The Widow's Husband

by Tamim Ansary

  The women had climbed down from the wagons and were sitting on makeshift stools beside the road, refreshing themselves with fruit and water but the stares made them nervous, as how could they not. Rupert heard some of them murmuring anxiously. He longed to reassure them but didn’t know what to say. He felt all too ill at ease himself.

  In the end it was Captain Scott to the rescue, Scott who had been probably in and out of Afghanistan a dozen times. “They’re just villagers,” he assured the ladies. “They’re curious, is all. Just ignore them and they’ll leave you alone.”

  But privately he told Oxley, “Keep an eye on the buggers.”

  “Are we in danger then?” Rupert asked, thrilled to the marrows by the prospect of seeing his first action.

  Scott shook his head. “No, no, they won’t test us, we have our rifles, but people do make their living by thieving in these parts, so don’t let any of them sneak close and grab something. We’ll be fine as long as we make it to the fort by nightfall.”

  Unfortunately, a lame mule slowed them down, and dusk found them nowhere near any fort. They would have to sleep in tents that night, on the open plains. Scott had the men collect dry brush and build bonfires around the circle of wagons, then selected men to stand guard in shifts. Rupert’s turn came sometime after midnight. Two other pickets shared his shift, but they spread out. Alone in the dark, Rupert roamed the edge of the encampment, peering into the desert for intruders, but it was perfectly still out there, still and lonesome.

  At dawn, he studied the tents clustered together at the center of the camp. Amanda was sleeping in one of those. He wondered which one, and what she might be dreaming. He wondered if he would be able to sleep when his shift ended. He wished he had spoken a few more words to her when he had the chance. She seemed amenable, now that he thought back to her smiling face and wide blue eyes. Or were they green?

  The next day, they reached the fort, an imposing edifice surrounded by thick cob walls. Its gates, made of heavy timbers, took two men to swing open. Once shut, they were secured with an iron bolt as long as a man’s arm. Within the walls, four buildings surrounded a large yard. Indoors, native servants lit oil lamps and bustled about making the travelers comfortable. Soon, those same servants brought forth a dinner prepared by the fort’s native cooks, and it was surprisingly delicious, unless the rigors of the journey had given Rupert such a hunger that anything would have tasted good; but if so, the whole company was affected, for when he looked around he saw them all, even the ladies, falling upon the grilled meats and baked rice and stewed vegetable with the same ravenous appetite.

  After dinner some of the officers got up a card game. Others surrounded them to watch and a certain gaiety began to warm the room. Rupert, however, found himself a more distant seat on a platform against the wall. As it happened—he didn’t plan it—Amanda Hartley was sitting up there too. They gazed down from their high perch, over the heads and shoulders of the other observers, to the card table, where coins glittered in the light of oil lamps and candles. But the light seeped only a little beyond the circle of players. Sitting outside the bubble, Rupert and Amanda shared a convivial togetherness in the near-dark. At least, Rupert felt convivial and thought Amanda shared his mood, but he couldn’t be sure without looking at her, and in this dim light looking would not be enough: he would have to stare. And of course he couldn’t stare, it would be beastly rude; but he wanted to, if only to refresh his memory of her face; because, when he tried to recall her from that first day, what he remembered was not so much her features as his own feelings, gazing at her features. And perhaps it was only the warmth of whiskey in his belly that he was remembering. Lost in his thoughts, even though his thoughts were all of her, he didn’t notice that she had started speaking to him. He woke to the sound of her voice only as it stopped.

  “I beg your pardon? What was that?”

  “I was asking, do you play cards yourself, captain?”

  “I am not a captain, ma’am, only a lieutenant,” he confessed. “I squandered too much loot, playing cards back in Calcutta in the barracks while I was waiting for orders. I think I learned my lesson for a week or two.”

  “Ah. Poor Mr. Oxley.” She clucked her sympathy. “It must have been such an anxious time. Were you pleased to learn you had been posted to Afghanistan?”

