Making Jane Proud

Chapter 37 - Mosaics and Mausoleums

It seemed to Ellie that Sunday arrived at least forty-eight hours earlier than it should have. She'd promised Tom not to sneak away but with the comfort of knowing they'd be together again in just over six weeks, she was sure it would be easier to say goodbye at the airport.

They stood now at the periphery of the departure lounge, arms wrapped around each other with her head on his chest. Eyes tightly shut, she was intent on absorbing the aspects of him that couldn't be gleaned via phone call or Skype, imprinting on her psyche the feel of his strong arms around her, squeezing her gently, his hands moving in small soft circles over her back. She felt the steady, rhythmical thud of his heartbeat and his pulse when she buried her face into his neck; the warmth and solidness of the body she knew so well. Breathing in the smell of him, clean and fresh and uniquely Tom, she willed her mind to store it away to be available for recall whenever she missed him most.

They ignored the first two boarding calls, letting the throng around them dwindle almost painfully to a mere trickle before either of them moved or spoke.

"Time to go, sweetheart."

She merely nodded, not yet willing to leave the haven of his embrace.

"I love you."

"I love you."

The final call was announced and she felt an unreasonable hatred for the airline attendant who drew the short straw for that job. She moved her arms from Tom's waist to higher up his back, pulling him even closer, if such a thing were possible, and lifting her face; his lips found hers as if drawn by magnet. When they drew apart she ran her hand one last time through his hair, over his face, lips, neck and chest.

"See you soon," she whispered, not allowing her voice to break.

"See you soon," he replied then released her, and she walked to the gate, showed her boarding pass then stopped at the top of the air bridge to glance back. Tom stood tall, feet apart and hands in the pockets of his jeans, the sleeves of his blue shirt rolled up to his elbows and top two buttons undone, short haircut making him look boyishly handsome. A lump lodged in her throat. She'd been wrong, she realised; this wasn't any easier at all.

---

The children were pleased to see her back, full of questions and chattering with excitement. Their sweet open faces and thirst for learning got her through the first week, then the next, and each one after that. Regular texts and the occasional call from Tom, as well as their weekend Skype dates, kept her sanity from being completely eroded by the distance between them.

She finally got her weekend in Agra, travelling by train with teaching friends Anaya and Safa to join hordes of other tourists thronging for a sunrise visit. After purchasing their tickets they walked the 800 metres to the entrance gate, passing a lot of camels making their way in for tourist rides and photo opportunities. The line of people waiting to enter at the south gate stretched as far as the eye could see but they waited patiently, exchanging stories and talking with the people around them as they inched forward. The security guards armed with machine guns stunned Ellie; coming from a country as peaceful and far away as New Zealand, she had never encountered this before. Once inside they followed the crowds through well-manicured gardens to reach the main red sandstone gate with its marble inlays and carvings and then suddenly, there it was before them...the Taj Mahal. Even from this distance it was breathtaking.

They took half a dozen photos of the three of them with the reflecting pool and Taj in the background, then Ellie was asked to take photos with some locals, to which she happily agreed for ten minutes or so until she felt she didn't want to hold the others up any longer.

As they drew closer to the monument the intricate patterns found along the arches, towers, and inlays of the Taj came into focus. "O Soul, thou art at rest. Return to the Lord at peace with Him, and He at peace with you," Safa told them the interpretation of the calligraphic greeting on the Great Gate, which Ellie found simply beautiful. They slipped off their shoes as they entered and she found her toes curling at the warmth of the marble floor. For the next two hours she wandered enthralled, amazed at how the walls looked so solid in their whiteness from far away but up close you could see that each brick had its own colour and texture; some were smooth, some bumpy, patterns didn't match up. The marble itself was different shades of cream and off white and all around her were exquisite inlaid carvings and mosaic tiles, with precious and semi-precious gem inlays peppered throughout the Persian poems carved in Arabic calligraphy around the doorways. The false sarcophagi of Mumtaz Mahal and Shah Jahan in the main chamber were detailed with the same flower designs she had noted at other places, as were the actual tombs on a lower level.