| |
This was posted months (years?) ago, I've briefly edited what I wrote and have continued (from the XXX)
The Sheep
Everything had started to tumble that afternoon with the hash. Josh and Alice had been lying on their rickety bed, chatting about nothing much, about the four-day hike up Mount Kolohoi they'd start tomorrow, if she was feeling better now the antibiotics were nearly finished. Trust her to get a kidney infection in Asia. Then Josh handed her a hash cigarette. She didn't like drugs. She didn't like that he was smoking, but he was so new in her life, so fresh, so grown up, so manly, so foreign it felt like it could be okay, not like her other experiences of drugs. When Alice was fifteen she'd snorted a line of coke. All it did was make her nose run. At university she ate a magic mushroom on the top of Glastonbury hill. Everyone started to giggle and have a lovely time while she sat watching them, feeling no different at all, other than very alone, the odd one out.
The odd one out. She was familiar with that feeling. Her brother was into marijuana, well he probably never got out of it, and there were those awful parties in Dublin her brother's girlfriend threw when the parents were away. Everyone lay about stoned on the living room floor and Alice felt like she was amongst aliens. Little heaps of people who looked like people until you saw their faces, all gloopy and smeared, as if someone had poured water over a photograph and rubbed their thumb into the inks. Or maybe she was the alien. Whatever it was, no matter how gloopy everyone looked, they clearly judged her for not being one of them. Until she went off and scrounged around in the kitchen and came back with a chocolate cake made from whatever she could find - a box of gravy thickener, vegetable oil - what kind of vegetable she wondered, looking for a list of ingredients but there wasn't any - Horlicks, all crusty at the bottom of the tin so she had to melt it with boiling water, instant coffee, a bowl of sugar lumps, some self-raising flour and two suspicious looking eggs. The cake always turned out perfectly, even she wondered about that. When she walked into the room with it suddenly she was everyone's best friend, they unfolded from their heaps on the floor, crowded about her, smiling and friendly, her brother beaming, proud of his clever sister, at least until the next round of smokes.
Alice took a puff of the joint. She didn't want Josh to think she was unworldly, but most of all she wanted to be part of his life, of him, of all his experience, of the ten years he had been on this earth while she wasn't even an apple in the eye of her mother. Alice wondered if she had been a soul, watching Josh's first ten years from above, putting her mark on him, saying to the other souls, - he's mine, or he will be as soon as I can find someone to give birth to me but then she thought about that, why would she choose her mother? If she was a soul she'd have chosen Bridget's mother, or even Sebastian's mother, they were so much nicer, but maybe then she wouldn't have ended up in London and met Josh in the restaurant where she waitressed, maybe she wouldn't have been there that night he played Kind of Blue on his tenor sax and took her home on the Northern line and didn't insist on coming in, not like all the other men (boys) she'd been with. He'd just said, -I hope to get to know you better sometime soon, and he kissed her lightly on the lips, nothing sloppy or wet or eel like, just soft and tender, his brown eyes wide, looking into hers.
Alice wanted Josh's wisdom, his clear self-assuredness. Perhaps it was an American thing, but he had told her he was the black sheep of the family so perhaps it was just his thing.
-Good shit they have here. Really good. I could get back into it.
-Back into it? Alice asked, feeling woozy already and then she started to cough and couldn't stop.
-Don't inhale so much, Josh said, looking at her, his hands behind his head, his long curly black hair spread about on the pillow. He looked a bit like Omar Sharif, Alice thought, only handsomer. When the coughing subsided she said,
-What do you mean, back into it?
-Experiment. You know.
She didn't know but she nodded anyway. A leaf of anxiety started to poke out the bottom of her stomach.
–I don't do drugs. Never did. Not like most people. They use them to escape. I used them to alter my perception, to see the world as it really is.
-As it really is?
He smiled for an answer, as if she was asking a rhetorical question. Alice tried to alter the expression on her face to fit his assumption.
-What drugs have you done?
Josh looked up to the right, a concentrated look on his face. Alice could almost feel his thoughts, they seemed to bypass her head and go straight to her stomach, feeding the shoot of anxiety that was now a small, quivering bush. After what seemed like forever, Josh said,
-All of them.
-All of them? Her voice came out far too loud. She tried to swallow it back but it was too late. Alice's mother always said her voice could carry across several fields. Horrible. Sick feeling in her stomach. The bush now a tree.
