by Damien Leith
The knock sounded again. I was instantly petrified. Who the hell was this?
I tiptoed towards the door keeping deathly silent. As I reached it I suddenly had a change of plan and returned to my backpack. Searching quietly through its contents I found myself a weapon. My trusty torch.
The knocking became louder but I maintained my silence.
‘Open the door. It’s me.’ The voice was soft and familiar. Easing my grasp on the torch, I opened the door.
‘Can I come in?’ She spoke in a whisper and by her shivering I could see that she’d been knocking for some time.
‘Greta! Come in.’ I switched on the torch. ‘What are you doing here? Are you alright?’
‘I’m fine, a little cold. I saw you tonight as you were leaving for your room. I hope you don’t mind me being here?’
She was wearing nothing but an unzipped jacket and a light shirt, probably belonging to Hans. The shirt was only partially buttoned—open enough to reveal a hint of cleavage and short enough to show her shapely legs up to where her white knickers began. She looked beautiful—and freezing.
‘Of course not,’ I said. ‘Come in and sit down.’ I pointed towards the bed and she folded herself into a cross-legged position upon the mattress. I diverted my eyes for a minute, to allow her the privacy to adjust her position. But she remained in the same posture, and secretly I was pleased.
‘So, when did you get here?’ I asked as a distraction. ‘I never saw you guys along the track!’
‘Hans got here at about two o’ clock. I arrived some time after three!’
Oh shit. I had temporarily forgotten about Hans. ‘So where is Hans now?’ The words left my tongue guiltily.
She frowned as she spoke. ‘He is in our room, sleeping. Don’t worry, he doesn’t know that I’m here. I don’t think that he would care.’
A sigh of relief escaped from my mouth. Much as I tried not to look, Greta’s crossed legs seemed to capture my gaze. I looked away again.
‘So, what can I do for you?’ It sounded sleazier than I’d intended. ‘I mean what can I help you with?’
Don’t be a scum bag, she’s got a boyfriend for Godsake.
She looked at me uneasily for a moment, then, in a tone of authority, announced, ‘Firstly, no sex!’ The sentence was like a blow.
‘We cannot have sex because—’ she pressed her forefinger to her the crotch of her knickers—‘she is on holiday for a few days.’ Greta’s frankness was incredible. ‘Secondly, I only want to sleep. I want Hans to learn a lesson. When he comes looking for me and finds me lying in your arms he will know that he must treat me better in the future.’
Silence followed, as I tried to collect my thoughts.
‘No sex!’
On reflection, it wasn’t the best thing to say first, especially since I was just as shocked by everything else that she was suggesting. Still, in situations like that, who could ever predict what might tumble from your mouth? I became flustered—a mixture of amusement and embarrassment.
Greta looked at me with dismay. ‘You men are all the same. You’re only interested in sex, nothing else. You want to come inside of me and that is it!’
Again, that was forthright!
‘Wait a minute there,’ I said, regaining control. ‘Now, firstly, I don’t want to have sex with you.’ I had to look slightly to the left of her to make that sound convincing. ‘And secondly—’ I was in full attack—‘what are you playing at anyway?’
Greta wasn’t fazed. After some reflection, she began again, this time with a change in tone. She spoke slowly, her lips pouted, her hand gestures becoming more alluring as she talked.
‘All I want is your help, the help from a friend. Maybe we can have sex too, maybe.’ Greta eased herself from her sitting position and, on hands and knees, crawled across the mattress towards me. ‘Won’t you help me, Sean?’ As she crawled, her shirt shifted its position on her body, revealing her naked breasts and her pert behind.
This doesn’t feel right!
‘Wait a minute.’ I stepped off from the bed and backed away, regaining some sense as I retreated.
‘What is it?’ she purred. ‘Simple deal, I do something for you and you do something for me!’
Simple deal maybe, but I’m damned if I’m going to be the idiot. I don’t care if you’re hot as hell.
‘Greta,’ I opened the door, exposing the room to the cold night air, ‘you’ve got to go!’
