Don't try to drive across the Kalahari desert alone,” my friends in the city said. “If your car breaks down, you will be there for days before anyone passes by and it is terribly hot. Besides, what will you do if you meet a Bushman?”
　　My friends told me that Bushmen were wild people who had no mercy2 for travelers. When a traveler lost his way in the desert, they said, there was often a Bushman watching him from behind the tall grass. The Bushman was waiting for him to die, my friends said. He was waiting to take the    traveler's water bottle, belt and shoes.
　　Listening to my friends, I almost decided not to drive across the desert alone. But I was going to a distant town in Southwest Africa, and the road across the Kalahari Desert was 1000 miles shorter than any other. I decided to try it.
　　For a long time everything went well, but then my car broke down! The sound of the engine told me that there was no water in the radiator3. I lifted the hood4 of the car and looked inside. It was true—the radiator was empty—and I was 30 miles from a village.
　　I sat in the car for an hour, trying to decide what to do. “Shall I pour the last of my drinking water into the radiator?” I thought. “Or shall I pour it down my throat?” I certainly didn't want to leave the car and look for water in the desert. “If I do that,” I thought, “I will probably lose my way, and meet a Bushman, too.”
　　So I made as much noise as I could with my automobile horn5. I sounded the horn every ten minutes, hoping that some other traveler passing near me would hear.
　　The noon sun was terribly hot, and the car was as hot as a stove. There was no air anywhere. I felt lonely and thirsty, and remembering my friends' stories, I was a little afraid, too.
　　Then I saw the Bushman. He was squatting6 behind the tall brown grass. He was holding a small bow with seve- ral sharp arrows, about as long as pencils. He had small dark eyes and an untidy pile of hair on his head. When he stood up, I saw that he was shorter than the tall brown grass.
　　When he saw that I was looking at him, he began to walk slowly toward me, still holding his bow and arrows. He opened his lips and pulled them back, showing a row of very white teeth. “Maybe this is a smile,” I thought， “But maybe it isn't.” I did not smile back.
　　He squatted motionless7 under the sun, watching me, for an hour. Every ten minutes, when I sounded the automobile horn, he made a happy noise in his throat. The noise shook his small body from head to foot. But he still squatted motionless under the hot sun, just watching me.
　　Once, he said something to me in his language, then put his bow and arrows on the ground, stood up and lifted his hands toward the sky. He seemed to be telling me that he came in peace. But I didn't trust him.
　　Later, as the sun went down, he came closer to the car and began to talk in his strange language. His face showed that he could not understand why I was not more friendly. I felt a little ashamed, but I still didn't trust him. I remembered those stories about Bushmen.
　　On the other hand, when evening came, I found that I was rather grateful that the Bushman was near. Night is a lonely time in the desert. I was less afraid while another human being was near, even that squatting Bushman.
　　I envied8 him, too, as he made his fire of dry sticks—then night was suddenly cool. Every few minutes he turned and waved his hand. He seemed to be telling me he would protect me during the long night. Each hour I felt less afraid. At last I slept, still in my car.
　　I woke in the early morning. My little Bushman was squatting motionless on the hood of the car, smiling as usual, I sat up, feeling cold. For the first time, I smiled at him, too.
　　At that moment, his face changed, and he spoke in a wild but happy way. He seemed to be saying, “At last you are beginning to act like a human being. Now we can do something together.”
　　I suddenly saw what he had in his hand. It was a small leather9 bag, full (I hoped) of water.
　　Water! Where did he find it in this part of the country? Forgetting to be afraid, I opened the door of the car for the first time. He seemed to consider this a sign that I wanted to be friendly. He ran around the car like a happy child, making loud sounds of pleasure. In sign language I showed him that I needed water for the car. He understood. “Ah!” he said. He gave me the bag that he was carrying, and I poured the water into the radiator. It was not enough.
　　Then the Bushman ran to the tall grass and found a long hollow stick. In sign language he told me to follow. I still didn't completely trust him, but I followed a little behind him. After a short walk he squatted on the ground and pushed one end of his hollow stick into the sand. I watched, amazed, as he put his lips around the other end of the stick. A moment later, a stream of water came out around his mouth. There was water under the sand!
　　I ran back to the car for my big water bottle, and for half an hour the Bushman's mouth worked to fill it for me. When the bottle was full, he gave it to me. His happy face seemed to say, “Now, you see, we are acting like brothers!” I took the bottle back to the car, poured the water into the radiator, and then returned to the Bushman.
　　The Bushman's mouth was still working with the hollow stick, but now there was no more water. He began to run around wildly, pushing the stick into the ground, putting his lips around it, but only sand in return. After several minutes he stopped and looked at me, smiling sadly.
　　We walked back to the car in silence. “I'll take some water out of the radiator and give it to him,” I thought. But I wanted to do something more to show that I was grateful. I took my watch off my wrist and gave it to him. His eyes became big and his fingers trembled10 as he took it. But then he put the watch back into my hand.
　　Surprised, I tried to explain that I wanted him to keep it. No, he would not let me give it to him. “After all,” his eyes seemed to say, “you are my guest. This is my desert, my home. Do not try to pay me for my hospitality.”　I felt a little ashamed as I put the watch back on my wrist.
　　He stood there as I took some water out of the radiator and put it into bottle. He shook his head when I put the bottle in his hand, but I said, “Yes! Yes! You must take it!” So he put it on the ground beside his bow and arrows.
　　I closed the hood of the car and started the engine. It seemed to be going well. I was ready to leave. We said good-bye in our two languages, and I continued across the desert.
　　That evening I stopped at a small village near the end of my journey. I was taking my bags out of the back of the car, when I suddenly saw my water bottle. It was on the floor of the car, behind my seat, where the little Bushman had put it.

1． Bushman  n．布希曼人（非洲南部的游牧民族）
2． mercy  n．怜悯
3． radiator n．散热器
4． hood [hud] n．汽车发动机罩
5． automobile horn 汽车喇叭
6． squat v．蹲
7． motionless  adj．不动的
8． envy v．羡慕，妒忌
 9． leather  n．皮革
10．tremble v．抖动，发抖