The Rose of Tibet (4 page)

‘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 observed 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.’

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.’

Kelly was not sure what kind of a festival; but it was to have taken place in the middle of September.

‘They were getting worked up for it when we left – prayer wheels going like the clappers and everything getting a scrub- out. Ah, a wonderful place entirely,’ Kelly said.

And indeed it sounded wonderful as he described it. The village of Yamdring lay at the bottom of a valley. The monastery was built into the hillside, terraced on seven rising levels. They had seen it first from a hill half a mile above, and the sun had glinted on its seven golden roofs. An oval lake, emerald green, lay below it with an island in the middle. On the island was a small shrine with a green roof; a bridge of skin boats connected the island with the mainland. They had looked down on it in the late afternoon, and a procession had been passing over the bridge.

‘Always having processions,’ Kelly said. ‘Lovely people. Childish really.’

It had been after nine when they left, too late to go anywhere, too early to make their separate ways. Houston took the girl home.

‘Come in and have a drink.’

‘All right,’ Houston said, and went up with her.

It was a bright, modern little flat, unlike his own somewhat rambling apartment; and more cluttered.

‘Don’t mind the mixture of styles,’ she told him, removing his coat. ‘There are three of us here, each with our bits of junk.’

‘Friends or relations?’

‘Oh, friends. Bachelor girls, as they say. Gin and something?’

‘And tonic.’

‘Sit down and brood. You’ve been brooding on your feet all evening.’

Houston sat down and brooded.

‘Your drink’s on the arm of the sofa,’ the girl said presently.

‘Thanks.’

‘All right now?’

‘Fine.’ He felt very far from fine. He had begun to tremble inexplicably in every limb. But he realized from the girl’s question and earlier quiet hints that he might be demonstrating rather more concern than the situation called for, so he smiled wryly and said, ‘You’ve got to look after young brothers.’

‘You two are fairly close, aren’t you?’

‘Fairly.’

‘Well, everything seems all right. He should be home quite soon, shouldn’t he?’

‘Oh, sure. Sure.’

‘Are you cold in here? You’re shivering a bit.’

‘I must have taken a chill,’ Houston said. He didn’t know what had come over him, but he knew it was not a chill. He had an urge to get out and walk about in the street; he felt restless and suffocated in the flat.

‘Any warmer now?’ she asked some time later.

‘Yes,’ Houston said, and he was, for the young woman was lying in his arms. ‘When are your co-bachelors coming back?’

‘Oh, later.’

Something in her voice made him deduce that they would not be coming back at all that night. He had a suspicion also that he was meant to deduce this. He didn’t think he wanted to do anything about it at the moment. He left quite early.

The girl went with him to the door, somewhat nonplussed.

‘I think you’d better take care of that cold.’

‘I will.’

‘Bed’s the place for you,’ she said, tentatively.

Houston smiled. ‘I’m going right to it,’ he said.

But he didn’t. He went for a long walk instead. It amused him that he had got along without women for quite a long time and now suddenly found himself with two. It had been like this for him on some occasions during the war. He
wondered if he was the sort of man who turned to women at moments of crisis; and he wondered what the crisis was now. Hugh was coming back. He was coming back at the end of the month. All he had to do was get through the month.

When he looked back on it later, Houston remembered October chiefly as the month when he tried to get rid of Glynis. It was not a successful attempt. There were tears and recriminations, and also threats, for the girl said she couldn’t live without him. Houston, like many artists far from being a romantic, thought that she very easily could if she put her mind to it; but when he saw the pain in her eyes could not bring himself to take the final step.

He had told Lesley Sellers that he was now uncomplicated; for, as she said, she was a girl who didn’t like competition; and accordingly found his life more complicated than ever. His encounters with the Head grew no less acrimonious; he was permanently behind with a series of art appreciation classes that he had to prepare for an evening school; and ideas had run out on him permanently for his freelance work. He seemed to be scrambling about on an increasingly slippery slope. Everything about his life had become suddenly insecure and uncertain. He couldn’t understand how it had happened.

He found himself beginning to lean heavily on Oliphant, the classics master, a bachelor like himself, whose astringency of manner he found refreshing.

‘Do you find yourself able to make any plans these days, Oliphant?’

‘I never make plans.’

‘Something curious seems to be happening to me. I don’t know where the hell I am lately.’

‘Maybe you’re in love.’

‘Maybe I am. I wish I could think of something I particularly wanted to do.’

‘I should like to move to a bigger flat and to spend Christmas in Rome.’

And suddenly everybody was talking about Christmas.

‘Where are you jingling your bells this year, wonder boy?’

‘I’ve not really got round to that.’

‘I rather see myself in Paris. Any interest?’

‘It sounds very attractive.’

‘Let me know soon. I need to fix my family early.’

And only hours later, it seemed. ‘Charles, I’ve been thinking. Roy wants to go to Bournemouth for Christmas. We go to the same hotel every year. Do you think you could turn up there accidentally, too?’

