Breaking and Entering

by Wendy Perriam

  ‘And now another deep breath in, and let out your light and love to the sky, and all the birds and angels in it, and also send your love to outer space and to the beings who may live there, and to any other forms of consciousness we don’t yet comprehend. Come on, everyone – the biggest sigh of all.’

  They all obeyed this time, except a defiant Rick, munching his last toffee, and Pippa, fussing over the dog. George’s sigh, however, was undisguised exasperation, and Claire’s sprang from dejection rather than light or love.

  ‘Fantastic!’ Happy said. ‘Now, open your eyes, but stay sitting where you are, because I’ve brought my feeling-stone and I want to pass it round the circle.’ She reached out behind her and picked up something from the ground, cupped it in her hands. ‘Stones have tremendous energies, so if we hold one in our hands like this, we can connect with all that energy. I found this particular stone on a lonely beach in Ithaca, and, as you’ll see, it’s breast-shaped – the symbol of nurturing and healing. Just think – it may be millions of years old! And we can absorb that ancient wisdom simply by touching it; tuning in to it through our nerve-endings. I’d like each of you in turn to hold it for a minute or two, and then share with the rest of us what it makes you feel. I’ll start, shall I, to give you the idea.’

  She got up from her knees and went to sit cross-legged between Judith and Gerard. Daniel peered at the stone, which did look unnervingly like a breast – one of Corinna’s voluptuous pair, with a prominent brown nipple at the top. Happy sat with her eyes closed, tuning in to the stone; a blissful expression on her face as she rubbed her palm slowly back and forth across the nipple.

  After a while, she opened her eyes, blinking several times, as if surfacing from some far domain where darkness was the norm. Then she said solemnly, ‘This stone reminds me of all the help and comfort I’ve been honoured to receive from Mitra – especially the great gift of healing. Yet I also feel privileged to have undergone the suffering which brought me to him here, because he’s made me see that those of us who suffer pain actually help to redeem the world.’

  ‘Crikey!’ Tony said.

  Happy merely smiled at him, then passed the stone to Gerard. ‘We go round in the direction of the sun,’ she explained. ‘That also helps the energies. And as you pass the stone on, I want you to engage in eye-contact with the person who takes it from you – just hold their gaze a moment and look deep into their soul.’ To illustrate, she fixed her eyes on Gerard, who flushed and began to fidget, clutching the stone awkwardly, as if ashamed to be seen with it. Several minutes passed. The others were looking at him expectantly, but he didn’t say a word.

  ‘Try to tell us what you’re feeling,’ Happy prompted.

  ‘Er … I’ve got a bit of a headache.’

  ‘D’you get a lot of headaches?’ she enquired.

  ‘Yes, he does,’ said Dylan. ‘Really bad ones sometimes.’

  ‘They may be connected with one of your past lives. Mitra had a patient who suffered from constant pains in his neck, and it turned out that he’d been guillotined in the French Revolution. In fact, Mitra said he actually chose that form of death, as atonement for an even earlier life, where he’d been an executioner. It’s the Law of Karma, you see, and once you understand that law, you’ll find it …’

  George could contain himself no longer. ‘Look here,’ he interrupted, brandishing his fist. ‘My wife and I were invited to a healing session, and it’s pretty damned clear to me that there’s not going to be much healing when the healer isn’t here. Is he on his way, or isn’t he? I’m not hanging around much longer, I assure you. Margot’s in a lot of pain and she can’t cope with all this claptrap.’

  ‘Forgive me, George,’ said Happy in a calm sweet-natured tone, ‘but I wonder if it’s you who can’t cope?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with me, young lady.’

  ‘And perhaps there’s nothing wrong with Margot,’ Happy countered. ‘After all, many of us are blind in the sense that we have no inner vision, no spiritual far-sightedness. We see truth only partially, so that everything is blurred and …’

  ‘I’ve never heard such poppycock! I’ll have you know my wife’s been seen by three top Harley Street specialists and had every test in the book. She may lose her sight completely in a matter of a year or two, and even now it’s got so bad, she’s seriously disabled. Wait! I’ll show you. See that sign over there?’

  They looked where he was pointing, ‘EARTH FIRST!’ urged the placard, in big black capitals. George lumbered to his feet and snatched it up.