‘But Sean, what’s the problem?’
‘What’s the problem?’ Oddly, I was surprised. ‘I’ll tell you what the problem is. You’re the problem. You and Hans! I’m not getting involved in your screwed-up relationship. God knows I have enough problems of my own without taking on yours as well!’
‘But there’s no problem. Hans isn’t going to fight with you if that’s what you’re worried about.’
‘That’s not what I’m worried about, I just…’ I thought and then continued calmly, ‘Greta, to put it vulgarly, I don’t want to add another screw to a relationship that’s already rightly screwed as it is. Now you’ve got to go, you’ve got to leave.’
She stared at me. She was scheming something again, but I wasn’t sure what.
‘I’m not going to go.’ Greta lay down upon the bed, opening her legs as she spoke. ‘I’m not going until Hans comes to get me.’ She began to undo her top and, on some other occasion, I would have jumped her then and there. She was smug and sexy, but I was fed up. Lunging towards her and grasping one of her ankles, I dragged her, kicking, until she was within inches of falling off the bed.
‘You are going.’ I grabbed her by the wrist and thrust her gently towards the door.
She looked back. ‘But Sean.’
‘No buts.’ I pushed her by the shoulders out the door. ‘Goodnight, Greta,’ I said, as I released my hold. With a light tap on her arse, I closed the door firmly behind her.
10. The race
Akio…probably dead…Dear Holy God please protect…Dear Holy God…
‘Shut up, it’s too early,’ I moaned.
It was a bitterly cold morning. The thoughts were flowing whether I wanted them to or not, though I was still half asleep. I began reciting, prayer after prayer, struggling to dress.
As I went out along the cold open decking it was still raining, though the heavy falls of the night had reduced to a misty drizzle. The light was quite bright too, so perhaps there’d be sunshine later on.
Six successful prayers!
Ordinarily I’d be lucky to get one to work. It was no use, though—on that morning I needed to do seven correctly, not six, otherwise all of them would be wrong. It infuriated me, but there was no choice. I started the seventh.
Although once would usually suffice, there were extremes when seven was the number I’d have to aim for—to know things were done properly. Seven prayers in a row, seven times hand-washing, seven times reciting somebody’s name. It drove me up the wall.
Dear Holy God please protect Mam, Dad…Shit!
There was a sudden stabbing pain. I looked down. Four leeches were tucking into my foot.
The bastards. Now I’d screwed up the last prayer and would have to start all seven again.
‘I’m sick of all this bullshit!’ I flung the leeches away and began praying again, openly out on the open deck.
At full speed I recited each prayer—fast enough to prevent any sabotaging distractions from entering my head. With fingers and toes tensed, in an upright position on my heels, and my eyes fastened tight, finally prayer seven ended successfully.
Thank God!
‘Coming for breakfast?’
His voice surprised me as I emerged from the toilet. ‘Hans!’ I said, guardedly. ‘You’re up early!’
‘Of course. It is always best to start as soon as the sun rises.’
Of course!
Hans seemed to be cheerful enough, though. He recounted the previous day’s trek like a drill sergeant—emotionless and methodical.
&nb
sp; When we entered the eating hall, Greta was already there, sitting at the head of the single wooden table. She was sipping on a hot drink, and looked distantly out the window.
‘Good morning, Greta,’ I said, to see how she would react.
‘Ah, Sean, how are you today?’
‘I’m okay.’ She gave nothing away. ‘Hans said you guys got here before me yesterday?’
She nodded her head nonchalantly and returned her attention to the view on the other side of the windowpane.
We ordered breakfast and then distanced ourselves by withdrawing into our own private thoughts. Hans occasionally made comments regarding the day’s journey. I mulled over whether or not to continue with the trek. Despite reaching Tadapani, I was still fearful about what lay ahead. My hands were trembling as I lifted my cup of warm tea to my mouth.
But Tadapani was in the middle of nowhere: there was no easy way back to Pokhara except through our next stop, Chomrung. I certainly didn’t want to go back to Ghorepani. I frowned.
