The Road to Our Red Hill: Part II

Grandfather refilled his glass of scotch and continued…


Andreij never knew for certain what was ailing his Manu. She sometimes told him how she felt, but often she was quiet, never revealing the symptoms for fear of upsetting Andreij. Sometimes she would cough and breathe heavily, some days she would sleep for hours in the makeshift bed he had made for her in the wagon. But with each passing day, the saddest symptom was silence. Andreij longed to know how he could help her, but she believed it to be a passing malady.

“Don’t worry Andreij. Just wait till we reach your Red Hill. I’ll be better then.”

Despite himself, Andreij believed her. There were days when the snow would sprinkle in beauty, only to make the road a slippery, treacherous passage. They halted some days, and Andreij brewed her pots of tea, while she smiled at him from the blankets. He stared for hours at the passing woods and barren fields. There was less and less absent chatter as the days passed, and the modest crowds on the road became more and more sporadic. Andreij tried to make conversation with people he saw, trying to make up for Manu’s silence. He longed for a physician to pass by so that he could ask him to examine Manu, but none came. Of course, Manu scoffed good naturedly at Andreij’s concern,

“Give it some time Andreij. By the time we reach your Red Hill, I shall be well.”

But she did not get well. They went for days without seeing anyone on the road. One evening they saw a peasant pass by them. He was dressed in deep grey, his shoulders were bent, and he carried a sickle in his hand. What was he going to harvest in the winter? Andreij wondered.

“Excuse me, good sir,” Andreij called out to him. But he simply shuffled passed them, ignoring Andreij’s calls. The peasant was humming a tune to himself. The same tune that Andreij heard from the roadside singer. He feared that the memories would emerge again, without Manu's words to comfort him. But now, all he remembered was warm hands.

The peasant turned the corner ahead of them, and disappeared out of sight. Andreij trudged along beside the horse, the wagon, and his silent sleeping companion. As they turned the corner, he heard Manu whisper something to him. He couldn’t hear her. So he stepped up closer to her and placed his ear close to her pale lips.

“It seems we have reached our Red Hill.”

Andreij looked bewildered, and looked further up along the road. There was a small wooden post, worn and battered, with the name ‘Red Hill’ inscribed in fancy, flowing hand. Beyond it were two stone gateposts, with only a single gate. He ran back to Manu, elated.

“We did, we did! We found our Red Hill!” he exclaimed. As he ran he saw a smile playing on her lips. But she had drifted to sleep again. He came close to her, held her face in his palms, and kissed her. But her lips looked and felt like winter.

And a tear splashed from his cheek to hers.



….And a tear splashed from Grandfather’s cheek to the floor.

And a tear splashed from my cheek, to the floor.