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The teachers lingered at the train station wondering what to do next. Like the station, the village seemed deserted too. The grocery, the post office, even the tavern were all closed up tight. The sun continued to bake the cobblestones beneath their feet. The sky was a hazy white and the air smelled smoky. Beads of sweat trickled down their faces as they gazed about them. And then they heard the sound of an engine and as they turned toward the noise, they noticed the village taxi coming towards them. Both teachers began waving frantically. As he drew near, he rolled down his window. --Dear ladies, he began, I'm happy to drive you. Will you be going back to the mansion? Without many words his kind offer was considered and accepted. He threw their luggage into the boot and motioned them into the backseat. His eagerness to get them back home again was readily apparent. -What has happened? Patricia asked as they settled in for the short trip back to the mansion. -Oh, you don't know, do you? It's the bridge across the chasm. They've blown it up. Too bad for us. Now we are separated once again. -Separated? What do you mean? Is there no other way across? We must leave here. The sooner the better. Adele tried to keep her voice calm. The narrow road they were traveling was also deserted. Through the trees, they could catch not even a glimpse of activity in the small huts and lean-to homes of the villagers. No lights shown, no fires glowed, no chickens scratched the dirt-packed front yards, only the occasional barking dog signaled their journey back to the mansion. --Can you tell us what is happening here? We'd be ever so grateful. You are correct, we simply do not understand it. --It's hard to explain, a long war. It comes and goes. Nobody really remembers how it began. There are so many claims and grudges between families. He sighed and turned to them. The cab hit a pothole and they lurched sideways. The driver slowed to a crawl and murmured his apologies. -You're being evasive with us. We've decided we must leave here. Can you help us get out? The driver pondered for a moment before he spoke. He pulled the car to a stop in the middle of the road, took off his dirty cap and scratched his graying hair. Then his hands wandered over his scraggly beard. -It's complicated, you see. There are two ways to leave the village. One is over the sacred mountain. That way is reserved for those who make the pilgrimage, the believers. -The believers? What do you mean, believers? Why, we're believers, we go to church on Christmas and Easter and say our prayers. Is that what you're getting at? -Hardly, Adele answered for him, while rolling her eyes at Patricia. You know he means something quite different. Now, just pay attention. We'll get it out of him. -It's a problem, you see, he continued. I cannot explain how to leave here without telling you the other thing. -You mean the war? -Yes, ma'am. -Well, try, won't you? And please, keep driving. We're so anxious to get back. He looked at them again in the rear view mirror and then let up on the clutch and the taxi lurched forward once more. -Well, as I said before, it's the war. Now that the bridge has been destroyed, we go back to the old ways again. When there was no bridge, it was very difficult to get to the other side. That's the way they want it. As you know, we live on this side but we work on that side. With the bridge out, now we are separated. The workers are separated from their families. They want us to capitulate and leave our village. They think we take their jobs and their women. They think we contaminate their customs with our practices. This argument has been going on for centuries. -But how did you exist before you had a bridge? -Oh, very different then. There was a small foot-bridge, one person at a time could cross it, while others watched. It was a dangerous business, and it cost many dollars to use it. There was a fee, and one must have the exact amount or there would be trouble. Or, one could take the Path of Many Days to the other side. -The Path of Many Days. What's that? -Many years ago, I don't know how long ago it was, someone cut a path out of the chasm wall. It's narrow, with many switchbacks, down one side and up the other. Many people died on that path. -Is the path still there? Could we use it? -It might be. I'm not sure. I only went down the path one time, when I was much younger. It was very difficult then, even with a guide. They say it is washed out in some places now, because nobody has used it since the bridge was built. Neither teacher spoke again. They had arrived at the mansion. |
Patricia Abercrombie was the more assertive of the two teachers. She was Patrician, as her name suggested. She even knew how to order the servants around, due to her early up-bringing. She maintained the aloofness of a tweedy English school teacher by second nature. Very little could disturb her cool manner, that is, until recently. --Humph!, her favorite word, was the first thing the servants heard as she dropped her bags onto the mansion's battered marble floors. In their short absence, the servants had been busy removing the treasures from the mansion walls, cabinets and niches. As she looked about her, all activity suddenly ceased. Her companion, Adele Highsmith, was behind her, peering around her as they surveyed the
shambles that had just hours before had been their happy home away from home. Adele was
not Patricia's social equal, but they had been amiable colleagues and fellow wanderers
over the years. Patricia's social standing was of the "when our family was prominent
years ago" variety. Adele's family had never been prominent. Rather, they had been
resourceful and intelligent. Where Patricia was knowledgeable, Adele, like her family
before her, was intelligent. Between the two of them, they could usually figure things
out. |
| Over the years they
had forged a relationship more out of necessity than love. They were resigned spinsters
destined to make their way in the world alone. They ignored the snickers behind their
backs. They were not lesbians, although most people, including their colleagues and
family, assumed they were. Teaching was their livelihood. But their careers are not uppermost in their minds as they looked about them and listened to the clatter of china and silver, and the screech of furniture being moved. This would have to cease at once. Now the teachers understood why the taxi driver was in such a hurry to get them back to the mansion. The servants watched them skeptically, as though they were the intruders, not recently departed tenants. -Spring cleaning, is it? Patricia ventured, looking at the major domo. She smiled at him over her spectacle rims and crossed her arms over her bosom, her stern teacher pose. -No, ma'am. He was not afraid of her but there was something about her authority that he was unable to resist. -We thought you had left. We're -- ah -- putting things in storage until the owner returns. -Humph! Well, you can put it all back. We'll be staying on a while longer. -Yes, ma'am. The head servant sighed and nodded. The others looked at him. They would follow his lead. -And while you're at it, perhaps a little spring cleaning is not such a bad idea. You'll see that they get right to it. Patricia understood servants. They liked order, not rebellion. Oh, they dreamed of it but they lacked the backbone to carry it out, given a suitable alternative. |
| -Welcome home, he said. We missed you. -See Adele, they missed us. Patricia smiled at the thought and looked at her timepiece. They'd been gone just half a day. The teachers tiptoed around the packing boxes and the others made way for them. The cook, who was overseeing the packing up of the kitchen equipment smiled and waved. The upstairs-maid curtsied. Even the driver smiled. Life would return to normal. The dog and the cat were set loose from their carrying cages and their bags were sent up to their rooms. The help seemed a little less enthusiastic than yesterday, but that couldn't be helped. What with the distant thunder of big guns and windows rattling, everyone was a little edgy. Adele sighed too. Back where they started. In the background she could hear the faint booming of artillery. Was it getting closer? -Well, Adele. Here we are again. It looks like we'll have to fall back on Plan B, as they say. They were in the library now, the only room that still remained untouched. -Yes, but we won't stay, will we? The thought of going home again suddenly made me feel -- well, giddy -- if you know what I mean. We must leave. -Humph. You heard our choices. Which one would you choose, the sacred mountain or the path of -- what was it? -The path of many days, I think he said. Such dreadful alternatives. -Perhaps we should look at a map. Maybe there's another choice. I just don't relish the notion of hiking over a mountain or down a cliff. There much be some other way. They both perused the shelves for atlases and maps. They had scoured the library before
in search of lecture materials, but now they realized that neither of them had ever looked
at a map of the local area. Where was the nearest large city, they wondered? Where was the
English consulate? That's what they needed now. If they could get to a phone, they could
get some help. But all the phones were on the other side of the chasm. How unfortunate. Home
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