The Call of the Thunder Dragon (66 page)

Punishments he’d had before,
canning for skipping class, extra work and even expulsion. He’d
deserved it and they’d done no good. He’d never declare that he
deserved the pain dealt out to him over the last few weeks.

He thought about the monk’s words
and wrestled with the logic. He remembered what Zam said right back
at the beginning. “I’m a filthy minded rogue and happy it!”

“Give it time.” The monk smiled
and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Seh lang!” The voice said
distinctly close this ear.

Falstaff gulped, sweating. He
didn’t want to look, tears were already filling his eyes. He knew
that voice, only Zam called him that or used that voice when they
made love.

The young monk handed him the
yellow scarf, washed and clean. He took in his shaking hand.

“Bunny... Zam! Is that you?” He
looked but couldn’t see, he wanted to see the girlish smile, the
silky smooth long hair. Instead, he saw a new plain, serene face so
different from the red nosed, dirt smudged trollop who’d picked him
up out of a ditch.

“Why?” He stuttered. “You’ve
shaved your damn head!”

“Truth is... this is what I ran
away from? I’d caused my father so much trouble he arranged for me
to go to the Punakha monastery. Before I got there with my guides,
I ran away.”

“But what about the story you
told about the bandits and the Chamberlain?”

“I used to cause trouble for him
too. I did not know it, but he was... how do you say... enamoured
of me? He stole all the money from my father and left at the same
time. He fled taking the same road to China as I had. He joined a
group of bandits himself, willingly. To prevent them discovering
his stolen gold. They hid among the regular travellers, picking
pockets and thieving from their possessions at night.”

“Coincidently we met on the road.
As I was in monastic robes, they left me alone. The rest is true, I
killed him to escape. I shot his horse with a sling.”

Falstaff laid his hand on Zam’s
shoulder, delicately as if she was a stranger. “But why, you’re a
damn nun? Are you telling me you were a runaway nun? A bleeding
Nun?” He spoke of out disbelief.

Falstaff silently mulled over the
change of circumstances. He felt guilty, was it a crime he thought?
Suddenly a cold draft rippled down his back. Damn, what if it was a
crime? How many times had he and Zam made love? He remembered the
noise the headboard had made at the Manor House, beating against a
wall or how they had kept warm together in the nacelle and Zam’s
curious way of suppressing her emotion until she’d lost control and
sang out in what he’d thought was Bhutanese, praises encouraging
him still further he thought.

He felt empty.

He remembered Zam singing on the
lake on the way to Guwahati, the ‘devoted pilgrim’ she had sung and
she had been right he had not understood a word. Even when she
explained it to him then.

“You weren’t dressed as a nun!
How was I to know? You can’t say it’s my fault damn it!”

“Don’t shout, please don’t spoil
it.” Zam hushed.

“Are you telling me when you left
home it was to go to the temple?” Falstaff asked. “You’d made up
your mind then?”

“No, I was wearing monastic robes
like these, the Buddhist ‘chougu’, my hair was tied back and
covered. I hadn’t reached the monastery yet, so it hadn’t been
shaved. But because I wore a chougu the bandits left me alone. The
Chamberlain, Palden Jampa took advantage of that respect, - hiding
the stolen gold amongst my bags. Gold I knew could have come only
from my father!”

Zam wiped the corner of her eye
with the edge of her robe. “Maybe I was wrong to tempt him or tease
him, he was my father’s chamberlain, so I didn’t see any harm. I
was stupid, too innocent to understand the problem I’d created for
Jampa or my father. Away Jampa was a brute once we left Bhutan, he
intended to make me a slave. He was threatening to give me away to
the bandits. I don’t regret what I did. Jampa stole my father’s
money, to whom I had brought nothing but worry!”

“You always intended to return
home?” Falstaff sat, his hand fidgeting on his knees. He struggled
to put the thoughts of spending the rest of the winter there,
comfortable and warm with Zam until the spring came out of his
mind.

“Yes, I just wanted to see China
at first. Jampa changed all that when he boasted of stealing from
my father. I decided then I had to get the money back to him. I
knew that I’d broken my father’s heart by running away. It must
have been much worse having lost his family fortune.”

