The Avatari (18 page)

‘Ralph Sr… ’ The old man’s eyes lit up, but he seemed lost in thought.

Duggy and Susan looked at each other. A thought passed between them:
Be patient
.

‘We’ve been through all the available records,’ Susan went on. ‘There are no personal diaries of Ralph Sr from the one expedition we are interested in – the one from which he never returned.’

The old man seemed not to register her words. He had begun smiling to himself. Susan looked up despairingly at Duggy. The situation looked hopeless. Then the man whispered something and Susan whipped around, startled, to stare at him, wondering if she had heard right.

‘Burnt them,’ he muttered, his voice low. The smile had broadened and he was nodding. ‘Burnt them all.’

Susan leaned forward, straining to catch the words. She could smell his breath, acrid with the aftertaste of aggressive medication.

‘Ralph told me to burn them,’ he said after a long, tense pause.

The two of them waited, hoping he would say more.

‘Everything, except the Book,’ the old man whispered. ‘Couldn’t burn the Book.’

The light in his eyes seemed to dim as his mind wandered again. Susan’s glance fell on an old, well-worn Bible by the pillow. Her breath quickening, she picked it up and opened it to the first page. There, in the neat hand she recognized from her reading of the other diaries, was written: ‘May this guide me always – Ralph C. Wando.’ She turned the pages till she came to the last one. ‘
Bingo
!’ she thought to herself as she read what was written there.

‘Duggy,’ she said, her voice urgent, ‘stand by the door. If you see the nurse coming back, warn me.’

Duggy looked bemused, but nodded and posted himself by the door. ‘All clear,’ he announced, looking out through the glass.

Susan whipped out a pen and a pad and began copying the symbols on the Bible’s last page, double-checking to ensure she had got them down correctly. She glanced at the old man once and realized he had fallen asleep.

‘She’s coming,’ Duggy called out.

‘Thanks. I’ve finished,’ Susan told him, shoving her pad back in the bag and putting the Bible back in place, next to the pillow.

‘He fell asleep,’ Susan explained to the nurse as she came in.

‘What a pity! He really is quite active sometimes,’ the nurse told them. ‘Maybe you could come down tomorrow?’ she suggested, drawing the blanket up carefully over her patient.

‘We’ll try,’ Duggy promised her. ‘Thank you. We’ll find our way out.’

When they were inside the lift, Susan turned to Duggy, gave him a thumbs up and exclaimed, ‘Got it!’

He smiled at her, but said nothing, indicating with a gesture that they would talk about it later.

‘There’s something strange about the lift,’ Susan observed, as they got to the ground floor. ‘It only operates between three levels. But if you look at it from outside, it’s clear that the building has one more level further up.’

‘That level could be a restricted area,’ Duggy suggested.

‘You’re probably right,’ she agreed, ‘but I can’t help wondering what it could be.’

Upstairs, in the research facility on Level Four, Dr Schmidt was peering into a microscope, oblivious to the conversation taking place three floors below.

CHAPTER 11

Texas

J
ULY 1966

It was a perfect summer evening at the Old House by the river, the sky washed in delicate shades of pink and purple. Black clouds, gathering to the west, were beginning to drift across. It was still warm, but a light breeze swept across the porch, cooling the sweat on Jason Wando’s brow as he stood looking across the lawns. A big catering truck from the city was parked in the driveway; men were stoking the coals for the barbecue on the front lawn. They had wanted him to be in uniform, but he had decided against it, opting for jeans and boots instead. This big send-off party was Jessica’s idea; he hadn’t met all these folks for a long time – at least not since the other big party she had thrown when he graduated from West Point.

The family rarely came out to the Old House. It was now used mostly as a fishing and duck-shooting retreat or for parties like the one they were organizing. He had heard about his grandfather preferring to work out of this place in his day. Those were more leisurely times, with big oil and ranch deals being struck in the time it took to fry the catfish and finish a quart of bourbon. It was all word-of-mouth then. You couldn’t do that sort of thing any more; the secretaries, the lawyers and the telephone calls to both coasts were now mandatory.

‘Looking good, Jason,’ a woman’s voice murmured softly.

He turned to greet his stepmother, Jessica, as she approached with a smile.

‘You too, Jessica,’ he smiled back, and asked, ‘Where’s Dad?’ Jason immediately regretted his question.

