The Violinist

The Violinist-Distance

3. Distance

There was no mention of it in the next day's newspaper, probably because they didn't want to face the discomfiture of admitting a security lapse. They could not risk it.

Suri sat with Bora and at the precipice of a steep valley slope. The thick undergrowth beneath their feet was brushing against their trousers. It was unusually warm and neither of them was wearing a jacket. The morning was clear and Mount Kanchenjunga was a glowing piece of fabric crystal somewhere over the northern horizon. Suri seemed calmer than usual. He was standing in front of Bora, right at the edge of the rock. His hands were in his pockets and he was slowly breathing. Bora was shifting from one side to the other and rocking himself from time to time.

"Hey," Bora called out; breaking the silent conversation they'd been having up till now, "Do you think she's going to reply?"

Suri had been waiting for Bora to lose his patience. "I hope so."

"What if she doesn't?" Bora asked taking the last puff of his cigarette. His eyes were fixed distantly.

Suri sighed. He got up and brushed the dirt off his pants. The breeze was light and the suns rays were beaming with a certain restraint. The valley below them looked a thousand miles away. The clouds were collecting in the ravine and it was clear that the weather wasn't going to be all that warm the whole day.

"Do you know that three people jumped of this very rock we're standing on right now?" Suri asked, casually.

"No." Bora replied, bemused, "What are you trying to say?"

"Well," Suri began, still looking down, "We have the choice of jumping right now, giving up everything right here. But we don't. Why do you think that is?"

Bora stared as if it was the first time he realized they could actually fall from the rock. He was truly baffled, his eyes spoke. He shrugged indolently.

"Because we make that choice," Suri said quietly, "We choose not jump because we hope and we dream. We hope that tomorrow will be better than today. We pray to God because we need that hope, the will to survive. Once you lose hope, you lose will; you lose will and you lose everything. Hope is a fuel we harness everyday, if only to survive."

"Whoa," Bora said with and expression just short of mockery, "you should write books or something with that kind of shit."

Suri shrugged this time with a sheepish smile. There was more there than a ragged philosophy. Suri was innocent in a world of a ravenous populace-the kind of innocence that could do more harm than good. Truth be told, the only thing he could ever truly count on was the untested hypothesis that good things happened to good people, something that seemed very difficult to believe.

"Anyway," Bora spoke as if scrutinizing each word, "do you think we should check for the letter? Maybe she's actually written one."

"Now?" Suri questioned with reservation, "In broad daylight? With all that security? I'd rather go to the police and confess about last night."

Bora raised his eyebrows submissively. "Want a smoke?"

"You know I don't smoke," Suri replied assertively.

"I know," Suri said, lighting his own, "just being polite."

The evening was cool, deathly cool. They were sure that security was heightened but they weren't going to enter the premises-it was too risky at this point-nor did they have to. If there was a letter it would be at the first turn on the boundary of the mansion. They had chosen the place because there was an unobtrusive crack in the wall that was large enough for a letter and they hoped that she was sharp enough to notice it since the rest of the place was empty and provided absolutely no place to secrete a letter.