  “Pleased?” He didn’t understand.

  “Well, for a soldier,” she declared. “What a privileged assignment this must be. A place where the empire is really at stake each and every day! Surely they send only the bravest and best? I suppose your family must be very proud of you.”

  Her eyes were on the card game, but her words left a soft roaring in his ears. He could not bring himself to check her face for a mocking smile. A tinkle of laughter rose from the card players, about what, he could not tell. Whitby suddenly raked in a heap of coins.

  “No,” Rupert sighed finally. “I don’t imagine my family is proud.” His spectacles were slipping down his nose on a lubricant of sweat. He nudged them back into place. “For me this posting to Afghanistan isn’t an honor, it’s more of a punishment, you might say. Seems I made quite an ass of myself that day at Lord Auckland’s. You hadn’t heard?”

  “Um…Auckland’s Folly…?” she ventured.

  His cheeks blazed with shame. “Yes. I see. It has gone about. I thought it might, it’s too good a story, I suppose. Oxley’s Folly!”

  “Aren’t you being a little too hard on yourself, captain? You told the Old Man to his face what the whole world is saying to his back. Is that so bad? I don’t think that’s so bad. Someone had to do it. It took courage, they say. There is honor in it.”

  “Is that what they say.”

  “Some do.”

  Honor. He let it pass. She was trying to comfort him, that alone was touching, he should simply let it warm him. “Thank you.” He wouldn’t tell her his courage had come out of a bottle. Why bring that up? He wanted to change the subject quickly now, before she changed her mind about his courage. “Tell me though—if I may ask. What brings you to such a wild country, ma’am? Afghanistan is no place for a woman.”

  “Are there no native women in Afghanistan?” she said with a light laugh.

  “An English woman, I meant.”

  “Of course.” She set merriment aside, then, and gave him a sober answer. “I am joining my husband in Kabul. We are newly wed.”

  The news hit him like a blow, but he bit back his first response. His second response was no better, so he bit that one back too. In the end, he offered no response at all. For a few long moments they watched the card game in silence, a sudden bristle of discomfort between them. Then the coincidence of her last name struck him, and he saw a way to revive the conversation. “Hartley,” he mused. “I knew a Major James Hartley in Derbyshire, Fearsome fearsome taskmaster! By Jove, yYou’re not related to him , by any chance: not married to his son, by any chance: I hopeare you?”

  “Not to his son,” she answered quietly. “Major James Hartley is my husband.”

  “Oh, by Jove! What I meant—I was speaking only about—” His stammer weakened. “I didn’t know him, really. I was a raw recruit then—he was an older fellow…” Rupert’s voice ran down utterly. He had put his foot in it again. He tried to picture the Hartley he had known. Ruddy face. Big white whiskers—good heavens: how could such a lovely, smooth-skinned girl be that man’s wife? A voice was already whispering in his head. “…old man… young, pretty wife…” He squelched it. Only a fool makes the same mistake twice. But of course he couldn’t keep a fleeting image of Lady Ellen Lydia out of his mind. And Lord Ashton. A longing wafted through him, faint as perfume.

  “You’re very silent suddenly, Mr. Oxley.”

  “I’m sorry. My thoughts wandered…something quite unrelated. I’m sorry.”

  She unfolded her hands from her lap. “I feel smothered in here. Don’t you find it too warm? I wonder if it’s safe to go outdoors.”

  “Captain Scott!” Rupert rais
ed his voice. “Can Mrs. Hartley walk in the yard? Is it safe?”

  “Of course, old chap, we’re on English soil here in the fort. Do escort her, though, it’s beastly dark out there.”

  Amanda was already on her feet and walking toward the door. Oxley followed at a decorous distance. It was dark out in the yard. The crescent moon had sunk below the fortress walls. The stars were numerous and so luminous they seemed to bulge from the sky, but they were only stars. By their combined glow, Rupert could only barely make out his feet. As Amanda strolled beside him, her arm repeatedly brushed against his, but she seemed to mean nothing by the closeness. When she spoke, it was in a casual, friendly voice. “I am not to be pitied, you know.”

