"I couldn’t help but notice you looking at the treatments I’ve been having. Please, allow me to introduce myself. I’m Ashoka Paignton, and this is my mother Eswara."
"Your mother?" she said in surprise, for the woman looked far too young to be the parent of such a handsome young giant.
The beautiful dark-haired woman smiled. "For my sins."
"My, you look far too youthful and delicate."
"Thank you, my dear. You have children, do you not?"
She blinked in surprise. "Yes, two boys in fact. Five and three. Darren and Gavin."
"How fortunate for you. Boys are lovely, and adorable at that age. Though I wouldn’t have minded a sister for this rather boisterous young chap."
"Yes, I’m very blessed. A girl would have been nice, but, alas, it was not to be." Bryony shrugged.
"So is it because of the boys that you come here?" she asked.
"No, they’re very well now. They had a bad case of measles, but the doctor over at Millcote, Dr. Sanderson, helped cure them."
"For your husband then?"
"No, I’m a widow."
"Ah, as am I."
"No, I’m coming for a friend," Bryony explained. "He was badly injured in the war. I know his doctor recommended him coming here, and he did for a time. Now he refuses. Says there’s no point, that he’s tired of the pain and struggle for so little result."
The golden-eyed lovely woman gave a wan smile. "I’m sorry to hear that. I’ve been all over England looking for a cure for Ash, and have found nothing so efficacious as this. This and my own treatments of him with medicine from my country."
"Forgive me for asking, but what is your country? You have a slight accent, but I can’t place it."
"We’re from India. I had an English father, as did Ash."
"India. How fascinating. Would you mind telling me more?" Bryony moved closer, and made as if to sit on the damp tiles herself.
Mother and son exchanged looks, and each gave the other an imperceptible nod. The lovely woman was one of the few English people who did not seem to hold their being different against them. Eswara had the feeling the girl was going to become an important part of their lives in some way, and so she nodded.
"Not at all. But I think we were speaking of your friend refusing to seek treatment. What is the nature of his symptoms? I am a healer in my own country, you see, and I find that sometimes Western medicine does not always have the best cures for certain diseases."
"He’s paralysed from the waist down. He has some feeling, but not much. His legs can’t support his weight."
Bryony, fascinated by the golden-eyed woman and her son, watched even more closely now as Eswara worked on what she told her was called massage.
"Forgive the question, but is he well in all other respects? His maleness, for example?"
"Oh, we don’t, I mean, he’s not--" She blushed furiously. "I mean, he can, sometimes, he told me, and I have noticed myself that he can, but it just upsets him so--"
"I understand. Bowels, urine?" she asked in her forthright manner.
She blushed again. "I um-- He has control over them, if that’s what you’re asking me."
"So quite clearly he has some sensations and signals and is able to control them. Everything seems to be functioning normally. Or just about."
Bryony nodded. "When you put it like that, well, yes."
"But what about his state of mind? Did he tell you how he was injured?"
"Exploding shell, hot shrapnel is what he said. The Battle of Toulouse in April 1814. As for his state of mind, he’s plagued by nightmares and he has funny turns. He loses awareness of the things around him for several minutes at a time. He also constantly washes his hands, looks at them with an appalled expression. He’s terrified of blood. His appetite is poor, and he can't eat meat any longer."
"Does he abuse laudanum or opiates?"
Bryony shook her head. "Oh no, not at all. In fact, it might be part of the problem. He’s always in so much pain. He won’t take anything for it, not even more than a glass of wine at the most on rare occasions. He dreads the thought of losing control, or dependent, and so he takes nothing. He thinks it’s his punishment on earth for what he did during the war. He avoids people because he fears contaminating them.
"But really, he’s a wonderful man. He’s kind and intelligent and wonderful with my two sons. Then he goes off into this dark, grim place, and it’s like he isn’t even in the same room. He doesn’t even feel me touch him. His nightmares are the same. He doesn’t even notice me in the bed."
She blushed when she realised what it sounded like. "I mean, I come in when he shouts. I can’t just leave him screaming like a soul in torment. But he never knows I’m there, and I leave as soon as he’s calm."
Eswara looked at her son, and said, "That’s quite enough for now, my lad." She signalled for the attendants to help him out and get him dressed. "I’ll see you in the Pump Room, darling," she said, kissing him on the cheek.
"I know, ladies’ talk. Take your time." With a wink for her and a polite nod to Bryony, he was taken out and wheeled away.
Once they were settled in the Pump Room with some of the Bath's mineral waters, Eswara asked gently, "And are you in love with him, your Michael?"
