One More Time Page 14

Dear Holy God…

  No! The prayers had begun again—they hadn’t been halted for very long.

  The dining area was filled with people when I arrived back: the three Brits, the owner and his family, the men who’d tried to prevent me from seeing what was inside. All of them stood in a quiet circle around Mani’s body. I remained outside, unseen.

  I fidgeted with my hands, rubbing them irritably one over the other, my mind compelling me to wipe off whatever thoughts surfaced through them. Niggling reproach by niggling reproach they were emerging, and with them a mixture of anger, frustration and fear. I decided that I couldn’t stay in this place, I hadn’t the strength in me.

  In my room I gathered my belongings. Throwing the backpack upon my shoulders I found the straps too tight for me. Mani must have altered them for his own comfort. I loosened the straps and then almost immediately tightened them again—I couldn’t do it! I knew I had to loosen them, but each time I tried it felt like I was disengaging from Mani—leaving him alone. It took eleven attempts before I finally succeeded.

  As fast as I could, I left the room and walked away, out onto the track. I wanted to look back but I couldn’t. It was too hard. Instead I prayed aloud as I walked, maintaining continuous focus directly ahead. But none of the prayers were working, so I repeated them at top speed, trying desperately to put an end to the torture.

  The rain made walking a chore, but I maintained a steady, fast pace. It wasn’t long before Chomrung was hidden in the distance and I was suddenly quite alone, still headed towards Machhapuchhare Base camp.

  I must have walked for two hours before I finally took a break. I had already passed through two small villages but the thought of being among people had pushed me on. My resting point now was on a large decaying tree trunk, deep beneath the welcoming umbrella of a huge forest. I was out of breath; the track had been almost all vertical, other than the brief downhill section within Chomrung village. Up ahead, it didn’t look as though the going would ease anytime soon. I sighed.

  ‘You told him that he’d be okay,’ I said to myself. ‘You told him that there was nothing wrong with him.’

  Other thoughts started flooding in.

  Can you imagine what the family would think if they knew the real reason why you left home?

  ‘This isn’t the same thing,’ I shouted aloud. ‘I never thought anything like that with Mani, for Godsake. Why do I always have to go through this?’

  I looked around to see if there was anyone who could overhear me. Still there was nobody on the track.

  You thought about killing people!

  ‘Go stuff yourself, I did not and I didn’t about Mani either.

  ‘I was worried for people, that’s why I left Ireland. Nothing else, worry, and that was all! People are allowed to be worried!’

  Mam and Dad, family…sleeping…suffocating…stabbing…poisoning…The words streamed, jumbled up, nothing concrete, just a combination of painful images. I pressed my hands tight against my forehead but the thoughts only continued to attack. Then I found myself blinking my eyes in intervals of seven, each burst requiring the same perfection as did the prayers that continued rattling away in my head. A recorder in my brain would have picked up at least seven voices all speaking at the same time, all competing with one another for my full attention. At the same time I fidgeted away with my hands.

  My body needed this rest but it was better to keep moving—any distraction from the rituals. I rose to my feet once again, struggling under the load of the backpack. Something in this reminded me of a camping trip Dad had taken us kids on when we were little. I remembered thinking at the time how strong he was.

  ‘Sanction, sanctuary, sanctimonious…’

  The words left my mouth instinctively, a defensive mechanism against anything harmful. I hadn’t done this in years! The word ‘Satan’ had once surfaced in my head for no apparent reason, and so I had had to say other words that were similar but counteractive—otherwise people I loved would be harmed. But this ritual had long ago faded from my repertoire! Why had it, too, come back now? I shook my head irritably.

  ‘Come on, no more of this bullshit!’

  Thoughts of my sister Sarah floated through my mind—

  ‘Rapture! Raison! Reason!’

