Last India Overland

by Craig Grant

  Charole asked us if we wanted to go out to Dakshin Kali

  the next day when we were standing outside the restaurant “Silent Night” wafting our way from some other restaurant down the street clear sky above us. Not a lot of streetlights in Kathmandu we could even see stars. What the fuck, I said, is Dakshin Kali. I thought she said Kelly but she spelt it out for me. Kali, goddess of destruction. Maybe goddess of mushrooms. Patrick said sure so I said sure. Might as well see the sights, might never see Kathmandu again. Or maybe I was going to live there forever if I didn’t get more money. It was kind of a nice thought at the time.

  Dakshin Kali was something else. This huge blue man, belly like a beer barrel, he’s painted blue not sad or anything, eight arms knives in two of them, slicing the heads off chickens pigs and then this yak, with an axe. Sacrifice to the gods. Yak buckled to its knees, didn’t go down. Kelly was there, the four of us, she turned her head away, couldn’t watch but she must’ve heard the whack whack as the yak finally went down pouring blood, more whacks till the head came off.

  I liked this one kid in a blue T-shirt, it said Hail Kali and it had this skeleton on it doing a dance, almost like a Deadhead T-shirt.

  Charole said this must be where they get the heads to scare the Living Goddess. Pete had told us something about a teenage goddess who gets the gig if she can yawn through a night of decapitated heads and the soundtrack from The Exorcist.

  Patrick said this has made me hungry let’s check out the cream pies at Aunt Jane’s. Kelly and Charole just looked at him, never ceased to be amazed. Patrick looked at me. I was feeling a little famished, I hadn’t eaten a lot except for Lomotil and that duck in black bean sauce. And I do have a sense of occasion. I said maybe later.

  We’d rented these big black bikes. War models. World War I, I think. On the way back to town stopped at the Kathmandu zoo, sad place, hungry yaks and elks and bears and something that looked like a cross between a raccoon and a coyote.28 Kelly was all for setting them free but we voted her down. Took a tour through this suburb29 nothing but temples pagodas something that Patrick called stupas. Everything quiet. That’s what I remember best about Kathmandu. And all those nifty little shops on Freak St. yak-hair coats hanging high along an alley. Paintings of the wheel of life, Patrick bought one of those, brown and green oil on canvas. It was like an astrological wheel said Kelly except it only had eight houses. Naked people between the spokes all of them screwing. That’s what life comes down to basically, sex, no getting around it, the ball keeps rolling, it’s the only way, people get so fucking hung up on it though. Didn’t feel like many hang-ups in Nepal somehow. Wonder what sex with a Nepali woman would be like. Or with Soon. I didn’t have my sex life in order, never met that woman where the sex just gets better and better even ten years down the line. That would have to be better than money and World Series tickets for the Red Sox.

  We did eventually get to Aunt Jane’s. She had Boston cream pie. To make good Boston cream pie, that’s a talent, that’s an art, and this pie was so good it brought tears to my eyes. I was feeling a little fragile that day. But it was a good day, beheaded yaks and all. It felt peaceful. Kathmandu has this weird energy. It was like a magical place and for a while I thought nothing bad could happen there, and I said to myself, if I don’t get enough money for a plane ticket out of here, well, like Hasheeba used to say, c’est la vie.