-The important ones anyway. Leary used to say if you haven't done Lucy then you'll never get the joke.
-The joke? Alice asked, trying to make sound like a statement in case he thought her stupid.
Nothing made sense. Leary? Did he leer? And who was Lucy?
-Ah yes. The great joke of life. Of what we think life is. The joke of being. Of all this, Josh said, taking his arms out from underneath his head and waving them about the dark wooden room. The walls were so thin you could hear someone fart on the other side which is what she did hear and then she heard a voice shouting through the wall,
-Anyone for a game of Poker?
-Yeah, coming, Josh yelled. He turned to Alice. -Great game. You coming?
-I don't know how to play. Not really.
The last time Alice played poker was when she was ten years old in the back of a combi van, with her brother's friends, one of whom she was besotted with because he looked like the boy from Death in Venice. Somehow Alice had missed the bit about playing strip Poker but by the time she realised what was happening it was too late, she was already losing, badly. Everyone else seemed to be wearing more clothes than usual, and all she had on was a dress and panties.
-I'll teach you, Josh said, taking her in his arms. Her face pressed against his chest. He smelled of woodsmoke and soap, his checked flannel shirt soft against her cheek. She wanted to stay there, not go out and be with people, not like this, her insides filling with something unwanted, her eyes bleary, her head looping around. Josh stroked her hair. Another branch sprouted inside her, thorny. Her hair needed washing. He'd notice. She wished she'd washed it this morning, but what with? All they had was a bucket Namgyl brought cheerily at seven when she just wanted to sleep forever but it was too late, Josh was all bright and wanting to meet the day, to explore the village, climb a mountain, just a small one, he promised. Namgyl said there was more water if they needed it. What was she supposed to do, dunk her head in the bucket and then what, call for another one to dunk the soap off in? She'd need at least four buckets to wash out the conditioner. Alice hated having dirty hair. It was the one thing she knew was beautiful in her, her hair. She worried that Josh could smell her scalp, that he would be disgusted. -Your hair has a particular smell, her mother had often said. -I would know it anywhere. Hearing this seemed to make Alice's hair seem less beautiful, dull even, not the multi-coloured gold she saw in the palm of her hand, slipping through her fingers. Maybe she smelled like an old wet dog. Alice pulled out of Josh's arms.
-Okay, I'll come and play.
At least it would prolong the time before they'd be in bed together, maybe he'd be too tired for sex, maybe he'd fall asleep and not notice that she smelled like wet dog. She'd figure a way to wash her hair in the morning.
Josh held his cards close to his chest. Alice knew he was trying to tell her something but she just couldn't get it. He winked with one eye and then the other but that didn't help either. God she was stupid. He was stupid. Not stupid. Something. She hated him for sitting there looking like a Cheshire cat, for knowing how to play the game for talking all the time, talk, talk, talk. All about Life with a capital L, about what it was really about, how did he know? He was just spouting other people's theories. Why hadn't she realised this before? And then the stories turned to him, long stories that made him seem like a perpetual hero, the dangerous situations he had survived, the people he had helped, the great knowledge he had come by, all by himself; worse, he was someone who could make people laugh, and they did laugh, loudly, banging their fists against the table, weeping even, asking for more when Alice just wanted him to shut the fuck up, just wanted them all to shut the fuck up; that scarecrow Australian woman with her lumpen boyfriend George, even sweet Namgyl who gazed adoringly at Josh. She saw herself in Namgyl and the thing in her stomach had spread up her chest like a choke vine. Soon it would pop out her eyes and ears and then they would all look at her and stare at her wet dog hair and that would be worse than listening to Josh waffling on.
Alice wanted to close up inside herself. She was already closed up inside herself, every part of her taken up by this, what, this evil bloodsucking feeling. She wanted to shut down so completely she wouldn't feel a thing. She couldn't, she tried, but nothing worked. Worse, everything around her was closing in on her. The Himalayas that seemed so staggeringly beautiful, great icing sugar sprinkled peaks, shimmering, huge, beyond huge, so gorgeous to watch just a few hours earlier, they were now hard edged, knife like, pressing in, looming ominously at her. The pine tree beside the veranda stared at her, poking its needles towards her like little fingers, accusing her of something she knew she had done but couldn't remember what. Josh's endless voice weighing down like a heavy fog, suffocating, scratchy, too loud, too self-important, too knowing, too American, what an accent, why hadn't she noticed how egotistical he was? And then the others pushed their bodies towards her, all together, against her, yes, they were against her, that was it. They could see how stupid she was, they were going to beat her at this game, at all games, at the game of sitting here and just being together, even that game they understood and she didn't and then they'd laugh about her behind her back, they were laughing already, yes, she could feel it, those smiles and smirks and eyes shifting from side to side and then rolling upward at her stupidity, her being the odd one out, while they were all so connected they could even communicate telepathically.
