The Colour of Heaven (17 page)

‘I have loved once. Isn’t that enough? Was that not my fate?’

‘No. And perhaps it is time to leave mourning behind.’

‘I do not want to betray the memory.’

‘Dujan would have married again.’

‘I am not talking about marriage.’

‘But you are talking about love.’

‘Yes, I am,’ said Aisha simply. ‘I would like to love again. To be saved.’

‘He will be leaving soon,’ said Shirin. ‘Perhaps he will never return. Why not love him now?’

‘Because I do not want to hurt him. And I do not want to lose him, to suffer loss again.’

‘But you are not happy.’

‘Do you think I am mad?’

‘No, I think you are fortunate.’

‘I do not feel fortunate.’

‘You are.’ Shirin finished bandaging the hand.

Aisha met her sister’s eye. ‘Do you think I should continue to see him, even if I know he must leave?’

‘He may return. Has he said so?’

‘He has.’

‘And you believe him?’

‘Yes,’ said Aisha, ‘I do.’

She considered Paolo once more: his strange seriousness. I love this man, she thought.

When Aisha saw Paolo again she hardly knew what to say. It was the first time he had seen her so nervous, and he was anxious about her hand. Yet when he tried to comfort her, he found her quite resistant.

‘If you are so worried then you could stay now, without leaving, and look after me,’ she challenged.

‘You know that I have a duty.’

‘And I know that you could send the men on with the stone without you.’

‘I must go. I made my promise. As I have promised to you. Then, I hope you can see what it means.’

‘That is easy to say now.’

‘Then come with me.’

‘You know that I cannot.’

‘Then wait.’

Aisha suddenly felt short of breath. Why were they speaking like this? ‘Poets tell us that love is always increasing or decreasing and it never stays the same. One always loves more than the other: the lover and the loved.’

‘Then our task is to make it constant, unchanging …’ said Paolo.

‘Until death.’

‘That is what the priests tell us.’

‘And do you hope for another life, beyond the stars?’ she asked.

‘I would rather return here and find you again, loving in this world and this world only, without hope of another.’

‘Think what such a love might mean.’ Aisha looked out to the dying fires. ‘Think of your life.’

‘Our life,’ he interrupted.

‘Your life. Your future. You should not love me. I must set you free from me. It is not right.’

‘And if I say that it is?’ he asked.

‘It is not.’

Paolo turned to face her. ‘You are worried about Jamal.’

‘No. I am worried about you.’

‘I cannot be his father.’

‘No.’

‘But I can try to be his brother. And I can say that I will always love you.’ Paolo paused. ‘I know this.’

He thought that Aisha had stopped listening, that she did not want to hear these words, but then she cried out: ‘But will you love me? Do you love me? I cannot lose again. My heart cannot be made soft only to break once more.’

‘It is the only thing in life of which I am sure.’

Aisha stopped, leaned forward, and they kissed once more. Perhaps this was what death was like, Paolo wondered, this surrender.

Then Aisha pulled away. At first Paolo thought she might cry, shuddering against him, but, instead, she stepped back and looked into his eyes.

‘Love me,’ she said.

The next morning Salek looked up at the hard blue sky. ‘From now on it will freeze every night. Tomorrow we must leave,’ he told Jacopo. ‘We have stayed too long.’

‘I must inform the woman,’ said Jacopo. ‘Come with me.’

‘And who will tell the boy? Perhaps he has plans to stay,’ Salek replied.

‘I will tell him,’ said Jacopo. ‘He must learn again what it is to say farewell.’

They could see the women gathering the last of the mulberries in the distance. Salek was right, thought Jacopo; they had stayed too long. Now it was time. Any more lapis would be hard to carry.

‘You are not happy here?’ asked Aisha.

‘We have been made welcome. And you have shown true friendship. But we have trade in Cathay. Salek has said that we must leave before the winter or we will be stranded.’

‘Would that be so bad?’