“How long?” Falstaff said
struggling with his words.

“What do you mean?” Zam kept her
hands intertwined, her fingers wriggling beneath the cloth of the
robe.

“How long will you stay at the
monastery?” Falstaff asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe forever, it
is a three-day walk or a day on a good horse. I will be able to see
my father regularly.” Zam let her head drop. She stared at her lap.
“I’ve seen China and all those other places. I saw death and I met
you. I never realised how the metaphors of my teachers really did
describe the wickedness in the world. I was cruel to my father, I
was cruel to you in a way. But this is what I want I am happy
now!”

“But Bunny, you’re bald damn it!”
Falstaff stared, blurting out the first thought. “Your hair’s gone
damn it!”

She paused to turn her face away
and wipe a tear from her eye. Falstaff saw the paleness of her
skin, her head now a moon-like orb, the feminine tresses and soft
plaits gone.

“I saw you last night. I took the
stretcher from you. You didn’t see me at all? It was odd seeing you
like that again, covered in blood. You looked so fatigued.”

“I didn’t realise at all,”
Falstaff said trying to look at her again.

“I loved you for the time we were
together, but you are a wicked man at heart. I don’t believe you
are evil or bad, just that you are lustful and discontented by
nature. You are greedy and hunger for wealth. You desire what you
do not have or need and although you are not slothful you would
enjoy nothing but rest if you could have it! You crave for women
and drink, and the war you fight borders on dishonesty! Don’t you
know that you attract trouble and that leads to nothing but bad
karma? You speak of gain and fame instead of honour while you fight
the Japanese!”

She turned to look at Falstaff,
her face calm and stress-free. “The celebrity you may gain is
falsely obtained while you seek fortune through war. I was taught,
that if there is evil to be fought, only a true hero can conquer it
and whoever conquers it can obtain joy!”

Falstaff sucked his lip. “That’s
pretty tough on me? You don’t know me really, well maybe you do...”
He grinned their eyes meeting for the moment. Falstaff saw Zam
there in her eyes, then fleetingly the Zam he knew was gone
again.

“Seh lang!” Zam whispered,
blushing. “Think of me no longer; I expect you will go home to
London now. You can gain honour there, in England? If you go to
Bexhill or Eastbourne, think of me then?”

She stood, putting her hands
together she bowed; the white and orange robes swished and Zam was
gone. Falstaff could only see the white bald head over the orange
robe as she fluttered from the hall.

He brooded a few moments then
rose to leave himself. Packing his bags, he went in search of Akira
and found him pale, bruised and battered, but smiling. He was
outside with Lang inspecting the work on the tower. His arm was
bandaged and in a sling.

It did not take long for Falstaff
to throw off his frustration. ‘I got more than I bargained for from
her away’, he supposed. Time to leave he thought. Now to find a way
out and quickly he reflected. Zam was gone he had to tell himself.
Falstaff waved towards Akira, an idea springing to mind. What were
the Douglas Dolphin’s engines rated at?

“Look, I can move my fingers!”
Akira gave a feeble wave with his fingertips.

Falstaff didn’t waste any time.
“Is the Dolphin airworthy?” He said firmly. “If so I’m
leaving!”

“Yeah, it’ll fly, we’ve got a
full load of fuel. We refilled the tanks as soon as we landed. But
I’m too weak to fly. My arm will not heal as it is. I need a
hospital!”

Falstaff forced a smiled.
“Alright, I’ll fly you to Formosa you can get help from your people
there. But it’ll cost you extra!”

He let his breath out, snorting
through his nose in frustration. Zam was on his mind again. He felt
used but didn’t want to show it. Zam was gone he told himself. As
good as dead now he thought, he didn’t stop to contemplate how she
felt about the matter.

Falstaff passed up the last of
the bags and provisions, keen to start the engines immediately, a
lump of bitterness had been forming in his chest. Zam had gone,
departing for the monastery before he could say another word and
now he wanted to seek the comfort of distance.

Only Lang had accompanied them to
the river. He said a few words and those were about Zam.

