Fearless

by Fiona Higgins

  Annie shook her head emphatically. ‘It’s all quackery. I wonder how much Littlefish is being paid by Pak Tony? An authentic healer wouldn’t take money for his work.’

  ‘But don’t healers have the right to earn a living?’ Janelle replied. ‘It doesn’t mean they’re dodgy just because they accept payment for their services.’

  Annie sniffed. ‘Jesus never sought payment for his miracles.’

  ‘True,’ said Janelle, in a placating tone. ‘But I don’t think Littlefish is holding himself out as the Son of God. He told me he was just a messenger of Great Spirit, and that religions have different names for God, which is actually a huge cosmic source of love that knows what’s best for us, even when we don’t.’

  ‘Well, I for one am confused,’ said Annie, quite worked up now. ‘On the one hand, God is a huge, impersonal source of love. On the other, He knows what’s best for us as individuals. I’m sorry, honey, but God can’t be both impersonal and personal.’

  ‘Why not?’ Janelle countered. ‘God is God, right? Maybe God defies our limited human understanding. He—or She, or It—exists beyond the constraints of theology, because God is everything we can imagine and everything we can’t.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Annie, her tone barbed. ‘The relativist’s pipe dream. Your God is my God, and He’s bigger than our pea-brains can grasp. Never mind that He’s left us some pretty good signposts called scripture and liturgy. When God equals everything, honey, He stands for nothing.’ She turned away towards the gorge, beyond which the sun was quickly setting.

  ‘Well, friends,’ said Lorenzo, breaking the uncomfortable silence. He seized a bottle of champagne from an ice bucket on the bar. ‘Let us celebrate our … diversity! Dissent is healthy because it leads to change. Look, we are watching a very beautiful example of change right now.’ He pointed at the deepening sky. ‘Let us toast this beautiful sunset.’

  ‘What a good idea,’ said Pak Tony suddenly, stepping through the doorway leading out onto the balcony. ‘But before we do, I would like to announce your individual odysseys for the rest of the retreat. I have talked with Littlefish about your pow-wows. As you can imagine, he had many insights.’ He removed a small notebook from the tan-coloured leather bag slung across his body.

  ‘Let’s begin with Remy.’ He smiled at the Frenchman. ‘For the rest of the retreat, your odyssey is to perform a daily act of service for someone else.’

  Remy nodded, looking relieved.

  ‘And you must drink no alcohol and eat no meat for the rest of the week,’ Pak Tony added. ‘To learn to moderate your excesses.’

  ‘What?’ Remy’s face dropped. ‘But I am French. We drink wine like water, and we do not have … vegetarians.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Pak Tony. Remy began muttering, but the facilitator held up a hand. ‘Wine and meat are privileges, as I am sure you are aware, Remy. It’s only a few days.’

  The Frenchman looked rather embarrassed at his outcry and fell silent.

  ‘Now, Annie.’ Pak Tony turned to the American. ‘Your odyssey is to say nothing at all for the rest of the retreat, except when you’re asking a question.’

  Annie opened her mouth and then closed it again, clearly flabbergasted.

  ‘That was easy.’ Pak Tony chuckled. ‘On to Lorenzo now.’

  ‘May I ask a question?’ Annie interjected.

  ‘Certainly.’

  ‘Is this some kind of punishment on me for the forthright opinions Americans are famous for?’

  ‘I’m happy to discuss the rationale in the correct forum, Annie. Tomorrow one-on-one, if you would like?’ Pak Tony replied evenly. ‘Is that your only question?’

  Her face turned almost scarlet with outrage. ‘No. Is there someplace nearby where I can inject insulin? It’s been a long day. Between the water cleansing and the passion talks and the pow-wow, I got caught up and forgot …’

  ‘Of course.’ Pak Tony snapped his fingers and one of the Balinese attendants stepped out from behind the bar. ‘Ari, please show Ibu Annie to the ladies’ room,’ he ordered. ‘And please help her down the stairs.’

  Watching the older woman leave, Cara felt a nervous flutter in her stomach. What would her odyssey be?

