“I was honking my horn at the other drivers. Nepal has very bad drivers. Very, very bad,” he said as he careened around a man pushing a cart, nearly hitting him.
“This place looks so much older than America,” Dorian said, staring out the window, awe-struck.
“It is much older than America, at least America in its current form,” I told the group, ready to put my history professor suspenders on. “Settlers didn’t even arrive in America until the 1400s, and before that, maybe some Vikings. Definitely some Vikings. But my point is, we have only been in the area for six hundred, a country for less than three hundred, and I say all that without mentioning the Native Americans who lived there for thousands of years before we even arrived.”
“Maybe that’s why the traffic is so bad here,” Michelle said. “It was developed before there were cars.”
I laughed. “America was also partially developed before there were cars.”
She shrugged. “You know what I mean. Look at the roads, look at how close the buildings are.”
“That’s not a bad point,” Chloe said. “Did any of you hear some of the music that was playing back there? It was very curious to me. There’s something alluring about it, something mystical.”
“There are many mystical and magical things in Nepal,” our driver said, wagging his head as he spoke. “This is where the Buddha is from. Not Patan, but further south, closer to the Indian border in a place called Lumbini. India says the Buddha came from their country, but no, the Buddha came from here. The Tibetans also have some famous places in Nepal, including the cave where Guru Rinpoche reached enlightenment.”
“Enlightenment, what’s that exactly?” Michelle asked the driver.
He pondered this for a moment before finally saying, “You are asking the wrong person. But maybe you could go to the Guru’s cave and figure it out for yourself.”
“I want to go to the Guru’s cave,” Michelle said.
“We aren’t here to sightsee,” Veronique reminded everyone.
“His cave is in a city called Pharping. There are many foreigners that go there. I haven’t been there, but they say when the Guru reached enlightenment, he stepped out of the cave and pressed his hand into the rock, that you can still see his handprint.”
“What’s the Guru’s name?” Ingrid asked.
“Many names. Some say Guru Rinpoche, others call him Padmasabhava.”
“Maybe he was a superhero, like us,” Michelle said.
Dorian laughed. “I like to think of it that way. That’s cute.”
“Anyone who can press their hand into a rock and change the rock’s shape is a superhero!”
“What about someone who makes clay sculptures?”
Michelle snorted at my suggestion. “Okay, I guess you’re right. Wait, that’s different. Maybe you’re not right, Gideon.”
“We’re near Mount Everest, right?” Ingrid asked the driver.
“Yes. The Himalayas stretch all the way through Nepal, separating us from Tibet.”
“Which China owns now,” I added.
“It’s a very political situation,” the driver said, briefly making eye contact with me. “But I used to give tours around Bhoudanath Stupa in Kathmandu, so I know a lot of Tibetans. Most can never visit their families again, and many escaped here with only the clothes on their backs. But it was their choice. They could have stayed under Chinese rule. Nepal gives them freedom, allows them to practice their Buddhism without interruption. But there are lots of troubles here in Nepal, and they have to put up with that. Plus, they usually need to have fake names, and other fake documents to get things like passports or ID cards.”
We started up toward a bridge.
“Holy crap,” I said as we drove over an empty river that had been filled with garbage, mostly plastic bottles.
“Many Nepalis are very bad when it comes to trash,” the driver said, noticing the concerned looks on a few of our faces. “There aren’t as many rules as other countries, like America and maybe Japan. People here are interested in spirituality and enlightenment, but many times they don’t take care of the space around them.”
He shrugged and honked his horn at another driver who had pulled in front of us, black smoke billowing out of the other vehicle’s exhaust pipe.
I could now see a city in the distance, scattered buildings, most not higher than four or five stories. There was no urban planning here, and everything seemed to have been just cobbled together, no building permit required. It reminded me of scattered Legos, the buildings different colors, shapes and sizes, everyone only concerned about their small parcel of earth.
It was an eye-opening experience.
It made me miss New England.
Chapter Twenty: Petal Bloom, White Moon, Edward Star and Anil
I couldn’t help but be reminded of Terry Pratchett’s line, the city’s full of people who you just see around.
Bustling, overflowing, filled to the brim, humanity practically spilled out onto the streets of Kathmandu. Everywhere I looked there was someone pressing through the crowd, or selling something, or trying to steer their scooter onto a sidewalk to avoid the congested roadway, or zipping around a street dog, a monk, a tourist.
It reminded me of New Delhi, but with more people, or perhaps the people were just condensed into a smaller space, less traffic rules too. Anything and everything shared the road, from rickshaws to a motorcycle with an entire family sitting on it.
Literally. The man sat in front, a baby in his lap, a kid behind him and finally the wife at the back.
“We should ride motorcycles like that,” Michelle said.
“That seems like a terrible idea,” said Stella, an anxious look on her face.
I was feeling a little anxious myself.
There were too many people, and we had been stuck in traffic now for forty minutes, just breathing in exhaust fumes, barely moving an inch. I would have suggested that we get out and walk, but I had a strange feeling that getting to Thamel would prove quite difficult on foot.
Plus, we brought less attention to ourselves in the van.