Bryony sighed. She couldn’t believe she had confessed so much to a total stranger, but she had no one else in whom to confide, and it had been so long since she had had a friend of her very own.
She nodded. "I think I am. But I can’t be sure. I mean, there’s so much I don’t know about him. About men too.
"My marriage was terrible. My husband was vicious, cruel at times. I’m afraid of men, even more afraid of myself sometimes. There are parts of me that long to be loved and held, and parts of me that say it’s just too dangerous. Parts of me with secret desires I hardly dare admit even to myself," she said in a whisper. "When I’m in the bed with Michael, you know?"
Eswara nodded wisely. "Yes, I know."
"On the one hand, I know I’m safe with him as he is at the moment. On the other hand, he’s a man. As soon as he gets well he, er, well, he poses a threat."
"You’re so sure he can get well?" she asked pointedly.
Bryony nodded at once. "I believe it. I’m not so sure he’s being completely honest with me, or himself. Perhaps not deliberately lying, if you see what I mean, but more like not recognising his progress. Not making a conscious effort to take more strides on his road to recovery. He doesn’t really want to get well, I’m sure of it. It goes back to the guilt he feels for whatever he did during the war."
"I see. What do you think he feels guilty about?"
Bryony took a sip of her sharp-tasting water, thought for a time, and then said, "He was a real career soldier. He enjoyed it, he said. The killing. Now the thought sickens him. Sometimes he can barely eat. The smell of meat when the servants have their meals is enough to set him off at times, completely sicken him. I don’t know if it’s healthy to eat only vegetables or not."
Eswara smiled reassuringly. "Many of my people are actually vegetarian. I used to be. Vegetarianism, known in Sanskrit as Shakahara, was for thousands of years a principle of health and environmental ethics throughout India. Though Muslim and Christian colonisation radically undermined and eroded this ideal, it remains to this day a cardinal ethic of Hindu thought and practices. A subtle sense of guilt persists among Hindus who eat meat. But living in England made it difficult for my son and I to maintain the ideal."
"I see. Well, in any case, I do my best for him, though I feel it is little enough."
Eswara considered in silence what Bryony had told her. At length she said, "I can see you care about this man very much. I can help you and your friend, if you in turn will help me."
"Help you? How?" Bryony asked in surprise. She could scarcely even help herself or her sons.
"I would like someone to help me with Ash, to tend to his needs here at the baths and also to take care of his treatment. Massage for example,
rubbing the body with your hands and some oils to heal it as you have seen."
"Er, his whole body?" Bryony asked, colouring to the roots of her hair.
"Most of it. Ninety percent, shall we say."
"My manhood is so large you can say eighty, Mother," Ash joked as he wheeled up, now dressed handsomely in a dark suit and crisp white shirt.
He really was the most remarkable-looking young man. She found herself comparing him to Michael, and wondering what their own children would look like, if they were ever to have any one day.
But first she had to get him to see himself as capable. And then get him to be capable with her.
Eswara laughed. "Stop that, Ash. You’ll scare the poor girl off before we’ve even begun your treatments."
"Oh, I wouldn’t know what to do," she protested.
"I will show you, and what you learn, you can use on your Michael. Often one can heal with skill, but I’m a great believer in love as well. If you love him and are patient, all things are possible. If he wants to walk one day, then he will. If he wishes to be free of pain there are things we can give him which will help and not make him dependent or mindless."
Bryony hesitated only a moment. "When would you like me to begin?"
Eswara smiled. "Tomorrow?"
She looked to her son for confirmation and he nodded.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
So Bryony went to visit Eswara and her son Ashoka in their fine rooms in the Royal Crescent, and began to learn about therapeutic massage.
She started with simple things like his back and shoulders, and even her own hands. And as she worked, she learned more about India and the fascinating mother and son she was fast becoming friends with.
"So what does the name Ashoka mean?" she asked him one day as she was working her way down his back, and admiring the room, which was exotically decorated in gold, emerald and sapphire silks.
"Ashoka was a third century B.C. Emperor of India who is remembered as one of the world’s earliest and most important social innovators. After uniting the Indian sub-continent, which we believe was all of southeast Asia by force, Ashoka was stricken with remorse and renounced violence.
"Ashoka then dedicated the rest of his life to the peaceful promotion of social welfare, economic development, and tolerance for all religions. He instituted the region’s first medical services, launched a vast well-digging program, and developed the first comprehensive administrative structure in southern Asia.
"Ashoka also planted thousands of shade trees along India’s hot and dusty roads. The ashoka trees are supposed to be bridges between heaven and earth the same as the tree or the rainbow in Celtic thought. In Sanskrit, Ashoka means the absence of sorrow."
