The Road Back

by Liz Harris

She went back into the house, closed the front door behind her, and leaned back against the door, breathing heavily. She stared around the dimly lit room, her gaze coming to rest on the low table where the candle still flickered, where Kalden had been standing. In fewer than two days she’d be going on a trip with him, just her and Kalden, just the two of them alone.

  Her heart beat fast.

  Every time she looked at him, her stomach turned over and she felt the strangest sensation deep inside her. And when he wasn’t with her, she couldn’t stop wondering what he was thinking, what he was doing. This must be what Ruth had meant when she’d talked about the way she felt about Johnny.

  Whenever she’d listened to Ruth on the subject of Johnny, she’d laughed inwardly at what she’d thought of as silliness. But as Ruth’s words sprang again into her head, she heard them with different ears, and she could have wept with shared emotion. Oh, if only Ruth were at her side at that very moment!

  She stepped away from the door, went over to the candle and blew it out.

  The following afternoon, having made herself comfortable outside the house on a wooden chair that she’d taken from indoors, she opened her book.

  The sun was at its height, and after a few minutes of intense heat beating down upon her, she got up and moved the chair into the shade at the side of the house. Sitting back down, she let her eyes travel over the fields of green shoots to the glittering streams beyond them; to the plateau that stretched out behind them, its barrenness broken up by sparse patches of green and smatterings of wild flowers; to the white-tipped peaks of the mauve and grey mountains that rose above the plateau, piercing the azure sky.

  The air was fragrant with the perfume from the flowers. Her book lying unread in her lap, she sat back, closed her eyes, inhaled the scented aroma and listened to the marmots whistling to each other in the distant mountains. It was the perfect afternoon, and the next day promised to be even more perfect. She couldn’t wait for it to begin.

  ‘What your book, Patricia-le?’

  She opened her eyes, startled. ‘Gosh, you made me jump, Kalden.’ She laughed, sitting upright. ‘I didn’t hear you come up.’ She pushed her hair behind her ears and glanced down at her legs. She wished she’d changed into something prettier after lunch and wasn’t still wearing her jeans and an old, white, cotton shirt.

  ‘I come see if you want go walk.’

  Her heart leapt. ‘I’d love to,’ she said at once, and closed her book. Then her heart sank. ‘But what about Father? I don’t see how I can. I ought to stay here. He could wake up at any time and Wangyal won’t be back till later. It would have been nice, though.’ She sighed wistfully. ‘But it’s probably better to wait till tomorrow – Wangyal’s going to be here all day tomorrow.’

  ‘Only short walk not far from house.’

  She glanced again at the snowy peaks, their caps turning to gold in the rays of the sun. Then she looked back up at Kalden, a dark silhouette against the bright sun.

  ‘Well, just a short walk, then,’ she said. ‘After all, Father is asleep.’ She stood up and dropped her book on to the seat of the chair. ‘We’d better not be too long, though,’ she added. Pulling a pale blue ribbon out of her pocket, she tied her hair back from her face and they started walking along the dusty track.

  ‘This is really lovely,’ she said, staring around her at the desolate beauty of the landscape. ‘And do you know what – I feel free.’ She threw back her head, raised her arms and spun around. ‘I – feel – free!’ she shouted. She came to a halt, laughing. Kalden grinned at her in amusement, and they resumed their walk. ‘I do love my father,’ she told him, ‘but it’s just so great to be on my own for a bit. Obviously I’m really sorry that he’s hurt himself, but at the same time, it’s going to be fun, having a few days without him. I hope that doesn’t sound too awful.’

  ‘It not sound awful,’ he said. He smiled at her, then looked away and they walked along in silence for a while.

  ‘Not that way, Patricia-le,’ Kalden cried suddenly as they reached the chorten. He grabbed her hand and pulled her towards him. ‘Must walk left of chorten and mani.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I forgot.’

  ‘You not be Buddhist, but is good to keep left,’ he assured her.

  His hand still firmly grasping hers, they went past the chorten, past the mani, and struck out across the sun-baked plateau. Whenever their eyes happened to meet, he imperceptibly tightened his hold on her hand, and they smiled at each other before turning back to the path ahead.

