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goldenlangur

The Hour

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goldenlangur

Under the shade of the Bo tree, he spreads out his veined legs. Heels, a series of dark, dry cracks, like an elephant's feet. He checks his watch, its face crackled, and vapored from the river he swam across. It's just past the hour. She may be late.

 

The dark puddle by the twisted roots cools his sore toes and his eyes drift to a mangy herd of pigs rooting in the monsoon moist field. Shimmering in the noon heat the outline of a military truck comes into focus, then another and another.

 

Could he be in the wrong place? The question is answered by a loud voice:

 

You there! Put your hands on your head and come away from the tree.

 

He staggers forward as dusty boots converge towards him. They have dark glasses, carry no arms. Each figure is a replica of the other - stout, in fatigue, fists curled at the side and staring.

 

Without a word he falls into line and they march in the June sun to the opening at the base of the mountain.

 

 

She hurries across the field to the Bo tree. It's 45 minutes past the hour. Strewn by the puddle is the cloth bag she secretly wove for him. Its strap, sodden.

 

 

 

goldenlangur


goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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tonyv

Had he arrived a moment later, or she a moment earlier, perhaps they would have escaped undetected. On the other hand, they might have both been captured. How the outcome saddens me! Its effect on me is amplified when I get to the part where she finds the gift that she went through great pains to make and deliver to him "strewn by the puddle ... Its strap, sodden."

 

It does seem that, in this ridiculous life, timing is indeed everything. Somehow I missed this fine piece, and somehow, with respect to the author, this reader feels like the woman must have felt, when she arrived at the meeting destination and found her companion gone.

 

I miss your presence here, Goldenlangur. I hope you are well.

 

Tony


Here is a link to an index of my works on this site: tonyv's Member Archive topic

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goldenlangur

Thank you Tony for your ruminations on this piece, which I have enjoyed very much.

 

You're right about timing - so much happens unbidden and unplanned.

 

goldenlangur


goldenlangur

 

 

Even a single enemy is too many and a thousand friends too few - Bhutanese saying.

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