‘I can’t go on,’ said Moni, stopping. ‘I need the toilet’.
The others stopped too. ‘What toilet?’ said Iman. ‘We’re in the middle of nowhere.’ This was no tourist destination; there was neither phone signal nor picnic bench.
‘Squat behind a bush,’ said Salma.
‘I can’t.’
‘What do you mean you can’t?’
‘I’ve never done that, I don’t know how.’
‘There is nothing to it,’ said Iman.
‘Even if you turn around now,’ reasoned Salma, ‘you won’t make it in time. It’s four miles back to the car.’
Moni had no choice. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ she said, heading into the bracken.
Iman rolled her eyes at Salma. They looked the other way.
When Moni reappeared, she was distressed. ‘I made a mess. It would have been easier with a skirt.’ The bottom of one trouser leg was wet.
‘How on earth did you do that?’ said Iman.
‘Never mind,’ said Salma. ‘It will dry. Don’t worry about it.’ She started to walk, expecting the others to fall in step.
‘Salma, I can’t go on,’ said Moni. ‘Not like this. I will wait here for you. I don’t feel clean. I don’t feel right.’
‘Wash it then,’ said Salma. ‘From the stream.’
‘That’s what I want to do,’ said Moni, ‘but I need my own time. I don’t want you hovering over me, impatient. You go on and I will head back and meet you at the car.’
Salma was disappointed in her and for her. Moni had come so far, walked for hours, overcoming her early reluctance and weakness. She had tried her best. Iman was willing to argue with her, but it was no use. Salma handed her the car keys and the two kept on walking.
They walked faster, believing they were two thirds of the way. They stepped over puddles and passed a bridge made up of only two wires, one high up to hold on to and another one to slide the feet along. ‘You use this bridge at your own risk’, the sign said. Thankfully, they did not need to cross but just to keep walking and walking. The grave would be up on a hillock to their left.
The path rose up and suddenly there was a dip, the glen spread out beneath them. About a kilometre ahead, a jeep was blocking the road, stationary but pointing towards them. Two men in hunting gear were leaning on the bumper. ‘They can see us,’ said Iman and that situation lasted a good ten minutes, the men becoming clearer as they approached them. One of them was holding a greyhound on a leash. The other was eating an apple. Closer still, they noticed there was also a puppy, a spaniel, frisking around the men and the jeep.
The dogs barked as Salma and Iman approached. The encounter could not be avoided, but that they were heading for the grave did not elicit surprise. ‘Another mile,’ said the man who was crunching the apple. ‘When you see the shooting lodge ahead of you, the grave would be up to your left.’ Iman cooed over the puppy. She knelt to stroke it, declaring that she had fallen in love with it, making the men smile. Salma reminded Iman that they must keep going. Iman, standing up, did not hide the fact that she was reluctant to leave.
The path twisted and, looking back, they could no longer see the men with their car. They speculated about them. So, they were the deer hunters, but what were they doing just standing there with a jeep? Were they waiting for a signal about the whereabouts of the deer? Were they already done for the day? Their hunting clothes had made them look as if they were from another century, but it was because they belonged to a different tradition, a way of life that Salma and Iman would never know. And yet Lady Evelyn had known this life, was part of it. Worlds intersecting, overlapping. Above them, the clouds separated and a shaft of sunlight touched the mountains like in religious paintings.
Iman started talking about a sign she had seen near the car park. ‘A hostel, and the sign said, “help needed”.’
Salma didn’t reply.
Iman went on, ‘I want to go back and ask about this position. Maybe it would include lodging too. My things are in the car. I could just stay on.’
Salma felt the same sense of rejection as before. So, Iman hadn’t changed completely, hadn’t put away her reluctance to return with her to the city. Better humour her this time. Let her ask and, nine out of ten, it would come to nothing. ‘Sure, no harm trying. You can ring the doorbell and enquire when we get back,’ she said.
‘Those two men could give me a ride back in their car. It would save time.’
‘What a crazy idea!’
‘I can say the Fatiha for Lady Evelyn from here, I’m close enough. It’s just as good as reaching the grave.’
They argued back and forth, but Salma felt calm, a little detached. She did not want to squander her energy, she did not want to tarnish the journey. No ugly words or recriminations. No tears. If Iman already felt as if she had reached her destination, Salma couldn’t force her to keep going. They would all meet later at the car.
So, Salma walked alone, the wind stinging her eyes. Up here in the mountains, it was already autumn. She was by herself and it felt as if it were a weaker position. From the beginning, she had been the one who
