Forever the Road (A Rucksack Universe Fantasy Novel) (12 page)

“That’s your mum’s bed,” the attendant said as he wheeled in the chair that held Asha.

“It’s really nice,” Jigme said, thinking of how the thin fabric that had passed for a mattress crinkled when the attendant had lifted Amma off her bed.

“She’ll be much more comfortable now,” the attendant replied.

The car hadn’t been able to come down the alley. The attendant couldn’t even drive to the street that led to the alley, because The Mystery Chickpea was in the way. Jay, Jigme, and the attendant had left the car at the end of the street, dodging annoyed looks and shouts from vendors and people walking through.

As the attendant unfolded a wheelchair, Jay had struggled the large pack onto his back. He looked like he wanted to fall in the street and sleep. Jigme couldn’t blame him. He had held the pack for only a few minutes, and it had been so much heavier than it seemed for its size. It was like trying to carry a person, like trying to carry the world.

Why would you wear that every day just so you can go places?
Jigme wondered.

“Why don’t you just buy things wherever you go?” Jigme asked. “You are rich.”

Jay smiled. “I can see where I would seem rich. I buy things when I need to, but I still have to be careful with my money.”

“That pack is so heavy.”

“It is. After a while, it becomes like a friend. Sometimes it’s almost as if it looks out for me. At least lately, whenever I need something, it’s always at the top of the pack.”

“I’m sorry I tried to take it,” Jigme said. “If I were rich like you, I’d travel too.”

“Maybe someday you can. Do you know where you want to go?”

Jigme opened his mouth but no words came.
Where would I go? I’ve never left the city.

He knew India was a vast country that was part of a world that was vaster still. Jigme knew the alleys and streets of his city, where the bakers had lazy eyes and where the fruit sellers had kind hands. But the world beyond that? “I… I don’t know,” he finally said.

“I didn’t either,” Jay said. “The main thing is to go somewhere. Then the world will take you where you need to be.”

“Where are we going?” the attendant asked.

Jigme pointed.

“Wow,” Jay said. “Whatever that is, it smells amazing. I’m so hungry I could eat cow pies.”

Jigme tugged his sleeve. “That’s The Mystery Chickpea,” he said. “You don’t want to eat there.”

“Why not?”

“His food…” Jigme struggled to find the words. “It does funny things to you. Amma has told me I was never to go there.”

“If his food tastes as good as it smells, it’d be worth a few days of the runs,” Jay replied. “I’ve gotten far sicker on far worse. Man, there was this one time in Kenya, I’d drunk some dodgy water, and I swear I was painting the loo orange for days.”

“That’s not what I mean,” Jigme said. He nodded toward the old man behind the cart. “He doesn’t speak. No voice. But it’s like he tells you things through the food.”

“He’s telling me that if a pint of stout is a sandwich in a glass, I’m hungrier for way more than a sandwich. I’ve had enough beer. I’m ready for some real food now.” Jay veered toward The Mystery Chickpea. The old man glanced up, his face hazy behind clouds of steam.

“Wait,” Jigme said. “Amma.”

Jay stopped. “Sorry. I’ll get something later.”

They went down the alley. Shadows gathered as the sun dropped lower in the sky. The red door opened, and Rucksack walked out of the room. “She should be okay to be moved,” he said, touching Jigme on the shoulder. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.”

Jigme didn’t know what to say. No one paid attention to him and Asha. No one helped anymore or even asked how they were. Every day, he went out and tried to do what he could to provide for them, but it was never enough.
We’ve seen more kindness today than we have in months,
Jigme thought.
I had no words for any of that.

The hand left his shoulder. “One way or another, lad, she’ll be all right,” Rucksack said with a shrug. “Who knows. This funny world has ideas of its own. Maybe there’s good to come from you trying to take that pack.”

The attendant set the wheelchair by the red door, then went inside. “She’s so light,” he said as he carried Asha out.