“I’ll miss that girl. She always
had an appetite for trouble before she met you! Now she’s all grown
up! You did what I and the monastery couldn’t! Now I’ll be sad
until she becomes an Abbot!” He boomed.

His black beard and thick
eyebrows couldn’t hide the shining tears.

“Won’t you stay? I would hear
more of your adventures John-di-di? You are strong and brave! To
kill four men, after such a thumping!”

“Five?” Falstaff said. “There
were five Japanese?” A cold draft suddenly blew down his spine.

“We found only four, - they have
been taken for cremation. They will not be buried, their ashes will
be thrown into the river. The abbot did not want to perform a sky
burial for them, - because of their bad deeds!” Lang’s chest
throbbed as he spoke, monstrous though he was, he spoke with a
gentle air when he wanted to.

“Now will you stay?” Lang boomed
smiling.

Falstaff gulped his concern over
the missing body forgotten. “I have unfinished business. Old debts
to repay! And the way back is long!”

Lang Druk grinned. “I’m told
these machines of yours that fly in the clouds are thirsty for
oil?” He produced a leather purse and took Falstaff’s hand pressing
the heavy bag into his hand. “I hope this is enough?”

Falstaff stifled the gasp, the
bag was so heavy with gold his hand strained to hold it at
first.

“My thanks, but what about the
tower; or maybe you have grandchildren?”

“There is plenty for the tower
now Zam has returned. I will see the work is done in her name. As
for my grandchildren, they are all growing up as well! They all
work in Thimphu, in the city!”

Falstaff slipped the bag of gold
inside the Dolphin, then put his hands together and bowed.
“Punarmilamah!
⁷³
”

“You speak Sanskrit well. We say
it differently here in Bhutan, this land of the Thunder Dragon,
Druk Yul! We’ll meet again!”

The Dolphin’s engines roared,
crackling noisily. Echoing like a growl around the valley waking
the birds, shaking them from their trees. Falstaff took the flying
boat out onto the lake. There was a favourable northerly headwind.
The Dolphin skimmed across the lake taking to the air heading for
the rising mountains. With the twin engines howling at full power,
the boat took off its nose rising skyward. At the moment they
became vertical, Falstaff side-slipped turning sharply back the way
they had come: South East, Three thousand nautical miles to
Formosa.

Falstaff looked at his passenger
Akira, who was still pale, his arm bandaged and wrapped up against
his chest in a sling. He was already sleeping in the co-pilot’s
chair.

Falstaff lit a cigar and looked
out of the glass canopy through the twisting blue cigar smoke. It
felt snug to be inside for a change, no longer forced to wear
double the number of vests or coats, he hoped he’d be leaving that
sort of flying to history.

Two days, with a couple of
stopovers to refuel; then where to? Bora Bora or Hong-Kong?
Falstaff patted the purse of gold, then, of course, there was more
gold waiting in Kunming? He could go anywhere.

His father would be back in the
service somewhere, probably behind a desk no doubt? If Falstaff
went back, they still would never agree on anything. He would try
to stop him flying and why? Because he was his only son or because
he thought his own experience was so terrible in the Great War?

“Damn it,” Falstaff scowled. “I’m
an Ace twice over! Why should I take a desk job or wait for
conscription into the army?”

With no one there to answer, he
lapsed into calm. Watching the clouds, checking the compass,
keeping his mind free of clutter he calculated how long their fuel
would last.

He reflected on Zam’s words,
about being a hero in the right place? The fighting war in Europe
hadn’t started yet, there was a chance they would pull back from
the brink, surely the folly of the Great War was frightening
enough? Failing that the destruction in Spain should have shown the
world the madness of war and terror of aerial bombing? He could
consider waiting to see what happened. Go to Hong Kong, and wait to
see if he got called up?

It wasn’t like he missed the smog
over London or the fog over the channel? He could do without black
puddings, fish and chips, beer in proper pints for a while.

What was there to miss in the
officer’s Mess if he re-joined? Gossip and endless speculation over
the latest aircraft delivery delays while having to endure more
lectures on ‘dead reckoning’ or worse being sent to some cold, God
forsaken place like Lancashire to do test flights?

He could develop the photographs
search out the Dragon statues? Write a book about the flight to
Bhutan.