Blood Lily Company - Afghanistan, year 1

XXXI

The next day, as promised, we all got equipped as for a patrol and left for the village. It was no longer snowing, but the snow had not melted yet. It was so beautiful, our promontory, under this immaculate layer...

The non-combatants accompanied us: Cook was dragging a cart with a gas stove and a tightly closed and already hot large kettle from which wafted the scent of hot apple juice, cinnamon and orange peels. In their backpacks, Ketchup and Mustard carried lukewarm brioches with board and knife. Doc and Nanny, Mike and Phone were there too, each carrying a small crate containing Erk's second batch. He wasn't carrying anything, Doc had told him that if he wanted to go back to the field he needed just a little more rest, especially after dancing that damn tango with his brother.

We found the villagers at the foot of the promontory, just where our path leaves the northern road. Cook set up his stove to keep the apple juice warm and started distributing it, along with slices of brioches. The people of the village offered us biscuits and tea. We talked together in Turkmen, the main local language, along with Dari.

The cutest was the Viking. And how can a man that big be that cute, I have no idea.

He was sitting on the ground, his guns emptied of their respective magazines, tucked under his vest to be easily grabbed and snapped in if needed but out of the reach of the children who could injure themselves. He leaned against a rock, surrounded by boxes... and kids. And both dogs, which let the little ones climb over them.

No bun today, just a really long ponytail, which some kids touched, fascinated by the color and length. His hair is exactly the color of gold. If you have a piece of gold jewelry at home, look at it, you'll know what I'm talking about. Falling down his back, it looked like a waterfall of precious metal.

One of the kids remarked he had a girl's long hair. That made him laugh. A toddler had sat in the crook of his long legs, holding a strand of his hair in one hand and sucking his other thumb.

Erk started telling a story in Turkmen, getting help from one of the older girls when a word was missing. From the little I caught, he was telling the story of Samson and Delilah, explaining with a laugh that it was the reason why he'd let his hair grow. Then he moved to fairy tales, Sleeping Beauty, Puss in Boots, putting his own spin on the story and the children were in stitches. Some of us, understanding Turkmen and sidling close, would smile discreetly when the narrator deviated a bit from the tale, or added a fun or out-of-context remark, or a downright modern twist on the story. It seems to me that the Puss had a smartphone with an app like AirBnB to find the castle and another, like Tinder, to find an available princess. And I'm positive the Prince had a GPS with an annoying voice to find the Sleeping Beauty. Although we were far from everything, smartphones were quite common even if, in this village, only the chief and a few others had them.

Every now and then one of us would bring him a glass of apple juice or tea and he would slip a "Thank you" into his narration.

He was doing the characters' voices, and his high pitched voice for princesses or fairies was hilarious, especially coming from his warm baritone. He also used a lot of gestures. The children were hanging on his every word.

I notice that one of his hands was resting, protective, around the shoulders of the baby holding his hair.

One of the children having asked what was in the crates, Erk pretended to check if any adult was around and opened them one by one. And with pseudo magical gestures, he took a whole terracotta bestiary out of them and distributed it to the children amid shouts of joy.

And then, we had to go our separate ways, and the one who had the most trouble seeing the villagers leave was the giant. The baby's mother, glad to have been able to relax, kissed him on the cheek, making him blush.