Forever the Road (A Rucksack Universe Fantasy Novel) (32 page)

A strange longing shone from the old man’s dark eyes, as if he badly wanted to tell the tourist something but could not. When he looked away, the longing in Jigme’s stare had caught him.

Then Jigme had turned down the alley, and the old man had followed. He had even followed Jigme into the temple, without a doubt, without a flinch.

It wasn’t until they were inside that things had become difficult.

The old man’s bright eyes had widened when the Smiling Fire loomed over him, and his face contorted with deep terror. Yet he did not try to run. He did not beg or plea. He trembled with fear but soon the old man’s face changed.

It was as if he were remembering something long forgotten, something that gave him courage and some sort of peace. The Smiling Fire said nothing, only gathered its strength. Moments remained before the old man would be less than ash.

The old man raised his head and stared into the twin coals of the Smiling Fire’s eyes. He smiled brighter than the flames looming above him. Then he looked away and locked his gaze on Jigme.

The old man looked at him as if he were trying to say something.

The Smiling Fire lunged up.

Old yet vibrant, quavering with separateness and longing, the words came into Jigme’s mind.

“I’m sorry.”

Jigme stared deep into his thoughts, which opened like new days inside his mind. There was so much the old man had to say, so much he suddenly wanted to tell Jigme. Why now? After all these silent years, why nothing till now?

Jigme saw all the times he’d walked by the cart, feeling the brown-and-black eyes staring at him. Not even the day he’d eaten there had the old man tried so hard to communicate with him.

Now came the cries, the memories, the stories, all surging toward Jigme’s mind like a once-trickling river now swollen with spring rains and winter melt. So much to say. So much to understand.

One word came racing toward him—not yet distinct, but Jigme focused on it, tried to understand…

The Smiling Fire crashed down like a wave.

“No!” Jigme cried, but it was all too late.

The flood dried up. The thoughts vanished.

Jigme was alone again.

Shards of what he had almost learned fell around him and disappeared, unknown and lost forever. A black cloud filled the temple, yet all was so silent. No screams. No words. No sound at all.

He was trying to tell me something,
Jigme thought with sadness and longing,
but I couldn’t understand in time.

The cloud faded. The Smiling Fire reappeared and stood before Jigme. He seemed to glow in his red-tinged darkness, as if with fullness and happiness.

“You have done well,” the Smiling Fire said. “He was one who long ago defied me, and the time for my revenge had come.”

The smile became bigger. The temple seemed hotter. “Much of my old strength has been returned. Yet now I understand.”

“What do you mean? Why did you have to kill him?”

The Smiling Fire walked away from Jigme. “Because he stole the fire from me. Yet as if in recompense, I see so much more now. I see so far. He has given me new eyes. Others stole too, as he did, but most of them are dead. Their fires are amongst the world and will be easy enough to recover.”

Tears sprang into Jigme’s eyes, but he didn’t understand why. “I thought you sent him away.”

“Oh, you mean the child?”

Jigme nodded but he would not let his memory return to that day, so recent and so raw.

“I’ve done as I said,” The Smiling Fire told him. “The child has gone to the better place I described.”

“To the school?”

“Yes. The school. Far north from here. Near the mountains,” the Smiling Fire said, his words halting and full of pauses. Sometimes Jigme felt like a finger was poking at images in his mind. “He is still on his way. But he will… He will send you… letters. I can feel his excitement, even now.”

Jigme’s fears faded in the lull of the words. The child who had followed, now had gone on. It was okay. The old man was different. He stole. He had to be punished. Shouldn’t there be punishment for those who stole so much? It had to be right. But so much had happened.

Weariness fell over Jigme.

“May I rest now?”

The Smiling Fire raised a hand. “There is no time for rest. There is only getting stronger or getting weaker. If you rest, I will fade. If I fade…”

Jigme nodded, ignoring the tiredness that had fallen over his body. “What must I do?”

With a wave of the Smiling Fire’s hand, images passed into Jigme’s mind, along with that feeling again of something poking at his thoughts. He saw children, smiling and running, eyes large and bright, blazing with the fire of life.

The smile widened. “That is what I understand now. The children, Jigme. The children are everything. Bring them. As many as you can. The ones like you. Alone. Desperate. Hungry. I will… I will help them all.”

“Just like the first child?” The child’s name tried to sound in his mind, but Jigme made it go away.

“Yes. When the time is right, it will be your turn too.”

“To go away to the school?”

“With the other children.”

“But Amma…”

“She will be… proud… of you,” the Smiling Fire said. “She can go there too. You can learn again. You will have fields and hills to run around in. Green. Full of life. Isn’t that what you want?

Jigme saw it too, as clear and vibrant as if it were a memory and not a dream. Cold streams ran over grassy hills. In the distance rose the peaks of the Himalayas. One mountain stood above all others. He ran and ran and ran, through the crisp morning air, ran with the other children, all smiles and fast breaths. When he returned, there was Amma, cups of hot chai waiting, and tales of each other’s day…

“It does not have to be a dream, Jigme,” the Smiling Fire said. “It can be your life. But only if I am strong again.”

It can be my life…

The words and images resounded through Jigme’s mind as he ran through the crowds in the dusty, hot street, the sun high. He’d run to a farther side of the city, far from the alley, far from the streets he usually roamed.

Starting farther away would make it easier, the Smiling Fire had explained.

The cries from the people at the market stalls rang around his ears. Where there were market stalls, there would be people with money buying. There would be people without money seeking, and many of them would be children.

