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Fatigued
The mule had decided to be stubborn on the way down - just what I needed. I was losing my energy and my patience. Eventually, after a particularly confronting battle of wills with the mule, I sat down exhausted and began to laugh. The situation suddenly seemed ludicrous to me. I was looking across the valley to yet another aftermath of a landslide in this untamed realm, no food, but yet tigers, snakes and spiders, sitting here with this mule, who didn't want to move, I wondered what his logic was. I told him, the faster you move, and stop being stubborn, the quicker you get to relax and eat your dinner. I indignantly arose and walked off. Stupid mule! Then, to my discreet relief, he followed. My eyes innocently encountered the sky, Ho Hum, I tried not to smile, and kept walking. Bless him.
A few hours later, I recognised different features of the path. They indicated to me, we were close to the bottom of the mountain, approaching the House of the Indians in Palomino. A flicker of excitement jumped in my chest, my aching legs and body, encouraged by the promising signs of imminent rest, gained the swiftness of a second wind.
It appeared the mule had adopted a similar inspiration though to a slightly more intense degree. He shot off down the path with all our bags a bumpety bump. Now everything that meant anything to me, in a material sense, was in those bags, and I could see my immediate survival high tailing it for town.
My comfortable second wind pace swiftly turned into a desperation-induced sprint. I was hot on his tail, oblivious to the lactic acid searing through my muscles. The end of his long rope was twanging out of my grasp. With an almighty lunge I managed to grab the rope and stay on my stumbling feet. Skiing, that is, rock skiing would be an appropriate term to describe my next manoeuvre. The wretched mule would not stop. My full weight dragging along behind him must have slowed him down a bit, because I had enough time to grasp for a stick on the path in passing. With stick in hand I practically catapulted myself to a position level with his fervent head. I forcefully pushed his head around to the side and grabbed the rope right up to the muzzle. In a moment of straining and battling, me red faced and audibly grunting in strain, I waved the stick near his face, he reared up a little, realised his defeat, snorted defiantly and then just stood there. I stood there as well huffing in exhaustion while we bleakly looked at each other. Crazy mule. I was too tired to be annoyed.
I waved the stick at him again, realising I had just discovered a useful source of authority, and in a wilted shuffle, we silently continued.
It wasn’t long before we reached the gate to our destination. I was definitely worn out, I felt like I had just conquered a mountain, but a glowing smile of satisfaction began dancing on my lips. I made it.
I strode through the gate and onto the property of the House of the Indians. I felt radiant and was greeted by some familiar faces as I tied up the mule.
As we were having a few laughs about the temperament of the mule one of the Mother Indians brought a rich, juicy mango over to me, I thanked her sincerely in her tongue and deliciously devoured the mango, savouring every drop of sweet nectar. I went to sit down on a bricked up ledge and wait for Mama, until, to my great surprise, I noticed him sitting on the ground under a tree. He was smiling and nodding slowly. I was immediately happy to see him, but raised my shoulders and hands in questioning. I sat down under the tree. He said, ‘You have been tested. Your spirit is strong.’
I was silent for a moment, I slowly shook my head and said "That mule Mama..." I looked at him sideways when I caught the glint of humour in his eye. ‘Moi bien’, he said. Very good.
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