by Liz Harris
‘I’m glad that the bridge goes across the narrowest part,’ she said. ‘I don’t like the look of it at all. I’ll be very pleased when we’re on the other side. And I’m glad we don’t have to go any higher in the mountains today. They look quite scary in this light.’
‘When we go in high mountains, we get dzo,’ Kalden said. ‘Is already high up for ponies, but ponies are good. Lobsang choose well. And bridge will be easy crossed. Is good.’
‘Poor Kalden. You sound very tired. It’s not surprising as you’ve had such a hard few days.’
‘I a little tired. I not sleep last night. I think about today. But I good.’
She held her hand out to him and he took it. Their eyes met, and they tightened their hold on each other.
The sound of Lobsang calling to them brought them back to the moment. He was standing at the edge of the bridge, holding his pony and indicating that they should get down from their ponies and join him. They swiftly dismounted, and Kalden reached across to take Patricia’s reins from her. Lobsang saw what he was doing and motioned to him to stay there, speaking to him in Ladakhi.
Translating, Kalden told Patricia that Lobsang was going to take the ponies across the bridge one at a time. He would tie the ponies a little way along the track on the other side. When all three ponies had been safely tethered, Patricia would cross the bridge to Lobsang, who’d be waiting on the other bank.
Although it wasn’t necessary, Kalden added, he would hold the rope handrail at his end of the bridge, keeping it steady while she walked across, and Lobsang would hold the handrail at the other end, so she would know that she was safe. When she reached the other side, he would cross the bridge.
‘You be all right, Patricia,’ he said. ‘Soon we be in hut together.’
His arm around her shoulders, they watched Lobsang slowly make his way across the bridge, pulling the first pony behind him.
‘You see,’ he said as Lobsang stepped off the last wooden slat, the pony close behind him. ‘Bridge is good.’
The light was fading fast by the time that the last pony had been tethered on the opposite side of the river. Lobsang glanced anxiously up at the darkening sky as he took his position at the far end of the bridge, a hand on each of the handrails. He shouted a few words to Patricia.
‘He want you go now,’ Kalden said, and he gave her an encouraging smile.
Nervously biting her lower lip, she squarely faced the bridge and put her foot on the first of the wooden strips. Determined not to look down, she began to edge her way to the other side, her eyes firmly on Lobsang, her body trembling. Half way across, her steps faltered. A sudden tremor ran along the length of the rope, and she realised that Kalden had tightened his hold on the handrails.
‘I’m all right, Kalden,’ she called over her shoulder, her eyes still on Lobsang. ‘I’m not looking down. I’m fine.’
Her heart racing, she took another step, and then another, each step bringing her closer to Lobsang, closer to the other side of the river. Desperate to bring to an end the sensation of swaying above nothingness, she took another step, more quickly this time. And Lobsang was there, just in front of her, an arm’s length away, only one more step away.
Relief flooded through her. As she put her foot on the slat in front of her, she took her hand off the handrail and held it out to Lobsang. Her toe slid under the wooden slat and she stumbled. Losing her balance, she fell forward, and cried out in sudden fear.
At the very moment that Lobsang caught hold of Patricia’s hand and pulled her to safety, the bridge lurched violently. A cry of terror pierced the air and fell to the ravine, where it died away.
Neither Patricia nor Lobsang moved. Behind them, way, way below them, they heard three muffled thuds. Then silence.
She screamed and spun round.
Where Kalden had stood, there was nothing: only the bridge, swaying from side to side in ever-decreasing arcs as it settled slowly back into position, a gaping hole in its wooden base marking the place where Kalden would have put his feet.
‘Kalden!’ she screamed, and she jumped forward on to the bridge.
Lobsang pulled her back. Frantically gesturing for her to stay where she was, he showed with rapid hand movements that he, not she, would go back. She nodded quickly, her eyes wide with fear as she stared transfixed at the gap in the wooden slats, feeling her face go chalk white.