Josh was already up when Alice woke the next morning.
-Morning sleepy head, Josh said, tousling her hair. He'd been up for hours in fact. He'd checked all the gear: state of the art lightweight tent, three season sleeping bag, multi-fuel camping stove, First Aid kit, weather resistant clothing and a variety of equipment all of which Alice regarded with a mixture of awe and contempt. He'd then gone for a brisk walk up the hill (mountain) behind the guesthouse. He'd apparently found a beautiful ice-dotted stream and a Kashmiri goat herder who gave him better directions to Kolahoi glacier than his book of Great Himalayan Climbs.
Glacier. Alice'd forgotten they were starting the hike today. She tried to smile and pretend she didn't look awful but she knew she did, drool had encrusted onto her chin and bits of sleep stuck her already meagre eyelashes into a clump.
-What time is it?
-Nine. We should start in an hour. I've already packed your things.
Her things? Nine? That was a perfectly reasonable hour to wake up after a horrible evening and what about breakfast and what about her hair? Her things? He'd already packed them? A list of potential embarrassments rolled out: Unwashed panties, her diary, pimple cream, an envelope of photographs of old boyfriends, one of her, naked. The only one she ever liked because it didn't show her breasts. Diaphragm - surely she had washed that? She couldn't remember. Maybe it was still inside her. Oh God. Alice sat bolt upright, pulling the blanket around her. It was freezing. In the corner of the room stood the bucket of water Namgyl must have brought earlier. It was empty.
-I'd really like to wash my hair before we go.
-We are not going to a party sweetheart and your hair looks beautiful.
-It does?
Josh kissed her for an answer, rather too passionately for a bad-breath morning but she was pleased and kissed back, wondering if she could lure him into bed and make it too late for them to start the hike.
-God you're sexy, he said, lifting her clean out of bed and standing her on her feet as if she were a small child learning to walk. -Namgyl's made momo's. Go get some before they get cold and I'll finish up here.
Alice pulled on her jeans and then pulled them off again, remembering how bloody cold it was and it was only going to get colder so she grovelled in her pack (noticing how much neater everything was), pulled out her wool tights and put them. Her jeans fit snugly over the tights which made her feel fat. Maybe she should skip breakfast but momo's sounded good, whatever they were, so she went to the porch where Namgyl served all meals, no-matter what the weather. She guessed there wasn't any other room, just the three bedrooms and a kitchen and the hole-in-the-ground toilet. There was no sign of George or the Australian woman, in fact there was no sign of last night's revelry at all. Everything looked scrubbed clean, much as you could scrub untreated wood. Alice sat down at the table and shivered. Maybe she needed a Gore-Tex whatsit after all. No chance of that here, she'd already scoured the stalls in the village. Nothing but wrinkled vegetables and Kashmiri souvenirs. The stall owners ignored her anyway, they only spoke to Josh unless she went on her own when they leered and said things like “Hey blondie you fuck”?
Namgyl came out with a plate of white dumplings. They were steaming in the cold air and smelled delicious, like melted cheese and fresh bread.
-You cold? You look cold miss, he said, putting the plate in front of her and handing her a dented knife and a fork with tongs every-which-way.
-I'm all right, these look good
-You have coat?
Alice looked at him. He was extraordinarily beautiful. Exotic looking. Milk coffee skin and pitch black straight hair to his shoulders that he didn't fuss with like most boys with long hair. Almond shaped eyes with heart-stabbingly long black eyelashes framing green eyes. How could you have green eyes with that colouring, Alice wondered. She'd seen how beautiful he was straight off, but he was very shy and looked young, maybe seventeen. Too young. He probably be interested in the Australian girl. She was thin and flirty. Alice stuck a fork into a momo. She had Josh. She didn't need any more pretty boys with eel kisses.
-Miss?
-They're fantastic, Alice said, her mouth full of something soft and doughy.
-You have coat?
