The day after today

The reddish stone beneath her feet is still pleasantly cool. The first rays of sunlight are already falling clearly and warmly across the wide plains, yet the coolness of the past night retains the upper hand for now. She walks with rapid strides along the well-trodden paths, her bare soles leaving barely an impression on the hard ground. A gentle, steady wind from the west drives sand and dust into her face, but it cannot penetrate the fine cloth, richly embroidered, that veils her face and also covers her long dark hair. Her steps are purposeful, her long legs placing one foot in front of the other. She knows where she wants to go, even though orientation across the wide dry plains is not always easy and the paths cross and wind in a confusing tangle. The well lies a good two hours' walk from the settlement and today she is running late. Hopefully not too late. If the sun rises too high, it will become unbearable in the heat, yet she cannot linger at the coast and wait for milder temperatures either. The waters are too unpredictable, the wind too wild. 

So she runs faster. The fabric trousers flutter around her legs, as does the light blouse. Worry drives her forward, furrowing her pale brow, whilst her eyes fix on the horizon. The small donkey behind her snorts reluctantly, yet it can still keep pace. The animal is old and wretched and she certainly would not have chosen it as a beast of burden if it were not the last thing that has remained to them. She pushes aside the dark thoughts that threaten to flood her mind with energy. She and her kin have lost too much ever to forget it. And yet now is not the time to dwell on it. Her goal is clear and she must reach it before it is too late. If the days are already barely tolerable around midday now, it will grow hotter still every month and each year the chance of survival seems to diminish. She presses her lips together and drags the beast forward, even though it snaps angrily at her arm. 

Not returning is not an option. The settlement needs the water. And although she knew this, far too much time passed this morning before she finally set out. Guilt overcomes her with an icy fist that strikes her in the stomach. All of a sudden it is there, scattering every clear thought and every will to survive. Gasping, she stumbles on, suddenly there are tears that rob her of her sight. Onwards. She must go on. Her foot catches on a stone and she falls. Hard, her knees strike the ground and the rough sand tears open her palms. Hot tears fall and are greedily absorbed by the parched earth. She remains in this position for a moment. Crouching on knees and hands, whilst tears run down her nose and nourish the ground. This is what the world has become. Greedy. Desperately thirsting for water in some places and elsewhere lamenting in storms and floods. Angrily she strikes the ground with the flat of her hand. Dust swirls up. The earth is doomed to death, yet the final struggle has not yet been fought. 

She stands up energetically again, grabs the donkey's rope, which stares at her unmoved from dull eyes, and continues on. Almost defiantly she wipes the tears from her face before the sun burns them into her skin. The ground begins to heat up slowly. Her soles feel the rising warmth. It will not be long before she cannot take another step without blistering her feet. She hurries on, yet the sun seems to rise so much faster than her legs can run. At last she recognises before her the flat hill, behind which the land drops steeply towards the coast. She runs even faster, turns off the path and now fights her way through hot sand that makes walking laborious. Gasping, she presses on. With each step she seems to slip back half a step again. The exertion makes her gasp for air and dust settles on her lungs. Coughing, she trudges on. The donkey behind her bleats indignantly. It too is struggling with the slippery sand. Only slowly does the ridge draw nearer. The grains of sand gradually burn themselves into her skin, yet she pays this no heed. When she finally reaches the top, they are both exhausted. The donkey snorts with half-open mouth, its tongue hanging out. Reluctantly it pushes its head into her side and shakes its long ears. 

But she stands upright, spreads her arms and enjoys the fresh wind that tugs at her clothing. The air tastes salty and is as fresh as it can never be in the desert. Far below lies the sea. With angry waves it crashes against sharp rocks and steep edges, whipped up by wind and heat. And to her left, slightly above sea level, lies the well. Her destination. It stands on a small plateau that pushes like a fist into the sea. The sight of the stone water hole throws her back into the present. The sun is already dangerously high and the heat beneath her feet returns. Quickly she reaches into the small bag hanging at the donkey's side and slips into light yet robust shoes. Then she grabs the animal's rope more tightly and begins the descent. Slipping and stumbling, they slide down the steep slope, keeping to the left. The donkey complains repeatedly, yet does not hesitate to follow her. Several times her knees are bruised when her feet unexpectedly strike firmer ground, yet she ignores the sharp pain. The sandy waves beat around both their legs, fine grains of sand rub against the skin. At last they reach the stony outcrop on which the well rests. Unshakeable, the old stones arranged in a circle rise up. She now feels the exhaustion that the forced march has left in her limbs. 