  I was feeling so good after that Boston cream pie that when Patrick suggested we take a trip over to the Soaltee-Oberoi for a drink, I said sure, and everyone else was up for it too. Turns out the hotel had a casino in the basement, the only one for a couple thousand miles. When we got there Patrick said well, Mr. McPherson, this is your lucky day. Given your psychic abilities you should clean up in such an auspicious place. I phoned up Dave. I said Dave don’t fail me now. He said he wouldn’t think of it. Put your money on twenty-three. All of it. I did. The wheel spun. Marble wound up on twenty-three. The guy spinning the wheel grinned and said we’ve got a winner. Charole let out a whoop and gave me a kiss on the cheek. I looked at Patrick. He said I’m impressed, but are you on a roll, Mr. McPherson, that is the question. Dave said put it on eleven. Guy spun and it came up eleven. I suddenly had thousands of rupees. Patrick picked up all that cash, took out what he said was plane fare to Bangkok and stuck the rest in his pocket. Let’s just say, he said, that we’re even, your monetary debt to me is eradicated. I said fine. Dave said try seven but this has to be the last time. Can’t be greedy, gotta leave some for the other guy. I passed this info along and then I stuck that plane fare on seven. Charole and Patrick put some money on it too. Marble came up seven. Charole let out another whoop and gave me a kiss on the other cheek and gave me this strange look. You really are psychic, she said. Can you read my thoughts? I’d never do that, I said. Just try it, she said. So I phoned up Dave. He said she wants you to go up to Nagarkot tomorrow with her and Kelly and Tim and Teach and Patrick. So I said that to her. She looked at Kelly. He really is psychic, she said. Yes, said Kelly, he really is psychic. Scary, isn’t it? Charole looked at me, smiled. Said oh, I don’t know. So will you come? I said you try reading my mind. She said you will come. See? I said. You’re psychic too. She smiled. I looked at Kelly. She didn’t look too happy.

  Looking back on it now, I’m kind of sorry I acted like that. Real sorry, actually. It wasn’t a nice thing to do at all.

  from Kelly’s diary

  Dec. 20

  Woke up this morning to the sound of S. throwing up. She thinks it was the Moo Goo Gai Pan she had for lunch at the Red Dragon on Freak St. Good thing she didn’t go out to Dakshin Kali, it would’ve only made her sicker. I used to be able to eat teen burgers, sweet & sour shrimp. But after watching Dakshin Kali it’s lettuce & pasta for the rest of my life. It had the feel of a malaria nightmare. I think this is 1 Pluto girl who’s in for some changes. Like Neil Young said, there does come a time. Last night I dreamed I was drowning in pig blood & a green-faced Sissy Spacek was holding the pail above my head. I was bound tight with snakes that hissed & writhed. I love Kathmandu. There’s a silence here, a freshness to the air. The temples are like icons of the human spirit. The zoo I could do without. Tomorrow it’s Nagarkot. S’s in a snit. She just packed her bags & left without saying a word. A first for her, said C. I’m painting a picture of Kali.

  Dave says I should maybe mention what happened to Suzie. She got a bit miffed that Kelly didn’t ask her to go out to Dakshin Kali with the rest of us. Even Kelly could only take so much of that Aussie bray of Suzie’s. So she caught the first Air Nepal flight heading south, didn’t leave a note, nothing. This is what Charole and Kelly were talking about early the next morning at the downtown bus stop, the sun still behind the peaks a thick mist in the air only a few Nepalese on the streets on bikes, in taxis. Kelly was mad at herself, said well she thought she was sick. Guess she spent one morning at the Snow View throwing up. Charole told her not to worry about it, life’s too short. Then Tim and Teach walked up, both carrying backpacks sunny smiles fresh breath that almost glistened but it was just their fresh-brushed teeth catching the sunlight. Ready for the big life change? said Kelly, smiling that almost phoney smile of hers, eyes big, hands in her pockets, she could look gawky at times, a big gawky kid hoping for a popsicle, I liked that about her. But mostly I liked her skin, the way it stretched across her cheekbones and Kelly, if you ever read this, I really liked your eyes, I could’ve stared forever into your eyes over hot chocolate after some foreign movie not Himalayan Man. I wouldn’t have minded examining your angst my angst from every direction trying to make sense of it in the dark candlelit hour after good sex, good love. I was like you. I stopped loving people for a long time, didn’t want to take the chance except for Hasheeba, it was too late to stop loving her, but I know I would’ve taken the chance with you.

