The Sister(156)

‘Get chasing, boy,’ he said, grimacing, almost folding with pain.





Night came. Kirk was in Korea again. Once more at the fork in the road he’d come to know so well, and this time instead of turning right, he turned left, running more or less in the direction of the river. His decision to go south, he remembered well. It was the road less travelled by, but now of course, the other direction had become the one less travelled by. Still heading generally south, he kept above the line of the road higher in the hills, where the tree line more or less remained intact. He hadn’t seen anything other than sporadic Chinese activity for half a day; he decided to make his way down. He reached a village, a single street of roughly thatched single storey stone dwellings. It looked deserted, apart from a few chickens scratching in the dirt and a mangy dog that looked suspiciously at him, emitting a low growl. Desperate for food, he couldn’t chance walking down the main road; instead, he skirted round the back. Turning a corner, he stopped and peered down the flank of a storage building. Kirk had yet to see or hear anyone else. He poked his head round the gap between two buildings. It was clear. He moved rapidly. He kept low, aware he was exposed. Somebody stepped out quite suddenly in front of him. A soldier appeared, and he looked as startled as Kirk, but he seemed friendly, all grinning teeth and a wide flat face.

Kirk grinned back at him.

Still grinning, the soldier swung his rifle up and shot him in the chest.

He fell, clutching at the wound, looking at the heart blood on his hands in disbelief. Unbelievable pain seared into his chest and right through him, the sky above bluer than he’d ever known. For some crazy reason, a line from his favourite Robert Frost poem entered his head and at last, he knew.

So that’s what would have happened if I'd chosen the other way.





Miller returned the following morning, having woken with a start in the middle of the night. In the brightness of his room, he thought he’d seen Kirk. Tall and proud, he looked younger than he ever recalled seeing him. He was dressed in a soldier’s uniform. He grinned at Miller and then faded away. Miller lay in bed unable to sleep for a long time after.





He reported as usual to the office. The matron sat him down; he knew something had happened to Kirk before she told him. Her mouth was moving in slow motion it seemed. Her tongue and her teeth working behind her lips enunciating her vowels, he stared right through her, transfixed.

‘Are you all right, Mr Miller?’

‘Huh? Oh, I’m sorry. I—’

‘You didn’t hear a word I said, did you?’

‘Sorry, but yes I did hear you. I do that sometimes, just drift, but I did hear. Please, carry on.’

‘The doctor thinks his heart gave out. He was asleep, he wouldn’t have felt a thing.’

Miller wished he’d got to know Kirk better. Why is it we always think like this when it’s too late?

The matron spoke again, ‘I think he knew he didn’t have long. Last night he handed me this and asked me make sure you got it when you came by.’ She held a hardcover book in her hand; she stood, leaned over the desk and passed it to him.

He took it in his hand, surprised at the lightness of it. The dust jacket was missing, but inscribed into the faded blue cover in pale gold leaf, the title and the author’s name read:



Mountain Interval.



Robert Frost.





Chapter 130



He’d made his mind up to talk to Carla about the sequence of events that led him to Scotland.

‘Daydreaming again were we?’ Carla was dressed in a black leather bomber jacket with a synthetic black fur collar that matched her hair in its colour and spikiness perfectly. She looked taller than she had on the train. He stood, and pulled out a chair for her.

She declined his offer to take her jacket. ‘It’s so cold in here!’

‘Are you sure you’re a reporter?’ The Northern Light’s beer he’d consumed too quickly loosened his tongue and lit his eyes with mischief.

A vague smile widened her mouth, the white tips of her even teeth exposed behind lush red cherry lips. ‘Why do you ask that?’

‘You could be a fashion model.’

She pursed her lips coyly; the lipstick accentuated the fullness of her lips.

He found himself staring at her.

A waiter appeared, and they ordered food and drinks. The meal passed with the sort of conversation that fitted easily in between mouthfuls. The Dutch courage from the beer had dissipated. If you tell her, will she think you’re a nut?

Carla’s nose for a story told her Miller wanted to tell her something. Over-riding her natural impatience, she waited. He’ll open up soon.





The staff had cleared the table of everything, but the coffee they were drinking. They were the last people in there.

‘I’m curious, Miller, why the change of mind? I mean, I don’t usually drop hints to get a guy to take me out, and this is going to sound terribly conceited, but I’m not short on offers.’

Miller looked around at the empty tables and chairs. At last, they could speak without fear of anyone overhearing. ‘You only live once, that I know of. I’ve been going through some changes. I don’t know what they’re all about, or what they might mean, or even if they are all part of the same thing, but if there’s just this one shot at things. I mean, if I can’t change it, then at least I want to understand it.’ He became flustered. ‘Can I start at the beginning? I’ll try not to bore you.’