One More Time Read online

  She certainly had a way of explaining things. The conversation stopped with the arrival of food. Not mine, however.

  ‘Your chicken not ready yet!’ The owner pointed towards a lit-up area outside the dining room, where a young boy was chasing after a wild chicken.

  ‘Is that my chicken?’ I asked surprised.

  ‘Yes, but first we must catch!’

  ‘Can I try?’ I don’t know what made me ask. The words just fell from my lips, and before I knew it I was out in the garden standing in front of a wild chicken who’d trapped itself between two walls.

  ‘Go on, Irish, it’s a piece of cake,’ shouted George.

  It should have been a piece of cake; the chicken had nowhere to run. Slowly I approached the fowl, its tiny head bobbing in every direction.

  ‘Just sit still,’ I whispered. ‘I’m not going to harm you—well, maybe a little.’ Soon I was within touching distance of the chicken. Surely it was all over. I crouched down and reached out my arms towards it. Suddenly, as though somebody had just tipped the bird off, it panicked, pecked at my hand and dashed under my legs. I turned swiftly and dived after it. My body thudded on the hard ground like a ton of bricks.

  ‘I’ve got you!’ I shouted.

  Two Nepalese kids cackled hysterically and pointed. I knew what they were signalling: the damn thing had gotten away.

  ‘Ah, maybe you have better luck next time, maybe dal bhat tonight?’ The owner was grinning.

  I hobbled back into the dining area. Mani couldn’t control himself. Tears of laughter streamed down his face. Well, perhaps my pecked hand and sore body were worth seeing that!

  ‘Can’t even catch a chicken?’ It was a great opportunity for George to give me a serve. It was very funny. What made me even consider chasing around after a chook? Ah well, all in the spirit of good fun. ‘It was a pretty fast chicken,’ I replied. ‘You should give it a go, George!’

  ‘No, Irish, the only chicks I go after are the human type and they’ve normally got bigger breasts!’

  The chicken had pecked my hand sharply and blood steadily trickled out. Since I had some time to wait for my dal bhat I decided to go to the bathroom and wipe it with a piece of paper. I found the outhouse located at the side of the guesthouse, out of reach of any light. The quiet darkness there felt eerie. Uncomfortably I grabbed a piece of toilet paper in the dimness. As I started back towards the dining room, a bang from behind made me look back. There was nothing there, just shadows and, beyond that, darkness. I turned away, but just like in a movie, at the last instant, something caught my eye. Quickly I turned back again.

  It couldn’t be.

  Scanning and walking, I desperately tried to confirm what had caught my eye. But there was nothing there—Akio wasn’t there. I could have sworn I’d caught a glimpse of him when I turned away. After a few more moments’ looking around, I gave up and headed back to the dining room, rattled.

  I had made a mental pact with myself not to think about Akio, about what might have happened to him. If he returned to my consciousness I’d have to submit to mind-numbing rituals. And I just couldn’t. I took a few deep breaths and rejoined the group.

  Sitting down again, I clenched my fists and pointed my thumbs in the air, keeping my arms below the tabletop. Everybody had finished eating, and though my dal bhat had arrived during my absence, I had a prayer to complete. With the others absorbed in asking Mani advice about trekking, I had the space I needed, and once done I turned from my consuming thoughts and consumed food instead.

  ‘Anyone fancy a game of cards?’ I asked brightly. There was a general chorus of agreement, and we decided to play twenty-one. Just what I needed to keep myself occupied. Mani seemed excited too, although he hadn’t played before.

  I showed Mani what each card was worth and how the ace could act as a one or an eleven. ‘Now if you don’t have twenty-one you can ask for an extra card, but if your score goes over, you lose.’

  ‘Mani understand, we play!’ He was anxious and interested, both. I carefully dealt cards to everyone at the table, and they studied their hands.

  ‘Hit me,’ said George. I drew him a card.

  ‘Hit me?’ quizzed Mani.

  ‘It means,’ explained Jess, ‘he wants another card—it’s a different way of saying that!’

