A report in the Calcutta Amrita Bazar Patrika of 3 February that year quotes one refugee: ‘Certainly the troubles at Yamdring began in the sixth month of Earth-Bull… . As everyone knows the abbess was abducted and with her treasure to the value of four crores of rupees’ (three million pounds sterling).
The story was taken up by other newspapers and caused a good deal of speculation (and some political upsets) over the meaning of the phrase in the prediction ‘a visitation from beyond the sunset’. Some editorialists felt it could only mean ‘from the west’, and that since the Chinese had indisputably attacked from the north and the east, the oracle must have foreseen depredations from Ladakh on Tibet’s western border.
This was bitterly denied (9 February) by a partisan member of the Lok Sabha, the Indian Lower House, who rejected the ‘foul insinuations of certain people in Calcutta who can only ascribe to Ladakhis the base motives that would actuate them in similar circumstances. It is beyond question that any Ladakhi or Kashmiri could have lent himself to the looting of monasteries… .’
Despite this and other denials, the Indian Press kept the story alive for several weeks, titillated, even in the midst of such tragic horrors, by the strange tale of an abducted abbess and of four crores of rupees.
As the weather in the border territory grew warmer, however, and the refugees began to drift back to their own devil- haunted mountains, the reports tailed off. By June of 1951 they had quite finished.
F. B.–V. PARIS
1960
*
That was the month Charles Houston arrived back in London on his stretcher. He had been away seventeen months. It felt, he said, like as many years.
CHAPTER ONE
1
IN the summer of 1949, when he was 27, Houston found himself having an affair with a married woman. She was 30, and he was not in love with her, and he had gone into it only because he was bored and lonely. He didn’t think that the affair would outlast the summer, but it did, and by the autumn, when he started school again, he was wondering how to end it. He was a bit disgusted with himself.
Houston was living at this time at Baron’s Court in the flat which he shared with his half-brother Hugh, who was two years younger and a good deal noisier and rather inclined to take his shirts and his handkerchieves when he was home. Hugh was not at home. He was in India. He had gone in June, with a film unit, had gone very hurriedly, for permission had come through at the last moment; and one effect had been that Houston’s holiday plans had had to be altered. He had been going to spend a month with his half-brother walking in France.
As it was he had decided to stay at home and have a look round the galleries and do a bit of painting; and he would have done this if it had not happened to be the hottest summer in London for ten years. Instead, his days began to follow a familiar indolent pattern.
He got up every morning and let the char in, and ate his breakfast and read the paper. After this he fiddled with a sketch and then he went out and had a drink.
From time to time he went to parties. He even held one himself in the flat. But the people bored him; they were Hugh’s friends rather than his own. He felt himself very much older than his brother.
At two of the parties in a single week however, he encountered Glynis, and on both occasions found himself wondering about her and about her small and quarrelsome and very drunk husband.
She was tall and somewhat self-conscious about her height; she stooped a little and wore flat shoes. But her face had about it a fey and unprotected character that appealed to Houston most strongly.
She lived with her husband at Fulham, quite close to Baron’s Court, and after debating with himself for a couple of days, Houston had telephoned her.
It was an afternoon in July a high blue day of reeling heat. Houston told her he was going to Roehampton.
‘Lucky you.’
‘Why don’t you come?’
A pause. ‘Oh, I think not.’
‘Can’t you swim?’
‘Yes, I can swim.’
‘I’ll pick you up, then.’
That was how it started. Years later the whole of that curious and aimless summer seemed to crystallize for him in the single moment; the moment of replacing the receiver in the hot empty flat and of feeling the first faint lurch: of excitement, disgust, apprehension.
He remembered very well the heart-searchings of that summer, the times he had taken stock of his position.
He had four hundred pounds in the bank, the lease of the flat, and his job as an art teacher at the Edith Road Girls’ Secondary School in Fulham; it was because of the job that he had taken the near-by flat.
He had got in the habit over the years of looking after his brother. When he had come out of the navy in 1946 he had thought of staking himself for a year with his gratuity and the money his mother had left him, and setting up as a full- time artist. If the worst came to the worst he knew he could always teach. But then Hugh had in turn been released from the service and had got himself a job with the film company at five pounds a week, and Houston had had to postpone setting up as an artist; he had gone instead to the Edith Road Girls’ Secondary, had signed for the flat, and kept Hugh for a couple of years.
His brother, of course, no longer needed keeping. He was earning more than double Houston’s income, and cheerfully spending it. Houston didn’t blame him. He knew that if he wanted, Hugh would stop frittering his money and keep him in turn. He could give the sailor’s farewell to the Head of the Edith Road Girls’ Secondary, a woman he deplored, and on any propitious day set up as an artist.
Why then, he wondered, didn’t he? Houston didn’t know why. He felt very lax. He had a lowering feeling that he had somehow missed the bus, that some of the virtue had gone out of him in the past year. He didn’t want to paint quite as much as he used to. He was obscurely disinclined to have his brother keep him. He didn’t know what he wanted.
In the middle of July, he thought it might be a woman; but by the middle of August knew that it wasn’t that, either.
