by Jeremy Bates
“Recently?”
“At the full-moon party in Thailand, there was this mushroom bar. We went there with some friends, had mushroom milkshakes. But you have to go down this very steep and narrow staircase to leave. There are no railings. It is dangerous actually. Ben got scared and could not do it. We joked we were going to leave him in the bar. He started to trip out.”
“Why would he do them again?”
“John Scott said the mushrooms were mellow. He would be okay.” She took another toke and passed the joint back.
I inhaled deeply. “Can I ask you something, Nina?” I said.
“You can ask me anything you want, Ethan.”
“Why did you and Ben want to come to Suicide Forest? It’s not exactly a tourist destination.”
She seemed to contemplate this. “Ben wanted to.”
“But why? Just for the hell of it?”
“Ben…he knew someone who committed suicide. The person was very close to him.” She shrugged. “He became obsessed with suicide after this. He watches movies about it, reads books, everything. I think he wants to understand it better, understand why people choose such a fate. So when he heard about this forest, he wanted to see it for himself. See if it would…help him to understand. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, I think so.”
“What about you, Ethan? Why are you here?”
“Because you and Ben invited us.”
“You do not have any secret obsession with suicide?”
I hesitated. “No,” I said. “No obsession.”
“I see. So—what are you doing out here?”
“You mean in the woods?”
“Yes, by yourself.”
I forgot that Nina had been away during the phone incident.
“I had a fight with Mel.”
“When?”
“Forty-five minutes ago or so.”
“Do you always walk alone in the forest after a fight?”
“There weren’t too many other places to go.”
“You have been with your girlfriend for a long time?”
I found it odd how she referred to Mel as “my girlfriend.” She knew her name. I wasn’t calling Ben “her boyfriend”…or was I? I couldn’t recall. My thoughts had become foggy.
I offered her what was left of the joint. She shook her head so I stubbed it out.
“Well?” she prodded.
“What was the question again?”
“How long have you been with your girlfriend?”
“About four years.”
“You are American?”
“Yup.”
“I have never dated an American.”
I blinked.
“I have dated a German, Italian… Hmmm, and a Greek. No Americans.”
I started giggling—quietly. I didn’t want the others back at camp to hear.
“What is so funny?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe you are high.”
“I think so.”
“How about you?”
“How about me what?”
“Have you dated an American?”
“Yeah, I’ve dated an American. Mel’s American.”
“Oh, I see. Who else? What other country?”
“None,” I said.
It was Nina’s turn to giggle.
“What?” I said.
“You are a world virgin, Ethan.”
“A world virgin?”
She nodded.
I guess I was.
“Hey,” I said. “I was wondering. You mentioned you had a bad experience couch surfing. What happened? I mean, if it’s personal or whatever, you don’t have to tell me…”
“No, I can tell you, Ethan. It is in the past.” She appeared thoughtful, as if she was working the story out in her head, or at least how to begin. She said, “I was in Pakistan, going to India. A couch surfer in New Delhi said I could stay at her place. I thought it was a single woman, but it turned out to be an entire family. Her husband and their four children. The place was small, but they were very nice people. They cooked for me every day.”
“Curry?” The thought of vindaloo beef or butter chicken made me realize how hungry I was. I could have done with a large pizza right about then.
“Yes. I ate so much. It was all vegetarian. Very healthy. I was only planning on spending a couple days in Delhi. I wanted to go to Agra, and if I had time, Jaipur. But I was having such a good time with them I ended up staying an entire week.”
“You never went to the Taj Mahal?”
She shook her head.
“You know there was supposed to be a black one made too?”
“What happened to it?”
“I guess the shah changed his mind.”
“I think that is a myth.”
“It’s not a myth.”
“Do you have any more interesting facts to tell me?”
“Are you patronizing me?”
“Are you done interrupting me?”
“Go ahead.”
“So,” Nina said with emphasis, feigning annoyance with me—or at least I thought she was only feigning, “my next destination was China. The day before my flight the woman’s brother came by for dinner. He got drunk and stayed there overnight.”
“Hindus can drink alcohol?”
“Of course, Ethan. Hinduism does not forbid anything. There is no bad karma if drinking is done in moderation. You are thinking of Islam.”
“No, I’m not. I know the difference between Hinduism and Islam.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course.”
“Because Muslims ruled India for a long time. Perhaps that is why you have gotten confused with the different religions.”
“I’m not confused. I just thought—” I shook my head. “Whatever.” I was too damn high to know whether she was messing with me, though I suspected she was. “So did you get to China?” I asked, to move on.
“You keep distracting me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You said you would not do it anymore.”
“I won’t.”
“I hope not.” She crossed her legs in front of her. “What? What is wrong?”
“Huh?”
“You are looking at my legs.”
“Oh.” I felt my cheeks redden. “You’re still wearing shorts. I—I was wondering if your legs were cold.”