Our driver honked his horn as a taxi cut in front of him, a dark-skinned man in a funny hat looking out the window and cursing at our driver.
Rather than deal with the traffic, we cut through an alley, where we came across a woman carrying large containers of water with the help of a younger man. They moved to the side and let us pass, our pathway now blocked by yet another cow.
“We aren’t waiting for this again,” Veronique said, turning to Grace.
The cow got to its feet quickly, as if someone had whipped it on the ass. It moved on, allowing us to continue through the alley.
I found the alleys in Kathmandu even stranger.
Many were dirt roads littered with trash, but every now and then I would see a doorway that opened onto a beautiful garden, hiding a treasure within. Statues too, everything from wrathful demons to a nude Buddhist woman with green skin. There were hand-painted signs and symbols, tons of advertisements too, from Western products like Coca-Cola to local biscuit companies.
It was overwhelming.
We turned onto another street lined with tourist shops selling everything from leather goods to cashmere scarves and hiking gear. An old woman stood in front of one of the shops throwing water out onto the street, which I interpreted as a way to stop vehicles from kicking up dust.
It was dizzying how much activity there was in the small space, and I was glad as hell when we pulled onto a final road, the driver pointing at a hotel just two blocks down.
“Hotel Himalaya,” I said, confirming the name, which was visible on a sign above its gate.
“And we should take a place…” Grace looked around until she saw a hostel to our right. “There, at that hostel.”
“What’s a hostel?” Michelle asked.
“It’s like a cheaper hotel,” I told her as we got out of the van, the CBGs gathering on the sidewalk. A man approached us, hoping to sell s
mall containers of Tiger Balm. Grace sent him away, only for another beggar to step up to our group, this one a woman with a baby in her arms.
“Milk for my baby, milk for my baby,” she pleaded.
I had no cash, but I immediately felt pity for the lady, reaching for a wallet that I knew I didn’t possess.
It was Grace who sent her away, a disturbed look on the psychic shifter’s face.
“We should get some money,” Dorian said, also feeling bad for the mother. “Let’s find some rich person or a bank or something.”
“First of all, that’s not how we operate,” I started to say.
“You know what I mean.”
“She’s poor, but she doesn’t need milk for her baby,” Grace informed us.
“But she was asking for it,” Michelle said.
“I checked,” Grace said, tapping on the side of her head. The psychic shifter was in her base form now, her blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, a surgical mask on her face that she had apparently picked up in Pokhara. “She begs foreigners to buy milk for her baby, then they buy the milk, a powdered formula, which she sells back to the shop. That’s how she makes her money. The better she begs, the more people buy milk for her, the more she can sell back to the shop and make a small profit.”
“Geez…” I said, shaking my head.
Veronique was at the back of the group, totally keeping a patrol alongside Stella, who also was on alert. Chloe was near Dorian, Ingrid in front of them. Grace and I took the lead as we stepped into the hostel, Michelle off to my left.
The man who worked at the place came out of a back room, his eyes going wide for a moment as he saw how large our group was. Grace had control in a matter of moments, and after a brief discussion, we were led to a pair of private suites that had additional rooms, allowing us four separate sleeping spaces.
I took one of the smaller rooms to the right, and immediately relaxed onto the bed, pulling out my phone, ready to unwind from the taxi drive.
A message from Luke popped up.
Luke: You alive?
Me: Yasss…
Luke: LOL.
Me: Hey, how goes it on the writing?
Luke: Writing is going well. I’m actually looking for an audio producer right now for my next book. I’ve got two offers, one for a percentage of gross profits, the other for a percentage of net profits.
Me: Gross profits FTW. Wait, I think. Shit. I’m bad at this.
Luke: Lol. Yes you are.
Grace came into the room and smiled at me, letting me know that the others were going to have some tea, that they wanted to rest for a bit.
“Is the traveling getting to them?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Same here. Have Chloe help everyone out with a little bit of her vibrational magic, if you get my drift.”
“I get your drift,” Grace said, sticking her tongue out at me. “And who do you think gave you that thought?”
Whoa…
She was gone before I could respond, and just to play around with her, I tried to put some weird thoughts out there:
What if I left the CBGs here and just moved back to America and became a new person? I could join the FBI’s Witness Protection Program. Maybe I could move to Utah and become a Mormon, and get myself six to eight new wives that don’t have superpowers that allow them to listen to my thoughts. Also, not being attacked by them would be nice as well.
Shut up, Grace thought back to me in a playful tone.
How cool would that be? I could just have a main house, and then put them in the house in the back. I saw a documentary about Mormons, and that’s what they did. I mean, who wouldn’t want that? Then again, what kind of job would I have to have to be able to support all these women and children? And what kind of world did we live in where this was a normal thing? No, I couldn’t become a Mormon and move to Utah to start a Christian harem. I would have to do something else. Maybe I could actually enjoy my royalties for once and use them to travel to Greenland or something, or Iceland. You know, just live off the grid.
I’m tuning you out.
“I’ll stop,” I whispered as I turned back to my conversation with Luke. The Canadian writer had continued on about the offer from the audio companies.
Me: I get it. Gross profit is your best bet.
