by Liz Harris
He stood up and stared at the house. The missionary’s wife was speaking. Mr Henderson answered her. He didn’t sound quite as angry as before, but nor did he sound happy.
Kalden bit his lip. Perhaps he ought to go away and come back another day. He needed to tell the missionary about the holes in the walls of some of the irrigation channels – if he didn’t tell him soon, the vegetables would die – but the problem could wait a little longer. It would be better to talk to him when he was happy again.
He started to pick his way out of the furrows.
‘Kalden!’ he heard a voice shout out from behind him. ‘Don’t go!’
He turned towards the door as a fair-haired boy in a thick jumper and grey-flannel trousers burst out of the house and came running towards him. Kalden’s face broke into a smile. ‘Hello, Peter!’ he called.
‘Thank goodness you’ve come. Dad’s in a rotten mood this morning,’ Peter said, reaching Kalden and coming to a stop. ‘I can’t wait for him to get off to Alchi. He’s going to ask if we want to go with him, but we don’t, do we? Not when he’s in such a bad temper.’
‘You speak too fast, Peter. My English still not very good. I not understand when you talk fast.’
‘Sorry. We don’t want to go into Alchi, do we? We want to stay here, don’t we?’
‘Ju-le, Kalden.’ Kalden turned and saw Mr Henderson coming up to them, a smile of welcome on his face. ‘Or should I say “Hello”? We said that we’d only speak English to you, didn’t we?’
‘Hello, Mr Henderson.’
‘I expect Peter’s been telling you that I’m in a foul mood.’ He glanced down at his son with an affectionate smile. ‘I have to admit I’ve been a bit of a grouch this morning.’
‘More than a bit,’ Peter said. He grinned at his father. ‘You’ve been horrible.’
‘And he’s probably also told you that I’ve got some purchases to make in Alchi today. I’ll be back before evening. You boys are more than welcome to come along with me, if you want. But if you’d prefer to stay behind, Margaret’s got ngamphe soup for lunch. She made it herself and very good it is, too. So, what’s it to be: staying here or coming to Alchi?’
‘I like stay here, Mr Henderson. Ama-le and Aba-le not pleased if I in Alchi with you. They not pleased I come here to house. Ask me stay in village.’
The missionary shook his head. ‘I’d rather suspected that your parents were still unhappy about you coming to see us, even though they must know how much we need your help. This is a hard place to live for those who aren’t born here. I don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t stepped in.’
‘Stepped in, please?’
‘It means, if you hadn’t helped us. If you hadn’t shown us what to do, I doubt we’d still be here.’
‘I glad you here.’
‘Well, thank you, Kalden. I’m pleased you feel that way. I just wish that others felt the same.’
‘I sorry they not want you.’
‘There’s nothing for you to be sorry about, son. I can understand what they’re worried about – they think we’re only here to turn you all into Christians. Naturally we’d be delighted if that happened, but the main thing is to help all you children get a basic education.’
‘Ladakhi children must look after land: do spinning, make dung cakes, look after little brothers and sisters, fetch water from stream, lots of things. No time for school.’
‘The leader of Ladakh doesn’t agree. He’s said that every family has to send one of their children to school. Until we got here, your nearest school was in Leh, and that’s miles away. If the children from the local villages came to us to be taught, it would be so much easier for them.’ He shrugged his shoulders in a gesture of helplessness. ‘But they don’t want us here and won’t come.’
‘You good people. I like Peter. We friends. I like hear Mrs Henderson play music. And like pictures in books.’
Christopher Henderson put his hand on Kalden’s shoulder and looked down at him. ‘Bless you, son; you don’t know how much pleasure it gives me to hear you say that.’ He turned to Peter. ‘To get back to the present. I take it that you and Kalden are going to stay here. Any ideas about what you’re going to do?’
Peter looked at Kalden. ‘What shall we do? We could slide down the slopes to the edge of the water.’ He paused. ‘Or we could go along to the next village and see what’s going on there. Kalden’s made friends with some of the children who live there.’ He threw a sly glance at Kalden.
