by Liz Harris
Kalden repeatedly explained to them that Patricia-le and her father were staying in his village, getting to know the Ladakhi way of life and exploring the area, and she would then say a few words of greeting in Ladakhi, which clearly pleased them. But finally, he threw her a look of desperation and suggested that they give up any idea of seeing the rest of the village and get out as quickly as possible.
Laughing, she agreed, and they went as fast as they could to a small opening in the wall at the back of the village. As they slipped through the gap, a brightly coloured tree just outside the wall caught her eye, and she stopped in front of it. Clusters of dried apricots had been hung from the branches and loaves had been spread out on the ground in front of it. She looked questioningly at Kalden.
It wasn’t unusual to find such a tree outside a village, he said, coming over to her. It was a tree for the good demon which lived near the village. The villagers put offerings by the tree to keep the demon happy: a happy demon was good for the village.
He took one look at her face, laughed, dropped his rucksack on the ground and took out a small canvas bag. Scooping a handful of dried apricots from the bag, he gave a few to her, and went over and placed the rest at the foot of the tree.
‘And now we, too, be looked after by good demon,’ he said with a grin as he put the empty bag back into his rucksack. Straightening up, he pointed towards a small mountain in the distance, some way beyond the apricot trees that were growing in the fields outside the village. ‘We go there now. But we turn before we get to mountain and go across plateau to our village.’
‘It doesn’t look very far away,’ she said, putting a dried apricot into her mouth. ‘It shouldn’t take us long to get there.’
An hour after they’d left the neighbouring village it seemed to Patricia that they were still some way from the mountain.
‘I can’t believe how far away the mountain’s turned out to be,’ she said, stopping to draw a breath. ‘It’s a lovely walk with all the birds singing and the sun, but we don’t seem to be getting any closer to the mountain.’ She shaded her eyes with her hand and gazed at the dark shape rising up against the clear blue sky. ‘I’m glad we’re not going that far.’
‘Air in Ladakh is very clear. Mountains seem very near, but are not. If you tired, we can make shorter walk. Not go closer to mountain, but go back to village now.’
‘Oh, no,’ she said quickly. ‘I’m fine, really I am. I don’t want to go back a minute sooner than we have to. No, let’s do what we were going to do.’
‘We hold hands, then,’ he said, and he held out his hand to her. ‘I help you.’
‘If you’re sure?’ she asked, hesitantly.
‘I very sure,’ he replied, taking her hand firmly in his. ‘I very sure,’ he repeated, and they started to walk forward, their hands entwined.
When they reached the point where the stony track turned away from the mountain, they struck out across the shimmering plateau and made their way past fields full of wild irises and a profusion of herbs, the scent of which enveloped them. Far away to their right, against a backdrop of hazy pink and mauve mountains, there was a faint outline of what Patricia thought must be a wall, the only sign of human life in the world of nature.
‘I do love it here, Kalden.’ She sighed. She felt him tighten his fingers around her hand, and a wave of happiness spread through her as they walked along.
Suddenly she realised with a jolt that Kalden’s body had tensed and that he’d started to stare up at the sky every few minutes. She turned to him, but before she could ask what was wrong, he stopped walking, dropped her hand and looked up. Turning around on the spot, he studied the sky in every direction. Then he took her hand again, and began to walk more quickly, his face anxious.
‘What’s the matter, Kalden? You look worried. What is it?’
‘Birds no longer singing,’ he said shortly.
‘It’s getting colder; perhaps that’s why.’
‘That not why,’ he said, and he looked up at the sky again. She followed his gaze and saw that the sky was changing at a frightening speed: the blue had almost vanished, and the sky, now sombre and overcast, was fast breaking up into small low clouds that were streaked with a steely grey.
‘Sometimes get very strong winds in Ladakh,’ Kalden said, a note of urgency in his voice. ‘Winds come suddenly. I think strong wind come. Must find shelter. Missionary house near here. We go there. We go there fast.’ As he spoke, a powerful gust of wind swept around them, throwing a column of swirling dust into the air. Patricia coughed.