  ‘Book you read, what book called?’ Kalden suddenly asked, breaking into the silence. ‘When a boy, I read books. I read with missionary people, Mr and Mrs Henderson.’

  ‘Pride and Prejudice. It’s by someone called Jane Austen. She lived a long time ago. I think it would be a very difficult book for someone who isn’t English. Do you know it?’

  ‘No, not know book. You tell story.’

  ‘I can’t really. There’s not a lot of story to tell. It’s not that sort of book. But it’s my favourite book – it’s beautifully written and I love what story there is. Does that make any sense?’ She laughed.

  ‘No,’ he replied with a grin. ‘You try tell story.’

  ‘Well, it’s about a family. There are five daughters, and their mother wants them all to marry men with lots of money.’

  ‘Husbands must have much money? Much money is very good thing?’ He stopped walking and turned to her.

  ‘No, it isn’t,’ she said quickly. ‘Being a good person is more important than having lots of money. But the mother in the book thinks money is important.’

  He started walking again, his face throughtful. ‘In book, girls want husbands?’ he asked after a few minutes.

  ‘Some of them do, but I’m not sure about Mary, the third daughter. Like me, she loves reading. She just wants her family to notice her and to think she’s clever. I always feel sorry for Mary. She’s not as pretty as her older sisters and not as clever.’ She looked at his bewildered face and burst out laughing. ‘I don’t think you’d like the book, Kalden.’

  ‘If you like book, I like book,’ he said gravely.

  ‘Maybe, but I’m not convinced.’

  ‘What is name of fourth daughter?’

  ‘Kitty. Why?’

  ‘Kitty is happy?’

  ‘I suppose so. Why wouldn’t she be?’

  ‘Not good to be born number four.’

  ‘Why not? What’s so different about being the fourth child?’

  ‘Not important,’ he said, and fell silent.

  His grip on her hand loosened and she glanced across at him. His smile had disappeared and his face was sad. She stood still. ‘What’s the matter, Kalden?’ She grasped his hand more tightly. ‘Why are you upset? Is it something I said?’

  He looked down at the ground. ‘Not upset. I good.’

  ‘But you’re not. What’s wrong? Please tell me.’

  ‘Nothing to tell. We walk now. Yes?’

  ‘All right, then.’ Worried, she turned back to the track and they started walking again, their hands still loosely clasped.

  ‘Patricia-le is beautiful,’ he said after a few minutes, his eyes on the dusty track. ‘Patricia-le have husband in England?’

  Her heart jumped. ‘No, there’s no one in England, Kalden.’ She felt herself going red. His fingers tightened again around hers and their arms brushed against each other.

  He stopped walking and turned to her. His dark gaze stared into her face. ‘Patricia-le has beautiful eyes.’

  She turned her head away, and pressed her free hand to her hot cheek, trying to cool herself down.

  ‘Very beautiful blue eyes,’ she heard him softly repeat behind her.

  ‘No, they aren’t,’ she said with a nervous laugh. She fixed her eyes on a cluster of rose-bushes that seemed to be growing out of the smooth rocks at her feet, their deep red flowers stark against the stony backdrop. Two small speckled lizards darted across the surface of the rocks
and slithered between the cracks. ‘They’re just ordinary.’

  ‘Not ordinary.’ His eyes burnt into the back of her head and she turned to him.

  ‘We must talk about something else,’ she said with an awkward laugh. ‘You keep making me go red.’

  He stared down at her flushed cheeks, and his face broke into a slow smile. He had a dimple in one of his cheeks when he smiled, she noticed. ‘We walk then,’ he said, and he glanced up at the sky. ‘Sun soon go behind mountains. We go back house now.’

  A wave of disappointment shot through her. ‘I suppose you’re right. It’s been a lovely afternoon, though, and I don’t want it to end.’

  ‘I glad you like afternoon, Patricia-le. I want you be very happy here.’

  ‘I already am,’ she said.

  ‘I very glad.’

  Their eyes met.

  Abruptly, Kalden dropped her hand, took a step away from her and began to walk quickly in the direction of the village, his head down.

