Just Deserts (21 page)

“Nobody owns a well, it's for all.”

“You're still not answering my question.”

“I didn't dig the well.”

I let out a big sigh of frustration. “Did you or did you not provide the money for that well to be dug?”

He nodded his head ever so slightly.

“Now, was that so hard?”

“Not hard. Just not something I talk much about,” he admitted.

“And that's why you do this, why you take people on these little strolls through the desert, so you can get money to have wells dug?”

“I do this for lots of different reasons, but the money allows me to help in my own small way.”

“So what are you trying to do, put in wells across the whole desert?” I joked.

“Yes, I am,” he said quietly.

I laughed.

“No, really.” He paused. “But that's enough about me for now. What's important is about you, and what's going to happen today.”

“What's going to happen?”

“We're going to walk to the next oasis and then rest.”

“How far is that?” I asked.

“Less than fifteen kilometres. Do you think you can walk that far?”

“I can walk that far. How far is Tunis?”

“Just over one hundred kilometres.”

“But I have to be there in two days!”

“I'm afraid that's not going to happen.”

“It
has
to happen!”

“I'm sorry, I really am. I know you'll lose money but—”

“This isn't about the money.”

He looked confused. “Is this about showing your father that you can do it?”

I shook my head. “It's about me. I'm going to get there … in two days.”

“Do you have any idea how hard it is to travel a hundred kilometres in two days?”

“No, but you do. Is it possible?”

“Of course it's possible. I've done it.”

“But can we?”

“That's certainly a question.”

“Then I guess the only other question is whether or not you're going to help me get there.” I paused. “Well?”

He looked at his watch. “We'd better get going.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THERE WAS A CERTAIN SENSE
of satisfaction in travelling so far so quickly, and so early in the morning. There was also a certain level of smartness. The sun was still low in the sky, and we'd been moving for two and a half hours. In that time we'd stopped, briefly, only twice. Both times it was for Kajsa's bathroom breaks, and both times she had insisted that we do a double-time march for a minute afterwards to make up the time and distance she'd cost us.

Larson had made it clear to me that if we were going to make a big push to get to Tunis, it would have to be something we all agreed on. So we sat down together to discuss it. Andy was up for it immediately—he was always ready to push himself a little harder—and Connor and Kajsa signed on, too. Even though nobody said this out loud, I know we all understood that if anyone struggled, if anyone changed their mind, we would simply slow down again or take a break if we had to. Maybe, I thought,
that was what being a team was really about—not just the obnoxious rah-rah, go-team kind of stuff. It was about real, mutual respect.

Larson led the way, setting the pace, and we followed behind, sometimes in pairs, sometimes four across, sometimes in single file, but always matching and meeting the rhythm he was setting with his feet. I broke into a little jog so that I could catch up to him.

“Hey, how far have we gone?” I asked.

“Remember when I told you there was an oasis about fifteen kilometres from where we started?”

“Yeah?”

“Look up.”

There on the horizon was the oasis!

“I feel like I'm looking at a mirage,” I said.

“It's real. We did fifteen kilometres in under three hours.”

“So if we moved at this pace for twelve hours, we could cover sixty kilometres today?”

“That's the mathematical answer. The physiological answer is different. If you tried to keep up this pace right through the middle of the day, you'd break down.”

“I'm not going to break down.”

“Somebody is. The thing about pacing yourself is that you find a rhythm that your body can keep, you find your limit.”

“But what if we push past that rhythm, past the limit? I know you've done that.”

“I've spent the better part of my life trying to make impossible into possible,” he said.

“If you could do it for a lifetime, why don't you think we can do it for two days?” I demanded.

“I didn't say you couldn't. I'm not here to stop you. I'm here to lead you. I'll let you push as hard as you can push. But right now, we have to slow the pace.”

“But you just said that—”

“That I'm here to lead you. I've done this a couple of times before. I know how to do it. We slow down the pace and relax the muscles so that after we stop at the oasis for our break, we can get started again. Of course, if you really want to go off by yourself again, you're welcome to do that.”

“I get the message.”

We kept walking—at a slower pace, step after step—but the oasis was elusively, annoyingly farther than I'd originally thought. Distances in the desert can be like that. I kept my eyes on it, making sure it wasn't going to disappear like some mirage. As we got closer, I started to make out its individual features. There was scrub brush and bushes and trees, although none of the trees seemed very tall. I thought I could pick out water, but the intensity of the heat often made the overheated air wave so that it appeared to shimmer like water.

“Is this well yours, too?” I asked.

“None of the wells are mine.”

“Are we going to go through this again?”

“I provided the funds for this one, yes. It's the newest.”

“I thought so. The trees aren't that big.”

“But the water is sweet. Can you smell it?” “Water doesn't have a smell.”

“Yes, it does. Try.”

I was going to argue, but arguing about the smell of water made less sense than thinking it had a smell to begin with. I inhaled deeply through my nose. All I caught was a whiff of concentrated heat.

“How long are we going to stay at the oasis?” I asked.

“Not long. We'll refill our water containers, soak our feet, grab something to eat and have a nap in the shade.”

“We don't have time for a nap! We have too far to travel today!” I exclaimed.

“Because we have so far to travel, we need to take a nap.”

“There's no way I can sleep,” I said.

“You don't have to sleep, but you do need to stay in the shade and out of the noonday sun and heat. It takes too much out of you to travel during that time.”

“But if we don't travel all day, there's no way we can put in the miles!” I protested.

“We'll start moving by two.”

“That means we'll have less than five hours before dark. We can't cover thirty-five kilometres in that time.”