“They are fine, Ethan.”
I took a deep breath and tried to act normal. “So what happened with your family?”
“After dinner that evening, the evening I was telling you about before you wanted to know if my legs were cold, I went to bed early because I had an early flight the next morning. The brother who stayed the night was a taxi driver. He offered to drive me to the airport. His taxi was parked right out front. It seemed perfectly safe.” She gave me a look, as if I would challenge this.
“Yeah?”
“New Delhi is a big city. I had no idea where the airport was. Everything looked the same to me. But the longer we drove, the more I got the feeling we were not going in the right direction.”
“How long did you drive around for?”
“By this time, twenty, thirty minutes. Traffic in that city is so bad. But it was early. Not so many cars. So we should have been to the airport already. Fifteen minutes later I was sure we were nowhere near the airport and I told him to stop. He pulled down an alleyway. I was very scared now. But I had this huge backpack. I could not run away. When I got out he grabbed me and…” She paused for a long moment. “He pinned me against the car and lifted up my dress. I tried to scream, but my chest was so tight I could not make a noise. While he was working to get his pants off, I pushed him away—and I am not kidding, Ethan—I karate chopped him in the throat. That is the best way to stop an attacker. The groin, the neck, or the eyes. I karate chopped him like this”—she demonstrated on me, only pulling the chop short before she bruised my Adam’s apple—“and he released me.”
&nbs
p; “Holy shit. Did you tell the police?”
She shook her head.
“The guy tried to rape you!”
“If I told the police, I would be stuck in New Delhi for a long time. Right then, I just wanted to leave. Besides, it was my word against his.”
I could sort of understand. She didn’t want to get stuck in red tape in a developing nation. And India was India, a patriarchal society. The authorities might have dismissed her story out of hand. Still, it seemed incomprehensible that this guy could simply walk free.
“What about his sister—the one hosting you? Did you tell her what happened?”
“I considered that. But by the time I landed in China and was with my next host, it seemed like it happened a long time ago, in a different world. After how nice she was, I did not think I could tell her what her brother tried to do.”
“What if he attacks someone else?”
“I know, Ethan. I am not happy with how things turned out. Sometimes that is life.” She shrugged. “Anyway, that is my bad experience couch surfing.”
“I don’t know what to say. I’m—I’m happy you were okay.”
“Thank you, Ethan.”
I nodded lamely. I didn’t know what else to do. I’m not good with condolences. This is because ever since Gary’s death I’m usually on the receiving end of them, and I’m well aware of how awkward and trivial they sound.
“Hey,” I said, remembering something. “Back when we were collecting wood, and we found that body—”
“You were sick.”
“I bumped right into it. I touched it. The smell…”
“I understand.”
“Did you and Ben see the crucifixes hanging from the trees?”
“Crucifixes? No.”
“None of them?”
“We saw the paint on the tree. We were examining it when we heard you yell. We saw you pushing away from the body.” She snickered.
“You think that was funny?”
“It looked like you were dancing with it. That is what I thought. That you were dancing with it. Then you turned around and vomited.”
“So Ben freaked out because of the body?”
“Have you ever done mushrooms?”
“Yeah.”
“Imagine being on them here and seeing a dead body—especially one that looked like the one we saw. I think I would have reacted the same. So what about these crucifixes?”
“They were made from sticks. There were at least a dozen of them, hanging from branches.” I hesitated. “And they were moving.”
“Moving?”
“Swinging back and forth. Like there was a wind. But I don’t think there was a wind.”
Nina frowned. “Are you trying to scare me, Ethan?”
“No—”
“Is this a ghost story?”
“It’s what I saw.” I shrugged. “I don’t know. There must have been a wind.”
“Strong enough to blow the crucifixes? You would have felt it.”
“There’s no other explanation.”
“Yes, there is. You just do not want to acknowledge what it might be.” She took her camera out of her pocket and passed it to me. “There is a photograph I want to show you.”
I powered the device on and pressed the Play button. A photograph of Tomo, Neil, John Scott, and Mel appeared. They were sitting at the campfire.
“The one of everyone by the fire?” I asked.
“Yes, that one.”
“When did you take this?”
“A little earlier when you were gone.”
“What about it?”
“You will see.”
I studied the picture more closely. Smoke billowed up from the fire before them, masking much of the right side of the photo—and in it was something that…wasn’t smoke. The edges were too hard, too defined, and it was a slightly different color, lighter, almost white.
“You see it, yes?” Nina said.
“You think it’s a ghost?”
“I do not know what it is. How about you?”
A shiver had shot down my spine, as if a cold finger had touched me at the base of my neck. Swinging crucifixes—and now this?
“I don’t believe in ghosts,” I said.
“Then what is it?”
I had no answer. I used the zoom function to magnify the image. The longer I looked, the more I thought I could almost see the vague formation of a face.
“A light reflection?” I said.
