Love Children Page 4

  "Thank you. I'm hungry."

  As they quietly ate the warm, flat bread, the dancing flames cast flowing black and crimson patterns around the room.

  "Sunny," Paul whispered. "Can I ask you something? Don't get upset."

  "What is it?"

  "Can I sleep with you tonight? I think there's enough space."

  "What?"

  "I'll turn the other way if you want. I can't stand the thought of us comfortable and warm in our sleeping bags while these kids sleep under this little rag they call a blanket."

  "This is getting out of hand. I don't know. I'll think about it."

  Paul pulled out his sleeping bag and spread it on the straw mattress. "Asha, this is a gift for you and Prem."

  Her eyes widened. She slowly ran her fingers along the smooth polyester. "We cannot accept it. You need it."

  "You must keep it for Prem's sake. The winters are cold. Without warm bedding he will not survive."

  "Thank you, Mister Paul. Thank you."

  Sunny watched as Paul and Asha silently stared into each other's eyes. Then Paul unzipped the sleeping bag, Asha and Prem timidly crawled inside, and Paul zipped it shut again.

  "Good night, Asha. Good night, Prem. Sleep warmly."

  "I wish we could go with you." Asha's thought almost trembled in the air.

  "I wish it too. I once almost had a child, and if that child had been as sweet as you, I would have been very happy. But you cannot come; our way is dangerous. You will be safer here."

  "I will not forget you."

  "Nor I you. When you sleep warmly, remember me. I will enjoy thinking of you sleeping warmly."

  * * *

  "Paul, are you asleep?"

  "No."

  "Please turn around."

  "Okay. Is that better?"

  "We haven't known each other very long, but it sure seems a helluva lot longer. It would be a shame to miss this opportunity."

  Paul put his arms around Sunny. "There've been times when I've been alone for a long time. I'd lie in bed and remember all the lost opportunities, all the times I should have been a bit more bold but wasn't. I'd imagine what I should have done and the things I should have said. There are so many times I wish I could live over again."

  "Well, let's live this one now."

  "Yeah."

  "I guess touch is for when we just can't say it all in words."

  "I guess so."

  * * *

  Paul awakened abruptly in the dark silence. "Asha?"

  "Yes. I am awake."

  "Can you sense something?"

  "The dark ones. They are close."

  "You must take Prem, and the sleeping bag, and anything else that is valuable, and run. Do you have somewhere to go?"

  "There is another house like this one. We can go there." Her thoughts paused. Paul felt a tremble that Asha couldn't translate into words. "I will miss you," she said.

  "And I you. Go quickly."

  As Prem stood sleepily rubbing his eyes, Asha threw a few cooking utensils and clothes onto the sleeping bag, rolled it up, and tied the ends with string. Then she slung the bundle onto her back, and climbed down the ladder with Prem, holding his hand so he wouldn't fall.

  No more words came, but Paul felt her lingering for a moment, as if hugging him from a distance. Then she was gone.

  "Sunny, wake up!"

  "What? What is it?"

  "They're here, very close. We have to run."

  "How could they find us here?"

  "I don't know, but we only have a few minutes. Come on, grab your backpack."

  "Okay, okay." She pulled on her sweater, her pants, her shoes, and stuffed the sleeping bag into her pack. "Let's go."

  He grabbed his duffle bag and followed her down the ladder. As they stepped out into the cold night the darkness around them seemed almost like a solid wall, except for the dazzling canopy of stars overhead, more brilliant than any gems could be, but too far away to help light the landscape. But gradually they could make out the shape of the terrain, and the subtle difference where the land met the sky.

  "Come on," Paul whispered. "Be as quiet as you can." He took Sunny's hand and they began to follow a path through the rice fields, away from the road. Where the fields ended, the path zigzagged up a hill. Near the crest they paused, and looked back. They watched three dark shapes approach the house, and blend into the shadows as they reached it. A few minutes later a vague crimson speck began to glow from one of the windows; it quickly grew into a crackling conflagration that seemed to roar through the silence of the night.

  "They burned the house. Why?" Sunny whispered.

  "Who knows? Maybe to warn or punish anyone trying to help us."

  "Are Asha and Prem all right?"

  "They got away. They'll be fine. What I can't figure out is how they found us."

  "They must have followed you when you came back with the luggage."

  "Maybe. I don't think they did. I don't know. Anyway, let's go. We have to find a place to spend the rest of the night."

  * * *

  Paul awakened shivering. The night had been cold. They had walked around to the far side of the lake near town and slept in Sunny's sleeping bag on the grass near the shore.

