Lie down with lions - Ken Follett [137]
Ellis counted out the money, and said to Jane: “Five hundred afghanis per fish—how much is that?”
“Five hundred afghanis is fifty French francs—five pounds.”
“Ten bucks,” said Ellis. “Expensive fish.”
Jane wished he would stop jabbering: it was as much as she could do to put one foot in front of the other, and he was talking about the price of fish.
The young man, whose name was Halam, said he had caught the fish in Lake Mundol, farther down the valley, although he had probably bought them, for he did not look like a fisherman. He slowed his pace to walk with them, talking volubly, apparently not much concerned about whether they understood him or not.
Like the Five Lions Valley, the Nuristan was a rocky canyon which broadened, every few miles, into small cultivated plains with terraced fields. The most noticeable difference was the forest of holly oak which covered the mountainsides like the wool on a sheep’s back, and which Jane thought of as her hiding place should all else fail.
They were making better time now. There were no infuriating diversions up the mountain, for which Jane was deeply thankful. In one place the road was blocked by a landfall, but this time Ellis and Jane were able to climb over it, and Mohammed and the horse forded the river and came back across a few yards upstream. A little later, when an abutment jutted into the stream, the road continued around the cliff face on a shaky wooden trestle which the horse refused to tread on, and once again Mohammed solved the problem by crossing in the water.
By this time Jane was near to collapse. When Mohammed came back across the river, she said: “I need to stop and rest.”
Mohammed said: “We are almost at Gadwal.”
“How far is it?”
Mohammed conferred with Halam in Dari and French, then said: “One half hour.”
It seemed like forever to Jane. Of course I can walk for another half hour, she told herself, and tried to think of something other than the ache in her back and the need to lie down.
But then, when they turned the next bend, they saw the village.
It was a startling sight as well as a welcome one: the wooden houses scrambled up the steep mountainside like children clambering on one another’s backs, giving the impression that if one house at the bottom were to collapse, the whole village would come tumbling down the hill and fall into the water.
As soon as they drew alongside the first house, Jane simply stopped and sat down on the riverbank. Every muscle in her body ached, and she hardly had the strength to take Chantal from Ellis, who sat beside her with a readiness that suggested he, too, was wiped out. A curious face looked out from the house, and Halam immediately began to talk to the woman, presumably telling her what he knew about Jane and Ellis. Mohammed tethered Maggie where she could graze the coarse grass on the riverbank, then squatted beside Ellis.
“We must buy bread and tea,” Mohammed said.
Jane thought they all needed something more substantial. “What about the fish?” she said.
Ellis said: “It would take too long to clean and cook it. We’ll have that for tonight. I don’t want to spend more than half an hour here.”
“All right,” said Jane, although she was not sure she would be able to carry on after only half an hour. Perhaps some food would revive her, she thought.
Halam called to them. Jane looked up and saw him beckoning. The woman did the same: she was inviting them into her house. Ellis and Mohammed got to their feet. Jane put Chantal down on the ground, stood up, then bent down to pick up the baby. Suddenly her vision blurred at the edges and she seemed to lose her balance. For a moment she fought it, seeing only Chantal’s tiny face surrounded by a haze; then her knees became weak and she sank to the ground,