Pressing her clenched fists to her mouth, she stood with her back against the cold rock, and watched Lobsang wait for the bridge to steady itself and then walk quickly and evenly into the gathering gloom. When he reached the middle of the bridge, he paused and stared over the handrail into the ravine below. Then he looked back at Patricia and slowly shook his head.
A low moan escaped her. ‘Kalden.’
Despair rising within her, threatening to choke her, she stared at Lobsang’s back as he continued across the bridge to the hole in the wooden base. He turned to her and pointed to the large hole at his feet, miming the way in which some of the slats had fallen into the valley. By his arm movements, he showed her that the hole was too wide for him to get past it to the other side.
His hands firmly gripping the rope on either side of the bridge, he again leaned over the handrail and stared into the valley below. ‘Kalden-le!’ he shouted. ‘Kalden-le!’
‘Where are you, Kalden?’ Patricia screamed from the side of the ravine.
She stepped forward, grasped the rope handrails, one in each hand, and started to walk across the bridge to Lobsang, all fear for herself forgotten. Ignoring his shouts and frantic hand movements as he begged her to slow down, she kept on walking until she reached his side. Stopping, she stared down in horror at the gaping hole where the slats had been, and through the hole to the black void that lay below.
‘Oh, no,’ she moaned.
She raised her eyes to the shadowy crags. ‘I want Kalden,’ she whispered. ‘I want Kalden,’ she repeated, more loudly. Tightly gripping the handrails, she leaned over the side. ‘Kalden!’ she screamed into the ravine, tears streaming down her face. ‘Kalden! Answer me! Please, answer me!’
Her voice came back to her as the sun dropped behind the high mountain peaks, and a shroud of darkness covered the valley.
‘Kalden!’ she shouted again. But her voice was lost in the depths of the gorge, and silence was her answer.
Lobsang took her gently by the arm and spoke to her, his face anxious, his eyes creased with sympathy. Sentence after sentence fell from his lips, words she couldn’t understand, but a meaning that was clear. It was already dark and they must leave the bridge at once. They must go to the ponies and get themselves to the hut as quickly as they could.
Unable to move, she stared fixedly into the blackness beneath her.
Balancing carefully, Lobsang wrapped his arms around himself and pointed to the sky. He mimed the cold. It would get colder and colder and they would freeze in the Ladakhi night if they didn’t get to warmth and shelter, he made her understand. There was no hope for Kalden, his expression said, and he shook his head again as he looked down at the black ravine: no one could survive a fall like that. They could do nothing for Kalden; they must leave.
He took her arm and made a move to guide her back across the bridge.
She pulled away from him. ‘I can’t. He might be alive.’ Her voice rose. ‘You don’t know that he’s not. We’ve got to look for him, find him. He might be alive, and it’s cold. We’ve got to get to him.’ She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her and held her fast.
Words poured out of his mouth, his face worried, frightened. He pointed up to the sky and the mountains; he pointed down into the ravine. He put his hands together in a plea to her, then he pointed again to the sky and mimed snow and cold. ‘Ju-le,’ he begged her. ‘Ju-le.’
His hand firmly on her arm, he started to walk, making her walk with him. Numb, she let him half carry her across the bridge to the track on the other side. She took a couple of steps along the track, stopped and
pulled free of Lobsang. Turning round, she stared back across the ravine. The crags had dissolved into the black of night and she could no longer see the rose-bushes.
‘Kalden,’ she whispered into the silent emptiness. ‘I will love you till the day I die.’
Lobsang put his hand under her elbow, gently led her to the ponies, helped her on to her pony and then mounted his. Her arms fell helplessly to her sides, and he took her reins in his hands and guided her pony and Kalden’s to the shepherd’s hut. Then he helped her down, and tethered the ponies alongside the four others that were already there.