Luke: Well, you would think, but if you can negotiate a high enough cut of the net profit, you may actually come out ahead. For our scenario here, let’s say an audiobook costs ten dollars.
Me: Canadian or America?
Luke: Lol. USD.
Me: USA! USA!
Luke: Let’s dial the patriotism down a notch, eh?
Me: (Dials down patriotism, whispers “USA, USA,” to himself while reading your mathematical breakdown.)
Luke: Good. At least I don’t have to hear it. So let’s say the audiobook sells for ten dollars gross and you only sell one.
Me: Ouch.
Luke: Yep. And let’s say the royalty rate is 15% of the gross, so 15% of ten dollars.
Me: $1.50.
Luke: Einstein!
Me: I prefer Doctor Einstein, but thanks.
Luke: Now let’s say you get 30% of net, and the audio production company has inked a deal with EBAYmazon that gives them a 60% cut of the sale. So out of a ten-dollar audiobook, they get six dollars, and you’d get 30% of that, which is $1.80. So it really depends on how much the company that’s offering you a cut of the net is offering versus the company that is offering you a cut of the gross.
Me: Bravo.
Luke: ???
Me: That’s so much clearer to me now. I didn’t even look at my contract with EBAYmazon.
Luke: Of course you didn’t.
Me: In my defense, I was sort of on the run when it all went down. And I just wanted to get the story out there. But that said, I think I’ve got something else in the works here…
Luke: Is it hooking me up with your EBAYmazon rep and getting me an exclusive audio deal?
Me: I have mentioned your name to him before. I think he’s on drugs.
Luke: Perhaps…
Me: As cliché as this may sound, I believe the next thing I’ll write will be a follow-up to Mutants in the Making, rather than How Heavy This Ax? Book Two.
Luke: I was wondering if you were going to do a follow-up. It makes the most logical sense, especially since you already have a built-in audience, and you are somewhere in Asia right now doing something crazy. At least I assume you’re doing something crazy.
Me: I’m definitely doing something crazy. Also, we should have a video chat sooner than later. I’ve got stories, including one about a pretty crazy plane ride…
Luke:
Me: Exactly. We will talk soon, bud. For now, I have some espionage work to do.
Luke: Ever thought about writing a thriller?
Me: No, but only because I’ve been living one and it’s exhausting.
Luke: Okay, stay safe and I’ll let the community know that you’re off saving the world, and it’s all a big top-secret mission that even I don’t know about.
Me: L8r H8r.
Luke: LOL so lame.
Grace woke me from a nap once she stepped into the room, now in the guise of a Nepali tour guide. She looked sort of like a Boy Scout, except for the cool Nepali flag on her shirt and, well, everything aside from her khaki T-shirt.
“I’m guessing this is your disguise?”
“That’s right,” she said, reaching her hand out to me.
She helped me up, and I would have brought her into my arms, but she was currently in the form of a man, and it was throwing me off a bit.
“Is this better?” she asked as she took the same form but as a Nepali woman.
“Much better,” I told her with a yawn. “I guess it’s time for old man Gideon to make his appearance.”
I felt my skin shift as mild-mannered features took shape across my face, again going for a Stan Lee look (RIP), wrinkles, wisdom, elegance.
“How do I loo
k, darling?” I asked as Grace stepped away from me.
“Beautiful,” she said in slightly accented English.
“You two aren’t going there without us,” Veronique said, stepping into the room. She was followed by Dorian, both of them in their yoga disguises with flowing pants and tight tops with huge elaborate scarves wrapped around their necks.
I didn’t know how long I had napped, but in the meantime someone had gone out shopping, outfitting all the CBGs in clothing that would make them blend in more with the foreigners in Thamel.
Their outfits were pretty elaborate too, from Dorian’s Buddha necklace to the bandanna with OM symbols on it that Veronique wore.
“Did you get clothing for me?” I asked.
I was still in my superhero uniform, which wasn’t exactly nice to sleep in.
“That’s what this bag is for,” Veronique said, handing me a paper sack. “Strip.”
“Seriously?” I asked Veronique.
“Come on,” she said. “Are you afraid to get naked in front of us?”
“As you wish,” I dropped the paper bag onto the bed and got out of my uniform. It was sort of like a wetsuit, and once I was out, I placed it next to the clothing I’d been wearing over it when we first arrived in Kathmandu.
There was nothing wrong with our Pokhara clothing, but what Grace had picked out for me was new, so I went for it. There were a couple of fresh pairs of briefs inside the bag, a pair of which I gladly slipped into, Dorian using her teleportation ability to appear behind me and smack me on the ass.
“Funny,” I told her, almost losing my facial transformation.
I stepped into a pair of yoga trousers, which were loose and flowing, something only the guru-est guru would wear. From there it was a cotton shirt without a collar, buttons down the center of my chest.
“And the necklace,” Dorian said.
I started putting all the stuff back in my pockets, from my new phone to Father’s vial of blood to the Mongolian coin. “While I like playing dress-up, this is a ridiculous disguise.”
Michelle burst into the room, also in a yoga-ish outfit.
“Holy shit, Gideon, you look so stupid!”
“Language,” I called after her, but she was already gone, giggling in the hallway.
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