Even when I limped past them into the tent when I got cold, or sat down beside them to warm up, they paid no attention and Sasha didn’t interrupt his story. They were so absorbed in the warmth of their evenings that everything else might as well not have existed. I could see they were being drawn together, but could never have imagined what was going to happen. Although, even if I had guessed, would I have been able, or wanted, or have dared to do anything about it? No. So I just watched and marvelled at how unfathomable the road is, and how strangely it sometimes shuffles people’s fates.
Now they’ve gone, after trying to cook that inedible porridge. The two different kinds of grain couldn’t be cooked together, and what use were rations like that going to be to them? “You like reading signs, Grand,” I said pointing to what they had left behind in the pot. “What does this signify?” “You can interpret that yourself, Titch. It tells us that those two are beyond reproach.”
I nodded and did not seek clarification of his new concept: I knew what he meant. “How will they get there?” “The road will help them. It’s like hitchhiking. The main thing is to be open and to spread happiness.”
After the descent they will find themselves back at the river and will walk along the bank. They will meet a group of schoolchildren, advancing towards the summit in an orderly single file, all of them with thumb sticks and with mugs on the side of their rucksacks as if on parade. The children will tell them it is less than a day’s hike to the village. They have come from it today but they were given a lift in UAZ jeeps as far as the first steep ascent. There won’t be anything they can scrounge from them, and they will continue on their way.
They will cross the river over a three-log bridge, then stop and eat blueberries from the bushes. These will be growing right beside the trail so they will help themselves. This will take up two hours and they will come to their senses only when they see that night is drawing in. They will grab their rucksacks and start running downhill, but after half an hour will see a good camp site with a table under cover, a bonfire like a hearth, and a couple of tents already pitched there. They will approach, say hello, and stay there for the night. The tents’ owners will be a group of tourists from Tomsk who will give them a meal and vodka and tea to drink in return for Sasha’s inspirational tale of our tribulations: the trail we followed which missed the pass through the mountains, and the Lake by the glaciers.
When they leave in the morning, deciding that by evening they will be on the outskirts of the town, they will leave their container of uncookable cereal, preferring to travel light.
The four of us woke up one morning to find snow on the ground. The glade and forest were suddenly hushed, no birds, no wind. The Lake placidly reflected the dawn sky but the snow was in no hurry to melt. I screwed up my eyes in the blinding brightness, scooped up a fistful of the snow and tried it with my tongue. It tasted good, sweetish, like the water in the Lake. In the distance, on the mountain, a crow cawed.
The bushes suddenly parted and three men in red overalls emerged into our clearing. I don’t know who was more startled, us after not having seen anyone for so many days, or them, never expecting to find anyone here. After a moment’s hesitation we got over our surprise and talked.
They were mountaineers heading for a glacier beyond the mountain pass and had already been waiting several days for snow. They told us that was the only way you could get through the pass and now the snow had come. We looked complete idiots for having reached the Lake by the least obvious, highly circuitous route which, if it was used by anyone, was the province of local hunters, and shepherds driving their flocks to the summer pastures.
“You really like doing things your own way, Grand,” Nastya said when the climbers had gone off to mount their assault on the glacier. “That is how the road would have it, and no doubt there was a reason,” Grand replied. “We have benefited both from this place and from the way we came here.”
“I wouldn’t have minded giving it a miss,” Nastya said. “At least now we know there are people nearby and we can stop pretending to be a lost expedition. I take it we’re leaving now?” “You know why we’re here.” “Well, we’ve been in these forests quite long enough. I was expected back long ago. People will be worried. You do as you please, but I’m going back.” Grand shrugged and said, “You are free to do as you wish. It will mean only that our paths diverge forever.”
Nastya made no reply and went to the tent. Uneasy guilt feelings stirred in my heart for a moment, but only for a moment. I knew that sooner or later this was going to happen. It was just that now they were being open with each other.
The day continued normally except that Sasha was behaving oddly. He kept hanging around me, looking at my face but recoiling from direct eye contact. He finally brought me a branch of honeysuckle berries and made his speech while I was gratefully devouring them.
“You know, Titch, I need to be heading home too. My holiday will be over soon and I should get back to work. And also I have to hitch my way back.” “Right,” I nodded with my mouth full, getting a sense for myself of the path he was embarking on.
“Well, and then… you know… Nastya hasn’t got a tent, so how could she go back alone? At present we’re, you know… sleeping in mine because she hasn’t… well, you know…” “Got a tent,” I prompted, swallowing the last berry. “Right.” He nodded. “So?” “Well, you won’t mind if I er… If I go with…?” “Your tent?” “Well, yes. Well, no. With Nastya!”
“Go ahead. No problem.” “Well, you know… You won’t mind?” “What’s it to do with me? I’m in no hurry to go anywhere. And I don’t have a tent either.” He went off as if he’d just done a heavy day’s work. I stayed behind on the shore throwing stones into the Lake.
So I didn’t say goodbye to them that evening, and didn’t come out of the tent the next morning. What could I have said to you, friend? Safe journey!
Dusk is falling again. How many times have I experienced that now beside this Lake? Once again the bird which accompanies the setting sun flies out over the water with its shrill cry. This evening, however, is warm and I sit out until it is dark. The sky turns grey, then thickens, freezes, and the stars bore their way through. I’ll go to the tent now and wait for Grand. He isn’t back yet, but that is quite normal. He always comes back after the moon is up.
There is a huge pile of wood by the fire, enough for several days. Why does he need so much? I make out the pot with what remains of the porridge, covered with my bowl, hobble over to the tent, lean down and see it is open. The flap is thrown back and Grand’s rucksack is missing.
It would be untruthful to say tears poured from my eyes. No, my cedarwood sense of tranquillity is not that easily broken. I stood thinking about the situation, trying to awaken my emotions through thought. What should I do now? Somewhere in another part of my brain I was thinking, “So that’s why he gathered so much firewood. He must have been concerned for me.” I heard a rustle in the tent and climbed in, found a lighter and clicked it.
Little tailless mice scatter in all directions trying in their panic to run up the walls. “Shit! For heaven’s sake, shoo! Shoo! All of you, just get out!” The mice in their terror can’t find the tent flap. I grab my things, shake my sleeping bag. More and more mice cascade out and scuttle around. I start trying to catch them and get them out but it’s not easy. Then one mouse finds the flap, runs out and squeaks to the others to follow. Now there is just one left, but it is huddled in the far corner and in its terror doesn’t know what to do. We go round in circles, trying to avoid each other, we thrash about until I hear another squeak. The first mouse has come back and the straggler rushes towards her. Together they scamper away. With a single tug I close the flap, retreat to the corner and suddenly, in the silence that descends, clear-eyed and desperate, consider my isolation.