Wrapped in a blanket, her face deathly pale, she sat in the corner of the smoky room while he talked with the pony-men there. From his expression and gestures, she knew that he was describing what had happened and telling them about the hole in the bridge. From time to time, the eyes of the pony-men strayed to her, openly curious, but warm with sympathy. Gradually, their conversation petered out and each of the men took a blanket from the large pile at the side of the small room and settled down for the night.
Lobsang came across to Patricia and tried to explain to her what he’d been saying, pointing first to the other men, then in the direction of Chiling. Then he pointed to Patricia and himself and to the sky, and she knew that he was telling her that they must continue their journey as soon as morning came, reminding her that snow was imminent. She nodded, her eyes bleak with despair.
He hesitated a moment, then took a step closer. Looking intently at her, he started to make round circles in the air with his hand. She turned her head away, desperate for him to go away and leave her to her grief, but he wouldn’t. He tapped her on the shoulder, and again made circles in the air, this time with greater urgency, and repeating the word ‘Om’ several times.
Suddenly she realised what he was doing. He was trying to comfort her by telling her that death wasn’t final; there would be a new life. Life and death were part of the same circle, he was showing her with his round movements. She forced herself to nod. He looked pleased and moved away. Taking a blanket from the pile, he made himself a bed in the far corner of the room and closed his eyes.
Throughout the long night, she clutched the edge of her blanket to her chin, her eyes wide open as she stared back into the past and tried not to look into the future, a future without Kalden. Silent tears trickled relentlessly down her cheeks and fell on to the cold stone floor.
Chapter Seventeen
London, late September
Her canvas bag still covered with the dust of Ladakh and India, Patricia knocked on the front room door, opened the door and went in. She paused for a moment, took a deep breath and then walked over to the large table behind which her father sat. Standing in front of the table, she waited for him to look up.
The Major kept his eyes on his book.
She glanced quickly around the room while she waited for him to acknowledge her presence. There was something different about the room, but she couldn’t identify what it was, and she returned her gaze to the top of her father’s head. His hair was rapidly thinning, she noticed.
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly. She stood there for another minute or two, stepping nervously from one foot to the other, then she heard the sound of movement behind her. Looking back over her shoulder, she saw her mother hovering in the doorway. Enid gave her an encouraging nod and she turned back to the table.
‘Father,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I’m back.’
He looked up at her, his grey eyes cold. ‘That is somewhat self-evident, Patricia, given the fact that you are standing here, in my room.’ His eyes returned to his book.
‘Did you get the letter I sent to you and Mother from Dehli, telling you what happened to Kalden? I posted it before I got on the train. It’s just as well that I sent it when I did – I had to keep on changing trains as I went from one country to another and I wouldn’t have been able to send it to you after that for ages,’ she said. ‘My letter telling you how Kalden died,’ she added after several minutes of silence.
‘We did,’ the Major said tersely. He pushed his book to one side, took off his glasses and looked up at her. ‘I am sorry for Kalden’s parents, losing their son in such a pointless way – no one knows better than I how the death of a son can destroy a father’s life. They are fortunate, however, in having other sons, who will no doubt bring them comfort in the years to come, even more so since those sons have remained true to their cultural identity and their family. Now, if there’s nothing else.’ He put his glasses back on, pulled his book in front of him and started to read again.
‘I should like to come back home to live with you and Mother, if I may.’ Her voice shook with nerves. She sensed her mother leave the doorway and come over to stand behind her.
The Major looked up from his book and directed a raised eyebrow at his daughter. ‘I am most surprised to hear that, Patricia. I understood from your letter that prior to leaving Ladakh you had felt ready to dispense with any further education, seek employment and set up home on your own. Am I to infer from your request that you have since changed your mind?’ Very deliberately, he removed his glasses and placed them on the table.
‘Everything’s different now, Father, now that Kalden’s not here. I’d like to live with you and Mother, and go to college as I’d planned to do. With Kalden …’ Her father leaned back against his chair and raised his hand to stop her mid-sentence. Her voice trailed off.
Staring at her in studied concentration, he ran his thumb and index finger down his moustache and pinched his lower lip between the two fingers.
