by Aimee E. Liu
Poor Simon had the hardest time. He complained that his muscles were burning. Tears had frozen on his lashes. He was staggering, and on the turn of the fifth switchback he squatted and retched. Joanna wanted to stop with him, but the rest of the caravan had already cleared the top of the pass. Kamla and Tot, both of whom seemed to have the constitution of mountain goats, waited with their own pack animals a dozen yards up the trail. Lawrence warned Joanna that halting here would only intensify the boy’s discomfort.
“What do you suggest?” She gripped her son as if Lawrence meant to snatch him away.
This was not, of course, what he meant at all, but before he could say so, Simon tried to stand. His legs swayed beneath him. Will or no, he could not make it up the pass on his own, and this narrow precipice was no place to battle the point. There were only a few more switchbacks, then Tot had told them the trail would relax to an easy descent on the other side. There was still a chance Simon might acclimate if they could just get him over the hump.
Lawrence waved to Tot and Kamla to resume their climb. With Joanna’s help Simon climbed onto his back, and they began again. “One, two. One, two,” he heard himself mutter beneath the howl of the wind. The trail was barely two feet wide. One stumble, a lurch to the side…a drop of several hundred feet. It was like piggybacking along the ledge of a skyscraper. The greater danger, though, Lawrence well knew, was to continue if the boy did not acclimate. Although he had started strong enough, Simon now seemed to be caving in on himself. His skin had turned clammy, the color of paste, and he was wheezing, his grip listless, as if he could not concentrate even enough to keep his arms around Lawrence’s neck.
Finally, they cleared the top and started down the other side, which was, as Tot had predicted, an easy descent. The sky thickened, dripping snow in thin plumes, and they caught up with the caravan resting under a series of high ledges that angled over the trail, forming a sort of canyon.
Lawrence set Simon down and began rubbing his arms and cheeks. Tot caught his eye and shook his head.
“Can you walk?” Joanna asked her son.
Simon’s shoulders were shaking, but he nodded, shamefaced, glancing at Kamla, who stood with her hands jammed into her pockets, not even out of breath. Up ahead the caravan men were cursing their animals, and a distance apart from them the merchant knelt in prayer beside his wife.
“Just take it easy,” Joanna said, but the quaver in her voice gave Lawrence the opening he needed.
He signaled Tot to look after the boy and drew Joanna out of earshot. “The next passes are higher,” he said. “People die of altitude sickness. You realize that.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and dropped her chin inside her collar. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Ralph Milne’s the same age. He made it sound like a lark.”
“Ralph Milne was raised in this climate. Being the same age means nothing. Look at Kamla.”
But instead her eyes trained through the curtain of snow at the begum’s black sack figure. “If she can take that baby—”
“Neither she nor that baby has a choice, Jo.”
“What do you want me to do!” Her head snapped back and she stared out from under the brim of her hat. They were standing in the open. Snowflakes glistened on her lashes and skin.
“It’s nothing to do with what I want,” he said quietly.
“Isn’t it?”
And for a moment he was certain she’d figured him out, that whether or not she understood how, she knew he’d played a hand in Aidan’s disappearance.
But the moment was obliterated by a series of loud metallic pops that rang out down the trail. The caravan men yelled back and forth, and the Muslim merchant’s prayers terminated abruptly as everyone scrambled for cover. After the first stunned instant Joanna needed no instruction. She raced back toward the children as Lawrence darted forward along the stone outcropping to the alcove where Tot had tethered the pack animals. The crackle of gunfire did not let up, but the shots were intermittent and distinct. Single-shot rifles, maybe a pistol or two. No automatics.
Tot had drawn the children behind a boulder well out of the line of fire. Lawrence saw Joanna reach them safely just as he found the yak on which he’d stowed the Mark II. He pulled it from its case and snapped in a clip of ammunition. The Milnes had warned of Hunza bandits, Kirghiz rebels, and soldiers, but the warning had seemed melodramatic. No more real than the shots that now spattered ahead of them. Lawrence took off the Sten’s safety.
