Sacha—The Way Back

by Stan I. S. Law

  Alec knew. He met his son in the inner realms often enough. Whether Sacha was capable of inducing hallucinations or just wondrous dreams, Alec’s own perception of reality became twice as exciting as it ever was. Did that also count for nothing? And what of...

  “Dad...” Sacha cut in.

  He was following his father’s thoughts. Dad wasn’t wrong. All his perceptions were on target. He did open new ways of regarding reality. He did create new horizons, cross new unknowns. But what of it?

  “I may have helped you and mother, maybe even Grandma and Grandpa, a little. But do you really think that I possess these abilities for the sole purpose of opening the door to the unknown a little wider for four people? Four wonderful, loving, dearest to me people? Is that my destiny?”

  Alec didn’t answer.

  “Is that why I was born...?” Sacha asked quietly.

  But this time there was more sadness in his voice than despair. Yet he knew he could not resign himself to just helping his family. No matter how wonderful they were. There was a swell in his heart that was ready to burst and flood the world. There must have been a ‘real’ reason why he’d been called at this moment in history. His inability to verbalize these feelings was getting him down. They sounded conceited. Pompous. He needed help and none came.

  Not even from his father.

  “Son. You once told your mother that patience is a divine virtue. Shouldn’t you practice this attribute yourself?”

  Sacha froze, and the next moment he doubled over with laughter.

  “I love you, Dad! With a single sentence you have released my tension. You made me free again.” He hugged his father with unrestrained emotion. “But I warn you, Dad. The moment is close when strange things will begin happening. Don’t be surprised, Dad.”

  “Son,” Alec regarded Sacha now holding him at arm’s length. “Nothing you do will ever surprise me. That much you’ve taught me yourself.”

  “What is it boys?” Suzy joined them on the terrace. Peeka landed on her back in a single leap. Boo looked jealous. They seemed to have spent half their life on the terrace. “Anyone for a walk?” Suzy was wearing a flattering one-piece costume that was the dernier cri in LA. She ignored Alec’s wolf whistle.

  “Or a swim?” Sacha added. “Only I don’t have any swimming shorts...”

  “Your father has a dozen,” Suzy assured. Actually Alec had three pairs.

  “Give us five minutes,” Alec said, disappearing into the house, pulling Sacha behind him.

  Suzy looked in on Alicia, but Grandma preferred to read. She was feeling a little tired of late. She wasn’t sleeping as well. Or perhaps she was hoping too much to repeat her dreams of Des.

  “I’ll see you when you get back,” she waved Suzy away with a smile.

  It has been years since the three of them walked barefoot on the sand together. Years, since Sacha returned home, without announcing another impending departure. Suzy had learned to count her blessings. She felt, as only a mother could, that she could not hold on to her son for much longer. She was unable to explain, let alone justify, her feelings, but lately a sense of impending disaster, of inexplicable foreboding intruded on her carefree disposition. She kept her qualms to herself, but she tried more and more often to escape to the emotional protection of Home Planet. It didn’t always work. She kept forgetting that the first condition for success in such ventures was a state of carefree relaxation. You had to accept your fate in order to free yourself from its impositions. Sacha once told her that you could only escape your fate by fulfilling it. It didn’t make sense, at the time, but taken in the perspective of immortality it wasn’t absurd. You couldn’t really escape your fate. If you didn’t fulfill it in your present life, you would have to do so later. Or later still.

  And that was precisely what kept her awake in the early hours. She would think of Sacha’s fate. All she saw were blank images. Yet that eerie nondescript vacuity seemed to hide ominous consummation.

  Now that Sacha was here, she managed to dismiss the clouds gathering in her heart. She shook the cobwebs from her troubled mind and smiled at her son.

  “You remember our walks down here, Sacha?” It was a silly question. Of course he remembered. His memory was infallible.

  “You wouldn’t have me forget, Mom, would you?”

  “It was over there,” Alec pointed towards the horizon. The three of them looked afar and saw nothing.

  “It was there that the motorboat struck the intrepid swimmer...”