‘I don’t know, Glynis. It depends on Hugh a bit. I’d have to see what he wanted.’

‘Well, naturally. I see that. Do you think he might like to come, too?’

‘He might,’ Houston said, doubting it very strongly.

‘When do you think you would know about him?’

‘I’m not really sure. I’ve not heard much lately.’

He had not heard anything. It was now the third week of October and there had been no news whatever. Lesley said that Lister-Lawrence was not expecting any special news. There was no question now of a missing party. The group would merely arrive on Indian territory. They would probably arrive between the
25
th and the
30
th when a trade caravan was expected.

The
25
th came without news; and the
30
th went, without news. Lesley said that Lister-Lawrence was away investigating a riot. In all probability the group was now on the way to Calcutta. They would very likely hear from them before they heard from Lister-Lawrence.

This, however, did not prove to be the case. On the
2
nd November a cable arrived from Lister-Lawrence. He said the expected caravan had arrived on the
29
th. No British subjects had arrived with it. He was making inquiries.

Houston entered upon the nightmarish month of November
1949
.

It was during this month, he realized later, that the abbot and the Duke of Ganzing and the Governor of Hodzo, had found themselves in their most delicate situation. The governor had felt earlier that he could handle the matter locally and had not thought fit to communicate with the central government. In this he had shown an error of judgement, and he was
not anxious to have it revealed. He had therefore concurred with the abbot’s plan, which was merely to say nothing until requests for information came from Lhasa; and then to announce that the party was missing.

By the middle of November he was wishing most earnestly that he had not concurred. The governor was an elderly man, and he had the clearest possible recollection of the British who had come with Colonel Younghusband forty-five years before. They were inquisitive men, who never stopped asking questions. They believed there was a reason for everything, and they were restless until they had found it. That four people were missing for some weeks on an ice-bound mountain would not seem to such men an adequate reason for giving up either the search or the inquiry into the party’s disappearance.

Above all, as the governor well knew, it was essential that foreigners should be discouraged from taking an interest in his country in this ominous year. So long as there was a possibility of any of the group being alive, interest would be taken. He had therefore, towards the middle of the month, come to a worrying decision.

The news went to Lhasa on
19
November and was radioed to Kalimpong on the
24
th. Lister-Lawrence had it in Calcutta on the
25
th, and passed it on to Stahl in London the same day.

But of all this at the time, of course, Houston knew nothing.  

All he did know as November wore on was that his days were filled with activities which were becoming increasingly meaningless. He found himself going through the weeks like an automaton. He taught and corrected and lectured; and in the evenings did the same. Sometimes he made love. He had started making love with Lesley Sellers, but once in the course of twenty-four hours found himself doing the same with Glynis also. He regarded this performance with a somewhat weary hilarity.

He didn’t know what was the matter with him. He couldn’t bear to be by himself. His limbs seemed always to be tense, and he caught himself holding his breath. He couldn’t sit and he couldn’t lie. He couldn’t read and he couldn’t eat. Above all, he couldn’t sleep.

He knew that Stahl was in constant touch with Calcutta; and that Lister-Lawrence was in touch with Kalimpong; and that the Tibetan representative there was in touch with his government. Everybody was in touch with everybody else, but nobody knew what had happened to the missing party.

He went to see Stahl again. He asked whether it wasn’t time now for inquiries to be handled officially by the Foreign Office. Stahl said inquiries were being handled officially; Lister-Lawrence was an official. But the Foreign Office couldn’t be involved because the film party had no right to be in Tibet at all. They had gone in – certainly through no fault of their own – without authorization and hence at their own peril. The situation was difficult and obscure. It was causing him a great deal of worry, but he had no doubt they would have news soon.

This interview had taken place on
18
November; and the news had come one week later to the day:
25
November
1949
, a Friday. Houston went out and got drunk. He remained drunk all the week-end.

He thought Glynis came in at some time on the Saturday; the flat was certainly tidy when he awoke on Sunday morning. She came again later, and he found her cleaning him up, and was aware presently that Lesley Sellers was there, too. He was in something of a stupor at the time, but he remembered thinking that it was very improper for the two young women to be there together. He realized he should have asked Glynis for the return of her key weeks ago; and that something must have gone sadly wrong with his planning. He heard snatches of their conversation.

‘I guessed it must have been that. When did it happen?’

‘Two or three weeks ago, apparently, but we only heard on Friday. The avalanche buried them all.’

‘They found the – they found them, did they?’

‘Oh, yes. They were all dead.’

‘Poor Charles. They were so terribly close.’

‘Yes.’  

He had no recollection of the next week at all. He thought he went to school. Perhaps he attended his evening classes, too. He seemed to be out a good deal. He vaguely remembered
having a fight with a man in a public house in Tottenham Court Road, and waking up one night in the tube terminus at Morden. He had confused impressions of both girls wanting him to go away somewhere.