He put his arm around her shoulders and together they ran towards the distant wall, racing against a wind that was becoming stronger and stronger with every passing moment, fighting hard to make headway across the moving ground, not daring to stop and catch their breath until they reached the wall which encircled the abandoned house.
They sank to the ground behind the crumbling wall, crouching low. Kalden leaned across Patricia, trying to shelter her with his body. Covering their heads with one of their hands as clouds of sand and stones spun in the air above them, with the other hand they clung tightly to the top of the wall, desperately trying to stop themselves from being blown away.
The fierce winds were gathering force, roaring from every direction, prising apart the loose stones of the wall and hurling them into the air. The lump of stone that Patricia was clinging to came away in her hand and she gasped with fright.
Kalden leaned close to her to make himself heard above the booming of the wind. ‘Not stay here. We go to house,’ he shouted. ‘We be safe in house.’
With both his arms tightly holding her, he helped her struggle to her feet. Their heads down, they tried to run along the path between the overgrown turnip fields, battling with their every step against the ferocity of the wind. They reached the front door, and he threw himself against it with his shoulder. It swung open. He pulled Patricia into the house and slammed the door behind them.
Panting heavily, they stood in the small downstairs room and looked around them, their eyes stinging from the grit and the wind.
‘I sorry, Patricia,’ he said, when he’d caught his breath. ‘I should see wind coming sooner.’
‘It wasn’t your fault, Kalden. You weren’t to know how quickly everything would change. But it was certainly scary. That good demon must have been fast asleep.’
‘Sadly, can’t blame good demon. Was my fault. I should have known – I live here all my life. Was not looking at sky, was looking at Patricia.’
‘Well, don’t look at me now,’ she said with a laugh, suddenly self-conscious. ‘My hair’s a real mess and I’ve probably got sand and dust all over my face. I must look a fright.’ She raised her hand to smooth down her hair.
‘You look beautiful,’ he said quietly. He caught her arm mid-air and placed it gently by her side. ‘Very beautiful.’ Raising his hand, he ran his fingers slowly through her hair, then he let his arm fall to his side.
She shivered.
‘You are cold,’ he said quickly. ‘Strong wind go soon and air be warm again. Is more warm upstairs and we have blankets. We go upstairs till wind stops. Is good?’
She nodded, and followed him up the wooden stairs to the first floor. He went into the first room he came to. She lingered in the doorway, and watched as he took two folded blankets from a shelf.
‘This be Peter’s room,’ he told her, unfolding one of the blankets while he held the other tucked under his arm. ‘Many harvests go since we make these, Peter and me. Peter is in bad mood when we make blankets – he not like doing this. Come, Patricia, you soon be warm.’ He spread the blanket over the floor, and indicated that she should sit on it.
She hesitated, still in the doorway. ‘You come, Patricia,’ he said gently. ‘If we be close together under blanket, you be warm.’ He gestured to the blanket again, and she went over to it. Her every sense heightened by nervousness, she sat down.
He dropped the second blanket on to the corner o
f the first, and disappeared down the stairs. A few minutes later he returned with a short, lighted candle, its flame flickering ominously with his every movement. He put the candle on the shelf, picked up the second blanket and came and sat next to her. Unfolding the blanket, he tucked it around them both, cocooning them in a sudden rush of heat. She felt his leg touch hers, and she shivered again.
‘You cold, Patricia?’ he asked in surprise.
‘No, I’m not,’ she said quickly, glancing at him. Their eyes met. Both immediately turned away. He edged slightly away from her.
‘When wind stops, we go,’ he said. ‘Nima will make us warm again when we go out of house.’
‘Nima?’