‘We would be a burden,’ said Salek. ‘We would diminish your food.’

‘And you will take the stone?’

‘With gratitude.’

She felt the fear and sickness of loss. The dread returned: the withdrawal of love, the end of happiness. How could she have been so foolish, committing herself so far even when she knew that it must finish? ‘Paolo will be sad.’

‘We have no choice.’

‘Then tonight,’ said Aisha brightly, but without quite knowing what she was saying, ‘we must feast.’

The evening was brilliant and clear, and although the sun was bright on the snow, it was too cold to provide warmth. Two of the women began to make kumis, beating mare’s milk in great leather bags suspended from frames until the whey separated from the curds. Others prepared boal from honey. Paolo knew their names – Zuleika and Amaba, Rabia and Shirin, Leila and Durkhani. Another group of women were roasting a sheep over a full fire, making pilau and kabābs.

A low horn sounded to announce the beginning of the feast. Aisha dipped her fingers in the bowl of kumis and smeared the mouths of their household gods with drink. Then she cut away sections of meat from the sheep on the spit and laid them before each of the idols.

‘Protect us, gods of our fathers, and gods of our sons who have been and shall be. We honour you as you honour us.’

As she bowed before them Jacopo became alarmed. ‘I cannot take part in this.’

‘Leave them,’ said Salek. ‘They will not trouble you.’

The women gave each of the men a bowl of rice wine, sesame paste, chilli, and soy. They were to take the meat, finish its cooking in the collective broth, and then dip it in their sauce.

Salek picked up his meat with a wooden spoon. ‘
Strength to your arm, God be praised, long life to you, may you not be tired
.’

Jacopo ignored the meat. ‘It will trouble my heart. What I would give for some good Jewish food: latkes, kugel, or kreplach. It is nearly Chanukah. And what I would give for some rugelach,’ he mused. ‘Even chicken. If they just had chicken, I would be happy.’

‘Stop complaining,’ whispered Paolo.

‘Who’s complaining?’ said Jacopo. He took the bread and the pilau, and drank from the kumis. ‘Let a man dream.’

The women sat in a circle, banging drums, chanting defiant songs of love and war. Salek began to smoke a pipe. Jacopo lay on his back and looked up at the stars.

Warmed by the fire, filled by meat, and enlivened by the kumis, a quiet satisfaction spread through the community. For one night they did not need to think of their troubled past or uncertain future. Some of the women began to dance.

Aisha gestured that Paolo should sit on the ground beside her. ‘Look at the sky,’ she said. ‘Watch it darken. It can change almost as quickly as a life.’

She put her arm around him, and pulled him towards her for warmth. ‘Look now: the darkest blue before the black.’

Together they watched the clouds fold into the darkness, each detail fading as the stars rose. They were as numberless as the dead.

Still looking up into the sky, Aisha said simply: ‘And so you are going?’

‘You know that I have to.’

‘No. You do not have to. You want to. But let us not argue.’

Paolo took her hand. Without thinking he began to stroke it, following the line of her fingers. ‘As I was cutting the stone in the cave today I found insects living inside it, hidden away. They were unaware of the stone, they did not fear it, and so moved on. Plants grow there: in the stone and out of the darkness. That is like love. The stone may be as powerful as fate, impossibly so, and yet it can be broken. It needs to be broken; and life emerges, stronger than the stone from which it came.’

They kissed, his head tilting away from her eye, so that he could no longer see her clearly. He closed his eyes and felt his body fall away, abandoning all thoughts of his past or his future, wanting only this moment.

Aisha stopped as if to check herself, curious, and frightened. Paolo opened his eyes, and she was staring directly into them. He brought up his hand to shield the brightness, looking only at her, wanting no other light. Now he could see clearly, more sharply than he had ever seen anything before.

‘Come with me,’ said Aisha, taking him towards her tent. ‘Come with me now.’