Akio wasn’t the only reason to cut the trek short; my own mental state was beginning to really worry me. There was too much time to think; each day’s trek only meant hours of private time, which was not a good thing for a guy like me.
As I sat eating my breakfast I automatically rubbed one foot over the surface of the other. Catching myself doing this, I blanched. What are you doing?
It had been years since I’d practised the foot-rubbing ritual. It was a simple thing that had first sparked it off. One day, while playing football with my younger brother in the backyard, an idea had sprung into my mind—if my brother should happen to come into contact with my foot, something bad would happen to him. Then, while tackling me, he did touch my foot. I brushed off the consequences. It was just a stupid thought that I’d had and nothing more.
Later that afternoon though, Sam was riding his bicycle and had an accident. He came down hard off a kerb and bit into his tongue, almost severing it into two.
Sam recovered. I was the one who got sick. I immediately convinced myself that it was entirely my fault. If I hadn’t mentally connected Sam’s wellbeing with touching my foot he would never have come off his bike. Now I knew I had to develop a safeguard. Any similar thoughts I might have in future would have the same effect. From then on, if I had any premonitory feelings, I would rub one foot over the other. If I thought someone was going to be sick, I would do it. If I thought about a car crash, I would do it. Anything. It was a ridiculous ritual and I knew it. Somehow it had faded—but no ritual was ever really dead.
Discovering that morning in Nepal years later that I was rubbing one foot over the other, especially in the company of Hans and Greta, came as a horrible shock. Immediately I stopped.
‘You are not a decent man.’ Hans spoke to me with complete contempt.
‘I’m not—what?’ What was he on about?
‘So far this morning I have been friendly with you. I am not a violent man. But—’ he paused for effect—‘I thought that by now you would have apologised!’
‘Apologise? For what? I didn’t do anything.’
Greta was still distracted by her window.
‘You see my girlfriend?’ Greta turned to face Hans, her manner sulky and cold.
‘Yeah, what about her?’
‘She told me that last night you tried to sleep with her.’
‘She told you what?’ My voice rose an octave in surprise. ‘That’s bullshit.’
I looked at Greta, who remained cool and composed. ‘Greta, tell him the truth.’
Both Hans and I gazed at Greta, waiting for her side of the story.
Softly she began to speak, her eyes darting longingly at Hans. ‘It is true. Last night before I came to bed, Sean met me outside of his room.’ She looked away. ‘He began to touch me and then asked me if I wanted to sleep with him.’
‘That’s a load of crap,’ I exploded.
Hans was confused. He looked at Greta and then at me, searching for the truth. As he turned from her, Greta lifted her head secretively and threw a gentle smile my direction. It wasn’t devious; it was honest and I knew what she meant by it. Then she lowered her head once again.
‘Okay!’ I raised my open hands. ‘You got me, I’m sorry.’
Hans turned quickly. ‘Huh-ha!’ He pointed a finger at me. ‘So you did try to sleep with her!’
‘Who wouldn’t? Greta’s a beautiful woman.’ I looked directly at her. ‘I’m sure guys try to crack on to her all the time.’
Hans thought for a moment. Would he want to beat the shit out of me? No. Greta had been right, it wasn’t his way to fight. With an explanation, he was happy.
‘I suppose you are right. Greta is very beautiful and you are not the first and will not be the last. I can see why you might try to sleep with her!’
This sounded strangely like a man talking about his prized hunting dog. Greta slid over beside Hans and kissed him on the cheek, grabbing hold of his hand.
‘Come on, Hans, let’s go. I don’t want to stay in here with him.’
Hans and Greta headed for the door, neither of them looking back, and soon I was alone, feeling unjustly condemned but amused. I smiled to myself. But before I could get too comfortable, the door opened again and Greta came rushing back.
‘I told him that I forgot my diary!’ She pulled it out from underneath her jacket and smiled at me slyly. ‘Oops.’
Then she leant over and pressed her lips upon mine. As the kiss developed I was impressed.
