Far Pavilions (170 page)

These things might pull them through where tangible defences of brick and plaster could only serve to hold off an armed assault for an hour or two – if that. He was therefore not as enthusiastic about the shed idea as Wally had hoped, though he promised to sound out Sir Louis on the subject and seemed to think there was a good chance that his reaction would be favourable, because after all, defence or no, they would certainly need to lay in extra fodder against the months when Kabul would be deep in snow. But then there was still plenty of time before that.

William's tepid reception of his ‘capital scheme’ had depressed Wally, but he consoled himself with the reflection that if Sir Louis could be brought to agree and the Amir give his permission, the sheds would not take long to build. And once they were up, he was going to feel a lot easier about the men under his command, whose safety and welfare were his personal responsibility, and who in turn were responsible for the protection of every single person in the Residency compound, from the Envoy down to the humblest sweeper.

Later, strolling back to the Mess House after discussing arrangements for the foraging party with Jemadar Jiwand Singh, he glanced up at the Munshi's house and was pleased to see that the pottery jar with its spray of green leaves was no longer standing dead centre, but had been moved to the right-hand end of the window; which could be translated briefly as ‘can do’ – the left hand signifying the reverse.

Wally returned to the Residency whistling ‘The Minstrel Boy’, and having regained his rooms, removed the five oranges that he had placed on his dressing-room window-sill earlier in the day.

That evening the Envoy had taken his secretary with him when he went off to shoot partridge, and Lieutenant Hamilton and Surgeon-Major Kelly, who had not been invited to the shoot, rode out with an escort of two sowars and the inevitable guard of Afghans along the banks of the Kabul River to the site of the old British cantonments near Sherpur.

The day had been warm and cloudless, and though there had been barely more than a breath of wind, it had been enough to stir up the dust so that the air was faintly hazy, and the sunset, even with that clear sky, was one of the most spectacular that Wally had ever seen.

Having only known Kabul in high summer, he had never been able to understand why Ash thought it such a beautiful place, and could only suppose that because Ash was in love and had been living there with Juli, he saw it through rose-coloured glasses, as thousands of lovers, honeymooning in cheap boarding-houses, see wet seaside towns or foggy industrial cities as gardens of Eden.

The snow peaks were fine enough, but none of them, to Wally's eyes, could rival the heart-stopping loveliness of Nanga Parbat, the ‘Naked Goddess’, as he had first seen her in the dawn from a hillside above Barra-mulla. Nor would he have dreamed of comparing the flat lands around Kabul with the enchanting valley of Kashmir with its lotus-strewn lakes and winding, willow-shaded streams, its wealth of flowers and trees and Mogul gardens. But now of a sudden it was as though his eyes had been opened and he saw Kabul and its setting for the first time: not as stark and desolate and dun-coloured, but beautiful with a wild, spectacular beauty that took his breath away.

A combination of sunset and dust and the smoke of cooking fires had transformed the valley to a sea of gold, out of which the near hills and the jagged snow-capped ranges behind them rose up in layer after layer of glittering splendour, caught in the bonfire blaze of the dying day and flaming like Sheba's jewels against an opal sky. The soaring pinnacles of the mountains might have been the spires and towers of some fabulous city – Valhalla, perhaps; or the outer ramparts of Paradise…

‘ “And the city was pure gold, like unto clear glass, and the foundations of the wall of the city were garnished with all manner of precious stones”,’ murmured Wally under his breath.

‘What did you say?’ asked Rosie, turning to look at him.

Wally coloured and said confusedly, ‘Nothing… I mean – it looks like that description of the Holy City, doesn't it. The one in Revelations. The mountains, I mean. All that bit about jasper and topaz and chrysolyte and amethyst… and the gates of pearl…’

His companion turned back to study the view, and being of a more prosaic turn of mind than Walter, observed that it reminded him more of a transformation scene in a pantomime. ‘Pretty,’ approved Rosie, and added that he wouldn't have believed that this god-forsaken corner of the world could ever have looked anything but forbidding.