  And I was kind of thinking things like that, that morning after this small panel van arrived and we got in the back, sat on planks along the sides and gazed out the open doo
r in back at the road appearing out from under the bumper, Kathmandu dwindling in size, disappearing from sight. Kelly talking to Teach and Tim about the ashram. Dave says Tim was talking about how it’s necessary to empty the soul of itself so it can gain a perspective, what he called, spell it Dave, arthamatranir-bhasam svarupashunyamiva, and how that comes from communication with something he called ayoni,* that which did not come from bhaga, 30 in order to find sambhogakaya. * * It was Greek to me but it had a nice ring to it and Kelly must’ve bought it. Spent the morning stopping in small villages picking up people, mostly Sherpa farmers and their kids. Happy kids that stared at us and got real shy, little girls giggling and looking away. Real cute. The van got so full that there were teenage guys hanging out the back. Through the forest of legs I got glimpses of terraced farms and what looked like deep valleys and lots of trees, sawed-off trees, lots of trunks. Country’s going to be deforested by capital interests in the near future said Tim deLuca. I was sitting with Charole on one side of me my arm couldn’t help but be pressed against her right breast that’s how tight it was but she didn’t seem to mind made no move to slide away, and on the other side of me was an old woman who kept barfing into her shawl. Charole said it was probably either motion sickness or somebody’s meat-eating smell. She meant my meat-eating smell

  Around noon we stopped in this one village everyone got off we walked around for a while lots of chickens in the street sun bright the air getting thinner.

  Back on the van, a different one, more of the same, eventually full and Patrick pointed at that Bic rifle in my pocket and asked me if I’d be willing to sell it. I said no. Everyone seemed to run out of conversation shortly after that. Maybe they were all a litde bothered by that pen in my pocket. Charole asked me if I had a bullet in it. I said no, which was a lie.

  Patrick tried to talk to some of the Sherpas to find out if any of them had led any expeditions up Mt. Everest but no one spoke English.

  We got to Nagarkot just before sunset. Air so fresh it had darning needles in it. A kid was standing there when we got out of the van stretching our legs drinking in all those blue snow-capped mountains around us big mothers made the Rockies look like pikers in diapers. Kid said his name was Mr. Vanier. Asked us in pretty good English if we had lodging for the night. We said no. He led us to lodging. The Nagarkot Lodge. Showed us where the shack with the claw-foot tub was at, hot water, he said, and some other shacks, the one big shack with the six cots was the cheapest, we took that and then we went out to catch the sunset over the Everest range, all of us under this little outcrop of rock, mind-boggling sunset, mostly indigo and mauve with shreds of scanty pink lingerie slowly shifting shape into animals, the mountains slowly turning dark and sinister.

  On the way back to the lodge a little girl on a hillside called to us one rupee, two rupee hello in a high chirping voice and we all laughed at the way it echoed, coming back at us, dying on the rupee. Outside the lodge Mr. Vanier came up to us with a huge stalk of something green in his hand, dirt hanging from the roots, want good ganja, he asked. He looked at me. I felt Kelly’s eyes on me. I said no thanks. Very good ganja, he said, looking at Patrick. Are you absolutely certain? said Patrick. Mr. Vanier his eyes big blue innocence a real charming little rascal said yes and Patrick said well, with that reassurance and that innocent face, how can I resist and he pulled out his wallet.

  Inside we helped ourselves to some cool stew and then we sat around the fireplace, nice fire blazing, nice old rockers. I sat next to Charole. Blew my nose. Charole had lots of Kleenex. I’d picked up a cold from somewhere and she had too. Everyone had a cold, I think. She asked me why I made moves on everyone else, this in a whisper, but never made a move on her. I just looked at her, surprised. She said it hurt her feelings. I told her because she was out of my league. I’m minor league, she’s major league. She laughed at that, stared back at the fire. You’re really too hard on yourself, Mick, she said. That could be true. Kelly was talking to Tim and Teach about what is satya and what is dukha. Truth and pain, says Dave. Patrick was somewhere outside, smoking his ganja.

  Then Kelly dropped the bombshell. She asked Tim and Teach if it would be okay if she went with them in the morning. Tim and Teach looked at each other. Teach said well of course, I told you we’d love to have you come along.

  I was waiting for Teach to ask me and Charole if we’d like to come along too but she didn’t.

