ONE HUNDRED-FOUR: Man without a face

ONE HUNDRED-FOUR: Man without a face

She woke up to something nudging her, shaking her gently.

At first, the misshapen figure frightened her and she tried to push away.

She felt silky hair in her hands.  She tried to focus her eyes on the face in front of her.  Warm sweet breath poured over her.  A soft chirping vibration filled her ears.

A Momo’s arms were lifting her. She closed her eyes and let herself be carried.

She was sat back down in a shade and felt the breeze of a fan.

Gentle fingers pried open her mouth. She felt something cool and wet on her tongue.

“Hey,” a man said.

She tried to open her eyes. 

“Just a little. Whoa!  Too much’ll make you sick.”

Arous stomach resisted the cool liquid.  She gagged.  She felt something cool on her neck and face.

“There, there.  That should help cool you down a bit.”  Arous forced her eyes open to see a thin, rugged faced man bending over her. His dark skin wrinkled into carved kindness and wisdom about his face.

The Momo was just beside her.

“It’s you,” she said to the Momo.

The Momo chirped and attempted to sit her up a little straighter.

“Maybe I should get you out of here?” The man said and the Momo nodded.

Arous looked over and saw that she was leaning against an old rusted and red pick-up.

“Let me guess,” Arous voice cracked. “It has the name Ford stamped into the tailgate.”

The shade of the man’s hat obscured his face but she could see him laugh.

“Doesn’t come with AC but at 55 MPI it’ll be cooler than this dessert.  Take my arm.  Now that’s it.  Easy up.”

“I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers.”

“Few have said it better than that,” he said.

They both smiled.

The Desperado helped Arous walk to the truck, ever patient with her stumbling steps.

The Momo opened the door and secured Arous before shutting the door.

“This is where we depart, my friend,” said the Desperado to the Momo tipping his hat.

The Momo leaned in and kissed Arous on the forehead.

“Thank you,” said Arous.

They began to drive away.

“I sung her back to life,” said Arous.

“I know.”

The bumpy road refused to befriend her as she sipped bit after bit of water. They had already had to pull over once because of her body’s stubbornness to guzzle. The jostling of the truck didn’t help her struggle any.  They rode in silence for many miles, nothing but the squeaking and rattling of the truck ever voicing its opinion about the sorry state of the roads.

“I make it a point never to ask anyone where they’ve been. None of my business to remind you of that.  But I do need to know where you’re going.”

“Home.”

“I’m sure the folks will be glad to see you.”

“I hope.”

Soon they had agreed on a drop off point: Chara’s Crossing. He had already planned to take a route that would pass Chara’s.  She didn’t say where she was going only suggested Chara’s Crossing as a place they both knew.

They were less than a couple of hours from Plateaus’ Edge and the lift there. They drove the rest of that day and through the night before reaching the coastal plains that Arous knew to be home.  She could smell the faint salt and the strong sent of pine and cedar. As the sun began to rise and turn the sky above the treetops pink, Arous recognized her drop off point.

“There! Chara loves to sit on the porch in that rickety old rocking chair.”

The red ford came to a slow and deliberate stop.

“Here you are young lady.  It was my pleasure to serve you,” he said.

“Thank you.” Arous slammed the door.

“I would offer you some water to take but,” he paused. “Never have to drink much there do you? It permeates to your very soul.”

Arous mouth gaped speechless.

“Take care of yourself, young lady and give my regards to your father, the Diofe,” the Desperado said.

Arous began to walk away from the truck when she turned to ask his name.  The truck was already in gear and rumbling down the road as she looked through the rear window at him.  He stopped, turned to look back at her from the cab, smiled at her, put on his wide brimmed hat (which he had not donned for the entire trip) and drove away. He just drove off leaving Arous to wonder how he knew her name.

“Impossible,” she whispered. “The man without a face.”