An Incredible Journey

An Incredible Journey

by Damon Nomad

I stared out the window as the sun set behind the plane's direction of travel. Rays of rosy light illuminating the Himalayan mountains to the east. My mind admitted it was majestic, but I still did not want to be here. Never imagined I would be on a plane from Dubai to Kathmandu. I hated to travel, just did not see the adventure that others seem to lust after. My mind drifted back to months earlier. The reason for my trip to this desolate and remote place.

****

It started a few weeks after my birthday, sixty-one years old when the phone rang in the early evening. I knew from my mother's tone it was not good news. "Randall, you should get here soon. It won't be long." It was less than a two-hour drive from Danville to Kankakee, my father's health had been failing for months. I made the drive with my wife, our two children were on their own now. We figured we would stay the night and see how it went. He didn't make it through the night and asked me to find Luke with his last few breaths. He made me promise and feebly squeezed my hand with a smile when I did.

I grew up in an upper-middle-class life in Kankakee Illinois, my older brother Luke and myself. Separated by almost five years and as different as night and day. Luke was the spitting image of my mother's father. Tall with a lean athletic build and incredibly smart. He was obsessed with seeing the world since childhood. Saying he was going to climb the highest mountains, hike the deepest forests, and explore exotic cultures. I was my father's side of the family, short and stout but not what you would call obese. I got good grades in school and went to public university just a few hours from home. Got a degree in accounting, then married a wonderful woman. My thoughts were never about exotic places or adventures. Luke went to an Ivy League school on academic and athletic scholarships. Got a degree in Asian Studies and then a generous stipend for graduate school. Doing his doctoral research on language propagation using complex mathematical models.

The summer after my sophomore year in college Luke never came home, my parents got a short letter from him. The letter said he was quitting school and he wanted to see the world. I found out later he had borrowed five thousand dollars from my parents a few months earlier. Said it was for a trip for his thesis research. We never heard from him again. Several years later my parents paid a lawyer and one of his investigators to try and find Luke. They tracked him from Chicago to Bangkok where he stayed for nearly a month. Then to Cambodia for a few months. He was part of the young backpacking community in Bangkok and Cambodia. Then to Nepal, there was no government record that he left the country. But the US consular officer said older Nepalese entry-exit records weren't so reliable. The investigator went to Kathmandu and found the small hostel where Luke had stayed. That was the end of the trail.

I hated Luke for years for what he had done to my parents, they were never the same after he left. He became a distant memory as the years passed. A selfish jerk that threw away a promising future and loving family. Dull anger crept back with the memories, and for sending me on this long preposterous search. I knew there was no way I was going to find Luke Rockford in Nepal. Honestly, I didn't want to find him or what had become of him. But I was duty-bound.

****

I woke up with the stewardess gently shaking me. "Sir, bring your seat upright and stow away your tray table. We will be landing soon." I put my copy of the lawyer's search report into my backpack. I was terribly jet-lagged, my wife was right I should have spent a few days in Dubai. Instead, I had a six-hour layover in the Dubai airport after the long flight from Chicago and then this flight to Kathmandu.

Kathmandu Tribhuvan airport was not what I expected, it was the capital city so I figured something kind of modern. It was chaotic and confusing, a series of queues to get a visit Visa and then ushered to passport control. The immigration officer stared at me for longer than was comfortable. Probably suspicious of the lack of entry-exit stamps in my nearly-new passport. Eventually, without a word, he stamped my passport. I moved into the baggage area and then the arrivals hall. The hall was small and a bit shabby with people milling about and chattering. It was strange not hearing a recognizable word of English. A middle-aged Nepali man was walking my way, "Mr. Ruckfurd, yes?"

I nodded and corrected his pronunciation. "Yes, Rockford. Just call me Randy."

He gave a shallow bow with hands folded. "Namaste Mr. Ruckfurd. I am Ranjit." He showed me his credentials from the travel agency. So began my journey.

****

There was no point in going halfway around the world to Nepal and not seeing some of it. I planned for two days to see whatever there was in Kathmandu before starting the search. Dusty and dirty, that was my immediate sense of Kathmandu. That and the apparent poverty of the Nepalese people. The buildings and homes looked ram shackled from the outside, with people selling vegetables and household items along the street, laid out on small blankets. The backstreets were dirt and gravel, filled with pedestrians, scooters, and bicycles.