“You're right, we can't. That's why we won't be stopping at sundown.”

“We're going to walk in the dark?”

“We'll move as far as the four of you can travel. But first things first. Let's get to the oasis.”

TWO OF THE SLEEPING BAGS
had been opened and strung between trees to provide shade. It was still unbelievably hot, but much cooler than in the open. The five of us crowded into that little space. There was hardly any conversation, and the only words spoken were in hushed tones, so as not to wake up anybody who'd managed to get to sleep. Everyone, including me, had slept for at least a little while, but Larson seemed to be napping for almost the whole rest time. He'd eaten, drunk some water, lain down and gone to sleep.

I looked at my watch. It was almost two. Somebody was going to have to wake him up soon or we'd miss our restart time.

Almost on cue, he sat up. Everybody looked at him. “It's time,” he said.

Those two words seemed to energize us. Everybody began to put on their socks and shoes.
Mine were already on—I'd been afraid to take them off. I got up and started to take down our shelter, undoing the strings to free up the sleeping bags.

The gear was all stowed back inside our packs and the water bottles were topped up to the very limit. We were ready to go.

“Okay, let's get moving,” Larson said.

CONNOR SLOWED HIS PACE
until he was right beside me.

“Can we talk?” he asked quietly.

“Of course.”

“In private?”

“Yeah, of course.”

We both slowed down a little more so that the other three moved farther ahead and out of hearing distance. I had a pretty good idea what he wanted to talk about and was already feeling guilty. I had to say something—should I come clean about the whole thing?

“I wanted to talk to you about Ashley,” he said.

“I thought you might. I was just—”

“I really want to thank you.”

“You don't need to thank me for—”

“I know, I know, friends don't have to thank friends, but still, I want to. It's not just about Ashley, it's about how I pretend that things that bother me don't bother me.”

“I'm not sure how much she really is still bothering you.”

“She's not. Not now. I did what you said. I thought about the whole situation and realized that I was right in breaking up with her.”

“But I thought she broke
your
heart?”

“Well, she did. It just hurt me so much to have to break up with her. I felt like such a jerk, but I had to do it. It was the right thing, and because of you, I can put all of that away, and that's why I'm thanking you.”

I thought about confessing, but what was the point?

“Well, then, you're welcome.”

I was glad he felt better. I knew I did. Maybe that wasn't the most honest resolution, but it was the best for him, and that made it the best for me.

“How far do you think we've gone already today?” Connor asked.

I could have told him in steps, but he might have found that a little freaky.

“We did fifteen kilometres before the break and now another eighteen after, so about thirty-three kilometres.”

“Any other time that would seem like a pretty amazing distance,” he commented.

“Not today. We're basically just two-thirds of the way to our goal.”

“Do you really think we can do fifty kilometres?” he asked.

“Not before dark, but we'll do it. How are you feeling?”

“I'm good, but I'm worried about Kajsa. She looks tired,” Connor replied.

I'd been watching her for the last few kilometres and noticed that she was struggling. Her stride was shorter, and more choppy.

“She's tough. She won't stop,” I said.

“If worst comes to worst, we'll just have Andy carry her on his back. I think he could walk all the way to Tunis tonight,” Connor said.

“Always good to have the Terminator on your side.”

Up ahead the three of them came to a stop. Kajsa slipped off her pack and went off to the side once again. As she disappeared behind a slight ridge, we caught up with Andy and Larson.

“How about if you all go ahead. I'll wait for her,” I offered.

“I can wait, too,” Connor added.

“All of us can wait,” Andy said.

I shook my head and smiled. “You know you want to keep going,” I said to Andy. “All of you keep going and we'll catch up. I promise.”

“Okay,” Larson said, “but don't get lost.”

“Yeah, or this time we're not going to come looking for you,” Andy said.

“I won't get lost. Just get going.”

They all started back into gear. I slipped off my pack and set it down beside Kajsa's. I undid the zipper and went to pull out my extra water bottle when I had another thought. I undid Kajsa's zipper and started removing things from her pack. I took out her sleeping bag and the tent and put them into my pack. I'd have to do this fast before she reappeared because she might object if she knew what I was doing.

Next I grabbed her headlamp, some clothes and an extra pair of shoes. I stuffed them in and then, with a struggle, did up the zipper. I zippered her pack up again, just as she reappeared. She hadn't seen anything.

“Sorry, I feel like I'm slowing everybody down,” she apologized.

“You're not slowing anybody down.” I gestured to the three of them, still within sight.

“How about you?” she asked.

“I had to stop to go to the washroom myself,” I said. A little white lie. “I told them not to wait because we'd catch them.”

I reached down and grabbed her pack. It did feel light.

“Here you go,” I said as I started to help her put it back on.

She slipped her arms into the harnesses. “Strange … it feels lighter.”

“That's probably just because you've rested for a minute … and lost all that weight out of your bladder,” I offered as an excuse.

“Not much weight lost from the walnut-sized bladder. I'm really going to have to have somebody look at it when I get back.”

“It wouldn't hurt,” I said, “but I'm sure it's nothing. You said you've always been like this, and your doctor did do tests, right?”

“Lots of them.”

“And he found nothing, so don't worry.”

“It's kind of you to say that,” she said. “I know you're just trying to make me feel better.”

“No, I'm not,” I argued. “I hardly ever say anything to try to make anybody feel better.” That was certainly the truth. “Just don't worry is all I'm saying. Everything is going to be fine.”

“Thank you.”

She reached over and, to my complete shock, gave me a little kiss on the cheek!

“You and Connor and Andy have been so good to me … you're all like my brothers!” she exclaimed.