Village Shepherd

Joe shivered and cuddled up against his young wife, now sleeping at last with the baby held securely in her arms. Joe pulled the thin blanket more securely around the three of them, not much protection against the bitter cold of this desolate place, but better than nothing. And there were plenty of rocks and caves around, to afford a little shelter.

Joe closed his eyes tightly and began to pray. "Please Lord, if you're there and you can hear me, keep us safe tonight. Don't let them bomb this cave, for our child is so newborn and so vulnerable. What a time for Marie to give birth! Couldn't you have waited Lord, until we got over the border?"

Then he settled down and tried to sleep, for they had an early start in the morning if they were to make the border that day.

It was rough going, next day. The landscape was so ravaged that every step was hazardous, avoiding huge craters left by the bombing and constantly slipping and sliding on stones and scree and rocks. And the terrain was so mountainous that every so often they'd have to make a wide detour, using up valuable time. Joe had made a rough sling for the baby out of the tail of his shirt, and they took turns carrying the baby. For such a tiny scrap weighing only six or seven pounds Joe guessed, he soon became mighty heavy when you were scrambling for your footing.

It was dusk when they reached the border and the first chance they'd had of a reasonably decent life for all three of them. At least, that was what Joe hoped. He resolutely pushed out of his mind all those newspaper reports he'd read back in the city, of horrible transit camps for refugees which were more like canvas prisons than freedom, and where some people spent the rest of their lives in misery and degradation. Anything would be better than living in the constant fear of violence from the government or even worse violence from the planes flying overhead which were supposed to be there in order to save them! Joe smiled grimly to himself. He couldn't quite make out how what felt to him like indiscriminate bombing could possibly be to his advantage, but perhaps he was just taking a short-term view. Perhaps one day it would be possible to return to the home he loved, if the government really were ousted and there were no more death squads or mutilations or unexplained disappearances, and where Marie could live openly without shame in her womanhood.

Joe glanced at the baby still sleeping peacefully in the sling on Marie's chest, and was filled with sudden and intense feelings of love. He marvelled that he could feel so much for this tiny scrap, who hadn't been with them above a couple of weeks or so and was hardly even a person yet. But Joe was determined that his firstborn son should have at least a tolereable life and the opportunity to grow into a good human being and earn a living wage.

"Come on," he muttered softly to Marie, "we're almost there. Look, I can see a soldier lighting his cigarette - see that little red flare over there? That must be the check point. Let's go."

He took the baby from her and held her hand as they began to scramble down, but took care to remain out of sight of the soldiers and the guns and the searchlights. He glanced at Marie with concern as he felt her falter beside him, and tried to support her more. But she was exhausted. She'd lost a lot of blood in the birth and they hadn't had any proper food since, and she was feeding the baby. Joe suddenly changed his mind. "No," he decided, "this is too much. We'll sleep now and cross in the morning. We'll be fresher then." At the back of his mind was the unspoken fear that the border represented almost as much danger as the journey.

Joe slept better that night, and was awakened just before dawn by a dream. It was a weird dream, in which their little son had grown into a man and was guiding them across the border. "I will lead you," his son was saying. "I'll guide you through your instincts. Do whatever your instincts tell you. You will be safe."

Joe shrugged the dream off, but it wouldn't go away. It remained vivid and alive in his memory, and as he glanced at his son the baby opened his eyes and seemed to give Joe such a knowing look. Joe felt goose pimply all over, but he hadn't time to worry. He woke Marie and gathered their pitifully small bundle together while Marie fed the baby and changed him into the one spare nappy they had. She washed the old nappy which was beginning to look very grey, and hung it over the bundle in the hope that it would dry before they needed it again. Then they set off.

In the end Joe led them a further five miles along the border before he felt happy about crossing. They heard gunfire from behind them but managed to slide across the border as the guards were changing shifts, and by some miracle nobody challenged them.

As they walked through the barbed wire gates of the refugee camp a crowd of people came to meet them. They were ragged and scruffy and some of them looked ill, but at least they were alive. 'And where there's life, there's hope,' Joe thought to himself. He looked around and saw wood, and was glad he'd thought to pack his tools. Maybe he could make a living here, and maybe as his new son grew up he'd learn to help out in the business too...

Suddenly, even in these miserable surroundings Joe felt real hope. He smiled at the crowd who had gathered around them, and held his son tightly. "Happy Christmas," he said.