A Month · Eleven Steps From the Edge · Pulse Beat
It was a strange month. Peter, in a house borrowed from the schoolmaster, learned to carry water, and to light a fire in a stove that smoked, and to eat tsampa without making a face. He walked…
It was a strange month.
Peter, in a house borrowed from the schoolmaster, learned to carry water, and to light a fire in a stove that smoked, and to eat tsampa without making a face. He walked, slowly, up the valley every morning, in the thin air, with his stick. He sat in the schoolroom while Tashi taught, and the boys, a little in awe of the man who had been on the mountain, brought him tea.
On the fifth Sunday, he went with Pema, in the early dawn, to the place above the village where they had built a small stone cairn for Dorje. He stood there with his scarred hand in his pocket, and for a long time said nothing. Pema, beside him, said a prayer in a low voice.
When it was over, Peter said, in a voice that shook, "I am so sorry. For every day of your life that he is not in it."
Pema looked at the cairn, and then, for the first time, at him. "You are not the one who should be sorry," she said gently. "But thank you for coming." And she took his bad hand, quite naturally, in both of hers.