by Katy Gardner
I stared at her uncomprehendingly. For a moment her words made complete sense, and then—like a pile of balls being juggled in the air—they suddenly collapsed.
“You mean, you’ve got two names?” I said slowly. My voice was beginning to sound strange now: too slurred and then suddenly too quick. Next to me, Coral had started to roll another joint.
“Sure. My guru gave the new one to me.”
She gazed at me for a moment, then started to laugh. Next to her, Gemma was chuckling, too. They knew something I didn’t, I thought wildly; they were in league. That was it. The whole thing was a plot against me. I stared wildly at Coral and then at Gemma, my palms sweating. It was definitely a trap. Then Coral lit the joint, put it to her lips, and suddenly I understood. It was all perfectly fine. They were as stoned as me.
We smoked in silence. My thoughts kept tumbling into strange images and sequences, then I’d remember where I was, and rein them in again. I imagined we were on a train, then jerked back into reality. Staring at the top of the table, I was suddenly engrossed by the pattern in the grainy wood. There were faces there, I thought, and they were watching me. I dragged my eyes away and suddenly saw Gemma and Coral exchange glances and collapse into another bout of giggling. They seemed a very long way away.
Then suddenly everything was normal and Coral was saying something completely mundane about the heat and passing the joint onto me. I took it from her, puffed at it for what felt like about an hour but was probably only thirty seconds, and passed it onto Gemma. My mind kept slithering into nonsense. I could feel my mouth hanging open, my hands lying like lumps of stone in my lap. I stared at Gemma and then at Coral and suddenly realized that their faces had changed. In fact, they were no longer human. They had turned into lizards.
“Arrrrghh!”
“What?”
I jumped up, caught my feet in the bottom of the chair, and half fell across the table.
“You . . .” I looked up at Gemma. She had turned back into a person again; her hair flopping over her face, her eyes small and bloodshot. Everything was perfectly, one-hundred-percent fine; I was just stoned.
“Gem . . .”
The words clogged in my mouth, like sodden balls of cotton wool. And now Gemma and Coral were looking at each other in slow motion and laughing hysterically, their faces contorted, the veins on their necks standing out.
“You’re off your head,” said Gemma eventually.
“I’m fine.”
I blinked at her in confusion. Was that really all this was about?
“So why did you scream like that?”
“I don’t know . . .”
“Perhaps the dope is, like, too powerful for you?” Coral was saying. She glanced at Gemma, and once again something seemed to pass between them.
“What are you saying?”
“Nothing. Jesus, Esther. You’ve really got the paranoias. You need to lie down.”
“Like I said, I’m fine.”
I picked up the water bottle, held it unsteadily to my mouth, and took a long drink. This was horrible: how had I allowed myself to get in such a state? In fact, I now remembered with fleeting lucidity, I’d never enjoyed getting stoned. Ever since my twenty-first birthday—when I’d got so off my head that I could only crawl around my room mewing—I’d vowed to never touch the stuff again. Speed and coke were more my things: I liked to be able to dance and talk all night, to feel alive, not as if my mind was mired in thick, gloopy glue.
“I’m going down to the village,” said Coral, standing up. “There’s someone I gotta call.”
“Then after that, we’ll go for an explore, yeah?”
She looked back at Gemma and winked. “Sure thing. Catch you later!”
Picking up her bag, she walked out of the bungalow. I could hear her footsteps on the veranda and then, a few moments later, crunching down the path. She must be used to the Orissan dope, I thought, for she seemed completely sober.
Gemma and I sat opposite each other at the table, staring into space. There was a prolonged silence which seemed to become increasingly laden with meaning, then I leaned over and picked up a slice of bread, and everything shifted again. Gemma’s eyes were closed, I realized. The silence meant nothing for she was as out of it as me. I stuffed the bread into my mouth. It was claggy and tasteless, like cardboard.