  “A hydroplane,” Sacha corrected. “You were quite angry with me, Dad, if I recall?”

  “W-well...” Alec sounded a little flustered.

  “You couldn’t forgive me for comparing a man’s life to a pair of trousers,” Sacha reminded his father. “Have you changed your perception of reality since that time, Dad?”

  “To be honest, son, not until you woke the both of us to Desmond’s whereabouts, a few days ago. It was only seeing him, different yet unmistakably him, that your view began to make sense,” Alec admitted.

  And then Alec stopped and stared at his son with undisguised wonderment. “That was a few days before your fourteenth birthday. How did you know all that?” There was an unspoken “then” in his question.

  “Sometimes I think that during our lives we continually forget things. And as we forget everything then we move on,” Sacha answered.

  “We die,” Suzy insisted. “I, too, saw Desmond. But he died,” she persisted haltingly.

  “He did,” Sacha’s tone was conciliatory. “He died to his world. To this reality.”

  “I know...” Suzy was still struggling. Her recall of experiences on the ‘inner’ was still not as good as Alec’s. “I know that we are all immortal. That we cannot die. Not really. But we do die...”

  She was thinking that blank fate surrounding her son that was clouding her vision again. The next moment she stopped and threw both her arms around Sacha’s neck. “You will stay with us a long time, say you will darling. Please say you will?”

  Sacha did not answer. In the past he’d hold his mother even as Alec usually did when Suzy had problems controlling her emotions. Now he stood helpless, his arms dangling on each side, not knowing what to do.

  When Suzy finally smiled, Sacha tried again.

  “Time is not of importance, mother. We are always together. Always...”

  He hoped his mother would learn to reconcile her emotions with her mind. He couldn’t tell her anything she didn’t already know, but refused to accept. If he did, she would not be able to metabolize it. We really only learn from within. From the outside we only search confirmation to reassure ourselves. Surely, Sacha thought, surely this should be argument enough for anyone to accept our true nature?

  “I’m all right now,” Suzy said.

  Regardless of how she felt, Suzy now looked her usual sunny self. Seeing his wife was in control, Alec returned to the previous subject.

  “Did you ever check on that guy, I mean later?” Alec was thinking of Sacha’s ‘check’ on his grandfather and imagined his son would have followed up on the hapless swimmer.

  “Dad! There are more individualizations of consciousness than there are stars in the sky. Each time we become fully aware of anyone, we must place our attention on him or her. And usually, for real communion, we can only do so one at a time,” Sacha sounded a little exasperated.

  It was at this moment that Sacha understood why some great souls decide to merge with the Whole. It was the only way they could offer all they’d accumulated to the totality of cosmos. To the Whole. The rest of us can do so only one at a time.

  “I guess you are right, son. Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.”

  A minute later Alec looked perturbed again.

  “You said, then, that the fellow who drowned would be all right. But what happens to the guy who hit him?”

  Sacha read his fathers thoughts before he spoke them out loud.

  “What happens to any one of us?”

  Thre
e pairs of eyes followed a single tern hanging over the ocean. It swooped this way and that, as if he’d lost his bearings.

  “We continually create our reality,” Sacha said when no one took up his question. “We perceive what we want to perceive. If the man felt guilty he’ll pay his dues. If he accepted his fate humbly, then he would have learned his lesson. You can’t have it both ways, Dad. There is no arbitrary deity sitting in judgment above us. Had Judas accepted his fate with humility, he probably would have been spared. I am talking about the mental anguish he suffered which caused him to take his own life. Although there is no one sitting in judgment over us, we are all indispensable pieces of the cosmic jigsaw puzzle. At a certain stage, we become our own judge and jury. We must find our place, our destiny, and fulfill it as best we can.”

  “Even if it means murder or treachery?” Suzy would never accept it. Not in this life.

  “If you accept it, mother, then there is no murder. There is only the current of fate. If you accept it, you become a conscious instrument of the Whole.”

