A Good Walk Ruined
Question by: dust on the wind
"Which of our heroes would develop an interest in paganism?"
Part One: In the Shadow of the Temple
Selçuk, Turkey. July 1955
"A pagan temple, eh? When did you get all interested in ancient religions anyway, Carter? I had you pegged for a man of science. Though if memory serves, you've always been a church-going lad, too, haven't you? I'm trying to reconcile these things, but mind you…"
Oh, bloody hell, leave it, Peter Newkirk thought. It was too much work to tease Carter in the blazing heat, and he was getting into dangerous territory, discussing religion. All Newkirk really wanted to do was stop, wipe his brow, and find a nice pub. For half an hour, he had tried valiantly to keep up with his old pal on this insane hike, but it wasn't working. He bent over, hands to his knees, to catch his breath.
Andrew Carter turned around to wait for him, looking fit, patient, and perfectly annoying. As if he walked this briskly every day. Which he probably did, Newkirk thought. Unless he ran. Yes, he probably ran, the twit.
"The mercury was rising, a breeze was gusting, and in this windswept field west of town, Carter's sandy hair was blowing into his eyes as he inspected a carefully folded map.
"We're in what used to be called Ephesus, Newkirk. There's a whole book in the New Testament named after it," Carter informed him. "Anyway, it's not just any temple. It's the Temple of Artemis, one of the seven ancient wonders of the world."
"The eighth wonder is that we let you talk us into this," Newkirk countered. "We only get together for a week or two every five years, and you decide to take us on a bleeding death march across a ruined landscape." He brushed sand and dirt off his shoes and trousers, then resumed his gripe-a-thon. "We might as well have gone to the Moon. Or Dresden. Or London, for that matter," Newkirk said sourly. There was still plenty of rubble at home in the East End, he mused. Did he really need to travel to Greece and Turkey for more of it? What was wrong with getting together with his mates in Paris or London like normal people?
Newkirk straightened up, took in the sight of brilliant blue skies all around, and turned back to search across the rocky terrain they had just crossed on this searing summer morning. "Where are the rest of them, anyway?" he asked.
"They're coming," Carter said. He pointed into the distance.
Newkirk was too proud to wear his National Health glasses in the company of his friends, or anywhere, really. But if he squinted, he could just make out Hogan and Kinch in the distance, laughing and walking briskly. The others must be straggling behind. Poor LeBeau, he thought with a snicker, stuck with the guest that Carter took it upon himself to invite. Newkirk shrugged and turned back to Carter and resumed the hike. Carter, in turn, slowed down from his usual antic pace to walk alongside Newkirk, who was lighting a cigarette.
"You should smoke less," Carter said.
"I know. Don't care," Newkirk replied, arresting further discussion. After a quiet moment, he continued. "Cor, I liked that Turkish Riviera much better than this, you know. Sand, sun, lovely young things cavorting in the waves," he said with a wave of his hand. "Drinks with little umbrellas…"
"You're married with kids, Newkirk," Carter helpfully reminded him. "And the 'lovely young things' don't care about 40-year-old guys who are vacationing with their war buddies. We'll go back to the beach at the end of the trip. In the meantime, we're checking out the ruins and getting some exercise." He looked at Newkirk's growing paunch. "Which you could really use, if you don't mind my saying so."
"You'll be the ru- …" Newkirk began.
" …'Ruin of me, Carter,'" Carter replied cheerfully in a pretty good facsimile of Newkirk's accent. "I know, I know. You're getting real predictable in your old age, buddy."
They hiked along with the practiced silence of two old friends who had covered rough and dangerous terrain together many times before. It was Newkirk who first spotted the column rising in the distance.
"Blimey, look at that," Newkirk said softly. He stared in awe, then turned to Carter with a wicked glint in his eye. "It's a monument to the fact that size really does matter."
"It's a column from the temple," Carter said, shaking his head. Honestly, some things never changed. "Let's go." He took off running, forgetting for the moment that moving at anything faster than a pleasant amble would leave Newkirk in the dust.
"I can see it from here!" Newkirk shouted. "You don't have to bleedin' run!
-To Be Continued-
Author's Note:
I have a separate story under way based on the "Which of Our Heroes" thread, and this was intended to be part of it. But when I realized this story is going to go on for 4-5 chapters, I thought it best to have it stand on its own, because it would just overtake the other story.
I am grateful to the participants in the Forum XIIIC thread "Which of Our Heroes" for their inspiration and sense of fun.