Kalden looked quickly down at the ground.
‘Or Kalden could help you to get better at spinning, Peter. Now that’s a thought. We’ll need more blankets this winter and there’s a pile of yak-hair just waiting to be spun.’
‘Before spinning, must mend water channels,’ Kalden said firmly.
Peter glanced along the furrows. ‘What’s wrong with them? They look all right to me. They’ve got water in them.’
‘If Kalden says that they need repairing, then they obviously need to be repaired, and that’s a priority. I’m sorry to disappoint you, Peter, but you may have to leave the village for another day, unless, of course, you finish the job fairly quickly.’
‘We never finish anything quickly. Everything takes ages to do,’ Peter muttered, a sulky expression on his face. He kicked the dust on the track and a cloud of sand swirled up.
Mr Henderson took a step back. ‘Watch what you’re doing, will you? Now, Kalden, what’s this problem with the channels?’
‘Water not stay in channels. Some of water go into ground before get to vegetables. Holes in side of channels.’
‘How will you mend them? If you need my help, I can stay here. I could always go to Alchi another day.’
‘You go Alchi. I show Peter. Peter show you tonight. Not hard. I mend with this.’ He tugged at his homespun robe. ‘Peter see what I do.’ He pointed to the row of turnips at his feet. ‘Turnips dry now, but soon have water.’
Christopher Henderson smiled down at him. ‘What would we do without you, son? Thank you.’ He looked at the heavy watch on his wrist. ‘I really ought to get off if I’m going today. I’ll leave you boys to it, then.’
A few minutes later, he set off on his bullock-drawn cart. Kalden and Peter waved goodbye to him, and stood and watched until he’d manoeuvred the cart through the gap in the wall and turned it in the direction of Alchi.
Peter turned to Kalden. ‘How long do you think it’ll take to mend the channels? It’d be fun to go to the village. We might see Dolma there. I think you like her. You do, don’t you?’
Kalden shrugged his shoulders. ‘She quite nice.’
‘Quite nice! I’d say she’s more than quite nice. She’s very pretty.’
Kalden giggled. ‘Then you marry her when you a man.’
‘But it’s you she likes. I can tell. And anyway, I don’t know where I’ll be when I’m a man. We may not even be here then.’
Kalden stared at Peter, his eyes opening wide in alarm.
‘But I expect we will,’ Peter added quickly. ‘I wouldn’t be able to marry her, though, because we wouldn’t be able to talk to each other. She can’t speak English and my Ladakhi’s terrible. It is terrible, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Kalden said. They both laughed.
‘Dad probably thinks I’m stupid,’ Peter said, picking up two pebbles and banging them together, ‘not being able to learn Ladakhi when you’re so good at learning English.’
‘Mr Henderson not think you stupid, Peter. He know you clever boy. You count and read. Ladakhi boys not clever; can’t count and read. And you play music. You very clever.’
‘I suppose so.’ Peter’s face brightened. ‘He thinks you’re clever, too. He’s always saying how wonderful you are.’
A warm glow swept through Kalden. ‘He really say I wonderful?’
‘He’s amazed at everything you know how to do. So, reading and writing isn’t everything, is it?’
‘But Mr Henderson in Ladakh to teach La
dakhi children reading and writing. Ladakh very hard country to live in. So reading and writing very important to Mr Henderson.’
‘Maybe you’re right.’
‘Mr Henderson very upset this morning. Why?’
‘I did a pretty dumb – pretty stupid – thing earlier on today. You know the stone wall he’s been building to keep the goats away from those peas we planted? Well, I tried to walk along the top of it and it all broke. I forgot that the stones were only piled on top of each other.’
‘You be hurt?’
‘No, but I felt such an idiot. Dad was pretty angry, as you obviously heard. Now he’s got to build the whole thing up again.’ He looked across the rows of turnips, and sighed loudly. ‘So what have we got to do to the irrigation channels? If we start now, we might have time for some fun afterwards. We can do the spinning another day. I hate boring old spinning. I wish we lived in England. No one spins their own clothes there – you just go to a shop and buy what you need.’
