Page 26 of The Sky Beneath Us
In places where the valley gathered shreds of clouds in the crook of its arm, we discovered new plants that seemed to survive largely by drinking the water in the air. Skeins of pale jade lichen hung from the trees there – scrubby birch and more rhododendrons – but the landscape was largely bare and dusty now, sparsely clad in low-lying cushion-like growth. The mountains were our constant companions, watching over us from all sides like vast, all-seeing Buddhas as we trekked further into the Khumbu. I could quite understand how the Sherpa people might believe them to be deities.
We climbed into the high valleys, following a milky river that gushed from the mountains as the spring sunshine liberated icy waters that had been stored up in glaciers over the winter. Even in the remotest places where there were no signs of permanent habitation, we still came across Buddhist shrines and carvedmanistones. At the top of each pass we navigated, there were more heaps of carved rocks, bedecked with tattered prayer flags fluttering in the wind, and I paused at each one to give thanks that I’d made it a little bit further. The trekking was becoming a struggle for me though, and I gasped for breath in the thin air, the steep climbs becoming harder as the secret cargo I carried continued to grow within me. I moved at a pace as ponderous as that of the yaks that now carried the expedition’s belongings, the atmosphere up here too thin for horses or mules.
By the middle of May, we reached a series of tranquil lakes at a place called Gokyo. There was much to explore in the surrounding area, so we made camp on a ridge of land between the water and a tumbling glacier. It was a beautiful, peaceful spot and whilst therest of the party were away foraging, I could sit in the sunshine for hours at a time, sketching and painting, kept company by a tiny snowfinch who hopped from rock to rock in search of seeds and insects. Clouds drifted across the blue of the sky, their reflections floating past a pair of Brahminy ducks who had made the lake their home. The waters lapping at the shore and the sighing of the wind sang a lullaby to my baby as I worked, and I felt some sense of contentment at last. I had welcomed the momentum of the trek up to this point. The feeling of putting one foot in front of the other and moving forwards, away from the horror of my memories of Callum’s death, had kept me going. But now I felt something shift within me. Perhaps it was instinct, my body telling me what my baby needed next, or perhaps it was simply exhaustion. I realised I needed to stop, to give myself and my child some rest in order to prepare ourselves for the birth to come in a couple of months’ time. And I knew I certainly wouldn’t be able to conceal my pregnancy any longer. It was time to confess.
One afternoon, before the others returned from their day’s exploring, I asked Mrs Fairburn to walk with me down to the lake shore. We stood watching the ducks for a while, their rust-coloured feathers the only splash of contrast against the turquoise water. I was trying to pluck up the courage to tell Roberta what I had to say, when she began to speak first.
‘They’re very beautiful creatures, aren’t they?’ She nodded towards the ducks, which were reaching their bills towards one another as if in a kiss. ‘They are believed by Buddhists to be sacred, you know. I’ve seen them depicted on images of the wheel of life. Legend has it that they’re a pair of lovers who committed a sin in a previous life and returned in the form of these birds. They can be together in the daytime but have to separate at sundown and spend the nights calling to one another through the darkness.’
A single tear trickled down my cheek as she turned to me and took my hand. ‘I know you are carrying a child, my dear. It’s Callum’s, isn’t it?’
I nodded, unable to speak.
‘I began to suspect some time ago. And, let me tell you, I have nothing but admiration for you, Violet. You have exhibited such determination and courage. But I don’t think we will be able to conceal your condition from the men any longer. And I don’t believe it is in your best interests, nor those of your child, for you to continue with the expedition. Are you about six months on?’
‘Nearly six and a half,’ I admitted.
‘Then we need to make arrangements for you to get home in time for the birth. This environment could be dangerous for you, you know, now we are so high.’
‘I realise that. But I feel fitter and stronger than I ever have done in my life. My body seems to be telling me this is a good place for me. I feel a freedom in these mountains that isn’t available to me elsewhere.’
‘You’ve done well, I agree. But I’m afraid my husband won’t countenance letting you stay with us once he knows. You’ve been a very valuable addition to the expedition, but this changes everything. The others won’t approve either, and it will unsettle the group. Don’t worry, though,’ she continued as I hung my head in shame – not for my baby, but for the way I’d deceived them all. ‘I’ll make sure we do right by you. You will receive the pay that’s owed you and we’ll organise a couple of porters to accompany you back to Lukla. From there you should be able to pick up a guide and travel the rest of the way to Kathmandu on horseback. Use your money to get a flight home. It will be safer for you to have your baby in Britain, whatever you decide to do thereafter.’
A sense of desperation rose within me at her words, constricting my throat so I couldn’t speak. I knew she was right, but it feltcompletely wrong. There was no ‘home’ for me in Scotland any more. And I could not countenance the thought that I might be pressurised to give up my baby ‘thereafter’, nor the way Callum’s child would be ostracised in that society. I pictured the long route back. I couldn’t stay here at Gokyo, but perhaps I could find a place at Namche Bazaar or Lukla where there would be a doctor or a midwife who could assist me. The thought of returning to Kathmandu brought back memories of the stench of a filthy guesthouse room, a smoking funeral pyre and ashes drifting on a dirty river. I would far rather stay in the mountains.
Mrs Fairburn kindly took it upon herself to tell her husband that night, sparing me the ignominy of having to see the look on his face when he heard the news. As it was, he could scarcely look me in the eye when he emerged from his tent before the others were awake early the next morning, and found me sitting by the fire sipping the mint tea Mingma had made me. ‘A word, please, Miss Mackenzie-Grant?’ he said, already stalking off ahead of me towards the lake as I hurriedly set down my cup and got to my feet, following in his wake.