Now was the time to clear the air, I thought. I’d tell Gemma I didn’t mind about Coral joining us and perhaps she would explain why she hadn’t informed me of her plans. We would reassert our bond. If only I wasn’t so stoned.
“So,” I said after some more time. “It’s nice that Coral’s here, isn’t it?”
“Uh-huh.”
She gazed at me noncommittally. I paused, looking at her through the blue smoke. She was scratching at her arms and looking vacantly across the room, her eyes red and heavy lidded.
“Did you tell her where we were going to be?” I suddenly said. I knew it wasn’t the way I should have phrased it, but the words just popped out of my mouth. Gemma looked up, her face defensive.
“No.”
She was staring at me now, her expression suddenly sharp and focused. Why had I thought she was stoned?
“So how did she find us?” I muttered.
“What’s the big deal?”
It was too late. Everything was slowing down again.
“I just . . . thought . . .”
“Uh-huh . . .”
“. . . that we’d agreed . . .”
There was a long, unbearable silence.
“. . . not to.”
Gemma smiled. Or was it a grimace? I no longer had a clue.
“Gem . . .” I said slowly.
She looked up. I was struggling for words, aware that it would be better to say nothing, yet unable to stop myself.
“Is everything . . .”
Another long silence.
“You know . . .”
“What?”
“. . . Okay?”
“Okay?”
“I mean . . . Like, you know . . .”
She was gazing at me, her pupils so small they had virtually disappeared. Suddenly I felt inspired. This was the wrong way to proceed. I should stop going on about Coral, it just riled her. What I should do was just give her a big hug and tell her how much I loved her. Perhaps she thought I was still upset about the money belt. I gazed at her, fleetingly convinced that this was all it would take.
“I, like, do love you,” I announced. But even as I said it my heart sank.
Gemma blinked. Then her hands flew up over her face, she rocked back in her chair and she howled with laughter again.
12
AFTER about an hour of fumbling around the bungalow we eventually set off for the village. The outside air made me feel better. I took a deep breath, trying to focus on the sky and the trees. We’d only smoked two or three joints, I kept telling myself. It surely wouldn’t take long for the effects to wear off. And the scene with Gemma—that was just because I was stoned, nothing more.
We found Coral sitting on the sidewalk outside the post office, pretending to sort through her bag as a large group of young men ogled at the strange spectacle of a bare-armed, blond-haired Western woman.
“Jesus,” she said, standing up with relief as we approached. “Anyone would think I’d come from Mars.”
“Well, I guess that in some ways you have.” I smiled at her. To be honest I was pleased to see her looking so flustered. And I really was beginning to feel more normal. The only remaining effects of the spliffs were slightly blurred vision and the impression that everything around me had slowed down.
“Did you make your call okay?”
“Nah. It was hopeless. Apparently all the connections from here are really dodgy.”
We started walking down the high street, the onlookers following close behind. Their gaze made my back tighten self-consciously. I was wearing a long dress that I’d assumed would be appropriate for visiting a religious site, but it was so
hot that the thin material was clinging to my body. Wherever I looked men were watching. One spotty youth was walking so close that I could feel the soft brush of his fingers on my thighs. I glared back at him.
“Fuck off,” I muttered, only half expecting him to hear or understand. He blinked at me in surprise, then his eyes dipped away from my face and he was gone.
“What shall we do now?” said Gemma, looking at Coral. “Shall we try and find this famous, world-transforming shrine?”
Her face shone with excitement, I noticed resentfully, as if now that Coral was involved, she thought it was the best idea ever.
“I asked about it at the post office,” Coral replied. “There was this sweet old guy, who said it was on his family’s land, or something? You go down that path there, into the forest, and it’s a kilometer or so down the track.”
“Come on then, let’s do it.”