When the daylight touched Asha, Jigme thought he saw her shudder, thought he saw the smallest hint of a smile on her lips. But it must have been just his hope, just a play of light and shadow. The attendant set her in the wheelchair. Her head slumped.

“Does she sleep like this often?” the attendant asked.

“She mostly just sleeps,” Jigme replied.

The attendant said nothing, but everything in his air and gaze seemed to say, “Poor boy.”

Jigme locked up the room, and they all followed the attendant. As they passed The Mystery Chickpea again, Jay wiped drool off of his mouth. Rucksack stared hard at the old man behind the steam. “What is it?” Jay asked.

“Dunno,” Rucksack replied. “Something about him seemed familiar.”

On the drive back to the hospital, the attendant instructed Jay on the particulars of paying for Asha’s care. Jigme didn’t understand much of it. He could hardly understand that the man he’d tried to rob was now helping him.

Jigme noticed Rucksack looking at him, as if he’d been listening to Jigme’s thoughts.

“He’s got his reasons,” Rucksack said to Jigme. “I’d reckon Jay knows what you know: the pain of losing someone you love. He’s man enough to get beyond where things began and go instead to where they should be. You should have your mum. Hopefully now you will.” For a moment, Rucksack was silent, then he said, “Jigme, where’s your father?”

Jigme shrugged. “I don’t have one,” he replied. “All Amma has told me is my dad was from Tibet, and the mountains called him away from us. That’s why she’s never seen him again.”

“You’ve never known him.”

“No.”

Rucksack nodded. “Is that why no one helps you?”

Something hot blazed in Jigme’s eyes. “Yes,” he said, wobbling his head. “And no. When I was younger, they helped. Our neighbors in the alley said Amma became a spoiled woman, but they did not blame me. They helped sometimes, but they told me never to let Amma know. One day Amma overheard someone telling me my dad was a rich boy from the other side of the city. He got my mum in trouble then died of cholera. When she heard what I was being told, she became angry, said I was being told lies. Then she said many mean things to the other people in the slum. After that, no one could come near us without her saying terrible things, scaring everyone away with her voice. Then they didn’t help anymore.”

Rucksack started to reply, but Jigme shook his head. The old pain, the old question, burned at Jigme’s mind and heart. Experience had taught him the only way to make the pain go away was not to speak or think of it. Jigme looked away and said nothing else.

With Asha settled in to the hospital bed and a cot set out for Jigme to sleep on, the attendant took his leave. Jay and Rucksack stayed a few minutes longer, offering some last bits of help and encouragement. Jay handed Jigme some rupees.

“You know where to find us,” Jay said. “For now, eat up and rest. You can do more for your mum if you have a full belly and some sleep.”

With a nod to Asha, the men left.

Jigme sat alone by Asha’s side, holding her hand for a while. Eventually, he went out for food. When he came back, he did feel better. And tired. Jigme moved the cot next to his mum’s bed. “You’re going to be better soon,” he said, kissing her forehead, then lying down and closing his eyes.

When the sun rose, Jigme woke next to an empty bed.

He sat up and looked around but didn’t see her anywhere. “Amma?”

“Good morning, son,” she answered, her voice soft as first daylight.

Asha stood by the window, her back to Jigme. The sun rose softly over the city. As the first morning light touched the window, Asha turned around. “I’m better now, Jigme,” she said. A silver-and-gold gleam hovered on her skin and her smile. “What do you want to do?”

He couldn’t see her until she spoke. Now he saw her clearly and wondered how he had missed her before.

She was better.

She stood, smiling, gazing out at the world.

“We can get treats then go to the park,” she said, the old angry fire in her voice extinguished. “Tomorrow, we will go to Tibet. It is time we were with your father. How does that sound?”

Jigme started to answer. Then he ran to hug her.

The moment they touched, the sun fell out of the sky. His arms wrapped around nothing, and he could not see in the black room.