‘The sun. Nima means the sun. Without nima, there is no warmth, no life. There be more sun today. Wind not stay long.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ she said, hugging her knees to her chest under the blanket, acutely aware of him next to her. Afraid to look at him lest her eyes revealed how much she longed to be sitting still closer to him, to feel his body against hers, she looked around at the bare walls and the almost empty shelves, and she forced herself to try to imagine what it must have been like for Peter to live in a totally different culture for most of his life and then go back to England.
Her knee drifted sideways and touched Kalden’s leg.
‘Do you know what Peter’s doing now?’ she asked, quickly pulling her knee back up and tightening her arms around her legs.
‘I not know. Have not had letter for much time. Peter very busy and letters take long time to come in Ladakh. But Peter will be happy. He go to school that help him with his lessons, and then he go to university. Peter be able to choose what he do.’ His voice was filled with yearning.
‘But we can all choose what we do, within limits, can’t we?’
‘Not in Ladakh, not if you fourth son.’
She twisted round to face him. ‘This time, you’ve got to tell me what you mean, Kalden. Why can’t you choose what you do? Please tell me.’ She put her hand lightly against his cheek and turned his face to look into hers. ‘I can’t bear to see you unhappy like this. Why does it matter that you’re the fourth son?’
‘Because I not able to marry, Patricia,’ he said, and he gently moved her hand away from his face.
‘Why can’t you get married? Maybe not to Deki, but to someone else?’
‘Land go to first three sons. Not enough land for fourth son. Without land, man cannot marry. So I not marry.’
‘What will you do then, stay in the house with your brothers and Deki?’
‘I go into monastery. I be monk.’
‘A monk!’ Her hand flew to her mouth. ‘When?’
‘After the harvest, when you go England. If you and Major-le not come to Ladakh, I be in monastery now. But I not want to think of that today.’ He paused. ‘Listen!’
She looked up at the ceiling. ‘What is it? I can’t hear anything.’
‘And I not hear anything. I not hear wind. I go and look.’ He slipped from beneath the blanket, tucked it back tightly around her, and went swiftly down the stairs.
A dull pain ached deep within her, and she brought her knees back close to her chest.
Almost immediately, he reappeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Wind is gone and sun is come. We go home now,’ he said briskly. He leaned over and offered her his hand.
‘But suppose you fell in love with someone?’ she asked, her heart beating fast. She ignored the outstretched hand, and pulled the blanket right up to her chin.
‘I once had friend. She marry man with land.’
‘I’m so sorry, Kalden.’
‘Not be sorry. I try feel deeply for her, but I not feel enough deeply.’
As he leaned forward and started to prise the blanket from her fingers, he glanced at her face and saw that her eyes were full of unshed tears. He straightened up and looked down at her. ‘You not be sad for me, Patricia. From time I born, I know I be monk one day. I accept this.’
‘I’m not just sad for you,’ she said, and she pushed the blanket away from her and stood up. ‘I’m also sad for the person you could have loved and who could have loved you.’
He stared at her, his forehead slowly creasing. ‘I not want to understand what you say,’ he said flatly. ‘Must not understand.’ He turned away.
‘But you do understand, don’t you?’ She caught hold of his arm. ‘I’ve been waiting for you for all my life, Kalden, and I didn’t even know it till the moment I met you. And I know it was the same for you. You feel the same as I feel. You do, don’t you?’
He pulled his arm away from her, his eyes ablaze. ‘You know I do. But I must not. We must not talk like this. Is not good. I not free man. I never be free man.’
‘Even if you’ve got to be a monk one day, you’re not a monk now. Surely you’re entitled to some happiness, if you want it.’
‘You think I don’t want, Patricia? I do.’ He grasped her hands. ‘From the day you come to Ladakh, I see only you. I look at the sky and I see you. I look at the fields and the flowers and I see you. I look at the mountains and valleys and you are there. I look at the water that brings us life and I see you. You are that life. You are everywhere for me. From moment I see you, you fill my heart. And I am scared at what I feel for you.’ He buried his face in her hands
‘And I feel the same way about you, Kalden,’ she said quietly.