‘Ash used to talk about a mountain called the Dur Khaima,’ mused Wally, his gaze still on the jewelled glory of the snow peaks. ‘The Far Pavilions… I never realized…’ his voice slowed and stopped and Rosie said curiously: ‘Are you talking about Pandy Martyn, by any chance? He was a friend of yours, wasn't he?’

‘Is,’ corrected Wally briefly. He had not meant to mention Ash's name and was annoyed with himself for having done so, because although Rosie had never actually served with Ash, he must have learned quite a lot from those who had, and might be sufficiently interested to ask awkward questions about Ash's present whereabouts.

‘Remarkable fellow, by all accounts,’ observed Rosie. ‘The only time I ever met him was in '74, when he turned up in Mardan with a nasty head-wound and I had the job of patching him up. That was the year after I first came to the Guides, I remember. He didn't talk much. But then he wasn't in very good shape at the time, and as soon as he was fit enough he was hustled off to Rawalpindi. But I did hear that he had been to Kabul, so I suppose the mountain he told you about was one of these. Magnificent, aren't they.’

Wally nodded agreement and did not contradict the statement about the Dur Khaima, but fell silent, gazing at the enormous panorama of the Hindu Kush and seeing it in astonishing detail so that every last, least fold and spur and gully, and every soaring peak, looked as clear and distinct as though he were seeing it through a powerful telescope – or with the eye of God. And all at once he knew that this was one of those moments that for no particular reason one remembers for ever, and that remain indelibly printed on the mind when many more important ones fade and are lost.

As the light ebbed the valley filled with shadow and the high snow-crests took fire, and it occurred to Wally that he had never realized before what a beautiful place the world was: how full of wonder. Man might be doing his best to mar it, but every bush – and every stone and stick too – was still ‘afire with God’. ‘Ah, it's good to be alive!’ thought Wally with a sudden surge of exultation and a lifting of the heart that made him feel that he would live for ever and ever…

A discreet cough from one of the sowars brought him back to earth and reminded him that there were other persons present besides Ambrose Kelly – and also that it was Ramadan and the escort and the Afghan guard must be impatient to be back in their quarters in time to say the customary evening prayers before the setting of the sun allowed them to break the day's fast.

‘Come on, Rosie, race you to the river!’ He turned away from the ruins of the old cantonment and urging his horse into a gallop, rode back laughing towards the Bala Hissar that stood out blackly against the bright gold of the evening sky.

Ash, leaving the citadel somewhat later than usual, passed him as the small party of Guides rode in through the Shah Shahie Gate. But Wally had not seen him. The sun was still above the horizon, but the Bala Hissar was in shadow, and the air under the dark arch of the gate was so thick with dust and smoke that Ash had walked by unnoticed. He heard Kelly say: ‘That's a bottle of hock you owe me, young Walter; and faith, it'll be welcome, for it's parched I am.’ And then they were out of sight.

Ash too was parched, for as ‘Syed Akbar’ he must keep the fast. Besides the day had been a long and tiring one for everyone in the Munshi's employ: one of the regiments stationed within the Bala Hissar, the Ardal Regiment, only recently arrived from Turkestan, had demanded three months' pay, and surprisingly been told that they would receive this on the following morning. The Munshi, among others, had been told to see to this, and Ash and his fellow
likhni wallahs
(writing fellows) had been hard at work all day compiling lists of names and ranks, together with the varying sums due to be paid in cash to each man, and the total sum that would have to be drawn from the Treasury.

Given reasonable notice the task would not have been arduous, but the shortness of time and the fact that it must be done fasting – and for the most part in a small, hot and airless room – made it an exhausting one. The normal mid-day rest had had to be dispensed with, and Ash was both tired and parched with thirst by the time the work was done and he was able to remove the blue and white jar from the window and return to the Sirdar's house and Anjuli. But despite his weariness he was conscious of an enormous sense of relief and a sudden flowering of hope and optimism.

The fact that the Ardal Regiment was to be paid showed that the Amir and his ministers had at last realized that a starving and mutinous army was far more dangerous to them than no army at all, and despite their protestations of penury, had decided to find the money before another regiment was driven to mutiny. It was a giant stride in the right direction and, to Ash, an excellent omen for the future.