  It had happened again! This incantation came from a time I’d heard the word ‘rape’ in my mind. Yes, this was how it had always come in the past, I would think of somebody and then at the back of my mind I would hear some awful word. Sometimes it felt as though my mind had a vendetta against me, as though it couldn’t stand to have me feeling happy. If I were thinking something pleasant about somebody it would throw in some word like ‘cancer’, ‘rape’, ‘Satan’, ‘murder’, ‘stabbing’. In my twisted logic I believed that since I was thinking of loved ones at the same time as such words were circling about in my head, these people were no doubt going to be harmed in some manner and it would be all my fault, if I didn’t do something soon. The antidote, it seemed, was to replace the word or words with other ones that were similar—but positive. Back then, I was replacing words at least fifty times a day.

  ‘Okay,’ I began to speak to myself now, ‘what the hell is going on with me?’ The forest stayed silent.

  ‘Rapture, raison, reason, what the hell is that? What does it mean? It means nothing, it means—fuck all!’ I was getting angrier by the moment. All I wanted to do was punch something, the voice inside my head if that was possible.

  ‘I’m not listening to you, you can go screw yourself because I’m on my way to the base camp and nothing’s stopping me. Not Mani’s death, not fucking Akio, and especially not my fucking head!’

  The words echoed and quickly faded away, swallowed up by the dense overgrowth of greenery. I set out on the trek again, eyes ahead, mind concentrating hard on blocking out any thoughts, any rituals. But I was concentrating too hard.

  ‘Ah shit,’ I cried as I felt the ground below me give way. I hadn’t noticed that I was walking so close to the edge. Now it was too late.

  My right leg slipped first and with it went my balance. Before I knew it I was rolling down a steep hillside, bashing into tree branches, frantically trying to grab hold of anything that might save me. Tumbling.

  The sight of the sky was followed by the sound of a crack. Then there was nothing.

  13. Serena

  The beach was pitch black but a dog I’d befriended was following me so I felt secure. There was music coming from down beside the moonlit sea—four people singing, and a guitar for accompaniment.

  I don’t believe it!

  It was Serena, strumming the guitar. She was in midsong as I approached, but realising who it was she sprang up to her feet and threw her arms around me in a warm embrace.

  ‘Serena! I can’t believe it. It’s good to see you.’

  ‘You too, look at you!’ she laughed.

  ‘I met Sean in Varanasi; we chased a dead woman through the streets,’ she explained to the group she was with.

  I’d drowned my sorrows after my call to Mam earlier that day and was now too drunk to remember their names. I managed to take in that they were all ‘great friends’, even though she had met them just hours before while taking a stroll along the ocean. She described it in such a relaxed manner that bonding on the beach, it seemed, was a common event around here.

  ‘You met in Varanasi?’ said a curly haired guy with a groan. ‘That’s a hole of a place. Everyone with their hands out, pleading for something. I couldn’t handle it.’

  Serena threw a sharp look in his direction but it didn’t seem to faze him. I took Serena for a giver not a taker.

  ‘Still, I got to see some wicked bonfires,’ he continued. ‘They sure send off their dead in a blaze!’

  ‘Come on, who’s up for a song?’ Serena interrupted, picking up the guitar once again. ‘Can you play?’ she whispered in my ear.

  I took the guitar in my hands. Though it had been a while since I had last played or sung, drunk or sober, I
generally performed well. This was where playing by ear was good: while a trained musician might need sheet music to get them through a song, a self-taught musician can always wing it.

  I plucked firstly on the E string. The guitar was out of tune, I could tell that. Carefully I started to tune the it, plucking the strings and getting my fingers warmed up on the neck.

  ‘What sort of song is that?’ laughed one of the blokes.

  ‘This is what they call—’ I stopped for effect ‘—“Tuning the Guitar”.’ Serena let out a burst of laughter and rested a hand on my knee.

  Finally I was satisfied the guitar was in tune and I put my fingers in place for a B minor strum. I began ‘Hotel California’ and as I played and sang I felt alive and invincible. It was like being reunited with an old friend you’d never really wanted to part from.

  There was applause when I finished and the group began to call it a night. ‘My God, man, you’ve got some voice on you…’

  ‘Wow! Who the hell are you? Are you like a professional muso or something?’ And they drifted away down the beach.

  After a while Serena and I were alone. Finding her again like this was more than I’d hoped for. ‘What happened to you in Varanasi? You just vanished into thin air!’ I said to her at last.