  Pak Tony turned to the Italian now. ‘Lorenzo, your odyssey is unusual. You must help run a children’s art workshop on Friday afternoon at the Bali STAR foundation. That’s short for Survivors of Trauma and Recovery. It’s a registered charity helping Balinese orphans and foster children who have survived physical or mental abuse.’ The facilitator’s face was earnest. ‘You will work alongside the trained counsellors there, as a volunteer, and perhaps make contact with your own inner child in the process.’

  Fleetingly, Lorenzo looked anxious, then he simply nodded in acquiescence.

  ‘Now for Henry,’ said Pak Tony. The Englishman shrank down on the bar stool. ‘Your odyssey requires discipline. You must speak your truth—exactly what comes into your mind—at any given moment. However uncomfortable or dangerous that might feel.’

  Henry looked aghast.

  ‘Let’s have a short practice now,’ said Pak Tony. ‘How do you feel about your odyssey, Henry?’

  The Englishman blinked. ‘I’d rather poke out my own eye than do it.’

  ‘Good!’ said Pak Tony.

  ‘But what if my thoughts are bad?’ asked Henry. ‘Like, Pak Tony, those psychedelic yoga pants are a bit naff?’

  The rest of the group stared at the facilitator’s trousers.

  ‘Then you’re off to a flying start, Henry,’ said Pak Tony, with a fixed smile. ‘Right, who’s next?’ He scanned his notebook. ‘Ah, Janelle, yes. For the remainder of the retreat, you must seek out a new experience daily. The more unusual or challenging, the better—be expansive and visionary!’

  Janelle nodded eagerly.

  ‘And finally, Cara.’ Pak Tony smiled at her.

  Cara wasn’t at all sure she liked that smile; there was something forced about it. On the surface, Pak Tony seemed the typical guru, with gleaming teeth and a supremely healthy lifestyle and a thousand positive aphorisms for every silver-lining moment. But all this perfection had made her wonder, for reasons not entirely clear to her, what might happen if Pak Tony ever got drunk.

  ‘Your odyssey, Cara, is to be in someone else’s company for the remainder of the retreat.’ He winked, as if sharing a humorous secret. ‘Except when you’re asleep or using the bathroom. Otherwise, you must have a companion with you always.’

  Cara frowned. The idea was deeply unappealing; she carefully guarded her solitude. Why had he given her this challenge? she was tempted to demand, while already knowing the answer. She’d kept everyone at a distance for the past four years, including herself. It’s only for a week, she told herself. I’ll just have to go to bed very early.

  Annie reappeared from the restroom, her face returned to its normal hue. She took a glass from the bar and served herself some water from a jug.

  ‘Well,’ said Pak Tony gleefully. ‘You all have your odysseys, so let’s make a toast.’

  ‘But what’s your personal challenge, Pak Tony?’ interjected Annie, in a slightly abrasive tone. ‘You’re part of this group too, aren’t you?’

  ‘Good question, Annie.’ His smile didn’t waver. ‘Perhaps you should all set me an odyssey. Why don’t you each consider that tonight, then talk it over as a group tomorrow? No group has ever suggested that before. I’m impressed.’

  He scanned the contents of the ice buckets on the bar. ‘This is the one I like,’ he said, pouring himself a glass of organic grape juice. ‘I’m glad you’re all enjoying the local wine and beer. Does anyone need a top-up?’

  Janelle held out her empty wineglass. ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘Non,’ said Remy, theatrically swooping on Janelle’s glass. ‘This is my odyssey in action. I am here to serve you.’

  ‘Why, thank you.’ Janelle giggled and smoothed her hair. Were they flirting with each other, Cara wondered, or was it just the work of
the alcohol?

  Remy topped up her glass, then passed a beer to Henry and another red wine to Lorenzo.

  ‘Let’s all take part in the toast. I will start,’ said Pak Tony. He raised his glass. ‘To the heights of fearlessness! No pun intended, Remy.’

  ‘The heights of fearlessness,’ Remy echoed, turning to the others. ‘And to … the vegetables of the world!’

  The group cheered.

  ‘Oh Lord, how can I turn a toast into a question?’ asked Annie.

  ‘Inflection,’ said Lorenzo. ‘Like this …’ He raised his glass and pulled an inquisitive face. ‘To the big questions?’

  Annie laughed.

  ‘And to the children,’ he added softly.

  Henry raised his glass now. ‘And to … all the offence I’m going to cause over the next few days as I ‘speak my truth’. My apologies in advance.’

