The Road to Our Red Hill: Part I

As I sauntered through my home from room to room, there were memories jumping out at me from every corner. Bookcases and peeping doors opened slowly to reveal reminiscences, often greeting me with a flourish of ancient dust. But much of the home was still in use, and soon my wanderings led me to the study. And there he sat, sliding the fingernails of his left hand through the grain of the armrest, clutching his scotch in the pudgy fingers of his right, and, as always, telling stories. Today, Grandfather’s audience was an enraptured trio of younger cousins. I listened from the far end of the room expecting to hear some familiar tale being retold, but to my surprise I found that I had not heard it before. Now that I think of it, I have never heard Grandfather retelling a story. Only telling them, but with an air that made you wonder if there were some grains of truth scattered among these fictions of his imagining. I had missed half the tale, but I sat down anyway…

“I regret that I will not be able to follow you past the border. You are like a brother to me, but I must return,” said Juan, as he turned his horse and started it off in a trot back down the road. “May She be with you till you reach your destination…wherever that is...”

“I lament that I will not be able to follow you past the border. You are like a brother to me, but I too must return,” echoed Alexia, as she turned her horse and followed Juan back down the road they had come. “May She be with you till you reach your destination…wherever that is...”

There was a pause which Andreij tried to fill by awkwardly kicking stones at a nearby shrub. But Fynn eventually spoke as well.

“You know that I cannot follow you. But keep the horse. You will need it to get to wherever you are going”

Fynn turned, but instead of returning down the road, he climbed the fence and began to cross the field, making his way North. Andreij called out to him as he left, “Forgive me Fynn.”

“What for Andreij? There is nothing to forgive…” But there was little to hide the disappointment on Fynn’s face. Maybe time would erase it. “May She be with you, Andreij.”

Andreij gazed down the road towards the retreating figures of Juan and Alexia. They grew fainter as the tunnel of overhanging trees engulfed them. Andreij stared and strained till he could no longer discern them from the other dark specks in the distance. Fynn was lost to sight long ago.

Andreij turned to Manu, who had watched the proceedings in silence. “What about you Manu, don’t you think you had better leave too? Winter will be here and I still don’t know where we will be going. Who knows how long it will take before we reach the end of our wanderings? Perhaps you had better head back down the road as well. You can still catch Juan and Alexia if you take the horse. After all, I haven’t much need for it. I’ll just walk.”

Manu smiled, half to herself. Andreij knew that she wouldn’t leave. And she knew that Andreij did not wish for her to leave. These were his desperate cries to stay with him. And she heard. And she listened.

“Of course you know where we will be going: to that Red Hill.”

“But that is only half way. If we reach there in a year, it means that there will be at least a year more till we reach the end,” retorted Andreij, with his characteristic self doubt.

“But if we reach that Red Hill in a week, then we only have two weeks left. Cheer up.” Manu smiled again, and Andreij looked at the wagon which was now almost half empty. But there were enough supplies, he deemed, and they set off.

Those were happy days for Andreij and Manu. He was quiet, and she would talk. She was endlessly fascinated by the things she saw on their way, and she never complained too much. Birds, flowers, young peasants. They all became subjects of avid conversation. But Andreij’s silence made monologues of Manu’s chatter. He was glad of her company. The ways were unfamiliar, and he often longed for home. He also thought of Fynn, Juan and Alexia. With the hours he spent pondering their departure, all at once, so suddenly, he realized that he was never sure whether he had left them, or they him. The roads they took were muddy, and with some company now and then. A few noblemen rode by, silently passing on their tall horses. Peasants with their shovels and spades slung over their bent shoulders waved or tipped their caps. With Manu by his side it became easier to forget how much he longed for Fynn, Juan and Alexia. They had been an eager company, but the pair he found himself a part of was just as buoyant. The summer rays lit up their days, but soon, as they traveled on, their breath began to turn misty, and they found their cloaks pulled tighter, and the scarves emerging from their bags.

One day they found a young musician, singing and playing a somber tune by the side of the road. Andreij knew the tune, and the words were vaguely familiar. He could not place it, but the song dragged up memories from childhood that he had long placed in secret burrows. They emerged from their hibernation and left him even more silent than usual. Manu simply took to holding his hand more. The song played in his head for days. He rolled the words of the song around his tongue, and the tune hung around his ears like the fog growing around them, while Manu’s fingers caressed the warmth back into his palms.

“Don’t worry Andreij, we’ll be at the Red Hill soon.” She smiled. He smiled.

And winter grew, till one day Manu woke up and said, “Andreij, I’m sick.” All at once, so suddenly, things changed again.