  He stood, and walked a few steps to the water's edge. Smoky mist hung over the surface of the lake; beyond, Pokhara seemed like a ghost town floating in the silvery haze. Above the haze were the snowy peaks of the Himalayas. Paul's thoughts drifted back to his first meeting with Jason and the paranoia of the acid trip. He might have been dead by now. Instead, he was involved in a whole new game of life and death of which he didn't know the rules or even who his opponents were. He only knew that he had to find Jason and Jasmine, and that some strange telepathic power that he had never felt before was growing within him.

  "Good morning." Sunny's hair was tangled and matted, and her face puffy from lack of sleep; nevertheless she made a courageous effort to smile. She crawled out of the sleeping bag and began to empty her backpack.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Everything got messed up last night; I want to straighten it out. Don't worry, it will only take a few minutes."

  "Are you always this neat?"

  "Always. I can't stand a mess. You don't have to be a slob to be hip."

  "Many people might disagree with that. Anyway, you better hurry."

  As she was neatly folding the tangle of clothes, Paul noticed the morning sun reflect on a speck of metal inside her pack. Curiously, he glanced inside. "What's this?" he whispered. "Sunny!" He put his finger to his lips. "Shhh. Come over here." He led her a short distance away, then quietly said, "It looks like there's a bug in your backpack."

  "So what? Shake it out. What kind of bug?"

  "No, not a bug like a mosquito or a cockroach. I mean a microphone. Maybe a homing device too. I don't know. But that could be how they followed us. Maybe they planted it in your hotel room in Kathmandu."

  "So what do we do?"

  "I have an idea. Don't let on that we know about it, and don't try to pull it out. We can put your backpack on a truck to Kathmandu; that should throw them off our trail. Then we can hitch a ride from here straight down to the Indian border."

  "Where'll I put my stuff?"

  "Use my duffle bag. Now that the sleeping bag is gone it's almost empty anyway."

  "I still can't believe all this is happening."

  "Listen, Sunny, I want to ask you something."

  She silently looked into his eyes with a slight smile.

  "Would you like to come with me to look for Jason and Jasmine? Uh... I know we haven't known each other very long. If you don't want to, I'll stay with you until I get you to a safe place. Hell, what am I saying? A few days ago I was going to kill myself. Now I don't know what I'm diving into. It could be dangerous. It could be discouraging. It could be futile. Who knows where this is going to lead?"

  Sunny gently put her hand over his mouth. "You think I'd let you leave me behind?"

>   * * *

  On the bus from Pokhara to India the only empty seats were in the back. At every one of the many bumps in the road they were bounced into the air and landed back on the hard wooden seat with a painful thump. They were surrounded by locals chattering in Nepali and Hindi, some of them spraying red betel juice into the air as they talked. Under the seats bundles of live chickens cackled loudly. The air was pungent with the smell of the chickens' defecations, the odor of many bodies packed closely together, billowing cigarette smoke, and the rotten sourness of chewed betel.

  "Much more interesting than first class, don't you think?" Paul said.

  "Is there a first class?"

  "Well, actually, I think we're in first class now. In second class they pack 'em into trucks with the goats. At the border we can catch a train. That should be a little easier."

  "You think they've found my backpack yet?"

  "They might wait until it reaches Kathmandu. The problem is, judging by their conversation at the hotel, they're not just looking for one couple. They're on the alert for groups of people. Maybe Jason and Jasmine have friends. I don't know what's going on. But they said they were looking for teams or groups. Plural."

  "So?"

  "I was wondering if it'd be safer if we split up for a while. We don't have enough money for two plane tickets anyway and I want you to get out of this area."

  "No way. I want to stay together."

  "In Delhi I could put you on a plane to Athens. Then I could travel overland and meet you there."

  "Are you out of your fucking mind? That's the last place I want to go."

  "But you'll be safe there. You can lay low with your family until I come."

  "You don't know what you're asking."

  "It might be tough, but extraordinary situations call for extraordinary measures."

  "What if something happens to you on the way? I'd be waiting and waiting and I'd never know."

  "I'll keep in touch. I'll phone you every few days. Then you'll always know where I am. It'll be okay."

  "Waiting like that would be hell. Every day, every hour, just waiting for that phone call, and for you to show up."

  "From Delhi I should be able to make it in about a week."

  "Isn't there some other way?"

  "Maybe. I don't know what the hell else to do."

  "I'll miss you. Shit! I didn't want to miss anybody. I wanted to be a loner. Loving someone hurts too much." As salty tears trickled past her nose onto her lips, Sunny looked out the window, pretending to study the landscape.

  The driver didn't slow down as the tires hit a patch of dirt road. The rusty bus creaked loudly as it lurched from side to side. To the left was a rocky cliff; to the right was a sheer drop into a deep canyon, without the protection of a guard rail.