Brave, woolly heroes that they were, the caravan men could hardly wait to wave their white cloths of surrender. Their shrieks of professed neutrality echoed up the pass, but the flags were no more visible than their assailants through the flurry of snow. Looking back, Lawrence saw Tot with his hand visored over his eyes.
“Chinese!” Tot called across the trail.
“Soldiers?” Lawrence demanded.
Tot strained to interpret the cries ricocheting backward. After another staccato burst of gunfire he nodded.
Lawrence pressed the button that converted the Mll from a singleshot to an automatic and stepped forward. Joanna shouted, “Get down, Lawrence! Are you mad?”
He glanced across the few feet that separated them. She crouched like a cat about to spring. Behind her the children held hands, and he grinned at them in a sudden flash of appreciation. “Absolutely blooming,” he said.
And with that he pointed the weapon skyward, fired briefly but with a deafening report. As if on command, the snow ceased, and an uncertain volley of fire replied. Lawrence strode down the trail to an open area where their assailants would have a clear view of him brandishing the Sten gun. A white man. An attractive but historically dangerous target.
“All right, you cowards,” he yelled. “What exactly is it you’re after?” Again he shot into the air.
The pass was still reverberating with echoes from this final fusillade as he watched the soldiers scurry away. There were no more than a half-dozen of them, clad in the khaki drill of the Chinese Nationalist Army. Impossible to tell whether they were strays, renegades, or dispatches assigned to clear the trail, but in all likelihood their intent would be the same: to prey on the caravan for their own advantage.
“Gutless wonders,” Lawrence muttered under his breath, and whistled to let the others know it was safe.
But something was radically changed in the scene that greeted him when he turned. At first he couldn’t say what it was. A low moaning filled the air. Joanna and Kamla were squatting with their backs to him. They seemed indifferent to the cessation of gunfire. Lawrence was about to address them when he noticed Simon’s blue cap on the ground.
Tot had been hidden from view by Joanna and Kamla, but now he emerged from his position crouching before Simon’s outstretched body.
Lawrence moved one step. Two. Simon was lying on the ground, just as he’d lain in the pool at the Cecil Hotel. Playing dead. He wouldn’t fall for the game this time. He walked forward grinding his teeth.
But there was blood, a gash in the cloth. The unmistakable lividity of torn flesh. He could see for a fact the child was not pretending.
He was not dying, either, however. Simon moaned, craning to see his leg, and Lawrence exhaled.
“Don’t look,” Joanna commanded. “You’re in shock, darling. Just lie back.” She glanced up. “Lawrence, for God’s sake. Help us!”
Her eyes ripped through his own dread, releasing him to come forward, pitch in. First he soothed Simon, praising the child for holding his tears and acting like a man. Then he examined the wound. It had gone straight across, missing both bone and muscle. The damage was only skin deep. But there could be no more thought of Simon going on. Joanna dispatched Tot to return to Panamik and bring Dr. Milne. Lawrence fetched the whiskey, blankets, and bandages, and helped her clean the wound. Then Kamla stood in for Tot as translator while Lawrence notified the caravan leader.
Muhammad stomped his foot and glowered over his mammoth beard. As far as he was con
cerned the boy’s injury was a scratch. If they went back down the pass not only would they lose a day’s march, but the soldiers might think they’d retreated in fear. Lawrence urged him to go ahead, then, but the firenghi would not go with them. The boy needed medical attention. They were going back to wait for the doctor at a lower altitude. He knew the caravan leader was trapped. He and his men carried the crudest of pistols and knives. Lawrence’s MII—as well as his physical size and race—had established him as the group’s protector. The caravan would wait.
Only after he had Simon readied for the descent, with Joanna and Kamla both busy tending him, did Lawrence return to the ledge where the wounding had occurred. He considered the angle, found the stain in the rock. The bullet must have ricocheted off the side of the canyon. It had grazed the boy, then continued on. After several minutes, Lawrence found it wedged beneath the boulder where Simon had taken cover. He examined the battered Parabellum casing, noting its shape and substance and markings.
The bullet was one of his own.
