When the birds fly south

by Stanton A. Coblentz

To my joy, it was once more twilight. By the illumination of an open, glassless window, I could distinguish the details of the room—and singular details they were! The walls were of logs, great rough-hewn pine logs standing erect and parallel, with the bark still clinging; slenderer logs formed the flat low ceiling; and timbers crudely smoothed and levelled constituted what passed for a floor. Scattered masses of straw did duty as a carpet, while straw likewise composed my couch; and I was lying so low that I could have rolled to the floor without injury. I noted that the room had neither ornament nor furniture; that the wide, open fireplace, filled with cold ashes, seemed almost the only convenience; and that the door, while as massively built as the walls, was apparently without lock or bolt.

But as the light gradually increased, it was not the room itself that held my attention, but rather the view from the window. No painting I had ever observed was so exquisite as that vision of a green and white eastern mountain, rounded like a great head and aureoled with rose and silver where the rays of sunrise fought their way fitfully through serried bands of cloud.

The last faint flush had not yet faded from above the peak when the cabin door creaked and slowly opened, and I caught a glimpse of auburn hair, and saw two brown eyes peering in at me curiously. A strange joy swept over me; and as the fair stranger stood hesitating like a bashful child in the doorway, my only fear was that she would be too timid to enter.

But after a minute she overcame her shyness; gently and on tiptoe she stepped in, closing the door carefully behind her. I observed that she had not come empty-handed; she carried not only a water-jug but several odd little straw-colored objects. Approaching slowly, still with just a hint of hesitation, she murmured pleasantly in the native tongue; then, having seated herself cross-legged on the floor within touching distance, she offered me the water, which was crystal-clear and cool. The eagerness with which I drank sent a happy smile rippling across her face; and the daintiest of dimples budded on both her cheeks.

After I had satisfied my thirst, she held out one of the straw-colored objects invitingly. I found it to be hard and gritty of texture, like some new kind of wood; but while I was examining it, turning it round and round like a child with a new toy, my visitor was pointing to her open lips, and at the same time revolved her gleaming white teeth as though chewing some invisible food. I would have been dull indeed not to understand.

A single bite told me that the object was a form of native bread. The flavor of whole wheat was unmistakable; and, to my famished senses, it was the flavor of ambrosia. Only by exercising unusual will power could I refrain from swallowing the loaf almost at a gulp.

My greedy disposal of the food was evidently reward enough for my hostess, who beamed upon me as if well pleased with herself. I even thought—and was it but imagination?—that her shy glances were not purely impersonal. Certainly, there was nothing impersonal in the stares with which I followed her every motion—or in my disappointment when after a time the great log door swung inward again to admit a second caller.

Yet I did my best to greet my new visitor with signs of pleasure; for I recognized him as one of my rescuers. He entered as silently and cautiously as though on his best sick-room behavior; and after peering at me curiously and returning my nod of welcome, he murmured a few words to the girl, and as silently and cautiously took his leave.

Thenceforth, I was to receive visitors in a stream. The moments that day were to be few when three or four natives were not whispering in a corner of the room. A census of my callers would have been a census of the village; no one able to stand on his own legs missed the opportunity to inspect me. Children of all ages and sizes appeared in groups; gaped at me as if I had been a giraffe in a menagerie; and were bustled out by their elders, to be followed by other children, by men in their prime, women with babes in arm, and tottering grayheads. But most of my hosts showed that they were moved by warmer motives than curiosity; many bore offerings of food and drink, fruit and berries, cakes and cereals, bread and cheese and goats' milk, which they thrust before me with such generosity that I could consume but a small fraction.

While they swarmed about the cabin, I observed them as closely as my condition permitted. Their actions and garb made it plain that they were peasants; all, like yesterday's acquaintances, were dressed in rude garments of red and blue, with colored turbans and striped trousers and leggings, the feminine apparel differing from the masculine chiefly in being more brilliant-hued. And all, men and women alike, were robustly built and attractive. The majority had handsome, well modelled faces, with swarthy skins and candid, expressive eyes, at the sight of which I felt reassured; for here in the mountains of Afghanistan, among some of the fiercest and most treacherous tribes on earth, I might easily have fallen into less kindly hands.