  Sacha was thinking of Arjuna’s struggles. Not his friend in India, but the ‘original’ Arjuna in the Bhagavad Gita. It was not a premise that was easy to accept. He struggled with it himself. The problem was that if you made a mistake and reached beyond your fate for personal gain, you would pay for it dearly. No one said it was supposed to be easy. When the prophet of yore said that ‘ye are gods’, he forgot to add that to be gods you must act like gods. And gods don’t make mistakes. We do.

  “So he might be all right, or might not be...” Alec smiled against his will.

  “It is as Einstein said, it’s all relative,” Sacha chuckled at his own pun.

  “Or as Desmond would have said, leave Alberrrrt out of it,” Suzy finally joined in the fun.

  But Sacha was right. The only way you could make it easy on yourself was to completely negate the demands of your personality and merge with the exigencies of the Whole. To achieve this, you would have to become universal in your outlook. A tall order for people who have been taught that strong personality was a good thing. They have been taught great many other things that put brakes on their development.

  “You know, Dad, I’m beginning to think that if everyone left everyone else alone, the world would be a better place.”

  This didn’t come out right. What he meant was that if people stop telling other people what to do, then that which people would start doing would be more universal in nature.

  “I agree son. Not with what you said only with what you had in mind.”

  Suzy looked up, surprised. Alec translated Sacha’s thoughts. She was great at picking up emotions but not abstract patterns of thought. When she finally understood, she nodded repeatedly.

  “I’ve been saying this for years. Perhaps not as precisely. But that was one reason why I stopped reading all those books on religions. Too many of them felt all wrong.”

  Sacha refused to be drawn into this discussion. His own views were as strong, but much less complimentary. But more than anything, he felt great compassion for people who were led by the nose by countless blind shepherds.

  “In order to be an immaculate member of a flock of sheep, one must above all be a sheep oneself,” Alec murmured under his nose.

  “What’s that?” Suzy thought she’d heard a similar, if not the same, sentiment expressed before.

  “I was just quoting Einstein,” Alec admitted. “The old Albert had a good head on his shoulders.”

  The next moment Alec experienced that rare and wonderful flash of memory. He recalled the exact words Sacha had said after Coastal Patrol fished out from the sea the body of the poor man who had just overcome his own nemesis. His inordinate fear of the deep. The man had won and died in the same instant. Sacha had said: I don’t see people as physical objects, Dad. It would be like worrying about a pair of pants that are ready for disposal. It simply doesn’t matter. What matters is if the pants served you well. If they’ve served the purpose for which they were made.” Suddenly Alec felt very proud to be Sacha’s father.

  On the way back to the villa they all walked right along the water’s edge, until Suzy pushed Sacha into an oncoming wave. This started a veritable bedlam. The three acted like ten-year-olds, trying to topple each other into advancing breakers. Alec won the greatest number of successful pushes, but Suzy was the best at screaming. Sacha hasn’t been so happy since he was three.

  That evening Alec was going to drive to LA. He was to give a free lecture tomorrow, and didn’t feel like getting up early in the morning. Suzy turned in early. She was emotionally exhausted. Alicia lingered at the dinner table for a while, but then she, too, retired with a good book. She loved having the children around. They took turns at spoiling her. Yet, she still felt a little tired. As you grow older, rather then grow more immune to the vagrancy of fate you become less resilient. At least Alec and Suzy had each other.

  Sacha didn’t need much sleep. In a way, often he was busier when asleep than during daytime. Pure consciousness never sleeps. But that night, it was not to be. Fate extended her gaunt fingers and took him into her adamant, unpredictable embrace.

  The fog was still stifling. His head and neck hurt as though an army of ants made a meal of his neck and left bare bones exposed to the sopping sky. He was lying prostrated just below the eaves of the tavern where he’d had a few drinks. Surely, just one or two. He seldom if ever drank any more.

  He tried moving his legs. They wouldn’t budge. He was pinned down. It was still too dark to see what was immobilizing him. The lamppost on the corner cast a spherical halo no more than a yard or two in diameter. The dirty yellow gaslight hardly sauntered near enough to be of any use.

  “A stupid way for a physician to behave,” he scolded himself.