Chapter 4
1
THE SNOW GAVE WAY to an icy rain as they moved Simon back down the pass, but they reached the base without incident and found shelter in a shallow cave. Simon, by now anesthetized with whiskey, decided to teach Kamla the William Tell Overture, which he knew as the Lone Ranger theme song. “Hi-Ho, Silver, away!” The two of them flapped their arms in unison. Joanna made an effort to smile.
He was not badly hurt. Her heart had gone out of her at his first cry, the sight of all that blood. But it could have been so much worse. This was really only a nick.
She turned to Lawrence, who stood speaking to her from the mouth of the cave, a distance of perhaps twelve feet. With the rain’s heavy gray light at his back and his face in shadow, he seemed gargantuan. She had to step closer to hear him over the pelting water. “I’ll take Kamla and go on with the caravan,” he was saying. “We’ll find Aidan, one way or another, Jo. Don’t worry.”
Aidan. She hadn’t thought of him in hours. Hadn’t allowed herself to think of him. Now her husband’s name went through her like a fist. She looked away to Simon, who was showing Kamla how to make a church and steeple with his fingers—as if the girl would know what a church and steeple even were.
Lawrence hesitated, then came closer and put his arms around her. His grip was so tight she could feel his knuckles through the bulk of her jacket, digging into her shoulder blades.
Less than an hour after they reached the base, Dr. Milne and Tot arrived, accompanied by two Ladakhi porters carrying a litter. Immediately Milne set to work, touching Simon on the shoulder, the hand. He spoke in a soothing, nonstop patter as his fingertips circled the zone of damage, and Simon lay as if mesmerized, answering questions about cowboys and magic and snakes. Joanna was stunned that Milne had zeroed in on her son’s three reigning passions. Then she realized he must have overheard the two boys talking in Panamik, or else Ralph had filled him in. Still, he was clearly a man who paid attention, and the care he took with Simon touched her. When he told her son, “You’ll soon be good as new,” she believed him.
“He’s a lucky boy,” Milne said with a glance to Joanna and Lawrence. He poured sulfa powder onto the wound and prepared a dressing. “A little rest is all he really needs.”
She watched Simon flip his hands, distracting himself by teaching Kamla the “Eensy Weensy Spider.” Joanna had taught him this finger game while Aidan was in Chungking. “Again!” Simon used to cry, over and over and over again until sometimes she thought she’d go mad. She looked away.
“I’m going out to help Tot,” Lawrence said. He pressed her shoulder lightly as he passed behind her.
“Only trouble,” Milne went on, “he’ll be a bit sore, and there’s always the risk of infection if the dressings aren’t properly tended. Especially at altitude.” He stood up and led her to the opposite side of the cave, wiping his hands on a clean white cloth.
Here it comes, she thought. About-face. Lawrence was already out there segregating the packs.
The doctor gave the cloth a shake, folded it lengthwise, and tossed it over his shoulder. The gesture reminded her of a mother preparing to tote her infant. He spoke in the same easy tone he had used with Simon, but just loud enough now for Joanna alone to hear. “I could take the lad back to Srinagar with me and Ralph. That way you can go on with your mission knowing he’s safe, and he won’t slow you down.”
The proposal caught Joanna mid-swallow, and the fist slammed through her again. Her mission. She stared at the doctor, his words refusing to seat in her mind.
In Panamik, Milne had never returned to the subject of Aidan, but then, a man like Milne wouldn’t have to. He had absorbed what he needed and wished them Godspeed. Then today he had trekked back miles to help them.
“You live and travel in war zones awhile, these things happen,” he said. “Tot explained your situation.” His blue eyes rested on her, somber. Generous. “I shouldn’t presume to influence you, Joanna, but I do understand.”
She discovered her hand at her mouth, though she didn’t remember putting it there. Nothing was a foregone conclusion, even now. Especially now. She lowered her hand. Her heart was picking up speed.
Milne looked over his shoulder at Simon and Kamla. “Our houseboat’s plenty big, and I plan to remain there at least through the summer, while Ralph and I decide our next move. Simon’s welcome to stay with us as long as you need. Ralph would love it.”
