Free Fish by L.S. Matthews Page B

where he crouched by the fire, rubbing his hands. “That's good. A clear night up on the top here would be even colder.”
    There was a silence for a moment, and I think we all thought about the Guide at the same time, because we would normally be eating by now, and we hoped he might find something. I saw the donkey pause in her chewing for a moment, and stare with pricked ears toward the direction the Guide had taken.
    When we heard the sound of a footfall, we all looked up hopefully. But out of the gloom, not one, but three ghostly figures emerged.
    Mum and Dad stood up and faced them straightaway, while I grabbed my Fish's bottle instinctively and clutched it to me.
    The three men stopped just outside the circle oflight thrown by our fire. They were dressed in the normal, pale robes of villagers, but they clasped guns slung across their chests and had belts of bullets low around their hips. I suddenly realized that they looked as cautious as Mum and Dad.
    There was silence for a moment while they took in the scene, and my parents stood there, looking ridiculously as if they were about to tell off someone they'd found wandering in their back garden. For a moment I felt a terrible urge to giggle rise up inside me, but I stared hard at the men's guns to frighten it back down again.
    The first man, who had a bit more of a beard than the other two (which was maybe why he got to be in the lead), released his hold on his gun and let it swing, looking relieved, but puzzled. The two behind him, seeing this, did the same.
    Dad spoke first, in a language he'd learnt before he came to the country, but which wasn't used by the local people. I only knew the language of the village— a dialect, Mum called it—so I didn't understandhim, but I thought it sounded questioning, welcoming but firm all at the same time—a bit like a head teacher asking what a new kid is doing hanging around in the corridor, if you know what I mean.
    The first man looked even more relieved and pleased, obviously because he understood Dad, and he prattled back at great speed. I could see Mum and Dad looking a bit perplexed and concentrating hard. They still found it difficult sometimes when people spoke quickly. Dad gave up trying to follow what the man was saying, rubbed his forehead and said to Mum, “He's speaking in another dialect, isn't he?”
    At this point, a stocky, fierce-looking man stepped forward very confidently and, to my surprise, smiled at my parents, and said something to the first man, who stopped talking. Then Stocky grinned at my parents again and said something else, and Mum and Dad smiled much more cheerfully and said something back, and I realized that they recognized each other.
    “I tell him, you come from the village, I know you there. You help with the school and the medicine,” hesaid. There was general greeting all round, but still I noticed a certain guarded tension in the air. The third, youngest man stood looking slightly bored and not particularly friendly.
    The first man, with the biggest beard, whom I called Leader in my head, tried our language, less confidently than Stocky.
    “You are aid workers. You have food, water.”
    I think he meant these to be questions, but he spoke as if he were stating facts.
    “We have no food. We did not bring enough for this journey. We thought we could cross on the road. We did not expect to have to cross the mountains, but they closed the border,” answered Dad.
    It was confusing to listen to, because as he spoke, so did Stocky, translating what he said into Leader's language, so that he could understand.
    Dad went on, “We lost most of the water. The donkey went over the edge and I had to cut away the packs to get her back up.”
    The older man sighed and shook his head, whetherin sympathy for us, or disappointment that we had no supplies to share, I couldn't tell.
    The youngest man, who hadn't shown much interest so far, suddenly looked across at me, still huddled by the rock on