The Far Pavilions - Mary Margaret Kaye [597]
A combination of sunset and dust and the smoke of cooking fires had transformed the valley to a sea of gold, out of which the near hills and the jagged snow-capped ranges behind them rose up in layer after layer of glittering splendour, caught in the bonfire blaze of the dying day and flaming like Sheba's jewels against an opal sky. The soaring pinnacles of the mountains might have been the spires and towers of some fabulous city – Valhalla, perhaps; or the outer ramparts of Paradise…
‘ “And the city was pure gold, like unto clear glass, and the foundations of the wall of the city were garnished with all manner of precious stones”,’ murmured Wally under his breath.
‘What did you say?’ asked Rosie, turning to look at him.
Wally coloured and said confusedly, ‘Nothing… I mean – it looks like that description of the Holy City, doesn't it. The one in Revelations. The mountains, I mean. All that bit about jasper and topaz and chrysolyte and amethyst… and the gates of pearl…’
His companion turned back to study the view, and being of a more prosaic turn of mind than Walter, observed that it reminded him more of a transformation scene in a pantomime. ‘Pretty,’ approved Rosie, and added that he wouldn't have believed that this god-forsaken corner of the world could ever have looked anything but forbidding.
‘Ash used to talk about a mountain called the Dur Khaima,’ mused Wally, his gaze still on the jewelled glory of the snow peaks. ‘The Far Pavilions… I never realized…’ his voice slowed and stopped and Rosie said curiously: ‘Are you talking about Pandy Martyn, by any chance? He was a friend of yours, wasn't he?’
‘Is,’ corrected Wally briefly. He had not meant to mention Ash's name and was annoyed with himself for having done so, because although Rosie had never actually served with Ash, he must have learned quite a lot from those who had, and might be sufficiently interested to ask awkward questions about Ash's present whereabouts.
‘Remarkable fellow, by all accounts,’ observed Rosie. ‘The only time I ever met him was in '74, when he turned up in Mardan with a nasty head-wound and I had the job of patching him up. That was the year after I first came to the Guides, I remember. He didn't talk much. But then he wasn't in very good shape at the time, and as soon as he was fit enough he was hustled off to Rawalpindi. But I did hear that he had been to Kabul, so I suppose the mountain he told you about was one of these. Magnificent, aren't they.’
Wally nodded agreement and did not contradict the statement about the Dur Khaima, but fell silent, gazing at the enormous panorama of the Hindu Kush and seeing it in astonishing detail so that every last, least fold and spur and gully, and every soaring peak, looked as clear and distinct as though he were seeing it through a powerful telescope – or with the eye of God. And all at once he knew that this was one of those moments that for no particular reason one remembers for ever, and that remain indelibly printed on the mind when many more important ones fade and are lost.
As the light ebbed the valley filled with shadow and the high snow-crests took fire, and it occurred to Wally that he had never realized before what a beautiful place the world was: how full of wonder. Man might be doing his best to mar it, but every bush – and every stone and stick too – was still ‘afire with God’. ‘Ah, it's good to be alive!’ thought Wally with a sudden surge of exultation and a lifting of the heart that made him feel that he would live for ever and ever…
A discreet cough from one of the sowars brought him back to earth and reminded him that there were other persons present besides Ambrose Kelly – and also that it was Ramadan and the escort and the Afghan guard must be impatient to be back in their quarters in time to say the customary evening prayers before the setting of the sun allowed them to break the day's fast.
‘Come on, Rosie, race you