by John Walters
She squatted by the shore and stirred the still water with her finger, absentmindedly watching the ripples widen and become shallower.
Suddenly she gasped and became motionless as a statue, as a grazing animal would upon hearing a strange sound. She closed her eyes and listened, then stood. She paused, wondering whether or not to wake Prem and Nazrul. Let them rest, she thought. We have far to go.
She followed the muddy path until it became dust at the edge of the shaded area, then climbed the steep slope to the cracked asphalt. To the north were the foothills of the Himalayas, green and purple, hill upon hill, higher and higher until they faded into the misty distance; to the south were the plains, a vast flatness that seemed to go on forever. As everywhere, villages dotted the countryside, but at that moment, in the heat of the day, only two people could be seen, standing under a solitary tree that spread its large branches out over the road like an umbrella.
She gasped again, and ran to them. When she reached Paul, she hugged him and would not let go.
With his inner voice Paul said, “Asha, I am so happy to see you.”
For a time she could not even formulate her thoughts into words, but finally she said, “I am happy to see you too. Very happy.”
“Where is Prem?”
“He is sleeping below, by the river.”
“Are you both well?”
“We are well. We have been traveling to Goa to find you. Have we arrived? Are we in Goa?”
“No, Asha. You are still far from Goa. It’s too late. No one is there anymore. But see who I have brought with me.”
“Jason!” She hugged him just as tightly. “But where is Jasmine? Where is Sunny?”
“They have gone,” Jason said.
“Gone where? Farther than Goa?”
Jason smiled. “Much farther. They will return someday, but I don’t know when.”
“Why did you not go with them?”
“Asha, we have discovered a great truth,” Paul said. “Jason is my son. I thought I had lost him, and there was a great pain in my heart. I told you once.”
“I remember. This is wonderful. It is a miracle. So now the ache in your heart is gone.”
“Yes,” Paul said. “The ache in my heart for my son is gone. But when I was reunited with Jason, though I was happy for that, I realized that my heart still ached. It seems that love creates an emptiness that can only be filled by the one we love. The more we love, the more we open ourselves to that ache; but without that vulnerability, we cannot love at all.”
“I feel this for you.”
“And I for you. I must leave India for a time, but I could not leave without finding you, without seeing if you and Prem were well.”
Her eyes misted; a single tear left a track in the dust on her face. “Where will you go?”
“To America. Jason’s mother is alive, but very ill. We will see if we can help her.”
“Will I see you again?”
Paul squatted down to her level and held both her hands. “I promise, Asha, that as soon as I can I will come back.”
She smiled. “Then I will keep this ache that you spoke of as a precious thing; but only your return can take it away, so don’t forget me.”
“Never.”
“In the meantime I will take care of Prem, and I will be Nazrul’s eyes, and I will wait.”
“Where will you go?”
“Perhaps we will go back to Nazrul’s village, or perhaps to Pokhara. I do not know.”
“Goodbye, Asha.”
“Do not worry about me, Mister Paul and Mister Jason. I will have you here…” She pointed to her head. “And here…” She pointed to her heart. “It is far more than I had before. I am no longer alone. I will never be alone again.”
* * *
They watched her as she crossed the road and stepped carefully back down the slope and finally disappeared in the foliage.
“That ache you spoke of is a strange thing,” Jason said. “It’s like a sweetness and a pain at the same time. When we first came we thought we were superior to you; we called you outsiders. We thought that the inner voice made us different. But we’re not different; otherwise we never would have come to search for our parents. That ache is a part of love. If you try to shut yourself off to it you die inside; if you accept it you can discover your destiny.”
“Thanks for coming, son,” Paul said.
With the cool heights of the Himalayas to the north and the shimmering heat of the plains to the south, as bright green lizards that had been basking in the sun scurried off the road, as hawks like tiny motes circled high in the blue immensity at the edge of visibility, the two of them, father and son, walked slowly towards the train station in the nearest village, side by side.
The End
End Notes
John Walters is an American writer currently living in Greece with his Greek wife and some of his five sons. He attended the 1973 Clarion West science fiction writing workshop and is a member of Science Fiction Writers of America. He writes mainstream fiction, science fiction and fantasy, and memoirs of his wanderings around the world.
You can find his website/blog at: http://www.johnwalterswriter.com
His Amazon author's page is here: : http://www.amazon.com/John-Walters/e/B004HPNMCC/ref=ntt_dp_epwbk_0
Cover art by: © Roomyana | Dreamstime.com
Table of Contents
The Mountains of Illusion
Flight From Darkness
Asha
Eye of the Dead
The Plan
Interlude in Athens
Interrogation
Awakenings
Further Interrogation
The Call of the Sirens
Coming In
Searchers
Prisons and Other Pain
The Enemy’s Face
Visions
Lost Ones
Christmas Eve
Aftermath
End Notes
Chapter 1