  Kelly looked at Charole but before she had a chance to say anything, Charole said fine whatever you want to do and then she looked at me, said so what are your plans, Mick? I said well, Bangkok. Maybe spend a bit of time on an island called Ko Samui. Where’s Ko Samui? she said. I told her. Just off the coast of Thailand. Supposed to be paradise on earth. I said palm trees, white beaches, great food. She said sounds inviting would I mind some company there? Another bombshell. The fire was hissing spitting sparks dying. I didn’t look at Kelly. Shadows were dancing across Charole’s face, half light, half dark her one eye lost. Waiting for my answer. Split second there. No, that’d be fine, I said. Good, she said, looked back at the fire. Then Kelly stood up, her rocker rocking back and forth catching firelight. It’s getting late, she said. Yes, said Teach, we have an early morning. Her and Tim stood up too. Charole stayed sitting. So I stayed sitting. Felt it was the thing to do. They took off. Charole stared at the fire for a moment then she said, you know I’ve always kind of hoped I’d find a guy, a nice guy, a guy who could sing actually, a guy with a nice voice who wouldn’t mind meeting me once a year no fail until I died, no matter what. It’d be a promise. We’d go to wherever it was decided we had to go and we’d slowly get to know each other over the years. I said this would be a nifty place to meet him. She looked at me and smiled. It was the prettiest smile anyone’s ever tossed in my direction. If you could afford the airfare, she said.

  I shrugged, my mouth was feeling dry, there were butterflies doing kamikaze missions in my stomach. Yeah, that’d be a problem maybe I said.

  Mick, she said, will you kiss me?

  I swallowed hard. I’ve got this cold, I said. My nose was running just a bit.

  That’s okay, she said, so do I, and she leaned towards me and she kissed me on the lips, just a quick peck. As though it was to seal some bargain.

  She gave me a timid smile. Should we go to bed? she said.

  Beautiful women have it tough, I guess. Everyone’s scared of them. I’ve noticed that. They don’t get nearly as many dates as you think they would, in high school, after high school. They have to be forward. This is what Nancy Pickles told me, who was almost beautiful and happy about it.

  I said to Charole, okay, and we walked hand in hand down a narrow path beneath a sky where the stars were twice as big as I was used to. A few million engagement rings. Outside the hut Charole stopped and said she loved my voice, the way I sing, something I confess I’ve heard from other women, it’s why I bought Lucille, and she kissed me again, this time a serious kiss, a slippery little tongue moving in and out between my lips slowly her lips soft and moist, the best second kiss of my life and then she gave me a hug, a long hug. It was chilly. But she wouldn’t let go and then I heard her say, just a whisper, in my ear, “Do you think Frank’s still alive?”

  She must’ve felt me freeze up or something or maybe my hesitation told her till she needed to know. She started to cry and all I could do was just hold her tighter than I had been. She cried for a long time.

  Finally I said, “All I know is there ain’t such a thing as death and we’re all going to see him again some day.”

  I hated the way that came out. But even this far down the road I still don’t know what else I could’ve said.

  When she stopped crying and blew her nose she put her hand in mine and stared up at the stars. Anybody who spends any time at all with Kelly gets into that habit.

  “I think you’re right,” she said. “There has to be something up there. It’s so beautiful.”

  We just stared up at it for a while. I think
all kinds of conversations were going on in our heads but somehow none of it came out.

  Charole finally patted me on the shoulder and said, “You poor man, you’re freezing,” and she kissed me on the cheek and then on the lips and then she said, “Thanks for not bullshitting me.”

  I said, “The simple truth is I just don’t know. This whole psychic business, sometimes it just runs on feelings. And feelings are hard to read at the best of times.”

  She gave me a brave smile and said, “Everything runs on feelings, doesn’t it?”

  “Either that or gasoline,” I said.

  She gave me a brave tearful smile and then she opened up the door and we went inside.

  Tim and Teach were in bed. Patrick snoring already. Kelly reading by candlelight, her Castaneda.

  The two beds that were left weren’t next to each other. “The sky’s so beautiful,” Charole said to Kelly.

  “Yes, it is, isn’t it?” said Kelly, putting a bookmark in

  her book and leaning over, blowing out the candle.

  “Goodnight,” said Charole. Not sure who to. Kelly said goodnight. I said goodnight.

  Went over to my bed, shucked my moccasins, nothing else.