  ‘I didn’t vanish, you lost me!’ Her eyes were glowing under the moonlit night and her smile was electric. She bent down to pick up the guitar, which I had laid down on the sand, and together we started to walk along the beach.

  ‘I looked all over for you but couldn’t find you anywhere.’

  Serena laughed gently. ‘When we were running through the streets, somehow I managed to take a wrong turn…’

  The conversation continued, lively then murmuring. It was a strange walk, underlined with desires which both us seemed to be avoiding. We must have stayed on that beach for nearly three hours before one of us took the initiative.

  I wanted Serena to lead the way rather than me. With any other girl I would have tried it on long before then, but Serena had caught me in a different way and I didn’t want any dumb move by me to interfere with what was already a great thing.

  She began to kiss me. Soon we were undressing each other. And there on the night beach we began devouring one another’s bodies.

  As I ran my fingers over her breasts and continued down between her legs, my head filled with how utterly stunning she was. We made love that night beneath the moonlit sky, beside the gentle hush of the sea—no inhibitions, both consumed by our every movement. The world no longer existed. When at last we had exhausted ourselves, we lay naked in the sand until eventually we fell asleep, Serena’s head resting upon my outstretched arm.

  When I awoke as the sun began to rise the next morning we were in exactly the same position.

  Serena woke with a shudder. ‘Oh my God!’ She reached for her underwear and began dressing. ‘How’d we sleep so long?’

  The early morning sun was gentle and warming. Within minutes we’d dressed. There was an initial awkwardness, but back at my beach hut we undressed again and picked up where we’d left off the night before.

  We remained there for most of that day and the next, mainly talking. ‘You’ve got a lot going on in your head, Sean.’ Serena had known me for less time than anyone else, but seemed to understand me so much better. She knew that I worried a lot, she knew that I struggled to sleep. She even knew that something had driven me away from Ireland. Her knowing felt good.

  We enjoyed a meal in a local restaurant and then took a lazy walk along the beach. Daytime soon became night, and as we sat watching the sunset I was more at peace than ever before.

  ‘You know I’m going tomorrow?’

  In a way I wasn’t surprised. ‘Why tomorrow?’ I asked, trying hard to conceal my disappointment.

  ‘I’ve already booked my flight. I’m heading back to Delhi and from there it’s either home or Nepal, I don’t know which!’

  ‘Where in Nepal?’

  ‘Perhaps back to Pokhara. It’s heavenly!’

  There is an unspoken rule about travelling; it’s something you pick up on quite fast. Everybody is on their own retreat, whether it be world discovery, self-discovery or simply a case of running away. Whatever the type, travellers all have one thing in common: they’re all on solo missions. Even when people travel in groups, each person is on their own quest. Some people go crazy when they travel; they do every mad thing they’ve wanted to do back home but never felt confident or free enough to do. Then there are others who relax, totally backtrack and unwind, commit to nothing and avoid any sort of interaction. There’s a world of different scenarios: shy girls going wild and shagging every man they meet; men sleeping with prostitutes; people eating dog or cat or whatever animal is on the menu; thrill-seekers, drug-takers, troublemakers; the list goes on. The main thing is that for everybody nothing is stationary; what happens comes and goes, and everybody’s always moving on.

  Serena and I had been intimate but, like all travellers, she was on her journey and I was on mine. Saying she was leaving soon meant exactly that, and her plans wouldn’t involve me. We both knew it. But when it came to saying goodbye, it was harder for me in many ways than leaving home had been.

  ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I’ve a feeling we’re going to meet again. There’s something kind of right about you and me.’

  ‘Absolutely. I’ll email you. We’ll stay in touch.’

  ‘We have to make sure we find each other again!’

  ‘Come to Ireland, meet me there!’

  ‘No, you come to Australia!’ she laughed.

  I didn’t want our time to end, and I looked for something solid to work towards.

  ‘I’ll tell you what. When is your birthday?’

  ‘November thirtieth.’