  After massaging his neck he managed to prop himself up against the wall. Memory was coming back to him in little snippets. A smoky interior, a drink or two, a dirty mirror, a man tugging at his elbow, Maxine, a forlorn foghorn and then... and then darkness...

  His eyes were getting used to the darkness. He looked at his legs still straight out in front of him under a soft heavy load. It was a human form. He bent forward and pulled the body towards him. He recognized Maxine’s face. She must have lost consciousness for some reason. She was completely pliant.

  He put one hand behind her head to hold it up. There was something warm and sticky behind her. He was a physician. He would know that texture anywhere. It was blood. He pulled his legs from below Maxine’s body and laid her out on the cold pavement. Next he took off his cape and covered her body. She was quite cool and her pulse was weak. Very weak. Not at all the Maxine he’d met before. The last time she’d been bubbling with life––to overflowing.

  “Was it good for ya, luv...?” Her voice reached him in a conspiratorial undertone as though she didn’t want anyone else to hear. “Was it, guv? She needed to know. Was she worried about a just reward for her efforts?

  “Don’t talk. You’re hurt. I’ll get you to a doctor,” he replied in half-whisper.

  What the devil am I saying. I am a doctor. My God, what can I do?

  He felt around the cobblestones to see if he had his bag with him. It wasn’t there. He wouldn’t have brought it with him to this place. They would only steal the contents. They would steal...

  He searched his pockets. His wallet, his watch and the heavy gold fob chain his wife had given him for their first anniversary, even his wedding ring, were all gone. He then remembered the hansom driver. He was nowhere to be seen. Was he the culprit?

  He looked down at Maxine. She rested quietly, probably still hoping that she made it ‘good for him.’ What an incredibly honest woman. She’s bleeding half to death and she’s worried whether she’d carried out her part of the bargain.

  He sat down again and lifted her head onto his lap. She seemed to be breathing normally. How on earth was he supposed to help her here? He wanted to lift her and take her into the tavern. He looked behind him. The
windows were already dark. He took off his jacket, rolled it into a pillow and put it under Maxine’s head. She smiled up at him.

  “Ain’t goin’ already, luv... are ya?” she whispered.

  The door to the tavern was no more than ten paces away. He walked over quickly and knocked on the heavy oak door reinforced with iron bars. Evidently there was need for additional protection. He knocked again. There was no answer. This time he banged the wood with all his might. There was movement inside. A male gruff voice came through a Judas’ hole.

  “If ya don’t stop bangin’ my door, I’m gonna set the dogs on ya.”

  “There is a woman hurt. I need to bring her in. I am a physician,” he said assertively.

  “Sure ya are. And I am the queen of Sheba. You’ve ‘ad enough fer one night. Now, you rowdy son of a bitch, bugger off!” The sound of a man spitting was followed by a shrill whistle.

  Almost immediately a herd of dogs growled in the darkness. It was no use. He made his way back to Maxine. He remembered the publican. He must have been a small man to elevate the floor behind the bar so high. He was probably afraid to open the doors to anyone. This was not the best of neighborhoods.

  “I’ll get you to a hospital, little girl,” he spoke quietly as he gently lifted Maxine’s lithe body from the wet pavement. She didn’t resist. She hung limp in his arms, her head resting against his chest. He carried her to the lamppost. There, in the dim gaslight he looked at her lovely, youthful face. Her eyes were open. They were beautiful, strangely innocent eyes. Only there was no life in them. No life at all.

  Sacha woke up covered in sweat. His jaws were set. For the first time in his life he decided to peek into his own past. If he could. By an act of his will.

  He was rewarded with short, colourful flashes. Images as though painted on glass, which constantly changed shapes. The pictures were accompanied by fragments of knowledge. Of understanding.

  He saw a tall, gaunt man working in a different parts of the East End of London. The man was a physician who had forsaken his fashionable practice and catered only to the poor. He never asked for money. He’d been attacked a few more times. It did not dissuade him. He kept telling himself that if he hadn’t been there, in that tavern that night, Maxine would still be alive. He couldn’t save her. He was trying to save everybody else.