I followed somewhat unsteadily as Coral and Gemma strode across the street, stepping over the open drains which gurgled at the edge of the jagged pavement. The crowd of onlookers had dispersed now, the place settling back into its normal routine like water smoothing after the rippling disturbance of a skidding stone. Rickshaws creaked past, their drivers whistling; children spilled shrieking from the gates of the school; a bus roared through, honking its horn at the stray dogs which lay nonchalantly in the road. Everything was one-hundred-percent hunky-dory, I kept telling myself; we were going to look for the shrine, stay the night in the bungalow, then head off. It was true that everything was oddly muffled, but it was just the residues of the dope; soon it would wear off.
When we reached the junction we stopped, shielding our eyes from the sun and looking around. The path led down the hill into dense forest. Beside a small, red-splattered effigy of Ganesh at its opening, there was no sign that it was anything more than a track for cattle or goats.
“It doesn’t look right to me. It’s too small.”
“Ah well, let’s take a look and see.”
Coral edged past, smiling at me and squeezing my arm.
“At least those guys aren’t following us anymore,” she whispered. “Your stare-out tactic seems to have worked.”
I glanced at her in surprise. As I gazed into her large blue eyes, the animosity which had enveloped me like a rank shroud all morning fell away. Why had I felt so hostile? As we stood together in swift and unexpected solidarity, I could no longer remember.
We set off down the path, which wound through the tangled trees. For a few final moments we remained under the bright sun, then the canopy closed above us and the world turned green, the few rays of light which penetrated the thick roof falling to the dank ground in dusty, insect-buzzing spirals. For a second or so I was disoriented; I rubbed at my eyes, trying to concentrate on keeping my feet moving. I was beginning to feel strange again.
We walked further into the forest. In some places the track was crossed by a stream; in others it disintegrated into a bog and we had to pick our way through the mud, holding our skirts up with our fingers. Despite the shade it was greenhouse hot, the humidity rising up over the path in steamy clouds.
After about five minutes Gemma suddenly stopped. Sighing heavily, she tucked the hem of her dress into her underwear.
“Bollocks, it’s suffocating.”
She turned to Coral, assuming her to be the leader. “Are you positive this is right?”
“Sure it is. We just have to trust.”
“And these little sods, like, keep biting my face?”
I looked at her. Her T-shirt was sticking sweatily to her back and shoulders, her cheeks shiny.
“But thank the Gods for the insect repellent, Gem?” Coral was saying.
“Yeah, but it itches like buggery.”
I opened my mouth. I wanted to say something affectionate, something to reassert my place as Gemma’s closest friend, but all I could think of was that she’d used so much of the stuff that she smelled like a petrol bomb. The moment seemed to last forever and then we were trudging on and my opportunity to speak had gone.
We reached a small glade and stopped, panting and peering around in search of the track. Above us a small colony of monkeys perched in the branches, apparently oblivious to our intrusion. They were eating some kind of exotic fruit which they stuffed greedily into their mouths, spitting the chewed peel onto the ground like delinquent children. They were remarkably beautiful, I thought as I stared up at them: their eyes as expressive and meaningful as any human’s. Why had I never noticed that before? In fact I was so transfixed by the incredible and profound spirituality of the one nearest to me that I was unable to move another step.
“I mean, like, how could this be the path to a major shrine?” Gemma suddenly said. I was right, I thought with a flash of lucidity. She was talking like Coral. I started and the monkey was gone, leaping across the tree in a single elegant bound. Next to me Gemma was wiping her forehead with the back of her hand.
“It’s too small!” She looked at me petulantly, her face glistening.
“It’s just a monkey,” I whispered.
“Just stay with it,” Coral was cooing at her now. “It, like, has to be right.”
Uncharacteristically, Gemma simply smiled at her and shrugged. “You’re the boss.”
There was a long pause which seemed to last another hour. Then I was staring at a leaf, watching a tiny red spider crawl across it. It must seem such a vast terrain to a creature so small, I thought in amazement, my little finger a towering mountain.
“Let’s just go around one more bend,” I heard Coral say. “And if we can’t see it we’ll head back, right?”
Gemma nodded.
“Okay.”
“Look,” I said thickly, “there’s a spider! And it’s so small! Isn’t it incredible?”
