My name is Rha'el, I live in a house nearby the desert. I own a well of water, fresh water. My man died a long time ago. I live on offering my body and my water to anyone. I offer rest and nights of love in exchange for food, money, and everything could be useful to me. My couch welcomes all. Or not, maybe not everyone, not worms. I recognize their gaze, then I scream: "Get the water and go away.". Occasionally I can afford it. Sometimes they are so poor and ragged that they only leave me stories and great promises, but anyway they leave me authentic pieces of their soul. And I remember them all, one by one. They cross the desert and drink my water, poor and great men: warriors, merchants, fugitives, thieves, priests. They sometimes come from the village too, on the sly. They bring food, money, and, above all, stories to tell, in the silence, in the dark; stories that only a whore like me can understand.
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Desert tales
Historical FictionNearby the limits of the desert , a woman, a house a natural well of fresh and clear water become a place for pilgrims to calm down every kind of thirst.
