35053668-Empire-of-the-Soul-Paul-William-Roberts

210
EMPIRE OF THE SOUL
We checked out and took a taxi to the Peshawar bus terminal. Ray
enjoyed being secretive, and I’d long since stopped questioning him;
it only gave him the satisfaction of being mysterious. But somehow
public buses did not seem to be his speed. We stood with our cases,
Ray peering around for spies, assassins, narcotics agents, as various
people besieged us with offers and requests. Suddenly Hadji’s
blacked-out Toyota cruised to a halt nearby, and Ray shoved me
inside.
‘Salaam aleikum!’
‘Aleikum wah salaam.’
Hadji had the renovated air of a man who’s had a bestial night
and little sleep, but has had a rigorous shower and changed his clothes.
He’d presumably just showered in Paco Rabanne.
We sped off, soon joined by a white Range Rover, which tailed us.
‘Do not worry, my friend,’ urged Hadji, indicating the Range Rover.
‘This are my people.’
Heading north into the Malakand Pass, we began to leave the
barren moonscape of the Khyber behind to enter a more Alpine
zone of steep, pine-covered mountains, each one seemingly higher,
as if we were climbing a vast staircase. At the end of these enchanted
valleys is the mightiest massif of mountains on the planet. When I
finally saw it, rank upon rank, tier upon tier of enormous frozen
peaks, I had the impression that there could not possibly be anything
beyond them. It felt as if I’d reached walls at the end of the world.
Approaching a tiny town called Dargai, Hadji hauled a package
wrapped in newspaper from beneath his feet, handing it to Ray.
Inside were two thin white cotton sheets. Above, on a ridge, I could
see an old British fort with four stark square towers.
‘Checkpoint coming up,’ Ray said, handing me a sheet. ‘Throw
this over yourself.’ Through the sheet I could see well enough. A
stately soldier with waxed moustaches leaned in Hadji’s window,
shaking his hand.
‘Suh hal day?’ he asked. How are you?
‘Takra!’ replied Hadji, laughing lewdly, showing his clenched
fist.
The man gave the two sheeted figures on the back seat the most
cursory glance, waving us on.