  “Good heavens, certainly not. I would never presume—”

  “Ah but you would presume, Captain. You did. I could hear it in your voice when I spoke of my husband. I don’t mean to be harsh, you’re not the first, I get that reaction often, and I’ve grown accustomed to it. I only wanted you to know that I am very happy to be joining James, even in this wild country. I feel fortunate in my match. I feel contented with my lot. ”

  “I will remember that. I hope I have given no offense.”

  “I know you meant none. I forgive you. I only wish to be understood.”

  “Thank you. Yes. I understand. I wish you and the Major every happiness.”

  “I say this only because I think you and I could be friends, Captain Oxley. Rupert. We could be very good friends, so long as we understand each other. Very good friends.”

  “I hope so, Mrs. Hartley. I wish for it devoutly.”

  He understood the words she spoke, but not their meaning, entirely. He understood that she gripped his arm as she spoke those final words, and that even after she let go, his arm remembered her grip. She probably didn’t notice touching him, but for Rupert, the impression of her slender fingers lingered on his skin long after they went indoors.

  * * *

  

  For the next three days, the convoy moved steadily north through the mountains, but on the fourth day, it slowed to a crawl, for it entered the most alarming stretch of the journey, a crack of a canyon where the road thinned down to the narrowest possible thread. Keeping wagons and animals moving safely exhausted the men and reduced the ladies’ nerves to twitters. Nightfall brought them to a town dominated by a hilltop fortress of mud, but this could not be their refuge, alas, for it belonged to a local chieftain of dubious loyalty. The convoy had to put up at a caravanserai on the outskirts of the town.

  Late that evening, as they were dining on bread and kebabs. , a hubbub sounded outside. Suddenly, a group of Afghan men burst through the door. A few of the women shrieked. Mrs. Hartley thrillingly sought Oxley’s hand under the table. Captain Scott jumped to his feet.

  Mohan Lal, their Hindu interpreter, stepped forward to engage the men. After a few minutes of heated conversation, he turned to Scott. “These chiefs are unhappy, Captain. Your man in Kabul forgot to pay them their subsidies. They are wanting money to let you pass.”

  Scott muttered an oath.

  “Are they bandits?” Rupert sidled up.

  “No, Lieutenant, local tribesmen. We’ve been paying a queen’s ransom for safe passage, but Parliament won’t tolerate the expense anymore. The subsidies have been cut.”

  “Do you mean we haven’t paid the toll?” Amanda moved into place behind Oxley, her breathy voice issuing from a halo of hushed blond fear.

  “Toll! More like extortion!” Scott kept a smile trained on the chieftains, but they only glowered at him. The lamplight seemed to magnify their black beards, their looming size. Scott came to a decision. “Tell ’em the money’s coming with the next convoy, Lal. Persuade them I’m too junior to bother with, they’ll catch bigger fish if they let us through and set a trap for the next one. You might hint that the governor himself will be in that one.”

  Lal began talking to the Afghan chieftains.

  “I say, Captain, it’s not true, is it?” Rupert grinned, delighted with the ruse. “About the Governor?”

  “Stow the smirk, you fool They can read your face. No, it isn’t true, but it’ll hold ‘em till we’re gone.”

  “And after that?” Amanda queried.

  “Yes,” said Rupert. “when we come back, won’t they take revenge?”

  “By that time we’ll have all these passes cleared,” said Scott. “But Oxley: when you get in to see Macnaghten, tell him about this dustup. He has too rosy a view sometimes.”

  One of the Afghans cocked his head as if to listen. “Engrayzee,” he growled, “next time you see what Macnaghten he can do!”

  “Good Lord,” the captain blinked. “You speak English?”

