I was walking as I could in the desert, in a feverish state, anguished. The sun fell over me plainly and took everything in. Everything was yellow, the sun, the sand; even the blue sky had a yellow dye. My dry lips burned and I sweated so much I had to make a big effort to move ahead. I began to see some shapes, like a construction, I made out figures. I might not no more. I stopped paralysed at certain distance. An old Arab with tunic and turban was coming towards me. He spoke a language I could understand, universal telepathy. He said to me: We shall help you, you need water. I wanted to speak and I could not. I felt I would faint, I saw myself lying on the sand, I crept down and finally I stood lying not being able to move. My eyes closed down, I could not see anything. The old man got to me, took my arm and arose a little my head and in my delirium I began to hear voices in Arabic: The old man asked someone to bring him water. The voice of a little girl responded from the construction I had made out she could not. The old man was more emphatic, he said to the little girl to do like he was saying and to hurry up. I am naked, said the little girl. I do know; how it would be not, come on, hurry up, do what I’m saying to you, shouted the old man. The little girl is coming already, we shall give you water quickly, he said to me. I heard the noise of treading. Well done, now go to dress up, said the old man to the little girl and the little girl went back to the tent. He held my head with delicacy and split over my lips a few drops. I passed my tongue along my lips with the little he had given me. Now, a little more, he said, and split a little jet into my mouth. This time I felt much better and sorted out the still few inside my mouth. He is better already, said the old man out loud to the little girl. Don’t worry about the water, we have enough, he said to me. I recovered from my feverish state but what I felt then was a heavy bewilderment and thirst, much thirst. Please, let me drink more water, please, I said. He said Slowly, and split more water bending the bottle to my lips and I drank with true pleasure. The old man said to me I shall give you the bottle now for you to drink to your liking, it is convenient not to drink too much. I sighed very relieved and incorporated a little. At last I could sit down properly, with my hands on my knees; I wiped the sweat with the back of my hand, looked at the tent and saw it was half adobe and half cloth. The little girl was standing there with a finger on her lips. I said to the old man: Thank you very much indeed, my brother. You are welcome, it’s been a pleasure, he said. I begged him to let me rest on the ground and breathe until I was totally recovered. Of course, he said. Reason, I thought to myself, I have come back to reason. They both understood by a gesture of my hands that meant thankfulness for what they had done for me and how crucial was the message I was bringing to the city. How lucky to have helped you! said the old man seeing me alleviated. The town is not too far away, he said. I stood up and gave a long sigh. I am very grateful to you, I said moved. I am taking a message I have tried to send through heavens and I don’t know if it has been heard already. Have you seen a signal or listened to a voice? The old man looked at me comprehending and he put his hand over my shoulder. Anyway, they are expecting me and I will be welcome, I said embracing him. After this I began to progress on my way and I saw an extraordinary light. I heard then the old man shouting and I looked backwards. He and the little girl by his side were waving to me from far away. They had seen that light too. I shouted to them as loud as possible, raising my arms to them with my fists clenched: God's Blessings! Bread for hungries! Water for thirsties! Catharsis of People Poor! The old man was waving his hand. Go ahead!, he was saying. I waved back and started again my progress. Plenitude! Paradise! I was shouting later rageously in the desert every now and then as loud as I could.
I finished to type down and add up this short story on Thursday, 12 January 2017. I had had a dream identical to this I describe here in this short story entitled Vision, withuot having read and not knowing anything about Argentinian writer Ricardo Güiraldes short stories book entitled Christian Trilogy.
The captivating music of birds and the enchanting beauty of roses have, each in their own right, inspired people around the world for as long as anyone can remember. How the two combine with the challenges faced by a struggling writer in Georgia to c