2
It wasn’t till the middle of September that he began to worry consciously about his brother; but once he started he knew that he must have been worrying for some time. He knew that location work would have finished in Calcutta and that the unit would have moved up into the foothills of Everest. The film was of an attempt to climb the mountain. Mail would be carried by runner and was bound to be irregular. By the middle of September, however, he had not had any for a month. He didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t want to ring up the film company, which seemed to him a fussy thing to do. He thought he would wait a bit.
He waited a week, and then didn’t care whether it was fussy or not.
The girl on the switchboard put him through to a secretary. The secretary put him through to a Mr Stahl.
Houston had heard of this Mr Stahl; he thought he was one of the chiefs of the company. He was somewhat taken about to be connected so instantly with the great man.
‘Who is this?’ said a quiet voice.
‘Mr Houston – about Hugh Whittington,’ he heard the secretary’s voice say on the line.
‘Oh, yes. Mr Houston. I am spending the day on the telephone,’ the American voice said dryly to somebody in the background. ‘We have received a cable, Mr Houston. I thought you would care to hear it.’ He began to read the cable in soft, uninflected tones before Houston was properly aware of the sense of it. It seemed that a party of sixty-six people had been sighted below the west face of a mountain; they were on a rough trail that connected with a trade route. It was not yet known if this route was blocked.
‘It’s signed Lister-Lawrence,’ Stahl said. ‘He’s the British representative in Calcutta, and our only source of information at the moment. Of course, we are sending a man to the frontier as soon as possible, but it will be a day or two before we hear anything. The earthquake destroyed all the telegraph lines.’
‘The earthquake did,’ Houston said, dazed, and
felt the telephone begin to tremble against his ear.
‘Apparently it was quite a severe one. We surmise it blocked their route back and they’re going round the mountain. However, we’re very optimistic. With the local people hired out there, our party should come to sixty-six… .’
The conversation went on for perhaps a minute or two more, and Houston made the necessary responses, but could not afterwards recall what else had been said. He put the phone down presently and stared at it in stupefaction.
This was the first that he heard of the earthquake.
Hugh had been 8 and he 10 when they had first realized there was something a bit different about them. That was when he had gone away to boarding school and Hugh had been too young to follow. He had been sick all the term, and Hugh had been sick too, and he had been taken away from that school and the experiment never repeated. He had thought himself over it during the war when they had been parted once for fifteen months without ill effects. But neither had been in any real danger during the war. He had a sensation of danger now.
By the end of September he had heard a good deal more about his brother. He had heard that he was safe, that the film party was resting in a village, but that their return might be held up by three casualties, none of them, however, very serious.
He had heard all this in three conversations with Stahl’s secretary, a young woman called Lesley Sellers, with whom he was now on the best of telephone terms.
She rang him again on a Monday at the beginning of October, at school, and asked how he was sustaining himself. Houston said very well and inquired what news she had.
‘The best, wonder boy,’ said the young woman. ‘They’re on the way back. The boss heard from Lister-Lawrence last night, and he’s expecting a call from Radkewicz some time tomorrow.’
Houston let out his breath; for Radkewicz was the director of the unit and this was news indeed.
He said, ‘Where will he be calling from.’
‘From Calcutta. A plane has been laid on for them there, so they should be home very soon. I thought you’d like to know.’
‘Well, thanks. Thanks very much.’
‘Is that all the bearer of glad tidings gets – thanks?’
‘What else had you in mind?’
‘Oh, I’d leave that to you. You could tell me when we met. We haven’t yet, have we?’
Her voice was uncomfortably audible in the listening common room. Houston said quietly, ‘Perhaps the first thing would be to organize that. When do you suggest?’
She had told him her suggestion, and a couple of nights later, for the first time, he had met her.
She was waiting on the corner of Wardour Street, a little, pretty, lively thing, shivering in her fur collar in the gusty evening. She put her arm through his without self-consciousness and they walked into Soho.
‘So you’re the artist?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You’re not much like Hugh, are you?’
‘We’re only half-brothers.’
‘I wonder who got the best of the bargain.’
Houston liked her. She had a sideways look that was provocative without being challenging; a small elfin mobile face. They turned into Gennaro’s, and examining her more clearly in the light he wondered why he had never met her. He had met most of the people Hugh worked with. He asked her about it.
‘Oh, well,’ she said. ‘I’m not a girl who likes to compete.’
‘Who would you be competing with?’
‘Sheila, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Sheila?’
‘Sheila Wolferston.’ She glanced at him. ‘You know about her.’
He could dimly remember a Sheila at a party, but he didn’t know what there was, particularly, to know about her.
He said, ‘You mean they’re very friendly?’
‘That’s what I mean.’
‘Does she work at the office?’
‘Yes. Well. Not just now. She’s out there with the unit – the broken leg. Didn’t you really know?’ she asked, looking at him curiously.
‘No,’ Houston said lightly; but he was oddly disturbed. He wondered why Hugh hadn’t mentioned the girl.
But he enjoyed the evening; and he thought he liked her better than most of Hugh’s friends. He took her home, to Maida Vale, and loitered for a while in the hall of the block of flats.
