophic were it not for the horrific sunstroke the giant had suffered: the loss of strength in tandem with psychic deterioration and new diseases that for all we know had no cure. On the good side: life: a counterflow, in itself the only friendly light and still on this side of things … His saviors made but spare effort, alternating between helping him walk and letting him wobble, just to see if he could go it alone, before settling him into the vehicle’s staked bed. A rush decision, after all. A rush to cover the large body with a blanket to protect it from the blasting sun.