Random 11

In between climbing high mountains and leading expeditions to the polar ice, my old friend Akhtar dropped in for a surprise visit. We sat out on the veranda in wicker chairs, watching the steam barges ply the river, and took tea and crumpets and talked over old times all through the afternoon and on into the evening. Akhtar puffed constantly on a long clay pipe, some noxious weed with a smell like burning yak fur that he'd gained a fondness for in Tibet, and as night lent its slight chill to the autumn air I lit the lanterns and allowed myself a snifter of brandy. Engrossed in the delights of good company among the comforts of home, it never occurred to me my friend might have another purpose in coming until, at last, he broached it.

"I wish you to come with me again, David. I have need of you."

"Come where, my dear fellow? And why? I am now, as you have seen, just a nostalgic old man. I am done with adventuring, and adventuring is done with me."

"We are all old men, my friend. Look at me: my beard is as grey as a London sky and these spectacles are not for decoration. Had I your sense, perhaps I should have given it all up long ago and retired to somewhere like this, somewhere decent and homely, and left the exploring to younger, more energetic souls. Alas, I have not and did not, and my travels have taken me places I never thought to go. Now, even so late, there is an adventure that calls me -- and I am very much afraid it is calling you too."

"I am intrigued, Akhtar, but I fear I shall disappoint you. There is a small rowboat moored at the jetty below, and if ever I feel the urge to travel I take it across the river and back, and that is always more than enough. These creaking bones are not meant for the hardships of the road."

"I know, and I am sorry to bring this upon you, for once I tell it you will have no choice. You will come, creaking bones or no."

"Old friend, you are surely mistaken. I can imagine nothing that might have such an effect." But even as I said it, I realised it was a lie. I could imagine one thing, only one, and my heart sank. I knew then what he was going to say, and what would follow, and that nothing good could possibly come of it; and he was right, I had no choice.

"I'm sorry, David, I really am. But she is alive; and he has her."
Posted by matt at October 12, 2005 01:20 PM