‘Perhaps we’ll see a bit more of each other now,’ she said.
‘Yes. I’d like that.’
‘The only thing is, my life is a tiny bit complicated at the moment.’
‘Mine, too.’
They looked at each other, smiling.
Houston leaned over and kissed her. He expected a cool and light-hearted response; and got rather more.
‘Perhaps we’d better start uncomplicating,’ she said after a moment.
‘Perhaps we’d better.’
She had told him that a reception was being held for the unit if it returned, as expected, on the Saturday, and they agreed to meet there.
‘Back to your complication, then, wonder boy,’ she said lightly. ‘I expect I’ll ring you on Thursday.’
But she rang before that.
She rang on the Wednesday, and she asked if he could call that afternoon to see Stahl.
He said, ‘I don’t know. I suppose so,’ confused for the moment. ‘Do you know what it’s about?’
‘I think he’d better tell you himself. Would three o’clock be all right?’
‘Yes. Yes. All right.’
He saw by her face that the news was not good, but asked no questions. She showed him in immediately to see Stahl.
He had not met him before, and was surprised by what he saw. Despite the authority of his voice, the director was a small man, almost a midget; a little spare bag of bones. He had a beaky nose with a red ridge across it, and a curious condition of the eyes that kept them moving ceaselessly behind their gold-rimmed spectacles. He came round the large desk to shake Houston’s hand.
‘Sit down. Cigarette. I have some disappointing news for you, I’m afraid,’ he said directly.
Houston took the cigarette without speaking, and tried to keep it still as Stahl lit it for him with a big desk lighter.
‘There’s been a slight hold-up. Your brother won’t be coming back this week.’
Houston stared at him, licking his lips. He said, ‘He’s not ill, or injured or anything… .’
‘Oh, no. On the contrary. He’s staying to look after the ones who are. Mr Radkewicz, our director, was in a hurry to move on. The passes out there start getting snowed up early, and he had bulky equipment to shift. He felt it would take another two or three weeks for the casualties to mend satisfactorily, so they’re remaining till they do. Your brother opted to remain with them.’
‘I see,’ Houston said. He found himself considerably disconcerted by the restless eyes. ‘I wonder why he should do that?’
Stahl smiled fractionally. ‘I guess because he’s a good- natured boy,’ he said. ‘There isn’t any danger, if that’s worrying you. They’ll have adequate transport and guides and so forth and the passes are negotiable for ordinary purposes for most of the year. He thought they would appreciate a friendly face and someone who could speak English – although a few people in the monastery do speak a little, apparently.’
‘Monastery,’ Houston said. ‘What monastery?’
‘The one they’re staying in. In Tibet. You know this, of course,’ he said, watching Houston’s face.
Since it was obvious Houston didn’t, he took the cigarette from his mouth, coughing anxiously. ‘Oh, pardon me. I thought I told you. Didn’t I mention the route was blocked so they had to go round the mountain?’
‘Well, yes,’ Houston said. ‘Yes, you did mention that.’
‘Why,’ Stahl said, smiling again slightly, ‘you go round a mountain anywhere in those parts, you’re liable to find yourself in Tibet. That’s what they did.’
Silence fell in the room. Houston obs
erved his lengthening cigarette ash slowly curl and drop on the carpet.
‘Now really, Mr Houston,’ Stahl said, getting him an ashtray, ‘I wouldn’t worry about this. Sure, Tibet sounds very strange, very remote. But where is remote these days? Last night I talked with Radkewicz in Calcutta. And in forty- eight hours Radkewicz will be right here with me in this room. Believe me, nowhere today is remote.’
‘Quite,’ Houston said. He wasn’t sure he’d got it yet. ‘Do you happen to know whereabouts this monastery is?’
‘Certainly. I have it right here,’ Stahl said, rummaging on his desk. ‘I understand it’s a fine place. They’re very comfortable there. They have good food, doctors, everything. It’s actually,’ he said, adjusting his glasses to examine the unfamiliar words on the paper, ‘a monastery for women.’
But the name when he read it out meant nothing at all to Houston.
‘What they call it,’ Stahl said, ‘is Yamdring.’
3
The reception for the returned members of the unit took place at the Savoy Hotel on Saturday, 8 October 1949. It was a lively party, with relatives and Press, and even though his brother wouldn’t be at it, Houston went. He spoke to Radkewicz and to a cameraman called Kelly, a friend of his brother’s, and to some others, and what they told him should have satisfied him. As Stahl had said, the monastery for women was an excellent place. They had been well looked after, the food was good, there were doctors, everything. Tibet was not at all as expected; in the valleys, in the summer, it had been lush, with crops in the fields, and people tending the crops, pleasant, friendly people. For the members of the unit it had been just another place; a rather more welcoming place, in the circumstances, than the one they had left, but one that was physically not unlike it.
Kelly had greatly taken to the inhabitants.
‘Very fine wogs,’ he said. ‘I wish we could have stayed longer, but there was stuff to be humped. Several of our own wogs refused to come. They stayed on for a festival there.’
The Rose of Tibet Page 3