Yet her task is far from complete. She must be back before noon. Hastily she drags the donkey to the edge of the large well. There she throws all the baggage from its rickety back. Then she grabs the small barrel, which is well secured on a rope winch above the abyss and lets it plunge into the depths. Far down it goes, until the rope is slack for a brief moment and she can hear a soft splash. Now she grabs the donkey and ties the rope to the belt that spans the animal's belly and chest and drags it forward. Time is pressing and the sun burns ever more as it steadily rises. She would have to lower the barrel two more times until all the leather water skins that the donkey and she herself could carry were filled. Only slowly did the barrel rise higher, so much more slowly than the sun, or so it seemed to her. At last it reached the rope winch and she hurried over to set the tub at the well's edge. Water sloshed over her hands. Precious, noble fresh water. The donkey came to her of its own accord. With trembling hands she reached for the leather water skins that she had carelessly thrown to the ground and filled them as quickly as she could with the liquid. When the donkey tried to lower its head into the barrel, she pushed it aside irritably. Her own throat was parched, yet first she wanted to get everything important done. 

Meanwhile the sun's heat burrowed into her neck, even though it too was veiled with cloth. Her heart pounded wildly under the mounting pressure. She had to manage it. The settlement needed this water, whatever the cost. After two more agonisingly slow loads of water, she had finally filled every vessel and secured it on the donkey's back. A small bundle she would carry herself. Before they set out again, she took several large gulps of the remaining water at the bottom of the barrel and now let the donkey drink as well. Then she grabbed it by the halter and together they fought their way, now heavily laden, up the steep slope. With the weight, they were thrown back further with each step than they had been on the ascent on the other side. For a brief moment she doubted whether they would ever reach the hilltop. But then the donkey seemed suddenly to develop a hidden strength of will and with energetic steps it fought its way up the slope, dragging her behind it. She was too relieved at finally having reached the top to pay further attention to the refreshing wind and the salty air of the sea, which crashed thunderously against the rocks in the depths below. She gave the donkey more rope again, hastily they slid down the other side of the slope and returned to the firmer path. Immediately it became easier to walk, yet the sun stood high. Far too high. The shadows were already beginning to shrink, whilst the air shimmered in hot waves above the earth. 

Her steps were long and fast, she ran as swiftly as her remaining strength allowed. The donkey snorted and panted, yet if it came to it, it would have the greater endurance. The ground glowed. Even through the solid soles she felt the heat. Endure. Keep running. Sweat ran down her brow and back, ran into her eyes and made them water. She ignored it. She also ignored the weariness in her legs, which clung to her thighs like a heavy burden. She ignored the dull pain in her knees from the rough descent and she ignored the urge to tear all her clothing from her body in the heat. The sun would burn her skin within seconds, whilst the radiation greedily bored into deeper layers. It would not be the first time that someone returned from the well and then, after hours, after days, suddenly collapsed dead, destroyed by the sun. She hurried on, even though each step became increasingly difficult. It was not far now. She just had to endure. She stumbled on through the desert, through the eternally red wasteland. 

Within a radius of many hundreds of kilometres there was nothing but dryness. High in the north there were some regions where green plants grew and the heat did not burn every patch of earth. But there the weather was unpredictable. It could rain for weeks, bring storms and floods and then not a drop for several months. At the coasts the sea was a raging beast, unpredictable and dangerous, riddled with treacherous whirlpools. The south was no different. The ocean had claimed countless islands, vast tracts of land had vanished in the rising waters. People lived cut off, struggling with drought, water shortage and diseases that multiplied wildly in the overheated world. Settlements were scattered far and wide, so that epidemics did not have too devastating an effect, yet in this way every village was on its own. Every year the harsh conditions took their toll. Animals died in vast numbers, agriculture barely existed any more, the world population numbered only a few million, without anyone knowing exact figures. Catastrophes chased one another in a terrible game. In this bleak solitude she ran on to save her village. She ran and knew nothing of the sandstorm that had long since destroyed every house, every tent in the small settlement with all its inhabitants.

Charlotte Popp