Breathe the ocean in

1

MARI

Recovering turns out to be as painful as hell, I'm dying for a sip of water, and my head is splitting. I get to open my eyes with a second try only. When I do, I can exhale in relief. Bless all the gods, I am not inside of the mangled vehicle in a middle of the freaking desert but in an ordinary room. The furnishing is modest, yet it is cool in here, and the bed I am lying in is soft. All of that means there are people out there behind this door. Waking up alone in the desert means death, but now I have a chance. It is long time no one visits me, so I can cope with my rebellious body at the very least. I try to get up, but I feel myself so weak, I'm not able even to tear my head off from the pillow. I close my eyes again estimating the perspective. A middle-aged man wearing a national dress enters the room when I'm damn tired of waiting already. He checks onto my distressful head without saying a single word and tries very hard not to look into my eyes. Actually he seems to be kind of reflective.

- Hello. Excuse me, what's your name? – I'm trying to build a dialogue and never succeed. – Where am I? – But he ignores me once again, offers me a glass of water and leaves the room in silence.

I spend few long minutes wondering what's going on and when I get to see government officials. After a small rest I manage to get up in the end. Along the wall I grope to the door he exited, this piece of wood is painted white and decorated with an intricate carving. I touch the tracery with my fingertips then pull the brassy knob, but the door doesn't open. And this very locked door it explains me everything: there will be no government officials, not at all. And I'll have to get out of this crap on my own. Without knowledge of language and traditions. In the absolutely patriarchal country. Woman. Alone. Shocked I'm sliding down the rough plastered wall and stay like that for a while. Natural needs claim its necessity in any situation, the next door is open, and there is a tiny bathroom there. I spend quite a long time examining a deep bruised scratch on my temple in the mirror puzzled where I could get one, because the airbags deployed both on the right and on the left of me. Afterwards I find the strength in me for a quick cold and hot shower. Shower sooths my headache a bit, so I can think sane basically. I find the tray with pretty edible dinner on a low table near my bed when I get back to the room. And starving's not on my to-do list – I, me and me again. The delicious dinner consisting of spicy rice with lamb and Turkish delights doesn't cheer me up. All I can see is a lonely palm tree and a piece of high wall behind my window which is so narrow you wouldn't be able to squeeze through it even with my constitution. That's it, little bird. The door to my dungeon opens once again while I'm meditating watching the palm. The new character appears to be the older man around fifty years old and he is dressed in a regular white shirt and pants in contrast with the previous one. We watch each other for a sec without any restraint, and then the stranger smirks and says:

- You will suit.

Not adding to it he exits the room, and I hear the click in the door lock, as I'm staying frozen with my open mouth ready to ask a question.

My weakness is still there, so I'm forced to get back to the bed recalling how awesome did it all begin. It was supposed to be a new interesting business trip, I really thought that was a big luck of mine. Mostly because of the fact that Palera is a closed country where foreigners can't get easily, publicists especially. I was packing my bags damn enthusiastic back in our apartment in Arana. Well, Alex asked me not to embark on an adventure of course, and I would only laugh coaxing him with the kisses. Think yourself, how could I lose such a chance? So I got straight to the net like a stupid fly.

Palera's located almost near the equator on the warm ocean coast. Its rocky waterside is facing the infinite sea surface, the desert approaches it stealthily from the other sides and guards the country of intruders surely. Its eponymous capital met me with the gentle breeze, bright sun and dreamy atmosphere of narrow streets with high painted fences. It felt so great after cold and snowbound February Arana, I was so ecstatic! There were four other reporters in my group, all the four of them were males from different countries. I even knew one of them as far as we're both from Kio. We were told that the reason of such a surprising indulgence had been the new foreign policy. Emir Mansur – Palera's governor – decided to adjust international connections and make the country more public. Our articles had to become first signs of Palera's popularization and to show its openness for the contacts. That sounded encouraging. Our group had a local guide named Salid and two security guards. I've been to the zone of the armed conflict once in the partially occupied with the neighboring nation Listan where reporters were supposed to travel with military protection, but the fact that we had to walk with security in quiet Palera didn't alert me. It's a closed country with its own traditions after all. That was a vain of me.