  ‘And to new experiences,’ said Janelle, looking pleased.

  ‘And to close companions,’ added Cara, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. ‘Whether you’re willing or not.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Cara, we’re willing,’ said Annie, smiling kindly at her. ‘Whoops! Sorry.’ She shot a guilty look at Pak Tony. ‘I’ve just breached my odyssey. May I start again, please?’ He nodded. ‘What I mean is … we’re all in this together, right?’

  ‘Alright,’ said Remy, bounding across to high-five Annie. ‘Except that I am the only vegetarian in the group. That is my bad luck.’ Henry groaned. ‘Well, if eating vegetables is the toughest thing in your life, Remy, you’re a bit of a princess.’ He stopped and looked horrified. ‘Just popped into my mind, sorry.’

  Remy looked rather taken aback, too.

  Annie laughed. ‘Ooh, what’s happened to our English gentleman?’

  ‘Radical honesty,’ said Henry, blushing. ‘I must’ve caught it from you, Annie.’

  The American laughed heartily.

  ‘Look,’ said Pak Tony, indicating the nearby table with a flourish. ‘A marvellous Balinese feast awaits us. Please, bring your drinks.’

  Cara cast a longing look at the darkening gorge behind them. The small bamboo outhouse, the site of her earlier session with Littlefish, stood at a distance like a solitary cocoon in the light of the setting sun. Had Littlefish really channelled Astrid, or was it all a sham as Lorenzo had suggested? And how would she endure constant company for the next four days? The last time she’d actually savoured the presence of others, she’d been part of a trio that she’d thought would last forever.

  At the table, Lorenzo pulled out a chair for Cara and politely motioned for her to sit down. It reminded her of Richard, somehow; all his countless, chivalrous attentions, which she’d invariably taken for granted.

  ‘Thank you, Lorenzo,’ she said. And thank you, Richard. He’d always been there, Cara realised, lurking in her consciousness. Always a faithful companion, since years ago.

  The table was laden with hot coconut curries, several whole baked fish wrapped in banana leaves, trays of sweet-and-spicy tempeh, satay tofu, steaming bowls of vegetables, several colourful salads and platters of exotic fruits.

  ‘Bon appetit!’ cried Pak Tony.

  ‘Let’s try it in Indonesian,’ Cara suggested, raising her glass. ‘Selamat makan!’

  ‘Selamat makan!’ the group echoed her.

  And for the first time in months, Cara realised she was actually hungry.

  INTIMACY

  Janelle glanced up from her breakfast bowl of coconut, quinoa and slabs of fresh pineapple. Remy was looking at her again, his gaze lingering on her lips. She wiped them discreetly with a serviette, in case they were smeared with food. Like Henry, who had a smudge of Greek yoghurt across his chin—but who was talking about the Petulu herons again with such animation it didn’t matter. Annie was nodding enthusiastically as he spoke between doughy mouthfuls of buckwheat pancake. Remy was pushing some overripe watermelon pieces around his plate, while Lorenzo was valiantly ploughing into an omelette—but judging by the look on his face, he wasn’t relishing the experience.

  ‘No herbs,’ he said, exasperated. ‘Someone should take these Balinese cooks to Europe.’

  ‘At least you have some bacon and sausage.’ Remy looked despondent. ‘Already I am losing weight.’

  ‘Good morning!’ said Pak Tony, striding up to the table carrying a colourful bag. ‘Are you ready for day four?’ He began distributing the contents of the bag: six orange sarongs. ‘When you finish breakfast, please take off your clothes and change into these for our intimacy workshop. Wrap the sarong around yourself, a bit like a towel, so your shoulders are exposed. You can use the bathrooms in the pavilion for changing, if that is easiest.’

  ‘All of our clothes?’ asked Annie, putting down her fork.

  ‘Yes, please,’ said Pak Tony blithely. ‘I’ll meet you at the pavilion shortly.’

  Janelle had harboured misgivings about this intimacy workshop from the beginning: six virtual strangers expected to massage each other? Now her reservations ballooned. The flowing, gauzy fabric of the sarongs brought to mind a tantric orgy, an idea that might have been hilarious if they hadn’t been in Ubud—global hotspot for ecstatic coupling, genital ozone, and pelvic chakra realignment. And while it was one thing to remove some of her clothes for a choreographed passion talk on teenage body dysmorphia, it was quite another to abandon all of them for an intimacy workshop.

