From the series: Love has more than one colour
In the coldness of the desert
A short story by David Arthur Thorpe
The rain fell upon his bald head and drops trickled down the crevices of his face but his expression was one of sadness and grief, not of annoyance to be standing at the mercy of a cloud burst. The other mourners were more attendant to the words of comfort spoken in a monotonous tone by the priest, sheltered under an umbrella held by one of the young acolytes. His thoughts were far away in the desert of North Africa.
Slowly the coffin was steadily lowered into the grave, accompanied by sounds of sobbing from the gathered family and friends. It then disappeared from view. The mourners paid their last respects and then discreetly took their leave. The last to leave the grave was the widow,
supported by whom he assumed were her daughter and son; he even remembered their names Silvia and Sam. On leaving they looked at him as if questioning his relationship to the deceased, but departed in silence without acknowledging his presence.
Left alone Jack tasted his salty tears diluted with the rain drops, wetting his quivering lips.
He allowed his emotion to overwhelm him and he cried bitterly. On controlling his feelings he turned away from the grave and slowly made his way towards the large iron gate, rusting in the unrelenting rain. His thoughts were again reliving that day in the desert of North Africa.
The vehicle was making its way along the desert road, barely recognizable due to the sand drifts. The driver Bill and his co-driver Jack were in good spirits; singing the old “Tipperary” song and looking forward to arriving at their base camp after having delivered two severely injured soldiers to the military hospital in Alexandria. Literally out of the blue, like hungry hawks in a downwards flight, claws outstretched to kill their prey, spitting fire the two enemy aircraft attacked. Apparently ignoring the clearly visible red crosses on the sides and the roof of the vehicle. The bullets missed the driver`s cabin but in an attempt to avoid the ricochet of the fighters` bullets, the swerving ambulance overturned, spilling out the driver and his companion onto a sand drift.
Although one had a hand injury, they were not severely hurt and even managed to retrieve vital necessities, blankets, water and provisions, before the second attack set the vehicle in flames, reducing it to a blazing wreck. The hawks left the scene of their ravaging as quickly
as their arrival.
They watched the enemy fighters fade away over the horizon and finally disappear.
Although they were in a state of shock, they smiled at each other and Bill said:
“They didn`t get us this time the bastards, no they didn`t get us this time”, repeating the fact to emphasise a positive outcome.
They both then fell into silence, contemplating that there would probably be a next time.
It was a miracle, they had survived the onslaught.
After packing what they had rescued from the ambulance, they began to trudge away from the wreckage. The merciless sun made no exemption for the two weary soldiers, hazardously making their way through the dune landscape, be-packed with the bare necessities for a march through this inhospitable desert. Only the appearance of a mirage interrupted the endless monotony. They were lost but ignored the fact as that could have meant a slow and painful death. They still clung to the hope of reaching their own front line and not to be captured or shot by an enemy patrol; for this was Egypt, late October in 1942, not far from the coastal town of El Alamein.
The horizon, like a magnet, was drawing the sun ever closer. The air was not as suffocating but was gradually becoming cooler. The two soldiers were exhausted and their progress negligible. They realised they must make a halt for the night and chose a shelterd hollow in the dunes. The sun suddenly submerged below the horizon and darkness spread its cloak over them like a silent shroud. They laid themselves down, their blankets wrapped around them. The temperature had dropped significantly.
Bill started to pray for their deliverance but his words were blown away by the bitter cold desert wind, covering with sand the two forsaken men. Jack began to weep quietly, fearing not to withstand the night. They both shivered and sought the other for warmth and comfort and the unspoken need to be near some one; perhaps for the last time.
They embraced each other and allowed their passion to escape from the darkness of its captivity. Their lips met in a tender kiss.
The first rays of the morning sun discovered them in each others arms. They had survived the night. They ate the last of the provisions and sipped the remaining water in discreet silence but their eyes revealed the unsaid. The moving desert and the cold desert wind had been witnesses but they vowed not divulge the two men`s intimacy.
Their prayers were answered. A patrol of two armoured jeeps spotted them half buried but alive in the indifferent sand. It was not an enemy patrol but part of the Australian contingent of the allied forces. They were brought back to Alexandria to the very hospital from which they had started out on their desert odyssey.
They had survived the night and also the war and were together till their discharge, after which they returned home but never saw each other again. They wrote letters to one another often, detailing the mundane news from their lives but never was mentioned that night in the coldness of the desert. That remained in a special place, deep down inside of each one of them.
The second battle of El Alamein was fought from the 23rd October to the 3rd of November , 1942 under the code name of “Operation Torch”. A total of 13,500 German and Italian soldiers were killed or wounded and 20,000 British and Commonwealth soldiers.
|