Surprisingly, I found myself intrigued by the local people. They had a quiet sense of dignity about them. I told Ranjit I wanted to see everyday people after we toured the monkey temple and Durbar Square. We walked through a neighborhood, the buildings had small shops on the ground floor and apartments above. Old men and women on stone and wooden benches outside, people moving slowly carrying large loads of goods on their backs. Ranjit waved at one of the buildings, "That is where I am sleeping Mr. Ruckfurd."

I had not even considered where this dignified man was staying. "That is a hotel?" It looked like the other dilapidated four and five-story buildings.

Ranjit chuckled shaking his head. "No sir. Just a room with a bed." He smiled, "That is all I need."

I felt a twinge of guilt, I never thought of myself as a wealthy person. But we were well off, both of us had good-paying jobs. I never considered how well off compared to other places in the world. What would Ranjit think of our suburban home, backyard with a deck and two-car garage?

****

After breakfast the next morning Ranjit queried me as we sat in the lobby. "Mr. Ruckfurd, you said there is some business you need to take care of. Searching for something, yes?"

I abandoned the crazy lie I had concocted as a cover story. I decided Ranjit was trustworthy and told him about Luke and my father's request.

Ranjit lowered his head with his eyes shut. "My blessings for the loss of your father." His eyes opened, "It will be difficult, I will do my best. You know the place where your brother stayed?"

I showed Ranjit the map in the report and the name of the hostel. He nodded as he looked at the map. "I do not know the name, but that is in Thamel. Lots of restaurants and bars now, back then it was different. A place for the young people, carrying their clothes and possessions in those big bags."

We found the street and I recognized the building from one of the few pictures in the report, but the name was different. Now it was a coffee shop and internet cafe. We went inside, Ranjit talked to a waitress and then went to the back. Ranjit returned with two coffees and sat beside me at a small table. "The manager is coming to talk to us, I told him of your interest in the place."

The manager brought two old photo albums from the back, left behind from when the place was a hostel. He thought it wrong to put them in the rubbish. A collection of pictures of people staying here from years past. About halfway through the second book, I froze. It was Luke, with two other western men about his age and a Nepali teenage boy. Sitting on rucksacks in what must have been the lobby decades ago. I pointed at the picture shocked by the discovery. "That's him. That's Luke." Any sense of hate evaporated. I wanted to find him.

Ranjit tapped on the thin plastic film covering the photo. "This Nepali, he would be in his fifties now. Maybe someone knows about him?"

Ranjit and I took the picture, walking the streets of several neighborhoods. Stopping at shops, cafes, and street corners showing the photo. What started as an exciting lead disappeared as the sun was setting. I gestured with a wave of frustration. "It's been a long day. This is hopeless."

****

Early the next morning, the hotel phone on the nightstand rang. "Mr. Ruckfurd, I found him. The man in the picture. I am in the lobby."

I met Ranjit in the lobby, he explained that he kept searching into the early night. The teenager in the photo was the uncle of a local restaurant owner. The uncle had worked as a porter and guide since he was a teenager. Then the bad news, his uncle had died a few years ago. The owner invited us to meet him for breakfast. Ranjit did not tell him the reason for my search.

The restaurant was an upscale place. The owner looked to be in his early thirties as he came to the booth in a finely tailored traditional Nepali suit. He gestured for a waiter, "How about a British full breakfast? On the house." His polished English sounded American.

I was curious about the accent. "Where did you learn English?"

He smiled with a nod as he took a sip of coffee. "A village in the Nuwakot region, only a few hours from here. An American built the school and taught there for decades. He prepared me for university entrance exams. I got a scholarship to Oxford, but never picked up the British accent. My uncle grew up in the village, what is your interest in him?"

I laid the photo on the table, tapping on Luke's face. "Looking for my brother."

He picked up the picture studying it with intensity for more than a moment. "Master Luke." His voice trembled, "Master Luke was your brother?" His lips quivered. "He taught us everything, he gave us a chance in life." He turned to me, his eyes full of tears. "He died two years ago. Everyone loved him."

****

I stared out the window on the final approach to Dubai. I spent two days in the village listening to stories about the beloved schoolmaster. Luke came to climb a mountain and fell in love with a village woman. None of them knew his last name, he burned his passport when he decided to stay. Luke’s elegant widow Sabina's English was flawless, she spoke lovingly of her life with him. She gave me Luke’s journal, explaining that it had the answers I was searching for. The first sentence in the worn leather-bound book began the story. I love you all, I am so sorry. I looked at the photo on my mobile as the plane taxied to the gate. Sabina, me, and Luke’s son in front of the stone school. My nephew is an Oxford graduate and the village schoolmaster, everyone calls him Master Randall.

What an incredible journey.


Word Count 1991
Prompt: Travel to a Far Destination