‘I am prepared to let you return to my house,’ he said at last. She heard a slight sigh from behind her as her mother let her breath escape. Warm air brushed against the nape of her neck. ‘But only upon the following conditions. You will never again say Kalden’s name, nor will you mention him in any way, neither explicitly nor implicitly. You will never talk about our visit to Ladakh – it is to be as if we were never there together. There will be no mementos of him, nor of any aspect of the trip, in any part of the house, and that includes your room. To this end, you will destroy the film in your camera. Now, do I have your word that you accept these conditions?’
‘But, Father …’
‘I wish to forget your willingness to enter into a relationship that would have brought nothing but shame to your family, and in future I shall focus solely upon the happy time that I spent in Ladakh in 1945. Do I make myself quite clear?’
‘Yes, Father,’ she said quietly, her face ashen.
‘When you’ve emptied your bags, you will throw away everything that originated in Ladakh, for example, the bag you are holding. You may keep only the bags that we took with us when we left for the ill-fated expedition.’
A lump in her throat, her fingers tightened around the strap of the bag.
Moving his head slightly, the Major included his wife in his line of vision. ‘And I want your word, too, Enid, that you will do your utmost to ensure that Patricia observes my wishes. Have I your word on that?’
‘Of course you have, George.’ Patricia felt a sympathetic squeeze on her arm.
‘Very well, then. We can move on. You’ve expressed a wish to take up your place at college, Patricia, which is a wise decision. A person needs a worthwhile goal, and the discipline of academic routine will help you to put this summer behind you. And talking of routine, Enid, I shall be ready for tea in half an hour.’
‘Certainly, George.’
‘Since we are again three in number, I suggest that we cease eating in the kitchen and revert once more to eating in the back room as befits a respectable family. And now perhaps you will both leave me as I wish to finish reading this chapter before I have my tea.’ Picking up his glasses, his eyes returned to his book.
Patricia turned round and started to follow her mother out of the room.
‘Just one further thing, Patricia,’ the Major called as she reached the door. She paused. Her mother continued hurrying along the
corridor towards the kitchen. ‘No doubt you won’t be surprised to learn that I’ve decided against extending the Ladakh book. There will not now be a section describing the Ladakh of today.’
‘I understand, Father,’ she said quietly.
As she closed the door behind her and started to go slowly upstairs to her room, she suddenly realised what it was that was strange about the front room: every single book about Ladakh, every map, photograph and document, had been cleared from her father’s table – they’d either been destroyed or stowed away in a place where they couldn’t be seen.
She went into her bedroom, closed the door and looked around at her future, her eyes empty.
The following morning, she unpacked her bags and then, at the Major’s request, went round to Belsize Park to collect his copy of the Hampstead and Highgate Express from the newsagent’s opposite the tube station. She came out of the shop, tucked the newspaper under her arm and strolled into the centre of the wide pavement.
Standing there, she stared around her. When she’d last stood there, May blossom had been drifting from the trees to the wooden benches that faced the road, but the blossom was now long gone and the leaves on the trees were a golden-brown. There was now also a hint of a chill in the air, which hadn’t been there four months earlier. Apart from that, though, everything was the same as it had been in the days before she’d gone to Ladakh.
Parades of shops with flats above them still lined both sides of the road, the newspaper kiosk still stood on the right of the entrance to the tube station, the posters in front of the Odeon cinema on her left were just as garish as they’d been in May. To her right, in the residential area down the hill, large houses still topped sweeping flights of wide stone steps. Yes, everything was exactly the same as it had been in May. Everything, except one thing. She had changed. The change didn’t show, but it was there.
She had gone to Ladakh a quiet, shy girl, whose only goal had been to win love and approval from her father, who’d believed that her father had finally come to love and value her. But she’d got it wrong. In Ladakh, she’d learnt what it was like to be truly loved, and that had shown her the shallowness of her father’s feelings for her and the selfishness that underpinned his life.