There was a hurt look in her eyes. He must have taken off for Las Vegas.

‘He’s out on business,’ she said simply. Her face changed as she put the thought of Ralph Jr away. ‘And is Allie May coming?’ There was a hint of laughter in her voice.

‘You know she is.’

‘And how is she taking this – y’all up and leaving for China?’

‘Vietnam,’ he corrected.

‘Whatever. That girl’s got a right to be hopping mad.’

‘It’s only for a short while.’

‘You tell her that,’ Jessica said. Then she added, ‘We’ll have the wedding reception right here.’

‘Hey, you’re really stepping on the pedal!’

‘You’ve got to face it, Jason. Whether you like it or not, you’re getting on.’ Then she added with a grin, ‘You sure don’t look it, though.’

Despite what everybody said about her, Jessica was basically a homebody, a pretty girl who had taken the opportunity life offered her. Jason grinned back at her.

‘Jason.’

The voice that came from behind him belonged to his younger brother.

‘What is it?’ he asked sharply, whirling to face the boy, who had startled him by coming up so silently.

Josh was always like that, dark and silent, creeping up on you and looking hurt when you yelled at him.
Screw him.

‘Aaron said he wanted to see you.’

‘Where?’ Jason asked. ‘Isn’t he coming?’

Even as he uttered the words, he knew the answer; he wouldn’t come, not old Aaron. Things had changed, but not that much. Aaron would rather be sampling his home brew up at the boathouse, with his feet curled up under him, than meet all these white folks who would be ill at ease with him around, anyway.

‘What for?’ Jason asked, as his brother remained silent.

‘I don’t know. Said it was kind of important.’

‘Go on and meet him, Jason. There’s still some time before the guests start coming,’ Jessica suggested, then added with a shrug, ‘you know how Aaron will get all worked up ’bout something if you don’t.’

‘Oh, all right!’ he said and followed Josh who had already turned and was walking down the shingle path which led to the boathouse.

Well, he
had
to meet him, Jason thought. Couldn’t come all the way to the Old House and leave without meeting Aaron, could he?

Aaron Jackson was the odd-job person, the handyman around the house and the caretaker when nobody was around – which was most of the time. It was Aaron who had taught Jason how to shoot and fish. He would talk of his times with grandad, while the fish sizzled in the corn oil and Jason took his first furtive sips of liquor which Aaron brewed and served in a jam jar. Grandad had taken Aaron on when he was just a boy. With his penchant for travelling, Aaron had seen a lot of the world – at least a heap more than most folks in those days. But Aaron was a smart man. He knew how to handle the delicate issue of colour and never talked about those times more than he had to.

Jason could see him sitting on the waterfront in his old armchair, feet up and hooked into the railing, strumming softly on a guitar. There was a bottle by his side and a book next to the lantern. Aaron liked to read a lot and not just the Bible. He noticed Jason and Josh approaching and rose to his feet. There were two chairs laid out alongside, Jason noticed. Evidently, Aaron was expecting them.

‘Aaron,’ he said.

‘Good to see you, Major.’

In the old times, it had been ‘Uncle Aaron’ and ‘Jason’, but they had both got used to the changes. His voice was still strong and he looked at Jason intently, his eyes enormous, but sunken in a scrawny face that still managed to be mobile and very alive.

‘They tell me you’re here only for a while.’

‘Yes, just got in. Leaving in the morning,’ Jason mumbled, feeling a little guilty for not having come to see the old man earlier.

‘They’re saying the major is going to Indo-China,’ the old man said, leaning over to offer the bottle and a glass.

Jason sat down and poured himself a measure, noticing that his younger brother was already seated.

‘That’s right,’ he said to Aaron. ‘They call it Vietnam these days.’

The old man nodded gravely. ‘You be careful, Major. There’s no telling what them Chinamen will do.’

‘I’ll do that, Aaron.’

Jason took a swig of his whisky and looked out at the water. Aaron had hung out a few lines, but the fish hadn’t bitten yet. There was a hum of mosquitoes over him.

‘There’s something I want you to do,’ Aaron murmured, then added softly, ‘for your grandad.’

‘What is it?’ Jason asked, furtively looking at his watch, but curious, nonetheless.

‘You may need to know the background, Major,’ Aaron said without looking at him, but his tone indicated he had seen Jason glance at his watch.

