When serial killers took me to a field

It was in the beginning of September 2009. With a friend, we were leaving Winnipeg, heading West. We walked on Portage Avenue, until we got at the limit of the city. We dropped our bags, and lifted out thumbs. A couple of minutes after, I see a car approaching, really slowly. But even if that car was going slowly, it was zigzagging. I had the feeling that it would stop, but this time, I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or not.

The car stopped right in front of us like I felt it would. Inside the car, there was two native americans (these people always helped us a lot, they have a heart of gold). They asked us if we wanted a ride, through the lowered passenger’s window. I wasn’t sure at all about if I should accept or not, but they didn’t smell like alcohol or drugs, so I agreed. I opened the back door of the car, pushed my back as far as I could in the car and hopped in, followed by my travel mate. As soon as he closed the door, our new friends started rolling again, still very slowly and zigzagging.

When they asked us where we were going, we answered that we were heading West. They answered they weren’t going really far, but that they’d just drive us further outside of the city, at the condition we could help them with something. I asked what did they need help for, and they said: “There’s a guy who sells fruits. But he sells them in packages only, never at unity. The other day, I wanted to buy him just a single apple, and he refused. In the trunk, we have an old television. I want to throw that television right in front of his kiosk, so when he looks in front of his kiosk, he just sees a TV staring at him, empty and broken.”

That seemed really strange to me, but after my travel mate and I exchanged a look, we agreed. After all, it wouldn’t hurt anyone. But on the sun visor, I noticed a letter. I discreetly start reading it, but all I can read is: “For Mr. *****, from Mr. *****, psychiatrist”… I also noticed that the driver had a very long knife along his leg. I thought about trying to communicate it to my travel mate, but well, I didn’t want to show any kind of fear. Most of the time, one of the worst things to do is to show that you actually worry rather than staying cool.

So, they drive in front of the fruits kiosk, we throw the TV in front of the kiosk, and get back of the car. A lady stare at us from the kiosk, and the front passenger says to her: “Hey, can I get only one single apple?”

- No, I’m sorry, we only sell those in package, she answers.

-Tell your husband he’s a bad man! said the passenger.

Then, they started to argue, and we ended up leaving. Weird. Then, something even weirder happened. With a scary expression, the two men asked us if we wanted to see where they grew up. They described the place as some old house we can access by a dirt road across fields a bit further. That was a bit too “serial killer looking” to my taste, and I gently said that I would appreciate seeing that, but that we’d prefer to go further on our road before the sun sets. They insisted, so we accepted, not wanting to be disrespectful to people who were, after all, helping us.

Ten minutes later, they turned out of the highway, on a narrow dirt road across fields. They kept going for maybe five minutes on that path, then we arrived in the middle of a field, and they stopped the car. There was no house around, and under the car’s tires, the soil was dried and hardened by the sun. I was really wondering what would happen, and was mentally getting ready to fight, without letting it appear. They get out of the car. I hesitate to leave the car, because I don’t want to leave my few belongings in some weirdo’s car. But they ask us to get off, so we do it.

The driver says: “Here is where I grew up. I have a question for you guys. Do you live from the earth?” Seems to be a honest question. So, I answer honestly: “Yes. All of what we eat and drink come from the earth. We sleep outside all the time, and we really like nature, it’s beautiful, and we’re grateful to be on earth.” Then, the driver pulls his knife out of it’s sheath.

I thought that now, they would attack us, because they thought I was lying (I wasn't), or something like that. But I stayed still, calmly smiling, waiting to see what would happen next. Then, he raised his knife, seized the blade with his other hand, and pointed the handle at me, saying: “You’re good guys. Here, we’re in a garden we used to grow vegetables in when we were kids. There’s still people growing vegetables. Take my knife, and use it to get as many vegetables as you want.”

We took lots of carrots, radishes, and tomatoes. Since I was really hungry, I ate a tomato right away, and I can tell you, it was the best tomato I ever ate. Thanks a lot to those guys. Yes, they were weird. But they were good people, respectful of the earth, and they had hearts of gold. And they haven’t been the only “scary” people that helped me on my way.

 

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