Gemma hunched her back, not looking at me.
“All I think is that it’s too hot.”
We continued to batter our way through the vegetation. This time I went first in the mistaken belief that if I kept walking I would sober up. The path seemed to be growing progressively narrow, the overhanging creepers so thick in places that I had to bash them back with a stick. I wished I was wearing heavier shoes; a few meters earlier I’d noticed a large leech clinging to a buttress root; I didn’t like to think what might be happening to my ankles. I stumbled on, whistling loudly to try to make myself feel better. The path turned another bend.
“Just one more, and then we’ll go back,” I muttered, even though Coral and Gemma were lagging far behind, walking so slowly that they seemed on the verge of giving up. I glanced back at them and started to trudge toward the final bend which curled out of sight down the hill, all the time taking deep inhalations of air in order to get more oxygen to my brain. Over the last few minutes my thoughts had started to become jumbled again. I kept imagining I was at home: the long roots which hung from the canopy of trees the curtains of my childhood bedroom, the leafy ground the thick, shag-pile carpet. It should have been easy: we were in the forest, looking for the shrine, but I kept forgetting where I was. I could feel the brush of leaves against my face, and very distantly, the mutter of Gemma’s and Coral’s voices, but everything else had grown silent, as if I was walking through a tunnel. I took another gulp of air, turned the final corner, and suddenly I was standing at the opening of a large clearing.
Bright sunlight streamed relentlessly through the broken canopy. I blinked, trying to steady myself as I gazed around. It was the shrine, I saw with a jolt. That was what I was meant to be looking for and that was what I had found.
And there it was, directly ahead of me: a huge stone edifice, rising from the undergrowth like the battered hull of a wrecked ship. The forest was on the verge of claiming it, for creepers and ivy had spread across its crumbling stone walls, in places pulling it down so successfully that all that remained of the original construction was a pile of mossy rubble. On the other side of the walls, I realized as I took a few hesitant steps toward it, was the actual tomb.
When I reached them I pushed the thick foliage back with my fingers and saw the faded outlines of stars, a crescent moon, and Arabic lettering inscribed into the soft, lichen-covered stone. Beyond this lay a slab of what seemed to be deep red granite, on top of which someone had placed a large garland, its once white flowers now brown and rotting. Surrounding the shrine, long poles festooned with ragged silk flags were stuck into the ground; although there was no discernible breeze, they rustled as they moved gently to and fro. On the other side of the clearing was a small pool of water encircled by coconut trees. Opposite this, a track led into the undergrowth to a small whitewashed mosque.
The clearing was strangely still. I stepped into the pool of light, sniffing the hot air. For a moment I couldn’t place the heavy scent, then I noticed a stick of incense smoldering in a small brass pot on the ground. Someone must have been here very recently, but now the place was deserted, so quiet that all I could hear was my own soft breath and the rustle of leaves. On the path I had been feeling slurred and dreamy but now I was wide awake, my skin prickling with unease. Something was wrong, I thought; this was not a good place to be.
Suddenly, behind me, a coconut plopped into the pool. I started and spun round. It must have been the shape of branches against the light, or my own befuddled eyes, but for a moment, as I glanced at the trees on the other side of the tomb, I thought I saw a figure dart between the trunks. I peered into the dappled light, my pulse quickening. Perhaps it was just an animal in the undergrowth, but there had been a strange cry, too, a shout of anger or of pain.
From the path I could hear footsteps and, as they rounded the corner, Coral’s and Gemma’s voices.
“Jeez, we’ve finally found it!” Coral said loudly, striding past me to the side of the tomb where she laid her hands on the stone wall and took a deep, exaggerated breath.
“Oh yeah,” she said softly. “Yeah, I can really feel the energy.”
Closing her eyes, she took another breath and sank slowly to her knees, her head bowed as if in prayer. I stared at her, dimly registering how pretentious she was being; I must have imagined the man, I was thinking. It was an illusion, brought on by the heat and the dope.