  ‘Six months ago, my wife could read quite normally – books, papers, magazines – even really small print. Reading was her favourite hobby. She’d get through half a dozen novels in a week. But now her sight’s deteriorated so much, I’ll bet she can’t even make out those huge letters.’ He stuck the sign under Margot’s nose, stabbing his broad finger at the E. ‘Can you see that, dear, or not?’

  She shook her head wordlessly, upset and disconcerted at being made the centre of attention.

  ‘It’s getting rather cold,’ said Judith diplomatically. ‘Why don’t I put some logs on the fire?’

  ‘Good thinking!’ Tony beamed. ‘I’ll do it, love, don’t worry. And while I’m up, how about a nice hot cup of tea? I see we’ve got a kettle here and enough mugs for us all.’

  ‘I’m afraid tea’s not allowed,’ Happy reproved him gently. ‘And anyway we never eat or drink in the middle of a healing session. If our bodies are busy digesting, we resist the higher energies.’

  ‘Rubbish!’ George exploded. ‘Nothing’s going on here except an ego-trip for you, my girl. And a complete waste of time for the rest of us. Well, enough’s enough, as far as I’m concerned. Margot and I are leaving. And I don’t just mean this so-called healing session, I mean leaving for home – right now.’

  Rick’s hunched form snapped upright. He tugged at Claire’s sleeve, hissing urgently, ‘Mum, can we go home as well?’

  Happy remained unruffled, brushing George’s outburst aside like a speck of dust on her skirt, and addressing the boy instead. ‘Home is where you feel safe, Rick. So long as you’re at peace with yourself, you can make anywhere your home, even a foreign country, or a prison cell.’

  But not Greystone Court, Daniel thought bitterly, reflecting once again that he had lost his sense of home when he was only half Rick’s age. He had spent the Christmas and Easter holidays with unknown English relatives, only returning to Lusaka for the longer summer vacations, and by then he was a stranger – the boy who’d gone away and come back as someone else. But perhaps it was his own fault. He hadn’t been ‘at peace with himself’ as Happy put it so glibly; hadn’t felt ‘safe’ – still didn’t, come to that.

  ‘And remember, Rick,’ Happy was saying, still eponymously benign, ‘the whole world’s your home, in one sense. You see, you’re part of the great universal …’ She broke off in mid-sentence and scrambled to her feet, her floaty scarf billowing out behind her. ‘Mitra!’ she exclaimed.

  At once Claire jumped up as well and rushed over to embrace the healer, who was suddenly standing at the entrance to the lodge. Daniel simply stared. How had he materialized like that, unheard and unannounced, and why did he look so different? True, he had changed his clothes, but it wasn’t a matter of mere dress – rather something much more subtle and disorienting. Each time he appeared, his bearing and expression seemed to have altered in some inexplicable way, as if he had become another person. On this occasion, he was wearing a white shirt – less a man’s shirt than a woman’s blouse, loose in style with soft, full sleeves gathered at the wrist. More notable than its style was its dazzling whiteness, which almost hurt the eyes. How could he keep it so pristine white, when clothes were only washed in the stream, without bleaches or detergents? His eyes, in contrast, looked even darker than usual, glinting like jet in the candlelight as he turned from Claire and Happy to greet the others.

  Daniel continued scrutinizing this man of many faces.
His hair was plaited, Red Indian style, in a single pigtail hanging down his back. The effect might well have been comic, but on the contrary, it gave him a new dignity; emphasizing his high cheekbones, his sensuous full lips. And although he’d barely spoken, the whole atmosphere had changed. Everyone seemed calmer, even George and Rick; the former settling back beside his wife, the latter gazing at the new arrival with something close to interest.

  JB joined the circle, easing himself between George and Tony, as if sensing instinctively that the two were better parted. Happy slipped in, too, tucking her long skirt over her bare feet and fixing her hazel eyes on Mitra’s darker ones. Daniel expected him to apologize, or explain his long delay, but the man sat utterly silent, communicating only with his eyes, which moved slowly round the circle, studying each face in turn.

  When he spoke at last, Daniel was startled by the sound of his voice, which, like his appearance, had undergone a subtle change: it was now slightly deeper, as if he had become more man, less mother.

