A Landscape of Kindness
A Landscape of Kindness
by Lauren Kessler | Eugene, OR
I end Day 6 on the Camino Francés as I began it: getting lost. Worn out from the hike, nursing a bruise on my collar bone from my too-heavy mochila, I wander the winding cobblestone streets of an ancient town I know I would appreciate more if I could just find my albergue. And of course, eventually, I do. And then, relieved of pack, my feet happy in flip flops, I wander the streets again in search of a place to eat dinner. I find a small café hidden away on a narrow side street. There, sitting at a table with her two walking companions, is Emily, an Australian woman I haven’t seen since she tried to help alleviate my backpack problems a few days ago. We had spent perhaps an hour together then. We hug like old friends.
I lose her the next day, as I walk through olive orchards and vineyards, through a series of small villages, down more narrow, winding streets, in and out of tiny cafés to refuel with café con leche. And then, a day later, we find each other on the approach to yet another sleepy little town. It had been raining, misting really, all morning, and the cobblestone streets are slick. We turn a corner and see a small group gathered around a man sitting on the ground. When we get closer, we see that his forehead is bleeding, and he has a big, ugly gash across his nose. His left leg is outstretched, elevated on a backpack. That foot is shoeless and sockless. The ankle is wrapped. His toes are swollen and blue. We learn that he had slipped and fallen a few minutes before. Brian, a nurse from Colorado whom I had met and walked with briefly the day before, had wrapped the ankle.
Others walk with first-aid kits, a few adhesive bandages, a packet of antiseptic wipes, a tube of antibiotic ointment. Brian walks with a full medical kit, with the supplies necessary to treat a serious injury. And that’s what he is doing there on the wet stones, kneeling by the man. Another pilgrim whose phone has a Spanish SIM card had just called an ambulance. It will take a while to get here. A third is using the injured man’s phone to call the man’s wife in the Netherlands. Emily and I stand there for a moment. Then she walks over to his side, kneels, and takes his hand. Just holds his hand. Because it is what she can do. I see this scene now as clearly as if it had happened yesterday: The rain starting in earnest; the small group huddled together; the man, a stranger to all, in the center. And Emily, wordless, holding his hand.
To be immersed in this landscape of kindness is extraordinary. I want to stay here forever, in the drenching rain, in wet boots, in a town I don’t know the name of, among strangers. In this moment, I forget about the ugliness of the world.
