<By chance I
found that the second door of our carriage - that on the other and from one
they wedged us through - wasn't locked.> I opened the door and looked at the
incredibly peaceful scene. White mud huts with small gardens and kitchen
gardens; a dust-bound herd returns from the field... Even the sun going down to
the horizon behind a mountain on the opposite side of the Reut River.
And the instinct as old as time, the instinct that force a trapped animal to
look for a way out, told me: Run! But I didn't use the last opportunity. Why? Probably
because it cannot be worse and thus it will be better; probably because one who
hides is guilty and one who flees is a coward? A hope? A stupidity? I don't know...