  ‘Before we start,’ he said, ‘I’d like you to invite anyone important to you to be here with us in spirit. Anyone you feel you’ve lost through death, divorce, or distance, can be summoned here to join our circle – perhaps parents who’ve passed on, or people we once loved …’

  Daniel thought of his own parents, especially his mother, whose presence he had felt so strongly last night. But the memory had receded now, and anyway he was sure that neither one of them would have time or patience to be sitting in this circle. They would undoubtedly be too busy, toiling in the realm of the dead as assiduously as in life.

  Perhaps he should invite Penny’s father, who had died when she was only ten. She never talked about him, but it must surely be significant that she had chosen his name for the healer. Stephen – the name so long unspoken had taken him by surprise. He had always prided himself on being sensitive and perceptive, yet he’d obviously failed to understand how much that loss had meant to her. Perhaps he’d missed other things as well – in Pippa’s life as much as Penny’s – the caring husband and father blind to their true feelings.

  He felt JB’s eyes flick over his face, bringing him back to the present, commanding his attention.

  ‘We also call on our spirit-guides, and on the unseen powers and presences, the deities and angels which influence our lives.’

  Daniel shifted uneasily. A reference to the dead was one thing, but this was getting ridiculous. George grunted in impatience, and even Tony seemed bemused. A bluff Yorkshireman like him might be at home with dogs – the boxer here and three labradors in Leeds, so Pippa had informed him – but he was probably not over-familiar with spirit-guides or angels.

  There was silence again. JB appeared to be praying, an expression of the utmost concentration on his face; his body so still it might have been cast in bronze. Then he fixed his eyes on Margot, touched her gently on the shoulder. ‘Margot, I’d like you to lie down here in the centre of the circle.’

  Happy spread a rug on the ground, and helped Margot to stretch out on it, making sure that she was comfortable. The others watched, absorbed, while JB positioned himself at her head, sitting back on his heels with his palms upturned and his back effortlessly straight.

  ‘I need your help,’ he told them, ‘the help and support of every person present. You’re not here just as passive spectators, sitting on the sidelines. Your own faith and mind-power are an important aspect of the healing, and you, too, have a role to play.’

  Daniel was instantly on his guard. No doubt this was another ruse to subdue their rational minds, so they’d all manage to convince themselves they had witnessed some amazing feat and give JB the credit for it. Nowadays, it seemed, people were so hungry for miracles and saviours, they were only too ready to turn off their critical faculties and turn on their credulity. Well, he for one refused to be taken in. His whole way of life was founded on reason and logic, and he didn’t intend to abandon them for superstitious wish-fulfilment.

  JB placed his hands on Margot’s forehead, gently stroking her eyes shut with his thumbs. ‘Let’s all focus our minds on Margot – really concentrate, so that our combined energies are directed to her eyes. And I want you all to believe that she can see – see without strain, see without her glasses, see as easily and clearly as she did a year ago.’

  His voice was becoming incantatory. All part of the spell, thought Daniel – a voice to lull and mesmerize, so that these credulous ‘participants’ could invent their comforting fantasies, untroubled by the need for dispassionate thought.

  JB had moved his hands to Margot’s eyes, covering them with his palms. His body remained completely still, but he took several deep and sighing breaths, as if daunted by the task before him – or was he simply making a show of summoning up his powers? No one said a word. He had won their full attention; even Rick and Pippa looking impressed and overawed. Daniel was tempted to remove his daughter; insist she left this masquerade. He shouldn’t just sit here and let her be bamboozled when she was too young to know trickery from truth.

  JB was making gentle rhythmic motions with his hands, moving them from Margot’s eyes, slowly down across her face, down lower to her neck, then resting them on her chest. Daniel stifled a protest. What the hell was the fellow up to? Margot might be fifty-something, but her breasts were still attractive: firm and nicely rounded. He was astonished she hadn’t objected, especially as the trespassing hands began to exert more pressure on her chest. Certainly, her husband was frowning in alarm, but even he refrained from comment – so desperate for a cure, perhaps, that he was willing to condone this breach of propriety. Daniel glanced at the others, wondering if they too were shocked. Apparently not. They’d been so well and truly duped by all the mumbo-jumbo, they couldn’t see how preposterous it was for the laying on of hands to be applied to Margot’s youthful breasts rather than her failing eyes. Well, one thing was for sure: no way would he let his daughter be subjected to the Wanker’s ministrations. He could just imagine the cheap thrills such a charlatan would get from ‘healing’ a pubescent girl; pawing at her budding virgin breasts.