  ‘Alright, that’s about two months away. If we haven’t bumped into each other again, I’ll make my way to Oz and I’ll be standing at your front door singing “Hotel California”.’

  She laughed. ‘That’s a deal!’

  We kissed. Neither of us wanted to let go. Everything had come to an end so fast.

  Serena’s taxi pulled away down the mucky main road of Palolem and moments later she was out of sight. And once again out of my life.

  14. A blast from the past

  ‘Sean, you wake, you wake!’

  The words filtered in and out of my head. It was some time before I realised that somebody was trying to rouse me. Finally I opened my eyes.

  Everything was blurry at first, a mismatch of green and grey. The back of my head throbbed.

  A face came into view, unclear. He was standing over me with the light behind his head. I couldn’t quite distinguish him at first. His voice, however, was familiar.

  ‘Akio? Is that you?’ I forced my aching body to sit up.

  ‘Yes, it is me, Sean. You okay, Sean?’

  His voice was comforting to hear and, as my eyesight returned, a familiar face was exactly what I needed—even if it was Akio’s.

  ‘Ah, I think you not-o watch what you were doing, you fall like how I did.’ Akio laughed slightly, and then sighed as he watched me explore the back of my head with my fingers. ‘Oh very painful, your head not look so good-o.’

  The back of my head was matted with dried blood. So how long had I been unconscious?

  ‘You very lucky, your head must be very strong.’

  Akio was right. I’d landed against a huge boulder, the protruding edge of which had taken part of my fall. Blood marked the spot. How the hell was I not dead?

  I sat dazed for a while, in shock. Nothing particular went through my mind. Just waves of disbelief and disorientation. Akio remained silent also, giving me time. Then one thought came, overpoweringly: If I hadn’t survived the fall, I’d never see Serena again.

  Tears began to fall from my eyes. ‘I can’t believe…I was nearly killed!’

  I looked up to the huge sky. Akio remained silent, unmoved; but I was in disarray. Rituals, prayers, thoughts; instead
of protecting me, they’d nearly killed me.

  I left home because of damn rituals! My family, the people that I love most—the demands are killing me!

  As distraught and foolish as I was, I saw one thing clearly: enough is enough.

  Akio took a mouthful of water from his flask. There was something odd about his appearance. He looked perfectly healthy! Not a cut or a bruise in sight. He even had his backpack strapped on his shoulders, although I’d have sworn he hadn’t had it when I’d watched him being chased by the Maoists.

  He must have got away! Or maybe it wasn’t him? Maybe I still wasn’t seeing or hearing right?

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I said, conscious of the uneasiness in my voice. ‘How’d you get here? I thought you were dead. I thought the Maoists had killed you.’

  ‘Not dead, I escaped. They shoot but Akio much too fast for stupid Maoists!’ He laughed again, smug.

  ‘Too fast!’ I was confused. ‘I watched you being chased, and they had you cornered.’ While Akio had been a welcome voice earlier, now, realising that he was actually here, felt eerie. My head hurt badly.

  ‘You need to rest, I think,’ said Akio. Then he lowered his head. ‘Anyhow, I not-o want to talk about it, very frightening.’

  ‘Akio, tell me.’

  It was all becoming clearer now. I remembered how Akio hadn’t paid the Maoists, how angry I was that he’d put us all at risk.

  And Mani. Poor Mani. All that had happened at Chomrung came crashing back on me. Why, in the last days of his life, had Mani had to meet up with somebody like Akio?

  ‘No,’ replied Akio. ‘There is nothing to talk about. I escape Maoists and I find you. Nothing else is important. You should be happy that I find you!’

  Amazingly, having survived my fall, I could feel myself getting annoyed with Akio again!

  ‘Look at me,’ I said dully. ‘Mani died this morning.’

  Akio’s face fell. ‘Mani, he is dead?’ His voice was low. ‘How?’

  ‘His stomach. He’d been having pains since I started the trek with him. Probably had them before then too, I don’t know.’ I reflected for a moment, my mind slightly tingling for a ritual that I denied it. ‘I didn’t think he was as sick as he was. I don’t think he did either. The poor sod was dying all along.’