‘Come on. I show how mend walls.’ He beckoned to Peter to follow him, and walked towards the irrigation channels. As he did so, he unbelted his knee-length robe and started to pull it up over his head.
‘Hey, what are you doing?’ Peter squealed. He stood still and burst out laughing.
‘You see very soon,’ Kalden replied, his voice muffled beneath the folds of material. Giving a final tug on the robe, he yanked it off and waved it in the air, grinning at Peter.
‘I know you’ve got another one underneath, but you’ll be cold.’
‘I not cold. Ladakhi boys not cold like English boys.’ He held up the robe in his hand. ‘This very old robe. Under old robe have new robe. New robe is good robe. Ama-le can’t mend old robe again as lots and lots of mending in it, so we use old robe to mend channel. Me show.’
Peter stood and watched as Kalden tore the robe into large pieces, then crouched down and spread the pieces over the ground. He carefully scooped a handful of mud from the bottom of the irrigation channel, put the mud on one of the squares of material and wrapped the material around it. Then he pushed the mud-filled parcel into the place in the channel wall through which water was escaping.
‘See,’ he said, straightening up. ‘Now wall good. It not take long. We mend walls, then we get dung from animals and make dung cakes. We put dung cakes on wall to dry in sun. If no dung cakes, not able cook food in winter and make fire, and you be very cold.’
‘Don’t mention winter. We haven’t had summer yet! Right, let’s see how quickly we can do everything. If we get a move on, we might have time to go and see Dolma when we’ve finished.’ He knelt down beside Kalden, watched him make another mud parcel and then began to do the same.
‘Do your parents shout at you a lot?’ Peter asked as they each packed a mud parcel into the side of the wall. ‘Like when they get angry with you because you keep on coming to see us?’
‘Ladakhi people not get angry.’
‘I know you’ve said that before, but surely they sometimes get really furious and yell at you, just like my dad gets angry with me when I do something I shouldn’t.’
‘Chi choen? What’s the point?’ Kalden smiled.
‘How can you not argue? It’s not natural.’
‘Natural for Ladakhi people. All people in village must be friends with all other people in village. Need people to help with sowing and with harvest – with everything. So must all be friends.’
‘I don’t believe it. Everyone gets angry at some time or other – it’s human nature. The people in Ladakh are the same as people everywhere else.’
Kalden shrugged. ‘Maybe someone not very happy and get angry. But not often. Is not Ladakhi way to do things.’
‘When you disobey your parents and come and see us, what happens?’
‘We talk. They say they very unhappy. Me say missionary family need help to live here, and me give help. Me say parents not need me – brothers help parents with land. Brothers will have land, not me. Me help brothers and parents make ground ready for seeds; me go summer pasture with brothers – is good; me help cut barley and wheat when ready, and do whatever aba-le and brothers ask, but me not really needed at home. Me tell parents you be my neighbour and Ladakhi people must help neighbour.’
‘Suppose there’s a really, really big argument between neighbours – I can’t think what about at the moment, but suppose there is – what happens if the people can’t settle it themselves?’
‘Someone who know both villagers listen to one villager, then the other villager, and say what must be done.’
‘Well, I think it’s very strange. I can’t see that system going down well in England.’
Kalden paused in the middle of rolling up the last mud package. ‘You think you go back England soon?’
Peter sat back on his heels. ‘I’d go tomorrow – I’m sorry, Kalden, but I would – but Dad wouldn’t. That’d be accepting defeat. He’s much too proud to give in and admit that he’s failed. This is his mission in life. He’s going to see it through, and the Church is going to support him all the way.’
‘Is a good mission.’
‘Oh, yes,’ he said with sudden bitterness. ‘It’s very good. Life is hard here – there’s no water and nothing will grow. The local people don’t want us here and ignore us when they see us in the towns and refuse to send their children to our school. It’s freezing cold for most of the year, and baking hot in the summer. And my mother – if we lived in England, she could go to concerts and things. We all could. She makes the most of it for my father’s sake, but I know she’d rather be at home.’