‘Yes, tell us, Aaron,’ Josh piped in eagerly and then, as Jason glanced at him, turned to his elder brother. ‘There’s time. The guests aren’t going to come for another hour – at least not the important ones.’

‘All right,’ Jason said, picking up the bottle and pouring another shot into his glass.

Aaron was a loquacious old geezer, but he told a good story.

‘Thank you,’ he said simply. ‘This is about the last journey your grandad made.’

‘The one to Tibet, where he died?’ Josh asked excitedly.

Jason felt the first stirrings of interest. Aaron had never talked to them about that expedition.

‘That’s right,’ Aaron said in reply to Josh’s question. ‘Are you familiar with the expeditions of the Swede Sven Anders Hedin?’

‘Not really,’ Jason said, wondering where the discussion was headed. ‘Explorer type, I think?’

‘Very good, Major. Anyway, in 1935, Mr Sven came to the United States on a lecture tour after one of his expeditions. He met your grandad at a reception held in his honour. The two got talking – they had a common passion for venturing into the unknown – and really hit it off. Mr Ralph got to know that Sven was planning another expedition, something close to his own heart. He intended to search for the Kailash range of mountains, the mythical abode of the Hindu god Shiva. Mr Ralph managed to persuade Sven Anders to allow him to join him in his quest with a team of his own.’

The older man paused to roll a cigarette and light it. ‘Your grandad was then fifty years old. And I,’ Aaron said with a smile through nicotine-stained teeth, ‘was a young buck of twenty. Mr Ralph was the only one in his team who had been on an expedition before. The others were just wealthy Southern gentlemen looking for a bit of adventure to brag about back home. We were a group of seven Americans – apart from the Sherpas and the Tibetan boys accompanying us. Sven had his misgivings about the greenhorns in our team, but was persuaded to go along. The Swede wanted to find the Kailash range from the Chinese side. He split us into two teams and directed each to follow a different route. The one he headed, made up of men who had been with him on earlier expeditions, would follow the Sutlej River. The other team, led by your grandad, would follow the course of the Indus.’

The older man paused to exhale smoke. The big frogs in the reeds under the boathouse had begun a racket.

‘Our team ran into difficulties from the very beginning. The weather turned foul, our guides deserted us and we had to hire new ones from the local villages. These settlements along the river were snowed in seven months of the year and had no contact with the outside world, apart from the occasional caravan. As a result, there was always a language problem with the new ones. I guess they didn’t get what we had told them about our intended destination, because we kept following a tributary off the main channel. In those days, there were few maps and the region we were making our way through was one of the most desolate in the world.’ He paused. ‘Still is, I’m told. We were constantly at altitudes of around 17,000 feet and when we had to get over the ranges, we would even go up to 20,000 feet. It was June when we started and by August, two of our team members had developed a fever they couldn’t shake off. I think these men had had their bellyful of adventure by then and so had most of the others, but everyone tagged along, nonetheless. There was no turning back. There were no back-up teams and no helicopters.

‘It was after a few more days had gone by that we knew we were well and truly lost. Mr Ralph decided we would give it one more try before calling the whole thing off. We had to give ourselves enough time to retrace our steps or face the unwelcome prospect of wintering in one of the villages, with yaks for company. Most of the team wanted to head back immediately. After all, the pictures had been taken and the souvenirs collected. But your grandad wanted to have something to show for their effort and the others were afraid of crossing him. We pushed on, but there were mutterings at the campfire.

‘It was while the expedition was chugging along at half-steam that we came upon a heap of rocks one day. It was an
obos
, the kind you saw all over the area, constructed by the local people to commemorate their dead. But it was an unlikely area for such a memorial, since there was no habitation nearby. I don’t know what came upon Mr Ralph, but he began removing the stones, as if searching for something. I later asked him about it, but he said he couldn’t explain it himself. We thought at the time that the isolation and altitude were getting to him, but after some time, he unearthed an object wrapped in leather. It was a flat piece of gold, with some kind of writing on it that we couldn’t decipher. We were all very excited and wanted to know what its significance could be, but none of our guides could help us. In fact, some of the Tibetans seemed mighty riled by our discovery and told us in no uncertain terms that we needed to put the thing back where we had found it. They refused to back off, until we took out our guns and threatened them.’