Joost The South African – 9

 [A few days after Joost has flown home …]

Even on the busiest days, there are spaces between. Between reality, between action, between words, between particles. I rest there, mind perfectly still and empty.

Today was particularly trying. A general trailing a pack of colonels; more inane madness from LTC Slasher; calculations not adding up in time to make report deadlines; a dull PSD team … in the spaces between, I wandered the back roads of the United States in a convertible Cadillac with Joost at the wheel: hair loose, arms uncovered, legs in shorts, barefoot.  

When I arrived back to camp today I found two email messages.

One message was from Engineer Fahd. To understand this joke, you must know that Bado means Bedouin; traip means tribe; caw means cow, and mudy means muddy. Sometimes of means off. You can figure out the rest.

Sarin, he wrote,

you have a good back ground about the Bado. Each traip the smart and oldest one of them they keep him as the leader (boss) So: one of Bado his caw want to drink water from the tank (mudy tank) after it put it’s head in the tank it can’t pull up it’s head from the tank so they went to there leader and ask him to solve the problem.

“You now what he told him –???

“1- cut the head of the caw

2- broken the tank – so he can get the head of the caw (he lost both caw and water tank).”

This got me giggling because I can hear Fahd’s voice with the thick accent, and see his handsome, animated brown face crackled up in a delighted grin when he’s finished.

The other  message was from Yoost.

“Where are you?” he wrote. “Yoost.”

“I am still here,” I replied. “Resting between. Where are you?”



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