  They flew into the air as the tires slammed into an edge of asphalt, then the ride became more smooth again. Paul wanted to lean over and whisper into Sunny's ear that he loved her too, but the words wouldn't come. Instead he said, "If we can survive this trip, we can survive anything."

  Sunny didn't answer, and continued to stare out the window. The late-afternoon sun shone on the steep forested foothills, making a pattern of golden light and deep shadows. Paul silently slipped his arm around Sunny's waist; Sunny put her hand in his and her arm over his arm. The cackling of the chickens, the raucous shouts of the many conversations, the clatter of the bus's engine and the creaking of its chassis, all seemed to recede into the background, as if a cocoon surrounded Paul and Sunny, enveloping them in a microcosm of quiet contemplation.

  Chapter 4

  Eye of the Dead

  It must have been a mistake. I must have been imagining everything: paranoid hallucinations, mysterious voices. I must be going out of my mind. I shouldn't have let him pull me off the ice. God, how my stomach hurts.

  Paul staggered to the toilet and squatted over the stinking hole, clutching his stomach with one hand and the wall with the other, wishing he had one more hand so he could close his nose to keep out the acrid smell rising up from below. There wasn't much left in him that hadn't already come out. He stayed until his legs began to cramp, then staggered back to bed.

  Alone at the end of the world. I could die on this bed and nobody would know. Nobody would find me; I would just disappear. Sunny would wait and wait, and finally she'd give up waiting. She'd do something else, meet someone else. What happened between us would fade into the past, a memory among many memories; it would slowly dissolve from her consciousness, covered by the mist of time.

  Paul opened his eyes and studied the cracks running through the plaster on the walls. Dark dusty cobwebs festooned the corners and hung like stalactites from the ceiling.

  He shivered, and pulled the rough, scratchy, musty-smelling gray blanket over him; then he began to sweat and he threw the blanket off again. Another cramp stabbed his stomach, and he groaned.

  He'd made it across Pakistan, over the Khyber Pass, and on to Kabul, Afghanistan. He'd taken a small room off Freak Street in Kabul to rest for a day or so before continuing on to Tehran. But that evening he'd gone to eat at a restaurant advertising pseudo-western cuisine: hamburgers, fried chicken, roast beef, mashed potatoes with gravy, and so on. He'd ordered sirloin steak and baked potato; the steak was tough as cardboard and the potato resembled a shriveled gray prune. At the sight of the food he almost left it and walked out. He knew it was safer to stick to the local dishes than take a chance on these tawdry imitations. But he was hungry and tired and running short of local currency, so he ate it anyway. Soon after returning to his room he'd been overcome with nausea and had vomited until there was nothing left in his stomach to vomit.

  He heard someone scream. It was a woman. No. It was a man. No.

  He listened again. For a moment there was silence. The shadows seemed to deepen. The cracks on the wall and the dark spider webs caused him to imagine that he was imprisoned in the dungeon of a castle. He became conscious of the pounding of his heart and his labored breathing.

  She screamed again. She held her baby tightly as she fled as fast as she could through the bright green forest foliage, across the packed earth of the clearing in the village center, and into her bamboo hut. There was nowhere to hide. She huddled in a corner, trying to stifle her sobbing. Then the door burst open.

  Suddenly Paul wasn't seeing the woman. He was the woman. She watched in horror as the approaching soldier, a towering apparition in green, brown, and gray camouflage uniform, raised his submachine gun. The first bullet hit the baby. Blood sprayed onto her cheek, her arms, her clothes. Then she felt the impact of the bullets, in her stomach, her leg, her face. Paul felt the pain as if it was his own; but the greatest pain had been the pain in her soul when the bullet hit the child, her only son. That pain was the pain of hell, the pain of the damned, the pain of ultimate despair, of no hope of escape.

  Paul opened his eyes. The vision vanished, and he found himself back in his room, sweating and shaking. Perhaps he had only been screaming in his mind, and not out loud; but when he stopped, for a brief instant he seemed to hear an echo.

  "Wait a minute," he said with his inner voice. "Who's there? Who's in my head?"

  The other presence didn't answer. Paul felt a pulse of fear.

  "Who are you? Where are you?"

  No answer. Whoever he'd contacted was withdrawing, trying to evade him.

  Paul sat up. His head whirled; his stomach felt like it was trying to digest shards of glass. But he managed to pull on his shoes and stand up. He was already dressed; he'd been too cold to take his clothes off.

  He put on his coat, staggered to the door, opened it, and stepped into the narrow hallway. He listened. Nothing. But wait. Was there an indistinct tremor of another awareness, of the presence of somebody else?