  ‘Oh.’ Mani pouted, probably not entirely convinced a fight would not break out.

  ‘Hit me again!’ I threw George another card. ‘Shit, I bust.’ He threw his cards onto the table, displaying a twenty-two score.

  ‘Alright, what about you, Eric?’ I continued around the table.

  ‘I’ll stick.’

  Jess looked over at Mani. ‘Stick, it means that he doesn’t want any more cards! He’s happy with what he’s got!’

  Mani nodded his head. It was hard to know if he understood what she was saying; the expression on his face was blank, slightly confused. Still he didn’t question further.

  ‘Hit me!’ signalled Jess.

  ‘Feeling lucky?’ I threw her a card.

  ‘I’m always lucky.’ She looked at her hand. ‘Ah, well, what the hell, hit me again.’

  I threw her another card.

  ‘Fuck!’ she blurted. ‘Pardon my French, one bloody number too much. I’m as bad as my blooming brother.’

  ‘Not so lucky today, eh!’ I turned to face Mani. ‘Alright, what would you like?’

  Mani stared intensely at his cards. I waited, content to be busy, my mind at ease once again.

  ‘I want—’ Mani paused and glanced over at Jess for encouragement—‘one hit!’

  ‘Very good, Mini!’ she exclaimed.

  ‘His name is Mani,’ corrected George.

  ‘Whatever! You’ve always got to bloody well correct me, don’t you?’ Jess threw her brother a dirty look. I giggled to myself at the familiar bickering between siblings.

  Mani examined the new card he’d been given. His face lit up.

  ‘Maybe I think, Mani want another hit!’

  ‘Alright, here goes!’ I threw him another card.

  Mani could hardly sit down, he was so excited. ‘Maybe one more hit!’ he exclaimed. Looking at the fifth card, Mani calmed down—he was taking a moment to count the numbers in his head. Then his face lit up once again. ‘Mani, stick, me stick!’

  Mani couldn’t contain his excitement. He gazed around the table at everybody as though he had some fantastic secret that he might soon share with us all.

  I turned my cards over, revealing a king and a four.

  ‘Alright, I’ve got fourteen, I’ll take another card.’ Turning a fresh card over showed a five.

  ‘Okay, banker sticks, what have you both got?’

  Eric was the first to turn over his cards; he too had nineteen.

  ‘Sorry, Eric, banker gets one extra, so my score’s twenty—you lose!’

  ‘That’s not right, is it?’

  ‘No, he’s right. Banker always gets to use an extra one if they want to,’ supported George.

  ‘What a load of rubbish,’ moaned Eric, as he pushed his cards away in disgust.

  Mani interrupted, he couldn’t contain himself any longer. ‘Mani winner, Mani winner.’

  ‘What have you got?’ I asked him.

  Like a veteran card shark, Mani produced his cards one by one, first a king, then an ace. He stopped for effect, then continued again. His third card was an eight.

  ‘That’s nineteen. I’m sorry, Mini, but unless you have two more aces up your sleeve, you’re not the winner!’ Jess had to get her twopence worth in.

  Mani smiled back at her.

  ‘Mani is winner!’ Released from his grasp, the last two cards fell to the table triumphantly—an ace of clubs and an ace of diamonds.

  ‘Oh my God, that’s fantastic,’ I exclaimed, cheering Mani on. ‘What a brilliant hand!’ The other three, seeing how much it meant to Mani, cheered him on too.

  We weren’t playing for money but still he looked like he’d just won the lottery. �
�Maybe now Mani’s not so unlucky any more!’

  His words showed us a simple man who longed a stroke of good luck. It didn’t have to come in the form of great wealth, or even as the wife that he was yet to marry; it just had to be something positive. On this day it was extraordinary ‘beginner’s luck’. In the next hour we played twenty hands, and to everyone’s amazement, Mani won each one of them.

  When at last we had had enough and the coolness of the night air was becoming too much to bear, we broke for the night. I stayed a few minutes longer with Mani.