‘Not bad,’ Greta said in approval, as she broke away and stared at me seductively. ‘Maybe next time, we can do more than this. Thank you!’
She swiftly turned on her heels and within seconds disappeared out of the room. All I could do was laugh, and it felt damn good.
What a girl! God help poor old Hans.
An hour later there was still no sign of Mani in the eating hall. With nobody around, I was easily managing the prayers and rituals that needed to be done before we left. Seven times each now—without seeing any of my own reflections or shadows around the room. Whenever I was drained or tired, if my reflection or shadow happened to come into view during a prayer it meant that I was praying to myself instead of to God, and therefore the prayer wouldn’t work. I’d have to start again. Very little daylight was entering this room and there were no mirrors anywhere.
Just as I completed all the rituals, the door opened and there was Mani.
‘We better go.’ He looked pale and weak. And anxious.
‘But you haven’t eaten yet.’
‘Today Mani not need food, we must go.’
‘Not even dal bhat?’ I persisted.
‘Not even dal bhat!’
I had visions of three Maoist men outside, waiting for us with their guns loaded and at the ready, but aware of Mani’s stomach troubles I hesitated.
‘Time we leave!’ he commanded.
There was awkwardness in the room. Just as before, Mani didn’t want to discuss whatever was wrong. Still, I had to ask him. ‘Are you feeling okay?—You look very pale!’
‘Pale?’ Mani’s bloodshot eyes lit up in inexplicable fury. ‘Mani not look pale, you look pale! No problem with me, Mani fine!’
I was quite surprised. It was the first time I’d seen Mani angry. Then I felt responsible—I’d probably driven him to it.
‘Sorry, I was only joking. I’ll go put on my gear.’
Hurriedly I dressed myself in the wet trekking gear back in my room.
Mani was waiting for me on the sheltered decking outside. Only ten minutes had passed but he seemed different, his mood transformed. Grinning happily, he took the backpack from my hands and strapped it to his shoulders.
‘I get more medicine,’ he told me cheerfully then. ‘Woman in house give to me, already I feel better.’ He patted his stomach.
‘Ah!’ I said. ‘So that’s why you were so grumpy earlier. Are you sure you don’t want to rest for longer?’
‘No, I think no problem. I thi
nk that maybe I am unlucky, but medicine bring me good luck!’
Mani stepped out from beneath the shelter into the light rain, and I followed obediently. We were on our way again.
The first half of the day’s journey passed quickly. The downpour became heavier—so heavy that we just moved as briskly as possible. So much for sunshine.
The track was mostly uphill but given how frantically we’d walked the previous evening it felt easy. Akio and the Maoists occasionally came into my mind, but for the most part the terrain was too rough and the rainfall too heavy to allow me to brood: too many dangers and no room for distractions.
After about four hours, we reached our lunch stop, just as the rain subsided. The clouds parted enough to treat us to our first taste of sunlight that day and the wind eased up. We entered the only teahouse and the table and chairs were a welcome sight.
Mani seemed decidedly cheery, and he sat with me for lunch. ‘In your country, are there jobs for guide or porter?’
As always, his questions arrived out of nowhere. ‘Not really.’ I wanted to break it to him nicely. ‘The countryside hasn’t as many mountains as here.’
‘No mountains?’
‘Well, there are mountains but just not a lot of them. Mostly, it’s very flat.’ I pressed my hand upon the table to demonstrate.
‘Ah, very flat, I understand.’ He frowned. ‘So if I come to your country, will there be work for me? Maybe I would like to clean, is there work for cleaning?’
‘Of course, there’s loads of cleaning jobs.’ His spirits lifted once again and I continued. ‘In Ireland there are many big factories and they always need cleaners, hard workers, anyone who is not frightened to get their hands dirty.’
‘Get hands dirty?’
‘Yeah, you know, work very hard!’ Mani understood what I meant, and I could see that it gave him hope. He raised his hands and showed them to me.
‘Already dirt!’ he said with a smile.
‘Mine too.’ I returned the display.