  For a moment or two, she stared after his retreating back, puzzled; then she started to go after him, slowly at first, then faster and faster, increasing her speed until she caught up with him. Sneaking a look at him from time to time as they walked along, she saw that his eyes were blank, and she felt her anxiety grow. Gradually, he slowed down. She noticed that he occasionally glanced at her hand, which was hanging by her side, but he didn’t make any move to take it.

  ‘Where is mother, Patricia-le?’ he asked after a while.

  ‘Back in England. She wasn’t interested in coming to Ladakh with us. To be honest, I don’t think Father ever suggested that she come along. She wouldn’t have liked all this walking and climbing. What about your family? You haven’t told me anything about you or your family.’

  ‘I not interesting,’ he said bluntly.

  ‘I don’t believe you.’ She laughed. ‘Just the fact that you speak English is interesting. More than that. It’s amazing. Apart from Sonam, who was our chief bearer on the journey from Kashmir, we haven’t met anyone else here at all who knows English. That alone makes you very interesting.’

  ‘I pleased I interesting,’ he said with a wry smile.

  ‘You said the missionaries taught you English. Did you go to their school?’

  ‘Ladakhi children not go to missionary school. Ladakhi people not want missionary family here. But I friends with family.’

  ‘When did they leave?’

  ‘We do one harvest after family leave. Missionary boy, Peter, want go university in England. And Mrs Henderson want Peter go university. Mr Henderson very sad – he want stay in Ladakh. But family go back to England.’

  ‘Was Peter the same age as you?’

  ‘Yes. Peter my friend. All family my friend. I help family live in Ladakh. Ladakhi life hard if not Ladakhi person. Missionary family speak bad Ladakhi and I help family speak good Ladakhi. Family help me speak English.’

  ‘You must miss them.’

  ‘Yes.’ He started walking more quickly again. ‘Miss family, miss pictures, miss books, miss music. Mrs Henderson teach me play accordion. Give me recorder for present. Me like play recorder.’ His voice was wistful.

  She bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, Kalden. I shouldn’t have brought the subject up. You obviously miss them a lot.’

  He glanced at her anxious face, reached out and took hold of her hand. ‘You not be sorry, Patricia-le. I not sad now. Before you come Ladakh, I very sad. But you come, and I be happy now. You nice, Patricia-le. And Major-le,’ he added quickly.

  ‘I’m glad you’re feeling better about things now,’ she said. ‘It’s not much fun being sad.’

  Their hands tightly clasped, they continued along the stony track. When the mass of colourful flags that fluttered around the chorten was clearly in sight and they could see the roofs of the village houses in the distance beyond the chorten, Patricia suddenly stopped walking.

  She cleared her throat. ‘Kalden.’

  ‘Yes, Patricia-le?’

  ‘We’re going to be spending a lot of time together in the next week or ten days, so we’re going to become friends, if we’re not already, aren’t we?’

  ‘I feel you are already my friend, Patricia-le.’

  ‘Then I think you should show it.’ She gave a self-conscious laugh. ‘Before we go any further, I want you to say the following words after me. Say, “You are my friend, Patricia.”’

  ‘You are my friend, Patricia-le,’ he repeated.

  ‘No, that’s not exactly what I said. Let’s try it again. Say, “You are my friend, Patricia.” Repeat exactly what I said.’

  A smile of understanding spread across his face. ‘You are my friend, Patricia,’ he said softly. ‘Patricia. Patricia.’

  ‘That’s better. I hope it wasn’t too painful. I just thought it was time we stopped being so formal when we are together. Now we can continue walking.’

  Both of them were smiling into the open space in front of them as they reached the chorten and walked past it.

  ‘See,’ Kalden said, holding up their entwined fingers. ‘See. I am like Englishman. I hold woman’s hand. Ladakhi man and woman not hold hands outside house. English man and woman do. I see Mr and Mrs Henderson hold hands. Is good.’

  ‘Yes, is very good.’ She laughed. He moved closer to her. She felt the taut muscle in his arm rub against her soft skin, and a thrill shot through her.

  As they neared the village wall, a loud burst of music rang out in the air above the houses. Startled, she looked up at the monastery. Kalden’s gaze followed hers.