  ‘You were very lucky tonight!’ I cheered.

  ‘Ah, tonight was very good night for Mani…Maybe—’ he pointed at himself, ‘—maybe best night.’ But then his smile faded, replaced by a look of distant resignation.

  ‘Sometimes,’ he continued, ‘life not so kind, bring many sad days!’ And he smiled again, out of innate optimism, it seemed, more than anything else. ‘Thank you for this game. I will remember, maybe when I have children I will teach.’

  ‘No problem, Mani.’ I put a hand on his shoulder. ‘It was my pleasure. You take it easy, don’t stay up all night.’

  I made a move towards the door and Mani’s voice halted me.

  ‘You remember lady in Ghorepani teahouse—Jagan?’ He spoke quietly, almost secretively.

  I turned to face him once again and saw he had his head bowed; he seemed deep in thought. ‘Yes. I don’t think I’ll ever forget anything about that teahouse.’

  ‘She is not so young. Have children already.’

  ‘Yes,’ I said as he paused.

  ‘I like Jagan.’ Mani looked up to meet my gaze. His face was serious and his eyes seemed to be calling for my encouragement.

  ‘That’s great,’ I replied enthusiastically. She seemed like a lovely woman. Does she like you?’

  Mani considered the question for a moment. ‘I think yes. We very good friends. For long time now I come to her teahouse.’

  I smiled. ‘The answer is simple. You should try to win her heart.’

  ‘Marry?’ Mani clearly liked the prospect.

  I shrugged lightly. ‘Why not? Better to marry somebody you like than somebody you don’t even know.’

  Mani nodded his head approvingly. ‘I think you right. Maybe next time I go to Ghorepani I talk to her about marry. Maybe she come with me to your country!’

  ‘Maybe,’ I chuckled.

  With that, our discussion ended and I left Mani for the evening. On my way to bed I passed by the room of the three Brits, a waft of hash smoke drifted out from within. I smiled to myself.

  I don’t think I was more than five minutes in bed before I fell asleep. No thoughts came to mind, no rituals, my mind was relaxed. I think Mani’s happiness must have been the sedative I needed.

  12. Something terrible

  The morning arrived in blackness. Clouds hung like vultures over the countryside and from them pounded buckets of rain. I shook my head despairingly as I peered out through my door. Oh shit, this was going to be a bitch of a day.

  Unenthusiastically, I headed downstairs for breakfast. There was no shelter so I walked speedily. The rain was icy cold as it hit my skin. Near the dining area, the wife and children of the owner were standing unsheltered in the rain, huddled together, heads buried deep into their chests. The woman raised her head only slightly to me.

  ‘You should get in out of the rain!’ I said. Confusingly, there was no response from the family.

  I went on, keen to get out of the rain myself. But something was terribly wrong.

  Three Nepalese men stood at the door of the dining area, staring inside, obstructing my view.

  ‘You should not go inside!’ said one of the men, seeing me coming. He raised a hand to stop me.

  ‘What’s going on? Is something wrong with the owner? Where is he? Let me inside!’ I tried all this—but still could see nothing past the three of them.

  ‘This is not a place for you now. It is best you do not come in.’

  They were insistent, but I couldn’t walk away. What was the commotion about? I worried for the owner’s young family.

  I pushed hard past the three men. They tugged on my clothing, dragging me back—but then, with a swift change in direction, I found an opening through their barricade. I shot from between them into the room. Inside, the owner was on his knees, crying. Lying before him, lifeless, was Mani.

  Oh my God! Oh shit!

  ‘What did you do?’ I shouted and lunged towards the owner.

  He turned to look at me. His stricken face was flushed and his eyes full with tears. Before I could reach him, the three other men grappled me back. Then, as they loosened their grip, realisation began to sink in.

  Oh Mani. I just can’t believe this…

  Mani’s eyes were open: the pain he’d experienced before he died was marked on his face. The poor man had passed away in sheer agony.