-Oh. Sorry. Alice swallowed. It really was very good. -No. Do you need one? He didn't look like he needed one, he seemed impervious to the cold but ever since she'd stepped foot in India everything she wore seemed to be highly desirable to the locals, including her tattered t-shirts. She'd already given two away before she realised she wouldn't have anything to wear if she carried on. Namgyl shook his head and pointed at her. Alice felt herself redden for misunderstanding him.
-You are going to Kolahoi glacier, yes? he said softly.
-I'll be fine. I'll just put layers on.
He stood for a moment while she finished the momos and then went inside and came back out with a small aluminium pot of tea and a chipped cup. Alice smiled, grateful. He nodded and went inside again. She loved his tea. It was cardamom flavoured and very sweet. She poured a cup and then heard a thump from behind the wall she leaned against. Josh's voice. Sounded like a swear word. What was he doing in there? Consolidating his gear again? He loved to consolidate; it seemed to be his favourite activity other than waking early and going for brisk walks when he should be in bed with her. Or at least reading or some other pleasant activity. She'd better hurry. Alice's least favourite thing was hurrying. She liked to sit and drink endless cups of tea and stare at the mountains. They'd been here a week already and she'd fallen in love with the view and who could not for it was truly staggering. The mountains folded endlessly into each other, shadows tumbled down from their peaks like dark waterfalls, trees grew at impossible angles and so thickly they looked like a perfect tapestry of multiple greens. They shifted colour as clouds in shapes she had never seen before moved across the sky and then the sun peeked through and sent shafts of light down into the valley like those God paintings.
-Here, said Namgyl, handing her a grey heap of material. She thought it was a blanket until she unfolded it and saw it was one of those long cloaks the locals wore. It had intricate blue embroidery at the hem and around the neck, -Pheran. Good for you. You take.
-No, I can't, Alice started to say but he shook his head, avoiding her eyes. -Okay, but how much is it? It looked expensive. Oh dear. Now she was going to have to buy something she couldn't afford but he said, -Gift, and left before she could answer. She stood up and tried it on. It came to just below her knees and was very warm.
-What in Hell's name are you doing out here, writing your novel, Josh said, humping her backback through the door. He was all strapped up and ready to go - shatter resistant glacier sunglasses, Polartec Windstopper cap hiding all those Omar Sharif curls, altitude gloves (with goggle scraper, he'd proudly pointed out yesterday). Alice heaved her substandard backpack onto table so she could put it on.
-Where'd you get that thing? Josh asked, staring at her cloak.
-It's a Pheran. Namgyl gave it to me.
Josh fingered the cloth, looking slightly offended.
-Won't keep the rain off.
-Yes it will. It's unwashed wool.
-Unwashed wool? What good does that do?
-Keeps the rain off, Alice said, happy she knew something he didn't. In Ireland unwashed wool socks were a speciality, sweaters too. They didn't smell very good but they kept you warm even midwinter in gale force winds. No doubt Josh knew about gale force winds but he didn't know about wool, she was sure of that. A sudden lightness filled her chest, she felt quite dashing in the cloak and she could tell Josh was jealous. Of the cloak or Namgyl she wasn't sure and then he was striding off up the perilous path towards the trail to the glacier.
-Isn't this the life? Josh said during their break for lunch the next day. He was waiting for her, as per usual; invariably she lagged behind by several minutes. The trail was steep, a fifty four degree incline, Josh informed her. How did he figure this out? And what did it mean, anyway? Alice wondered but did not ask for fear of increasing the possibility of his discovering how stupid she was. Instead she just said,
-Wow!
-Oh this is nothing, just a baby climb, he smiled indulgently. He rarely took breaks and it became clear to Alice that his motivation for the hike was simply to get to the glacier, to achieve his goal, not to actually enjoy the walk. When they stopped he pored over his notes and map and book, while all around them was such staggering beauty Alice felt she'd be forever altered. She found it impossible to speak when she gazed at the enormity of the mountains or the small things she encountered along the path - tiny alpine flowers, a bird of such feathered delicacy it defied all logic of being; a butterfly with wings a colour she spent at least an hour trying to come up with a name for before she gave up and simply held it in her minds eye, a thing beyond beauty. Josh, however, seemed to only be interested in specific heights of mountains. The trip to the glacier was a compromise for him, made on her behalf, as it was only 4000 metres high. Mount Everest is 8848 metres, Josh had said wistfully. Alice couldn't quite get what the numbers actually meant, other than her thighs hurt.