They could speak about anything; they could dream and talk and be as vulnerable and as afraid as they had always been but had never been able to say. They held each other and knew that this passing moment between sleep and waking, this blur between dream and reality could defy time. Aisha pulled off her dress, raising it above her head, and Paolo was astonished by her nakedness. He took off his clothes, amazed by the softness of flesh against flesh, life against life. Before, he had only been half himself. Now he was complete. His life had meaning. Nothing would ever matter as much as this again.

The next morning he awoke with a start. Someone was shaking him, pulling him away from all that he had found.

‘Come, we are ready.’ It was Salek. ‘Leave her. Get dressed.’

‘I cannot,’ said Paolo.

‘You must. Everything is packed. We have done all this for you.’ Salek pulled Paolo out of the bed, picked up his clothes, and threw them at him.

Aisha stirred and sat up, pulling the coverings against her.

‘We must leave,’ said Salek. ‘You know this.’

‘Then let me say farewell.’

Now Jamal pushed past Salek. He had come to find his mother. He stopped as soon as he saw Paolo dressing.

‘Why are you going?’ he asked. It was the first time he had spoken to him.

‘I have to.’

‘Quickly,’ said Salek. ‘We are already late.’

‘For what?’ asked Paolo.

‘There may be a storm. Come now.’

Jamal pulled at Paolo’s arm. ‘Stay,’ he said.

‘He cannot,’ said Salek, and Paolo knew that it was true.

‘I will come back.’ Paolo gathered up his bag and ruffled Jamal’s hair. He turned to Aisha. ‘You know that. I have promised.’

‘Here,’ she said, ‘take this.’ She picked up a coat made from animal skin.

Paolo leaned forward and kissed her once more.

Salek interrupted. ‘No time. Come.’

Aisha gripped Paolo’s arms. ‘Think of us.’

‘I will think of nothing else.’

Jacopo was waiting outside. Paolo tried to focus but could only see low black clouds coming towards him. The cold air was at them, sharp and unremitting. The snow on the ground lifted and swirled in the wind, the sharpness of its grit spitting in their faces.

‘Help us,’ shouted Jacopo. ‘Hold on to the animals.’

Paolo took the reins Jacopo gave him and felt the mules pull away from him, desperate for shelter or escape. Ahead he could see Salek shouting through the rain: ‘Ride.’

They forced their way through the storm, challenging its power. The rain streaked across Jacopo’s face and the indigo dye of his beard coloured the drops of water running down his neck.

‘We must go on,’ called Salek. ‘Move. It will only get worse.’

The track ahead had been transformed into a thick mud, which clung to the mules’ hooves. They struggled forward, and the rain lessened enough for them to realise the extent of the storm, to feel the cold and wet that now enveloped them.

‘I told you we should have left earlier,’ shouted Salek.

Paolo had never felt so alone.

At last they found shelter in a narrow lee. Salek unsaddled his mule and began to erect a tent but it was so wet it had to be wrung dry. Nothing had escaped the storm.

‘We must make fire. Dry these. Tonight it might freeze and everything will be as ice – our tent, our clothes, our food. You must find wood. I will light what we have. Go.’

Paolo pulled a branch from a tree, ripping it away so strongly that a section of bark cut into his hand. He looked at the blood and remembered the way Aisha had caressed his face. He felt the ache of tenderness gone from his life and tried to think of every possible way in which he could see her again.

Soon it would be night. The air bit into their bones. They lit the damp fire and sat round it, bleak in the cold, without speaking. Then they ate thin herb soup with nan bread.

Paolo felt as if his body were no longer his own. The world had dulled; even its beauty. The brilliance of the sky, the vast stretch of rock, the open horizon before him meant nothing. It no longer mattered what he ate or where he travelled. He drifted without energy or purpose, as if the vital spark that ignited and drove his life had been removed. Every action he performed – standing, walking, or moving in any way – required an energy that he was no longer sure he possessed.