The Burning Man

6

Miller slept, curled up like a dog on the seat of the carriage. It had been a long, hard journey from Egypt, through India to their current location high up on Tibet’s snow-covered plateau. Ruth observed Veitch, gripped by the view through the window of the hostile yet beautiful frozen landscape and the majestic sweep of the Himalayas.

‘You’re a long way from South London,’ she said, reading his thoughts.

‘Never thought I’d see anything like this,’ he replied dreamily.

She followed his gaze. Lhasa was long behind them, Qinghai Province ahead. ‘They call this the “roof of the world”. We must be near the highest point now — more than sixteen and a half thousand feet above sea level.’

Veitch rapped the window. ‘That why this train is all sealed up like a plane?’

‘We’d get altitude sickness if it wasn’t.’

He poured her a coffee from the flask in his haversack. ‘Least I showed you the world, right?’

‘Shame I’m a prisoner,’ she replied tartly.

‘Are you?’

She didn’t know how to answer, and changed the subject quickly. ‘Do you think Church is behind or ahead of us at this point?’

‘Don’t talk about that tosser — you’ll ruin my mood.’

‘He’s not going to give up, you know.’

‘I know. That’s what he does — carries right on to the bitter end. And I’m looking forward to him turning up again. Really. I owe him some payback, of the painful kind, and this time I’m finally going to get some satisfaction.’

‘Don’t hurt him.’

Veitch looked sullenly out of the window. ‘When we were belting round the UK in that old van of Shavi’s, he used to tell me about some ancient black and white movies he liked. Two old funny men on the road.’

‘Bob Hope and Bing Crosby?’

‘Yeah, that’s it. Road to Morocco and all that shit. You know how he used to love banging on about that sort of stuff.’

The memories played out on Veitch’s face, other aspects of his nature emerging from the hateful surface persona. Ruth was surprised to see a powerful hurt there.

‘So here we are, then,’ he continued. ‘This business is one big fucking joke, isn’t it? Road to Hell. Which one do you want to be? The one with the peanut head or the one who sang?’

‘Can you sing?’

He shook his head.

‘Then you get to be the joker.’

He could have taken offence at her comment, but instead he cracked a broad grin. It stripped away all the hardness and revealed the old Veitch who had once been one of them. She was surprised to realise how much she missed him.

‘Ryan,’ she began, ‘I know you think Church, and all of us, let you down … that you were betrayed by everything we stand for. But it’s not like that. You were manipulated. We all were — still are. Pushed around by higher powers. And we pay the price in our own lives.’

He watched her intently, trying to see where she was going.

‘You can still do a lot of good. Help us-’

‘It’s too late for that.’

‘You can make amends-’

‘No, I can’t. Don’t treat me like an idiot. The things I’ve done — there’s no going back. It’s hell all the way.’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, I’ve had enough of doing the right thing and paying the price. I’m looking after number one.’

‘We need you, Ryan.’

He wouldn’t meet her eyes for a long moment. Then, holding her gaze: ‘There’s one thing that would make me. In a flash.’

‘Tell me. If I can help you get it, I will.’

‘You. And me. Together.’

Her mouth hung open. Though she had known it for a long time, to hear it still shocked her.

‘See — you can’t even bring yourself to lie and say you’ll do it to save the world.’

‘It’s not that.’

‘I’d know anyway if you were lying. Now get some sleep, or you’ll be knackered when we get to Golmud.’

He used his haversack for a pillow and curled up like Miller. But however tired she was, Ruth couldn’t even close her eyes. She watched the frozen landscape pass, her heart beating in time with the rumble of the wheels.