‘I sorry. I say wrong thing.’
Peter glanced at Kalden’s face. ‘I feel rotten saying that because I really like you, Kalden. You’re my only friend, and when you go into the monastery, I won’t have any friends at all.’
‘I not go into monastery yet.’ Kalden banged the final mud parcel firmly into position. ‘I not think about monastery. You need me. I stay here.’
‘But when your brothers take over the land, you’ll have to move out of your house, and that might be quite soon. With Deki married to all three of your brothers, and with them already having two babies, your parents will probably be moving into the little house next to your brothers’ house soon. You’ll have to go into the monastery then, won’t you?’
‘That not happen for long time. And anyway, maybe I marry and not go into monastery.’
Peter grinned and leaned forward, putting his face close to Kalden’s. ‘I know who you’re thinking of,’ he said, a sing-song lilt to his voice. ‘And her name begins with D.’ He sat back, stretched out his legs and stared excitedly at Kalden. ‘I bet you do marry her. I heard Dad tell Mum he thought you were going to be really good-looking – much better looking than your brothers – and Dolma obviously thinks so, too – she giggles and goes all silly whenever she sees you.’ He threw back his head and shouted, ‘Kalden and Dolma are in love.’
‘What a noise, boys!’ Margaret Henderson called as she came out of the house. She came across to them. ‘What are you up to?’
The boys scrambled to their feet, wiping the mud from their clothes.
‘We’ve been mending the wall of the irrigation channels, Mum. The water was leaking out.’
Margaret smiled gratefully at Kalden. ‘We seem to be saying thank you to you all the time, Kalden.’
‘I pleased to help, Mrs Henderson.’
‘Apart from the help you give us, I know how much Peter enjoys having your company.’ She ruffled Peter’s fair hair, and he pulled his head away in embarrassment. ‘I expect both of you are ready for some refreshment now, aren’t you? I still have some of the gur-gur cha that you brought us, Kalden. Would you like a cup?’
‘What about me? I can’t stand butter tea. It’s much too salty.’
‘Don’t worry, there’s apricot juice for you, Peter. I think I know by now what you like to drink.’ She smiled at them both. ‘So, do you want to come and have something to eat and d
rink? I heard Christopher telling you that I’d made some soup, so there’s that, too.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Henderson. You very kind.’
‘Dear me, Kalden.’ She laughed. ‘You don’t have to be quite so formal. Giving you a bite to eat is the least we can do after all your hard work. We want you to look upon our home as your second home. As it is, Christopher virtually looks upon you as a son. Now, shall we go in and eat?’
Kalden glanced towards the stone house in front of him, and then looked back at the missionary’s wife. His face broke out into a broad smile. ‘Yes, please,’ he said.
Chapter Five
London, October 1959: Patricia, aged 15
Patricia walked quickly across the crowded out-patient area of the Paddington Green Children’s Hospital, tightening the strings of the green cotton hospital gown that she wore on Saturdays when helping out at the hospital, and went up the narrow back staircase to the small room at the top of the stairs where the nurses gathered in shifts for their afternoon tea.
She was late taking her tea break. While it hadn’t been deliberate, she wasn’t sorry to be the last to go. With any luck, all of the nurses would have returned to their wards by the time she got there and she’d have a quiet few moments in the middle of what had been an unusually busy afternoon. She liked the nurses a lot, but she was tired and not in the mood for conversation.
She pushed the door open and saw a nurse sitting at the table. Her heart sank: with only one nurse in the room, there’d be no way of avoiding talking to her.
‘Hello, Sheila,’ she said, forcing her face into a smile. ‘I’m afraid I’m a bit late. Is there any tea left?’
‘There is, indeed. More importantly, there are still some scones and strawberry jam. Help yourself.’
She went over to the table at the side of the room, poured herself a cup of tea from the large aluminium teapot and went and sat opposite Sheila.
‘So, what did they give you to do today?’ Sheila asked, spreading a thick layer of jam on her scone.