-I think it's easier for you, she said, trying not to crush the tiny flower she'd picked. She hoped she could press it in her diary, and then she felt bad she'd killed it but it was too late.
-What's easier for me?
-Climbing.
-This isn't climbing, this is a mere stroll, darling.
-You said we were on an incline of 50 degrees.
-That's nothing. If we were on Mt. Everest it would be 80 or more
-It's still an incline.
-Your point being? Josh asked, sprinkling salt on one of the hard-boiled eggs he'd made for their lunch before she was even awake.
-My legs are shorter than yours.
Josh took a bite of egg, swallowed it whole. Alice could see him trying to figure out what she was talking about and come up with a suitable, irrefutable answer. Why was it, Alice wondered, that men had such difficulty in saying, I don't understand? She supposed it was like asking for directions. They thought not understanding you was an admission of stupidity, of not knowing everything there was to know in the whole universe. Josh was quiet for some time. Alice felt nervous. She'd obviously said something ridiculous. She looked at her flower. It was a smudge of purple on her thumb. She'd not only killed it but crushed it. She felt a weep coming on.
-I don't get it, Josh finally said, and Alice looked at him with such visible relief he pulled her to him and kissed her damp eyes even though he had no idea what had caused such a look.
-I was just thinking, she whispered into his neck. He smelled strong, manly. Clean. It was one of the things she noticed first, how clean he was. English boys seemed to think washing behind their ears (or God, forbid, inside them) was an affront to their masculinity. She had come to the conclusion it had something to do with boarding school.
-Well, you know physics; maybe you can figure it out. Since my legs are shorter than yours, don't they have to carry, or is it push, more weight on a specific incline than yours?
Josh was quiet. Clearly she was an idiot and completely wrong about her theory. Alice tried not to move against his warm but uncomfortably stiff-edged Gore-Tex enclosed body, hoping he'd forget what she said.
-What about the sherpas? he said, just when she thought he must have forgotten. Josh took off his Polartec cap and raked his hands through his curls before putting it back on. -They are the best climbers in the world and they are all pretty short. He gave her a squeeze. -Short and stumpy, just like you. Just kidding sweetheart. You think too much. Let's clean this mess up and get going, we are going to be late for tonight's camp.
Alice's experience of camping was limited to a three-week holiday in France. Waking up soaked through and covered in mud and then finding a café in the nearby village which served steaming bowls of hot chocolate and fresh croissants was one of the most blissful experiences of her life. She remembered the rat that ran across her and her then-boyfriend's stomach - the tent was his father's, one he had used when he was a soldier in the British army. She remembered the hilarity of lying underneath the fallen tent because they had not pegged it down properly; the strange sensation of sleeping on a slope, head or feet higher than the other, each equally weird. There had been something satisfying about not managing to light the primus stove and making supper by melting cheese with a candle onto stale bread. It tasted of wax and probably was wax but it didn't matter, they had come up with a solution.
Josh's approach to camping was entirely of a different order. The tent had to be shaken out every morning (no chance of rats with a sewn-in groundsheet) whether or not they were moving on. Feet! He yelled every time Alice climbed in. Zip it up! He yelled before she finished making sure not a speck of grime was on her feet. Alice noticed Josh had an inordinate aversion to insects. When she mentioned this to him he seemed to think it was a fact that insects were the bane of all mankind and should be either killed or defended against at all costs. Particularly mosquitoes. The smell of mosquito repellent had impregnated everything, even her hair which was a lost cause, so far beyond old wet-dog she had given up on it and wrapped it in a scarf. She was getting bored with Josh's endless worrying that he'd not started the chloroquine soon enough and his furious attempts to avoid having the door of the tent open for more than five seconds.
-What the fuck they are doing up here in the mountains? I wouldn't have come if I'd known.
-They don't bother me, Alice finally said after the tenth time he'd said this. It was true, they didn't. For the most part they bit him, not her.
-It's because of your blood, he said.
-My blood? What's wrong with my blood?
-Not rich enough. You're probably anaemic. It was the first nasty sounding thing he'd said to her - other than being stumpy.
-It has nothing to do with my blood. It's because I don't kill them.
Josh stared at her in disbelief.
-Well you're the Buddhist, she said, before she could stop herself.
-What the bloody hell has that got to do with it?
-Killing breaks a key moral precept in Buddhism.
Where on earth did that come from? Alice wondered. She'd read a bit of philosophy at university, but it was all Plato and Kant. What did Kant have to say about killing insects?