His wife had kept her promise to make sure I was paid what I was owed. The Colonel kept my dismissal short, handing me a brown envelope of money and telling me he’d ask Mingma to employ two local porters – being unable to spare any of ours – to take me back the way we’d come. ‘It would be best if you don’t say anything to the men,’ he said. ‘You can pack up your things and leave once we’ve set off for the day. I’ll tell them the trekking was too much for you and we’ve had to send you home.’
Thus humiliated, I swallowed my pride and simply nodded, secreting the pay packet in the inner pocket of my coat.
After breakfast, at which I forced myself to choke down a bowl of porridge in preparation for the journey ahead, the others gathered up their collecting equipment and set off in searchof alpine plants growing beside the glacier in the adjacent valley. Mrs Fairburn came to find me by my tent and gave me a quick hug goodbye. ‘I wish you well, Violet,’ she said. ‘Here’s a little extra for you. Keep it well hidden in case you need it.’ She pressed a thick roll of rupees into my hand, waving aside my somewhat half-hearted objections. I knew I’d need all the help I could get.
‘Thank you, Roberta,’ I whispered. ‘I’ll never forget how kind you’ve been to me.’
I thought I saw tears spring to her eyes, but she turned away, a little abruptly, and walked off in the direction of the others without a backward glance.
I was sorry not to be able to say goodbye to Mr Andrews and thank him for his kindness, but he’d scarcely been able to look me in the eye since the night of the hallucinogenic honey incident. I suspect if he came to know about my own state of disgrace it would only disconcert him further, so it was probably better this way.
I was feeling considerably agitated, a few hours later, when there was still no sign of any porters. I certainly didn’t want to be there when the Colonel returned, and began to think I’d have to set out on my own. But, at last, two rough-looking men leading a yak arrived in the camp, accompanied by Mingma. As they loaded my belongings and some supplies into the animal’s panniers, the guide said, ‘I sorry you have to leave, Miss Violet. Take care on journey home. The Colonel say to give you this.’ He handed me a map. ‘I wish I could take you. These porters not so good, I think, but they the only ones I can find. They go with you as far as Namche and then you find good Sherpa guide there.’ He smiled at me kindly, adding, ‘No worry, I give them mint leaves, tell them to make you tea for your baby.’
I glanced behind as I followed the porters back to the track, but Mingma was gone. The only other living things in the landscape were the two Brahminy ducks, bowing their heads in their daylightdance as they watched us silently from the mirror-calm surface of the lake.
We took a different path to the one on which we’d come up to Gokyo. I was disconcerted at first and tried to ask the porters where we were going, but they seemed to have no English and just looked at me blankly. When I checked my map, I realised it must be a more direct route to Namche Bazaar, following the Dudh Koshi River south. I chided myself silently for not trusting the men. I didn’t like the way the shorter of the two hit the yak with the stick he carried, though, nor the sullen look in the eyes of the taller one when his gaze slid over me.
Our progress was slow, and the valley was a narrow one, towered over by a peak marked on my map as Machhermo, in whose shadow we walked. The energy I’d felt previously seemed to have left me, so I was thankful when we arrived at a cluster of small stone buildings beside the river and the porters gestured to me to enter one of them. I’d assumed we’d just be stopping for a short rest, then pushing on, but they tethered the yak and unloaded my belongings from the baskets.
Within the stone shack, I was shown to a room with a lumpy mattress on the floor. ‘Are we staying here tonight?’ I asked the taller porter. He simply set down my bags, pointed to the makeshift bed, then turned away. ‘What about supper?’ I called after him, but there was no reply.
I took the time to wash my face and comb my hair, loosening the belt I’d taken to using to fix my skirt around my ever-expanding waist. I’d given up trying to fasten its buttons some weeks previously. The sun had disappeared behind the mountain and the valley was in deep shadow when I pushed aside the curtain that servedas a front door and looked out of the shack. From the next-door building came the sound of laughter and a clattering of dishes, so I walked over to peer inside. There were several men – my two porters amongst them – sitting around a table playing some sort of dice game and making inroads into large mugs of drink. From the look of them and the level of noise they were making, I suspected it must bechhaang, the locally brewed beer, which I’d heard Mr Andrews and his colleagues on the expedition talk about sometimes, describing it as a filthy, strongly alcoholic brew made from fermented barley. A few others sat, more quietly, at smaller tables around the walls of the room, eating bowls of rice and lentils. The drinkers fell silent for a moment when I appeared, then the taller porter said something and threw the dice he was holding. They all burst out laughing again, returning to their game.
A woman appeared from the kitchen and gestured to me to take a seat in a corner of the room. She set a bowl of food before me and I shovelled it in, keeping my eyes downcast, not wishing to prolong my meal any longer than was absolutely necessary. When I’d finished, I slipped out of the makeshift inn and made my way back to my room. How I wished for a padlock to make fast the bedroom door. But there was none, so I piled my bags beside it to wedge it closed, wrapped myself, still fully clothed, in a blanket and tried to fall asleep. The sounds of carousing from the neighbouring shack continued, growing louder as more drink was consumed, and I lay awake for ages, my eyes wide open, staring into the darkness. At last, in the wee small hours, the noises diminished and then were silenced, to be replaced by the distant rasp of someone snoring and an occasional hacking cough. Thankfully, I let my eyelids close.
I don’t know how long I was asleep for, if I’d fallen asleep at all, when suddenly my eyes flew open again at the sound of a stealthy footfall outside the shack. I sat bolt upright, terrified,groping around in the pitch darkness for something I could use as a weapon to defend myself. I had nothing.
There was a quiet tapping on the door. ‘Who’s there?’ I called, cursing the giveaway tremor of fear in my voice.
‘Please, Miss. I must talk with you,’ came the soft reply in English.