He dropped her hands and stepped back. ‘But we can never be, not you and me. You are not a woman for a game, for fun. You are a woman for a man to have forever. I cannot be the man. I cannot … but I want. I do want.’
She took a step closer to him. ‘If you want and I want, then nothing else matters.’ Her voice shook. ‘There are worse things in life than getting hurt.’
‘I not afraid of getting hurt. I hurt every day when I think of you leaving. But I not want to hurt you, so we must go now.’
Their eyes met, and locked. Standing in the centre of the room, neither moved.
The beat of their hearts loud in the silence of the afternoon, he took a step forward and cupped her face in his hands. Bending his head, he brushed his lips against hers. Then his hands slowly slid down the column of her neck, across her shoulders, down her arms, down to the tips of her fingers.
‘Beautiful Patricia,’ he said so softly that she could hardly hear him, and he pulled her close to him.
‘Oh, Kalden,’ she breathed, and she wound her arms around his back, and pressed against the lean muscle of his chest. His male scent of salt and sweat enveloped her, and she leaned up to kiss the hollow of his throat. She felt his body hard against hers. The dull ache became a heavy throb.
Her heart pounding, her hands flew to his shirt, her fingers fumbling with the buttons.
He put a hand on hers and stilled them.
Staring deep into her eyes, he finished unbuttoning his shirt and pulled it off, his muscles rippling beneath his smooth golden skin. She caught her breath. Raising her hand, she very slowly ran her fingers across his bare skin. Her lips parted, and she looked up into eyes that were staring down at her, dark with longing,
‘Oh, Patricia, I do want,’ he said, and he brought his face down to hers and kissed her full on the mouth.
They lay quietly for several minutes, their arms around each other, Kalden’s face buried in her hair, Patricia’s face lost in the hollow of his neck.
‘We must get back to village,’ he said at last. ‘It soon be dark and Major-le be awake.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’ She sighed and curled up closer to him.
He raised himself on his elbow, and kissed her lightly on the top of her head, on her forehead, on the tip of her nose, on her mouth.
‘You’re my golden man, Kalden,’ she whispered, and she slid her hand to the back of his neck. ‘I do love you.’
‘Love.’ He smiled into her face. ‘Ladakhi people not have this word love, but I hear Henderson family talk of love and I know what this means to you. And I kno
w that I love you, too, Patricia.’
‘You don’t have to say that.’
‘But it is the truth. Until the harvest ends, we can love, and I take that love with me for rest of my life. But we must go now.’ He gave her a rueful smile and started to get up. Reluctantly, she followed him.
Standing together on the blanket, they faced each other, their bare skin gleaming in the amber light of the candle, the tips of their fingers touching.
‘I love you, Patricia,’ he said. ‘I will always love you.’
They hurriedly threw on their clothes, ran out of the missionary house and made their way along the track towards the village, their feet crunching on the pebbles thrown across the path by the wind. Hand in hand, half walking, half running, they went as quickly as they could, their eyes drawn frequently to each other.
The light was fading by the time they got to the chorten. Seeing a group of boys coming towards them, laughing and chasing each other, their hands fell to their sides. Every so often one of the boys stopped where he was, bent over to the ground, picked something up and put it into a bag. When they got closer, she saw that they were collecting animal dung.
They’d make the dung into pats, Kalden told her, and they’d put the pats on the village wall the next morning to dry in the sun. When dry, they’d be added to the store of dried dung to be used for cooking and heating during the winter.
‘But I not want to think of winter,’ he said, and he took her hand again and didn’t release it until they reached the outskirts of the village.
‘We go for walk tomorrow?’ he asked as he followed her down the path to the post house.
‘I do hope so,’ she said quickly. ‘For the whole day, if possible. I just hope Father isn’t furious about how late we are.’ She took a deep breath and opened the door.