  At that moment, JB looked up, his eyes troubled, almost stern. ‘One of you is resisting,’ he admonished. ‘The negative energies are exceptionally strong.’

  Heads turned furtively, each wondering who was guilty. Daniel felt condemned already for failing to meet anybody’s eye, yet he would judge himself every bit as severely if he believed for the sake of believing, merely to conform.

  ‘All I ask,’ said JB, ‘is that the person should wish to believe. There’s no need for actual faith, just an open mind and a willingness to participate. He needs to get out of his mind and into his heart; not to make harsh judgements, or separate himself from the healing power. He is that power – we all are.’

  Another trick, thought Daniel, nails digging into his palms – making you feel so guilty and uncomfortable that you had no choice but to submit. Happy was sitting beside him and he was aware of her eyes fixed on him with a spaniel-like concern. She leaned across and whispered, ‘Relax, Daniel. Let go. Just open your heart and surrender to Mitra.’

  ‘Look, I’m quite okay,’ he mumbled, recoiling in horror as she suddenly placed her hands on his head in full view of the others. He wished the earth would swallow him up. How the hell could he relax when every eye had turned to him, including his daughter’s? An adolescent blush suffused his face and chest, as if he were fourteen rather than forty. Pippa was the one normally given to blushing, yet at present she seemed maddeningly composed, leaning against Judith’s shoulder, with her arm around the dog.

  ‘No, Daniel,’ Happy persisted, ‘you’re not relaxed at all. You’re extraordinarily tense. Just He back and let me massage your neck and spine.’

  ‘No!’ he growled through clenched teeth. This was worse and worse. Unintentionally, he’d become the focal point, stolen Margot’s thunder. George looked ready to lynch him for obstructing his wife’s healing, and even Claire was regarding him with irrit
ated pity.

  Defeated and demoralized, he let Happy push him gently back until he was lying on the ground. Anything was better than having all the rest of them turn on him in fury or contempt. Wretchedly he peered up at the tepee-poles which converged at the topmost point of the tent. If only he were a bird, he could fly up there and squeeze out through the gap.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ Happy murmured.

  ‘But what about Margot?’ he protested. ‘Surely she’s the …?’

  ‘Leave her to Mitra,’ Happy urged. ‘He can work far more effectively if you’re relaxed and don’t resist him. And it’s best not to speak. Silence is more powerful.’

  That at least was a relief: the quieter he kept, the more likely it was that the others would forget him and concentrate on Margot. He lay as if dead, eyes closed, body inert, trying to convince himself that Happy wasn’t there – not exactly easy when her hands were lapping down his body. Was this another try-on? Happy using him for a spot of titillation, as the Wanker was using Margot? Well, she had him in her power: there was no way he could object without (God forbid) making a further exhibition of himself.

  Actually, he had to admit her hands felt wonderfully soothing – small and deft and cool; homing in with undoubted skill on all his tension-spots. It was the girl herself who irked him: her idiotic posturing, her incongruous form of dress. Still, if he kept his eyes obediently shut, he needn’t look at her, and could pretend her hands belonged to someone else – Penny, or his mother, perhaps.

  Yes, that was better, definitely. His annoyance and resentment were beginning to subside as he submitted to their touch. He hadn’t realized how tired he was, nor how much energy he’d wasted screwing himself up into a huge knot of resistance. Even now, his hands were clenched, but those other calming hands were persuading his stiff fingers to uncurl, smoothing out each one in turn, softening their coiled steel. He had never had his hands stroked, and the sensation was quite magical – a light pressure feathering down the palms, then lingering on the fingertips – astonishingly intimate. His eyelids were becoming heavy. It was a luxury to keep them shut, no longer just a duty, and he was aware that he was sinking down, blind to his surroundings, letting go, surrendering. He could smell a musky perfume which seemed to be lulling him to sleep. His mother must have rubbed scent on her hands, wafting him in a fragrant cloud of frangipani, orange blossom, bauhinia, acacia – all the exotic African flowers he’d known as a young boy. Time was drifting back to childhood, and beyond. Or maybe there wasn’t any time. Yes, that was it – he remembered now. Time had been extinguished, and he no longer had to worry about being late, or rushed, or holding up the others. There was only now, and now, and now – soft hands on his naked flesh; female hands giving him the things he craved: care, concern, the intense, exquisite luxury of love.