  Fighting the urge to run away and hide in her room, Janelle stood up from the table and walked the short distance to the pavilion. In a cubicle in the ladies’ toilets, she changed out of her clothes, donned the ugly orange sarong and tied it in a tight knot across her chest. Then she went out and sat down on the floor of the pavilion for their regular morning circle, watching the sunbeams slant through the glassless window, her heart beating unnaturally fast.

  Fifteen minutes later, Janelle realised that she’d overreacted. As was often the case in her life more generally, her improbable fears had not come to pass. The group was merely sitting in their circle, slightly closer than usual, their bodies turned in the same direction, giving each other an innocent shoulder massage. To substantial effect, Janelle had to concede, as Lorenzo’s fingers began to release the painful knots in her neck.

  ‘To gain maximum benefit from the intimacy of massage, you must allow yourself to let go and be vulnerable,’ crooned Pak Tony, who was being massaged by Remy. ‘But when it comes to human touch, to give is to receive. Give everything you can.’

  Janelle dutifully focused on working the bare shoulders in front of her: Remy’s. She again dipped her fingers into the small ceramic bowl of coconut oil; being hairier than average, his shoulders had required several applications of oil. Involuntarily, Janelle recalled her ex-boyfriend Nick. How fanatically hair-free he’d been, waxing, shaving and plucking his way to a personal best. It hadn’t been a turn-on, Janelle realised, looking at Remy’s shoulders now. There was something quite masculine about body hair. Sexy, even.

  ‘Keep your eyes closed at all times,’ said Pak Tony, his tone low and reverent. ‘It will keep you in an intuitive state.’

  Janelle closed her eyes again, wondering if he’d seen her ogling Remy.

  ‘Now, I’d like you to find a point under your fingers that is extra tight,’ Pak Tony went on. ‘Focus on that area. Give it all your love and try to relieve the pressure.’

  Janelle felt Lorenzo rotating the pads of his fingers around a knotty lump in her neck. In turn, she pushed her thumbs deeper into the fleshy crest of Remy’s right shoulder, then slid her knuckles back and forth over it.

  After several repetitions, she whispered to Remy, ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘Yes,’ he answered, his voice a little hoarse.

  ‘Good work, Janelle,’ chimed Pak Tony. ‘Communication is crucial for intimacy. We need to convey our needs and wants, so let’s check in with each other now. Moving around the circle, please tell us how the massage is feeling for you. Remember, keep your eyes closed. We’ll start with
Cara.’

  Janelle was tempted to peek at Cara, who was being massaged by Pak Tony himself, a position she’d been relieved to avoid.

  ‘It feels …’ Cara’s voice trailed away.

  Janelle waited, listening. When Cara said nothing more, Pak Tony intervened. ‘Sometimes it’s hard to find the words,’ he said. ‘Massage can unlock the inner wounded child, hurts that have been buried out of sight, sometimes for years. We should not fear this physical release, we should welcome it.’

  After a short silence, he said, ‘Henry, can you tell us how you’re feeling?’

  ‘I want to marry Cara,’ Henry replied in a leisurely tone, and everyone laughed.’

  ‘And Annie?’ said Pak Tony.

  ‘Why haven’t I had more massages in my life?’ asked the American. ‘Why did I leave it until my sixties to start?’

  ‘Great questions,’ Pak Tony said. ‘Whatever your age, the positive effects of massage are universal. What about you, Lorenzo? How are you feeling?’

  The Italian exhaled audibly. ‘The parasailing strained my shoulders, but Annie is fixing it. Grazie, Annie.’

  ‘Ah, well done!’ Pak Tony almost shouted. ‘You have said the magic words, Lorenzo. Intimate touch should be respectful and gracious. When we give words of appreciation, we create a virtuous circle of positive reinforcement.’

  Janelle knew it was her turn, and didn’t wait for a prompt from Pak Tony. ‘This shoulder massage feels like it’s helping my whole body,’ she said. ‘Even my feet.’ She wished she had something more profound to say.

  ‘Great,’ said Pak Tony. ‘Tiny body parts can be trigger points for enormous pleasure. The earlobes are a case in point. Try massaging your partner’s earlobes now.’