He started to scream for her, but there was nothing in the room but black, and he could not breathe black. Alone, he clawed at his throat, clawed at the black, but he could not breathe, he could not breathe—

When the sun rose, Jigme woke next to an empty bed.

He sat up and looked around but saw her nowhere in the room. “Amma?” Jigme asked.

It was hard to see in the dark room, as if the very air were black. Jigme walked to the window, wondering why he felt so hopeful when he did so. As he looked outside, dawn had just begun to come up over the city. A red sun rose in fire over a black world.

“Jigme,” said the voice behind him. “I need you.”

“Amma?” He turned around. Far away in the black void, a red smile burned like coals.

“Where’s my mum?” Jigme asked.

The smile said nothing, but it seemed to get bigger.

“Where’s my mum?” Jigme asked again.

The smile grew until the room was no longer filled with black but with red fire. His brown skin began to char and blacken. The pain ate into him, etched into his nerves and soul. “Where’s my mum?” Jigme asked again, the pain twisting his voice as he yelled.
 

“Find me,” said the smile, “and you will find her.” Then all Jigme’s world was red and black.

When the sun rose, Jigme woke to feel his hand still wrapped around his mother’s hand. She lay as still as when she had been brought in, and the first soft rays of dawn made her face seem peaceful. The light took away the lines her anger had etched, the hollows under her eyes. Asha looked like the younger woman who had laughed, smiled, and played with her son. Then the light’s harsh fullness came through the window, and the woman of his memory gave way to the thin, angry being lying still and silent on the hospital bed.

A little later, a doctor came in. “We have much to do to understand your mother’s condition,” he said. “Could you come back in a few hours?”

Jigme nodded.

“Is there somewhere you can go?”

Jigme shrugged and left the room.

Outside in the early morning light, the dreams returned to Jigme’s mind. The memory burned. The city was still so empty. Hardly anyone was in the streets.

Jigme ran, trying to leave the dreams behind.

N
O MATTER
what crowded country or over-peopled city housed their establishments, The Management made sure that every Jake and Jade had one luxury: a private room.

Jade silently thanked them for that small peace as she turned off the lights and locked up the pub. After such a loud and hectic night, the quietness soothed Jade’s ringing ears, heavy feet, and weary mind as she went through the door to the small foyer between the pub and the dorm stairs.

At the end of a short hallway by the staircase, no one ever noticed her room. She didn’t know exactly how that worked, only that people didn’t seem to realize there was a hallway there.

“I love the flowers with the painting,” a woman from Hong Kong had said to Jade once. She pointed at what to Jade was an open hall and what to the woman was a wall next to the stairs.

Jade’s room was always cleaner than the rest of the pub and hostel, though the regular cleaning staff didn’t know about the room either. Jade knew only that The Management had something separate arranged, but she never saw anyone else come and go.

After unlocking her door, Jade waited a moment before going inside. She didn’t quite know how this part worked either, but whenever she turned the key in the lock, the door seemed to take a moment to evaluate her, like a bouncer scrutinizing an ID. Satisfied, the door opened, and she breathed in deeply as she walked in to her haven and closed the door behind her. It locked with more than just bolts. Should anyone ever notice the room of the Jade of Agamuskara, the door was all but unbreakable. No one had ever broken into the room of a Jake or Jade.

The walls were the same cinderblock as every other room, but hers were painted a creamy white instead of rancid absinthe-green. She breathed in the room’s quiet serenity. Already something inside her unclenched and relaxed. She sighed when the door latched. A glass of water with a slice of lime waited on the desk, as it always did whenever she came to her room. She drained it and readied herself.

She stood in the middle of the room and closed her eyes.
Time for one last check
, Jade thought.

“In the way people understand it, you can’t read minds,” The Management had said during her training, “but you can listen to and comprehend the general tone of their thoughts and emotions. In time, you will not only be able to listen to people; you will listen to animals and plants, even to objects. All things have history and understanding. They may not exist in the same sense of time or language, but if you learn how to listen, you will hear what they have to say, and you will understand.”