But, surely what he proposed was impossible. “I don’t think you understand,” she said. “He’s never been away from me.”
He fingered the end of the cloth. His eyes traveled back to the rain now dropping in vertical threads. “I lost my wife ten years ago. It wasn’t…” he groped, “an unusual death. She came down with pneumonia. Ralph was just born. I’d never experienced such helplessness. Nothing we gave her made the slightest difference. Worst of all, I’d never fully realized how much I loved her until I watched her die. At that point if I’d had the means to go after her, if I’d had even the slightest hope of fetching her back before it was too late, nothing could have stopped me.” He cleared his throat. “Not even Ralph.”
Joanna took a step forward, out from under the cave. When she lifted her chin, the rain met her face. She closed her eyes. The wet traced a black chill against the heat of her skin, and her pulse roared in her ears. Once she and Aidan had made love in the rain. It was an unseasonably warm October shower for Maryland, and she’d dared him to come out to the backyard naked, to lie with her in the grass under the pouring darkness. A simple adventure. He held both her hands as he slid inside her and licked the rain from her breasts. Through the rustle of water she heard him murmur, “How I love you, Joanna.” She suspected that was the night they conceived Simon.
Behind her Milne called, “It’s letting up!”
She opened her eyes and saw Lawrence striding toward them, pearls of water latched to his beard. His rawhide hat the color of soggy tobacco bobbed forward as he acknowledged Milne’s comment. The air still swam, thick and wet as glycerine, but they were right. It had stopped coming down.
“Yes,” she said, more to herself than to either of the men. She let the word settle before looking back at Simon. He was sitting up, leaning on one hand and laughing at Kamla and, behind her, the two Ladakhi porters, at their brave attempts to sing along with the chorus of “She’ll Be Comin’ ’Round the Mountain.”
“All right,” she said firmly.
Lawrence joined Milne under the lip of the cave. He removed his hat and slapped it against his thigh to shake off what water he could. His hair clung in straggles to his forehead and neck. His gray eye seemed transparent in this light, his green one penetrating yet quizzical as he studied her out in the wet.
“Ralph will be ecstatic,” Milne said, though he sounded tentative, as if still testing her resolve.
She pictured Aidan now lying face down at the bottom of a chasm. Behind Milne, Simon giggled.
“I�
�m going on with you and Kamla,” she told Lawrence. “Reggie’s offered to take Simon back to wait for us in Srinagar. We’ll move faster this way. And he’ll be safe.”
Lawrence’s jaw slid sideways so that his face appeared momentarily dislocated. She felt a wave of disapproval, but couldn’t be sure how much was his, how much her own.
She came in out of the mist. “I wish I had more time to think about it, but I don’t know if that would change anything.”
A cord of muscle like a thick rope stretched from Lawrence’s jaw to his collar. Still he didn’t speak. Milne waited another few seconds, then signaled across the cave for the porters to prepare for the trip back. He placed his fingertips briefly to Joanna’s sleeve before retreating to Simon, whose skin was now flushed, his nose bright pink. The boy’s head bounced to a rhythm only he could hear. “How does it go?” he asked too loudly, and hummed a tune she didn’t recognize. Kamla interrupted with a tune of her own. Simon grinned. “Silly. That’s not it!”
“You really intend to do this.” Lawrence’s voice sounded brittle at her side.
“He understands,” she said, following Milne with her eyes.
“What could he possibly understand? He’s a total stranger.”
“Simon can’t go on, and I have to go on.” She realized suddenly how close Lawrence was standing and moved away from him. The back of her head struck the overhanging rock. Lawrence saw, and reached out a hand. Though blinking back tears of pain, she batted his arm away. “If you’re so concerned about Simon, why don’t you go back with him?”
That stopped him. For several long seconds he was silent, staring out at the watered air and stone. Then he said slowly, in a pitiless tone she’d never heard before, but that she found strangely reassuring, “I can’t force you, Joanna, but I’m sure as hell not going to let you go on without me.”