"And Eswara?" she asked, turning to his mother.
"It means God, a particular manifestation of our main Divine being, who is called Brahma. It’s a pure spirit, like the holy ghost in your religion. The absence of any material desires. It can be both feminine and masculine, or perhaps one could say it can be without any gender."
"And what is your medicine called again? Ayurvedic?"
Eswara nodded, pleased with her pupil's aptitude. "Yes. That’s right. It is not so very different from the medieval Western theories about each character being influenced by the humours, such as blood, black bile, yellow bile, and phlegm. Our humours are different, but the principle of keeping all of the humours in balance is the same.
"For example, one can tell a great deal about the body from its wastes, and people are said to be too sanguine, or full of blood, especially from eating too much red meat. There are also said to be six different chakras in the body, seats of energy, for example that of the mind and one of the genitals. They too must be in balance."
Bryony's eyes shone with excitement at all she was learning. "I do wish you would come see—"
The older woman shook her head. "He’s not ready, from what you tell me. No, I can introduce him to his healing path if I teach you. You are a good healer, and may even be a great one, if you let go of the doubts about yourself and accept your own power."
"My power?" she laughed. "I have none. Did I tell you how Michael and I met?"
"Yes, you did."
"Then what possible power could I have had? Homeless, alone, desperate. I couldn’t even help my own boys."
"But you did," she pointed out mildly, holding another bottle of oil under her nostrils so she could sample the aroma of cloves. "You got through the woods to the storm, and saved them all. Including Michael."
"Saved him? He doesn’t need or want saving," she said with a shake of her head. "Or if he does, not from me. Sometimes he acts as though he can’t bear for me to touch him. He just stiffens and looks away."
"People only have power to hurt where there is love. And he was in a very dark place before you came to him, you and the boys. Ash too has been in the dark since this illness came. You’ve been his light.
"I don’t mean to embarrass either of you by speaking thus except to say it’s only natural for two such lovely young people to find each other sexually attractive. But I think you see each other’s spirits even more than you are aware of each other’s bodies. And I trust you both. Ash is too young, I think, and any play or experimentation could have consequences."
Bryony had already lifted her hands from his body, and Ash turned around to stare at his mother.
"I say, this is silly. You’ve upset her now, Mother."
"I’m sorry. I can see the way you look at each other. You’re curious. Who wouldn’t be? But you’re destined to be friends, not lovers."
"I have to go," Bryony said, fleeing the room.
She was sure that Eswara had looked right into her soul. She had been looking at him longingly, and enjoyed the feel of his warm, vibrant body.
But she was right. It was a physical attraction only. What she felt for Michael was so much more complex that she was sure the simple word love couldn’t even begin to do it justice.
Embarrassed after their last meeting, Bryony waited three days before she returned to the Paigntons’ house, but in the end she decided it was best to be honest. She was a passionate woman, it was true, but she loved Michael, and wanted to learn from Eswara for his sake, so she could help him.
So she tamped down her own desires, and spent the rest of the week learning about how to massage the lower half of his body.
Much to her shock and consternation, Eswara asked her if she wanted to learn how to give a lingam massage.
"It means ‘wand of light’ in our language. So much nicer than the word cock or prick, don’t you think?"
The colour flew to her face. "You never touch him there?"
"No, I don’t, but you may if it will help you."
"And it will certainly help me," Ash said with a broad grin.
"Oh, no, I couldn’t."
"We can practice with a banana if you like."
"No, really, Michael would never let me— I mean, what on earth would he think?"
Ash laughed. "He’d probably be incapable of much thought or speech, so I wouldn’t worry about it. And there is one for women too, the yoni massage. I will quite happily volunteer to give you one."
"Really, I just can’t—" Bryony gathered her things and flew from the room once more.
Eswara rolled her eyes in exasperation. "You’ve done it again, son. Scared the wits out of the poor thing."
Ash shook his head. "I’m no so sure. She just needs to get used to the idea. She loves Michael. She had a shockingly bad first marriage. She needs to understand that the human body is beautiful, and that with trust and love she can have a wonderful life with him."
His mother looked at him in surprise. "You sound like you know him."
Ash grinned. "Not yet, but I’m sure we will."
After her last meeting with Ash and Eswara, and the ideas they had introduced her to, Bryony could think of nothing else for days. The idea of touching Michael in a sexual way was often more than she could bear.
Being in bed with Michael night after night, he could sense her gentle presence, feel her even when he was lost in that shadowy world of horror which usually set him screaming.
The Model Master Page 14
