So we were driving through. Flashes of countryside and monotony. And these little places pop up now and then as they do. Over the brow of a hill, from nothing there are suddenly colours and smells and sounds and life. 

And then they came in swarms. 
And he was sleeping in the back of our transporter, as was his want. And they stared and smiled and danced around the vehicle. They banged their drums and shook their rattles. A festival. A celebration. Right out of the middle of nowhere. A flood of delight and joy. 

We waved and smiled back. And still he slept. Through all the noise and commotion. They pointed and stared some more and nodded their heads. 
Somehow we failed to notice their circle around us getting smaller and smaller. Closing in.

Now they were tapping on the windows with fingers and then stones. Dangling bracelets and jewels and trinkets. And from close up their smiles looked more strained, their faces more alien. 

And then they were trying the handles. We were quick and sharp. I suppose our instincts set in. But his couldn't and we only thought about this afterwards. At the time, you see, we didn't have time to think, to react. And all the while he was sleeping comfortably. Grumbling to himself. 

Then they opened his door and they grabbed him. I'm not sure now whether this memory is true or imagined but I think he might even have opened his eyes. And there was shock and puzzlement and fear and resentment. 

And then he was gone. Lost in the wash of colours and fake smiles. And then they were gone. Either through some kind of magic or because our driver finally found the accelerator. 

So we stopped. There was no sign of life. No sound. No smell. The road was deserted both ahead and behind. And if it wasn't for the empty seat and lone sandal looking lost without its partner, the whole thing might never have happened. 

Maybe it didn't. Maybe  he never had been there. Maybe it was just our minds filling in the gaps of lost time on the road with stories about people and events which never really existed.