He was pleased too about Wally, whose signal to him proved that their minds had been working on identical lines, which alone was almost as heartening as this Ardal business. It was good to know that they would be meeting soon, and that with the threat of insurrection that had menaced the foreigners in the citadel about to be removed, they would be able to talk of ‘pleasant things’ again.

The news that the regiments were to be paid had blown through Kabul like a fresh breeze, dispersing the tension and the sullen and barely restrained fury that had brooded there for so long, and Ash could sense the difference with every nerve in his body. As he drew back in the shadows under the Shah Shahie Gate to let Wally and Dr Kelly ride past, and heard Wally laugh in reply to the doctor's words, he caught the infection of the boy's high spirits and his own rose headily. Tiredness and thirst were suddenly forgotten, and walking on with a lighter step along the mud road below the outer wall of the citadel and through the narrow streets of the city, it seemed to him that for the first time in many months the evening air breathed of peace and quiet.

The Envoy and his secretary had returned from the partridge shoot in equally good spirits, the evening's sport having banished Sir Louis' ill-temper and made him forget for the time being his annoyance at the Amir's sudden cancellation of the autumn tour. He was an excellent shot, and the landowner who had organized the shoot had assured him that there would be many more game birds as soon as the weather became cooler. ‘If that is so,’ said Sir Louis at dinner that night, ‘we ought to be able to keep ourselves in duck and teal and roast goose for much of the cold weather.’

Turning to Wally, he asked about the foraging party that would be going out on the following morning; and on hearing that Lieutenant Hamilton proposed to accompany them in order to see that they did not go anywhere they shouldn't, was pleased to approve, and suggested that Surgeon-Major Kelly went with him for good measure.

Rosie said that he would be delighted to do so and Wally had no option but to agree, though the suggestion was not a welcome one, because if Rosie were to fall into the habit of accompanying him it was going to be difficult to meet Ash. However he would deal with that later, for at the moment he intended to broach the more important question of winter fodder and the extra sheds that would be needed for storing it. But Sir Louis had begun to talk to Dr Kelly about the prospects of duck shooting later on in the year, and from there they had passed to discussing hunting in County Down and mutual acquaintances in Ballynahinch. After which the conversation became general, and as Sir Louis retired to his own quarters in the Envoy's House to write his diary as soon as the meal was over, Wally had no further chance to speak of sheds that night.

Even if he had been able to do so, it is doubtful if Sir Louis would have accorded the scheme much sympathy. The good temper engendered by a pleasant evening's sport had been considerably improved by the welcome news, conveyed to him by a trusted agent shortly before dinner, that the Ardal Regiment would parade on the morrow to receive their arrears of pay in full: a piece of information that had much the same effect on Sir Louis' spirits as it had had on Ash's, as it confirmed his belief that the money would and could be found, and that now the rest of the army would shortly be paid its wages and law and order would reign in Kabul. He had immediately instructed William to see that the usual telegram confirming that all was well with the Kabul Residency went off first thing in the morning, and in the circumstances he would not have been particularly interested in a scheme for improving the military defences of the Residency compound by devious and complicated means.

‘I'll ask Ash about it, and see what he thinks,’ decided Wally later that night as he prepared to go to bed. ‘Ash'll know if it would be any use, and if he thinks it wouldn't and I'm crazy, I'll hold my tongue.’ On which thought he said his prayers and turned out the lamp, though he did not immediately retire to bed.

The talk at dinner had reminded him of home, and he went to the window, and leaning his arms on the sill, looked out across the dark courtyard below and the flat roof of the Envoy's House towards the horizon, and thought of Inistioge.

Beyond the sheer drop of the outer wall lay the valley, with the pale ribbon of the Kabul River winding across it, and behind and beyond the wrinkled hills, grey in the starlight, rose the immense, shadowy rampart of the Hindu Kush. But the river he saw was the Nore, for he was back in Inistioge… There were the dear familiar fields and woods and the blue hills of Kilkenny, and that was not Shah Shahie's tomb, but the little church at Donaghadee, while the far shimmer in the sky was not snow, but white clouds floating high and serenely above the Blackstairs mountains in Carlow…