top of page

"So am I," Trager said.

The road twisted down from Kawapatri through a dense pine forest. Max accelerated on the straightaways, only to brake and skid on the slush in the shaded corners. Cautionary messages had been posted on wooden boards at each turn: Prudent Drivers Are Survivors; Life Is Short--Do Not Hasten; 0 Why Do You Drive so Rashly? Max did not seem to read them.

Trager felt Freya take his hand. "Don't worry. He's crazy, but he's good," she whispered.

"So how'd you do it, Freya?" Max shouted over his shoulder. �Straight old wham, bam, thank-you-ma'am, or did you have to go with the blow job?"

"Oh, stop it," Freya said. "Watch the road."

"Turn, Sahib," Lakpa advised.

"She promised to take me climbing in Ladakh if I worked this trek for you," Trager said.

Max snorted. "I would have held out for the blow job�but hey, it's your show now."

"Ho, sahib" Lakpa yelled. "Turn!"

A man was walking in the road. He was tall and long-haired, dressed in a shaggy wool jacket and baggy pants, and carrying an embroidered bag over one shoulder. He had his back to them, but looked around at the sound of the car. He stepped back toward the drainage ditch to give Max room to steer past him.

Springtime in Kashmir ©Talbot Bielefeldt 2020.

bottom of page