  ‘He was like my brother,’ the owner cried, as he rose to his feet. How many times had I heard about that about Mani? He came towards me, tears flowing freely from his eyes, his body trembling. I put my arms out, around him, and he accepted the embrace. The grief that came over me was extraordinary.

  Mani’s small frame looked so helpless. A pool of blood surrounded the lower part of his body; he’d bled from the inside out. Oh the poor guy, he didn’t deserve this. Not Mani, he didn’t deserve this. Tears began to fall from my eyes and suddenly I released the owner from my embrace. Without thinking, I fell and grabbed hold of Mani’s shoulders and pulled him towards me.

  ‘I’m sorry Mani,’ I moaned as I hugged him. ‘I’m sorry this had to happen to you.’ From behind me I could hear the owner bawling, and behind him the quiet whispers of the three men as they watched.

  How stupid I felt. How selfish and irresponsible. You knew he was sick. You could have forced the issue and put a stop to the trek, but you were too interested in yourself and your own stupid prayers.

  ‘Dear Holy God, please protect Mam, Dad, John, Sarah and Sam, Benji and Rusty, all my friends and relatives and everybody who really needs God’s help, especially please help Mani now, look after him, look after him better than you did when he was alive!’

  The last line left my mouth aggressively, with rage, and while my mind was demanding that I start again, I refused to until I was convinced the message was received loud and clear.

  ‘Did you hear me?’ I stared at the sky beyond the window. ‘Are you reading me loud and clear?’

  Eventually I began over again, each new start a failure, each one facing the same difficulties. The men behind me had gone silent; were they listening to my recitals? Finally I lowered Mani’s body back to the ground and, taking one last look at him, I stormed out of the room, past the men, and across the unsheltered walkway. Rain and anger—a desperate day.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I called to the huddled family. I raised my hands dejectedly. ‘I’m so sorry.’ Chomrung was a large village. I just kept walking.

  I could feel my body tensing up, unable to respond to the finger rituals, the feet rituals, the ‘always looking up’ ritual. It was all coming at me at once and there was nothing I could do. I felt boxed in, suffocated.

  Eventually I stopped under a tree half a kilometre from the guesthouse and about two hundred steps below. Mani’s place of death seemed to tower above, at the top of the hill. I thumped my fist against the hard wooden trunk of the tree and, almost as violently, grabbed at a leech that had settled on me and threw it off into the distance.

  From India I had rung home for the first time since being away—it was long overdue. And now it seemed a very long time ago. Mam had answered.

  ‘Hello, Mam. It’s Sean!’

  Silence had followed, and then I heard Mam break down. She wasn’t able to speak to me, her words falling short in the sobbing.

  ‘We thought you were—’ she cried—‘dead, and no one knew—why didn’t you call, why didn’t you—’

  Dad took the phone. He was more composed, but I c
ould hear emotion in his voice. ‘So where are you. I’ll come pick you up?’ he finally asked.

  ‘India.’

  ‘India! What the hell are you doing off over there?’

  I tried to explain—it was something that I had to do, something I had no control over—but even I would have thought I was full of shit.

  Mam had begun to cry louder when she heard where I was. She must have hoped I was just around the corner in a public phone box.

  As we hung up that day Mam’s parting words were, ‘Please, just come home. We love you, Sean, please come home.’ But I hadn’t.

  The rain in Chomrung was getting heavier; it roused me, made me a little more alert than before. I knew I couldn’t stay away from the guesthouse forever, but I was afraid.

  Reluctantly I made my way back up the hill.

  The oddest things came to mind as I walked. I found myself thinking about a hole in Mani’s shorts which I’d noticed on one of the climbs. It wasn’t a particularly big hole, probably the work of a moth some evening. The significance of it, though, was that Mani couldn’t afford another pair; more than likely he’d have to either mend them or just make do. In Mani’s life, a simple thing like a hole in his shorts was an issue. He never knew wealth, he never knew success, his life started and ended in hardship. Now it broke my heart to think about it.