“It is nighttime, Ethan.”
“A dirty lens?”
“I took more pictures. Look. That mark is only on that one.”
I pressed the button to scroll right. There were a number of shots of the forest, including one of the dog kennel and several of the signs we passed on the way into the forest. There was one of Mt. Fuji through what appeared to be a train window. The bronze statue of the famous dog Hachioji, which was a popular meeting spot at Shibuya station.
Nina naked.
She stood in a room facing a wall mirror. A white towel was wrapped around her head. Her back and the upper half of her buttocks were visible.
I should have turned off the camera. Instead I clicked right. Nina again, this time reaching for the camera, as if to stop the shot from being taken. This one left nothing to the imagination.
The next was of Nina in a bra and panties, brushing her hair. The one after that of a large airplane docked at an airport boarding gate.
I returned to the photograph of the campfire and the supposed ghost. I cleared my throat. “Yeah, I don’t know what to make of it.”
“You see, it was not a dirty lens.”
I handed the camera back to her. “No…”
“But you think there must be a rational explanation.”
“Don’t you?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. I am too high to think of rational explanations right now.”
I recalled how I’d felt earlier in the day when we’d started down the secondary trail. The shapes I’d thought I could see in the twisted tree trunks and clumps of roots.
“We’re projecting,” I said.
“Huh?”
“Like when you see a giraffe or an elephant in the clouds. They’re not really there. But you want to see them, so you project.”
“Were you projecting when you saw the crucifixes swinging?”
“I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I guess I probably was.”
“You know, Ethan,” Nina said with a discerning smile, “you are an awful liar.”
I spent another half hour or so talking to Nina. I didn’t mention the naked photos of her, and she didn’t either, if she even knew they were on the camera. Then my phone rang.
I fumbled it out of my pocket, cursing myself for not powering it off. The last thing I needed was Mel thinking I was chatting it up with Shelly in the woods. I glanced at the screen and hesitated. It was a blocked number.
I pressed the Talk button. “Hello?”
Silence.
“Hello?”
A scratchy voice: “Why you in my forest?”
For a moment I couldn’t breathe let alone reply—until I realized it was Derek, had to be Derek, trying to scare me. “Fuck you, Miller,” I said. “I know it’s you.”
“Why you in my foresssssst?”
It’s not Derek, it doesn’t sound anything like him.
“Who is this?” I demanded.
A dial tone.
I stared at my phone, iced to the bone.
“Who was that?” Nina asked, concerned.
“A…friend.”
“You asked who it was.”
“He was trying to scare me.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked why I was in his forest.”
“My goodness, Ethan! Are you sure it was your friend?”
“Who else could it be?”
“Check the number.”
“It was blocked.”
“Did you recognize his voice?”
“No�
�yeah. He was disguising it.”
“What did it sound like?”
“Like—like a Japanese person.”
“Scary?”
“Yeah.”
“Like a Japanese ghost?”
“What does a Japanese ghost sound like?”
“This is not funny.”
“I know. I’m going to kick his ass when I see him.”
“This is wrong, Ethan. It is very wrong.”
“Nina, it’s okay—calm down.”
“Are you sure it was your friend?”
“Yes…positive.”
“Call him back.”
“You can’t call blocked numbers.”
“Call his real number.”
Nodding, I dialed it. After seven unanswered rings I hung up.
“See?” I told her. “He knows I know. He’s not picking up.”
“I hope you are right.”
“Who else could it be?”
“Maybe it really was—”
“No, it wasn’t, Nina.”
My eyes had become dry and my eyelids droopy from the pot, and Derek’s prank phone call had scared me sober, so I told Nina I was going to crash. Back at the camp the fire was mostly smoldering charcoal. Everyone had retired to their tents. I glanced around for John Scott, wondering where he had chosen to sleep. I didn’t see him anywhere.
I slipped my phone into Mel’s backpack, so I wouldn’t roll onto it while I slept, then crept into our tent, hoping Mel wouldn’t smell the marijuana on me. She was against the far wall beneath one of those emergency space-age blankets. I’ve never used one, and I was curious to discover whether they actually provided any warmth or not. I slipped off my shoes, lifted the blanket, and slid in beside her, mindful not to get too close.
“Hey,” I said softly.
She didn’t reply.
“Are you awake?”
“No.”
“I want to explain about Shelly—”
“Don’t mention her name.”
“I want to explain about her—”
“Not now.”
“It’s important.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“When?”
No answer.
“Mel?”
“Goodnight.”
I almost explained anyway, but I didn’t want to risk getting kicked out of the tent. I shifted to get more comfortable. The ground was hard. So far I detected no heat benefit from the blanket.
Laying there in the dark, still wide awake, I contemplated Mel, and our relationship, and wondered how things had gotten so fucked up so quickly. After replaying our earlier argument, I pushed the matter from my mind, telling myself it would work itself out in the morning.