-You're confusing Buddhism with Jainism.
-So Buddhists condone killing?
-Of course not. We are talking about insects here, not people.
-Your point being? Alice felt like someone else had taken hold of her voice. She almost sounded like Josh. She hated arguing and now somehow she'd not only caused an argument but was pursuing it as if she knew what she was talking about which she didn't. She hadn't a clue what Buddhists thought about insects.
Josh slapped his forearm so hard Alice jumped.
-There, that's my point, he said, shoving his blood splodged arm at her like an accusation and then tucking it inside his ultra-light, waterproof, three-season sleeping bag. He pulled its contoured hood over his head and rolled on his side, away from her. The conversation was over, as far as he was concerned. He made snoring sounds. Alice lay awake beside him in the dark - she wore every stitch of clothing she had and the Pheran was draped over her measly one-season bag. She wondered what, in fact, Buddhists felt about insects. They must have something to say about the killing of mosquitoes. She'd have to ask someone else, clearly.
XXXXXXXXXX
-When are we getting there? Alice asked. Grumpily. She was tired. Every muscle in her body ached. The staggering mountains and the pretty small things were no longer staggering or pretty. She had a headache. She wanted a long hot bath and a comfortable bed. Instead here she was lugging a ton of bricks up a mountain, always playing catch-up with Josh who just strode on ahead, arms swinging, the wind attractively flinging about his dark curls (he'd thrust the Polartec Windstopper cap into one of the many hundreds of pockets on his jacket. Alice wondered if he'd ever find it again). He'd pulled out from another of the pockets his folding lightweight anodised aluminium walking stick and was using it to whack away at any unruly bit of grass or branch along the path.
-When are we getting there? Alice whined for the second time. She knew he couldn't hear her, she just asked the question of herself for company. Her lower lip was chapped and beginning to split painfully. Her eyes were scratchy. She was constipated and either her period was starting or something she had eaten was giving her cramps. She thought maybe being constipated was a good thing around here given the toilet facilities. But her period? She tried to count the days in her head but gave up at day ten. Everything was all woozy around then, her lying delirious and feverish in a windowless, shoebox sized hotel room in Bangkok, watching the fan go around and around while listening to the endless cacaphony of tuk-tuks and horns and street vendors and cars and trucks and the arguments of the backpackers who were squashed into the other shoebox rooms (about where to get the cheapest pad thai/flight tickets/money changing fees/girly shows/fake designer watches/sarongs/rooms/etc) while Josh was off exploring the sites and buying last-minute supplies for the trip. Surely she couldn't be pregnant? The choke vine inside her twitched to life again, shifting about like a sleepy python. She wondered if there were snakes here. Surely there were. Josh would probably know but she wasn't going to ask. He'd spout endless factoids about species and habitat. She'd have to sneak a peek at his book of Great Himalayan Climbs, surely it would warn you about any poisonous Kashmiri snakes. She wished she was back at Namgyl's, hanging out safely on the porch drinking cardamom tea and staring at the mountains. Or Namgyl. He didn't seem the type to want to go dragging women up mountains. Probably had done enough mountain walking already. She'd overheard him telling Josh he'd walked to Kashmir from Tibet when he was five years old.
-Hey, Dreamy head! Josh yelled from somewhere above her. Alice was staring at her feet, at her grimy canvas ten-dollar sneakers that were doing jolly well. Josh wore leather mountaineering boots of course, with seam-sealed liners and special sweat-wicking polyester linings and shock-absorbing polyurethane midsoles (what on earth was a 'midsole'?). -Step-in crampon-compatable, Josh had said proudly, not realising Alice had glazed over and only heard the mild rumble of his mid-American accent. Midsole. Mid-American, she thought. There must be a connection, but then she was elsewhere entirely, thinking about a lovely black lacquered box she'd seen in the market at Pahalgam, trying to hint to Josh she'd like it very much, but all he did was inspect the carpets as if he were an expert and bargain the Kashmiri down a few dollars when he wasn't even planning on buying the damn thing anyway. Alice heard Josh calling to her again, but she was fixated on her shoes, one step after the other, as if they were lead-weights, her eyes glued to them, her feet somehow disembodied from her and needing constant monitoring if she was to get anywhere at all. She move any faster or reply to Josh. She'd get there when she got there, thank you very much.
|
Help
Sign In
RSS Feed
Permalink
Print
Email
