I was woken by the heavy rumble of a mechanic’s
truck. The sky was streaked with high pink clouds.
From the van stepped this gorilla of a man,
dressed in an oily blue boiler-suit. He tutted
aggressively to himself, and spat. Moshe was
there, looking sleep-deprived, dishevelled. The
problem with the tyre was fixed in less than ten
minutes. The mechanic clearly thought we were
all retarded. Uncle hung his head, shamefaced.
Moshe had brought some hard bread rolls. We
ate hungrily. A night in the wild had piqued my
appetite. Moshe settled with the surly workman,
who grunted his thanks, pocketed the money in
his grubby overalls, and spat obscenely. We were
free to leave. Moshe manoeuvred the car around.
Soon we were speeding after the dust storm raised
by the mechanic’s truck. Barrelling back to the

Author: Robert James Berry

Poet & Novelist