  ‘Is monks,’ he muttered, and he dropped her hand.

  Moving slightly ahead of Patricia, he went past the main entrance and along to the post house. Wangyal had just come out of the house and was disappearing round the side when they reached the top of the path to the post house.

  ‘Father must be awake!’ Patricia exclaimed. She put her hands up to her hair and pulled her ribbon tighter. Kalden thrust his fingers into his belt.

  ‘So, Patricia-le … Patricia,’ he said, stopping. ‘I see you tomorrow. I come in morning and we go for day in mountains. Me show – I show – favourite place. We take food. I go now see Wangyal about ngamphe for tomorrow. Is good?’

  ‘Is very good, Kalden. I can’t wait for tomorrow!’ she exclaimed. She felt herself go scarlet, and she quickly looked away.

  ‘And I not wait, Patricia. All night I think of tomorrow,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Is that you, Patricia?’ they heard the Major call from inside the house.

  ‘I’m just coming, Father,’ she shouted. ‘’Bye then, Kalden. Come early, won’t you?’ And she turned and half ran down the path. Pushing the door open, she paused and looked back at Kalden. He was standing motionless, staring at her. She smiled at him again, then disappeared into the dark interior of the house.

  As he walked slowly along the winding lanes to his family’s house, he found himself whispering her name over and over again. He reached his front door, heard the sounds of family life within, and stood still. Looking up, he stared at the darkening sky.

  It was Patricia’s face that he saw.

  He inhaled deeply, squeezed his eyes shut, and welcomed the all-consuming red-blackness that blotted out her image. She was never going to be a part of his life – she couldn’t be – and he must stop himself from thinking about her, stop himself from dreaming. Such dreams could only end in pain. He must remind himself of that at the start of every day that Patricia lived in his village.

  Releasing his breath, he opened his eyes, walked into the house and closed the door firmly behind him.

  Chapter Twelve

  July

  Side by side they sat at the edge of the plateau, high above the narrow ravine.

  Lowering her gaze from the mountain peaks whose summits were veiled in shadow, Patricia’s eyes slid down the slope on the opposite side of the gorge. For a few moments, she watched shifting bands of light move slowly across the face of the rock, leaving a swathe
of deep purple in their wake, and then she looked down into the heart of the valley, and followed the curve of the winding river until it disappeared from sight.

  She leaned back on her elbows and glanced sideways at Kalden. ‘Do you realise that it’s been more than a week since my father’s accident? Time’s flying by.’

  ‘For me, too, Patricia.’

  ‘And do you realise that although we’ve spent most of that time alone with each other, I still don’t know you at all?’

  ‘Not much to know. I’m only pony-man.’

  ‘No, you’re not. You’re my friend, a friend who often looks sad, even when his mouth is smiling,’ she said quietly. ‘A friend who seems to be moving further away from me, not closer.’

  He stared ahead of him, his face impassive.

  She shifted her position to face his profile. ‘I feel really awkward asking this, but there’s something I want to know. I’m a bit embarrassed about asking you, though.’

  ‘Something is wrong?’ He turned to her, alarm in his eyes.

  ‘Oh, no, there’s nothing’s wrong,’ she said quickly. ‘At least, I hope there isn’t. No, I just wanted to know why we don’t hold hands any more when we’re out. Apart from that first afternoon, you’ve only taken my hand when you’ve thought I might need help, and then you couldn’t let go of it fast enough. Why, Kalden? I rather liked it when we held hands.’

  ‘Me, too. I like it very much.’ He studied the ground. ‘But is not a good idea. When we hold hands, I feel close to you. The more we hold hands, the more close I feel to you. Then, when you go back England, I be hurt. Is better not holding hands.’

  ‘You must do what’s best for you,’ she said after a short pause. ‘No one likes getting hurt, and if you think you’ll be hurt …’

  She turned to look back at the opposite slopes. A sudden breeze caught her hair and blew it around her face. The breeze died down, and her hair fell lightly across her eyes, a veil of gold.

  ‘I should have tied my hair back today,’ she said, pushing strands of hair away from her face in irritation. ‘I thought I’d leave it loose for once, but I’m not sure it was such a good idea now.’