Sum Sum ploughed on, head down, thrusting against the wind. This was the final push; she could see the end of the mountain range ahead. The Punjab Himachal border was a mere thirty miles beyond the ridge. In the far, far distance she believed she could see a black outline of trees and smoke billowing from a forge as blacksmiths pounded metal on anvils.
‘‘We are down to the last hour of sunlight.’’ She urged herself on; counting out her steps: seven, eight, nine, left-right, left-right, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, right-left, right-left, until her mind began to drift from exhaustion. She found herself thinking about a train ride. A train ride she’d taken years ago. The train chugged through a jungle tapestry, then through kampong villages, and a little later she got the sensation of nearing a town. The scenery changed – dirt roads were replaced with tarmac; shanty huts with shophouses; the sounds of cock crows and fragmented car horns; buildings sprouting up like bamboo shoots. Juru. Was it Juru? And then someone was calling to her. The sound brought her back to earth. She told her legs to keep moving, left-right, left-right, seventy-nine, eighty, left-right, left.
New memories now: a city in England; King’s Parade; the Backs; trees in leaf along Jesus Lane; Fitzbillies cake chop; college oars mounted on the walls of a pub; croci sprouting on Parker’s Piece; the kitchens at Christ’s; Pietro’s laugh; the first time she held her baby girl.
Hours. Hours came. Hours went.
Her legs were stiff and heavy.
Her lips and cheeks felt frozen solid. A couple of jaw flexes got her face muscles working again. She looked behind to check on Tormam.
She saw the drag left behind by her own footsteps and was gripped by a paroxysm of fear.
Tormam wasn’t there.