  “Tell Macnaghten this khawk our khawk—this!” The Afghan stamped the floor with the butt of his long barreled rifle. Suddenly he seized Amanda’s wrist and yanked her close. “Gold or woman. If you no gold, how much this woman?”

  Oxley never later remembered having moved, but he must have moved, for suddenly he found himself pressed against the tribesman with his pistol pushing into the man’s throat.

  Instantly, the man’s companions clapped their rifles to their shoulders. No one moved, no one spoke. Later, Rupert remembered the men’s bristly beards and Amanda’s frightened face floating inches from his eyes, her breath warming the knuckles of his trigger finger.

  “Let her go,” he croaked. “Let her go. I’ll send you to hell, you bastards!”

  The Afghan flung Amanda away. No guns went off, no shots rang out. The whole tableau simply reconfigured. Everybody was safe.

  “Everywhere king you?” the Afghan spat. “King you no here.” He gestured to his men and they all stalked out of the room, insolently exposing their backs on the way out.

  That night, when lots were drawn for sentry duty, Oxley got first shift. The women were assigned to rooms within the caravanserai building, but the soldiers had to bunk in the courtyard in their tents. After some commotion of dispersal and preparation, the travelers subsided into slumber.

  Rupert roamed the grounds in solitude, catching only occasional glimpses of his fellow sentries. He found himself wandering into the building where the women were sleeping. Well, he had a duty to watch over them too, didn’t he? He thought one door along the corridor stood ajar and—worrying that some intruder had violated these quarters—he crept closer. Just doing his duty. He saw a dark figure standing in the doorway! His heart beat hard. From the faint scent in the air he knew he was looking at a woman but could not make out her features, not even from two feet away. Then he felt her fingers exploring his face. Heard the rustle of her garments and the susurrus of her breath, achingly close.

  “Amanda?”

  Lips touched his cheeks, grazed their way over his skin, even brushed for a moment over his lips…but she stepped out of his attempted embrace. “Mr. Oxley, you were heroic today.”

  He reached for her again but she was gone. The door shut. Only the memory lingered, of her lips on his, the light, moist touch of them. Oxley took out his kerchief to clean his fogged spectacles.

  14

  The journey from Peshawar to Kabul took nine days in this season, for even though spring had greened the plains somewhat, winter still hung on in the passes. The sky above was mostly blue, but the Kabul River and all its multitude of tributaries ran through sheets of frozen waterfalls, and the wagons kept slipping on the ice. Every time the camels sank into the snow, they bayed and bayed until their wallahs wrapped pillow-like coverings around their foot pads and beat them into moving on.

  At last, the huts and hovels of the city hove into view. In Calcutta, Rupert had heard Kabul called “the city of a thousand gardens,” but what he spied in the distance now was a miserable warren of mud heaps no different than Peshawar.

  His opinion did not improve as they moved forward. The road lapsed into a city lane that passed between two rows of merchants stalls. Armies of feet had ground the snow into the soil to form a muddy slip. Th
e natives stared at the convoy and Rupert saw murder in every eye. Then they rounded into a public square and his pulse went ragged. There, in plain sight, swinging from gibbets, were five dead men naked below the waist, with desecrated groins. He wanted to shield the ladies from the sight but it was too late.

  They turned off the main road toward a set of looming mountains. At the base of these, a long wall stretched across a field. A gate in the middle swung open, and Rupert glimpsed the first of those “thousand gardens”: the British headquarters in Kabul.

  It was a small city within the city, the whole of it surrounded by that wall. A middle-aged sergeant named Hudson took charge of Rupert. He hailed from Leicestershire, not far from the Oxley estate. “Right this way, your worship,” said the burly Midlander. “I’ll show you to your rooms, sir. This way, your lordship.”

  “Stow the ‘lordship’ talk,” Rupert blushed. “What’s your Christian name, Hudson?”

  “Edward, sir. Good of you to ask.”

  “Well, Edward, I must report to Mr. Macnaghten before I do anything else. Where will I find him at this hour?”