Money,
Jigme thought, patting his pocket. The unusual weight there was the weight of endless possibilities, and all because of the Smiling Fire, the riches he’d given Jigme before returning the boy to the outside world. Jigme went up to a stall, haggled over the price of sweets and finally gave over some of the coins in his pocket.

The hardest part, he knew, would be to find the lone child, the child who had no one to miss him.

Many of the children had their own groups, all tied to an adult who took what they received from begging or theft. There would be no way to lure one of those children to the temple. But a child alone…

Even here, some suspected who Jigme was. Many of the children stayed away. When they saw him, wariness flickered in their eyes.

But there would be one. There was always one.

The little girl stood against a wall and stared with hungry eyes. Grime covered her face. Her brown dress was torn in spots, frayed in others. Flies buzzed around the muck that covered her feet.

She can’t be older than eight,
Jigme thought, walking toward her, making sure she’d seen him before he opened the bag of
gulab jamun
and popped one of the sticky fried balls into his mouth. The sweetness of the milk, cardamom, and butter rang through him so intensely it almost stung.

Jigme turned and put his back to the wall, standing next to her and chewing. Waiting.

The little girl’s gaze stuck to him. When at last she looked from his face to the bag, he smiled and held out the bag to her.

Tentatively, she raised her hand then backed away. Jigme stood still, smiling gently. He looked from her face to the bag. “Go on,” he said. “I know what it is to be hungry too.”

She plucked two pieces of gulab jamun from the bag and stepped away, as if afraid he would change his mind and snatch them back. She shoved both pieces into her mouth, eyes widening as the flavors hit.

“They’re good, aren’t they?” Jigme asked.

She nodded.

“You don’t have anyone?” Jigme asked. “No brothers or sisters? No parents? No gang?”

She shook her head.

“My amma was really sick,” Jigme said. “She almost died. But she’s better now. It was lonely.”

He held up the bag. The girl plucked out two more.

“She is making dinner. Would you like to eat with us?”

The little girl chewed, her eyes locked on his. Long, silent moments passed.

Then she nodded.

Jigme stepped away from the wall and started back through the market toward the alley. The little girl followed, eventually walking beside him. He told her his name. She didn’t tell him hers.

Once they came to the alley, Jigme smiled and said they were nearly there. The little girl squeezed his hand.

“Noorjehan,” she said.

“Light of the world,” Jigme replied. “That’s a pretty name.”

And what was
his
name?
Jigme thought.
That boy, following me to the alley.

But Jigme would not let the boy’s face or name come to his mind, would not look or hear.
I just brought him into the temple
and left when the Smiling Fire said to leave.

With Noorjehan behind him, Jigme came to the red door and opened it. Inside, the small room was so different from when he’d last seen it, as if a different world had moved into the space.

Asha had lit lamps, swept the floor, dusted all the surfaces, changed the bedding. The only thing that had not changed was the dirt on the windows. It was as if Asha had darkened the windows, covered them with layers of ash and soot. No sunlight came into the rooms, dimming what otherwise might have been bright.

Jigme ignored this, noticing instead how different the rooms smelled. Instead of mustiness and sickness, incense wafted through the air, suffused now with the scents of earthy nuttiness of cumin seeds toasting in a hot pan and the sharpness of sliced chiles.

“Amma?” Jigme asked. “This is Noorjehan. Can she come for dinner?”

A smile appeared on Asha’s face, though to Jigme it was not the smile he remembered from earlier days. A hungry fire blazed up in her eyes.

“Hello, Noorjehan,” she said. “I am Asha, but you can call me Amma too.” She nodded at Jigme. “Of course she can stay for dinner.”

Asha pointed at a bucket in the far corner of the room. “I’m sure you would feel better, Noorjehan, if you cleaned up. Jigme, you wash up too.”

The dim corner was darker than the rest of the room, and in the shadows it was easy to forget the world beyond the red door and the dark windows. As he and Noorjehan washed away the dirt and grime of the city, Jigme hardly heard the knock at the door.

Asha motioned for them to stay where they were.

“Who’s there?” Noorjehan whispered. Fear spiked her voice.

“Shh,” Jigme said. “No one has to know where you are.”

Noorjehan smiled and sat down behind the bucket, as if trying to hide.

Asha opened the door. “Ah, Rucksack, Kailash,” she said, standing in the doorway so they could not see past her. “How nice of you to check on us.” Coldness lay over her warm words.

“Is everything okay?” Kailash said. “We keep hearing of strange things happening around the alley lately.”

“Everything is okay,” Asha replied. “And what is India, what is Agamuskara, what is life but a series of strange things happening?”

“Is Jigme here?” Rucksack said. “We’ve been worried about him. I’d love a chat.”

“Jigme is out. You know boys,” Asha said. “They must roam and run. I will tell him you asked about him.”

“Asha.” Kailash paused, as if deciding what to say next. “Do you know what lies at the far end of the alley?”

“Nothing anyone needs to see, I’m sure,” Asha said. “I wouldn’t know.”

“Does Jigme know?” Rucksack said.

“Jigme knows only that his mother is well again. Things will be different now. I can’t talk any longer, I’m afraid. I’m getting dinner ready, and he will be home soon.”

“May we wait with you?” Rucksack asked.

“I’m sorry, but no. I do not yet feel our home is ready for visitors.”

“Another time, then.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Excuse me?” Kailash said.

“I appreciate all you’ve done for us,” Asha replied. “But please, respect the wishes of Jigme’s mother. He has had a difficult time. It is time for me to make recompense, to give him the mother he has needed. You have been truly kind. You were there when I was not. We do not want to inconvenience you anymore.”