Gracias

Song: Jesus the Mexican Boy by Iron & Wine

The sun was hot as he came up over the hill and down the path. His cart rattled behind a grey ass and kicked a cloud of dust that rose to waist level and drifted down. A quarter mile away, a traveler on foot looked back for two strides and kept on. He watched his boots, listening to the scuffing sand and watching the swirls of dust from his soles. The traveler wore a khaki flat-brimmed hat, a loose linen shirt, and thin, brown pants. On his back sat a canvas rucksack and from it's left side hung a metal canteen. His skin was red and beads of sweat populated his brow. He brought the canteen to his mouth. His jaw squared as he drank and his adam's apple rose and fell three times before he took the canteen from his lips.

The sky was cloudless and the land was flat now, with hills in the distance and the city, just over the hills. He'd likely not reach it before nightfall. The traveler could hear the cart again and looked back. He could hear faint music be he readjusted his pack and kept walking. A scorpion skittered across the path to a small rock and hid in the shade. The traveler watched it covetously but did not stop walking. He brought his canteen back to his mouth and drank what he could – stopped after one pull and there was nothing left. He screwed the cap back on and wiped his arm across his brow.

The traveler could hear the cart louder now and the music too. He turned for a second and tripped over a stone, tumbling to the ground. Dust plumed over his body and turned his clothes brown-grey. He planted his hands on the hot earth and unfurled his body. Standing and walking, he smacked his clothes and dust retreated with each assail. He reached for his canteen but did not pull it towards his face – he kept it there for a second and then let his arm fall limp.

The cart was close now, maybe ten yards off and the traveler tucked his thumbs under his pack straps. His shadow was below him and he looked straight up to see the sun. Then he looked back and saw the man in the cart. His skin was dark and his cloths were thin and light colored. He wore a large straw hat and a big dark mustache and he was whistling.

“Hola, compañero de viaje!” yelled the man in the cart, waving his hand and smiling. The traveler did not look back. He looked at his sleeves – bloodstained to the elbows. He did his best to roll them up past the crimson. “Señor?” he called again. The traveler stopped and turned to the man in the cart.

“Hola,” said the traveler.

“Oh, you are American?”

“Yes.”

“Would you like a ride?”

“Gracias,” said the traveler and smiled.