“Autumn.”
“Autumn?” he questions. She nods. “That’s a beautiful name.”
She lowers her eyes feeling her cheeks prickle.
“It suits you,” he continues.
She inclines her head, eyes narrowed. “How so?”
“You share the shades of autumn, your hair and your eyes.”
Jet is right. Her hair shares the colour of fallen autumn leaves: a luminous russet. And her eyes are of faded grey and blue, like a cloudy autumn sky. Her skin is pale, possessing colour only in her cheeks and in the pink of her plump lips.
“Anyway, I’m sorry,” he says. “That’s appearances—rather off topic.”
Autumn nods and takes in a deep, courage-drawing breath and reaches for his hand. Why? She doesn’t know. Perhaps because he is a stranger in a strange country, and she will never see him again after today. She first takes his wrist and slowly brings her fingers to the palm of his hand, crawls her fingertips along the length letting splashes of colour and imagery, all belonging to Jet, to saturate her mind. When her nerve has grown, she grips his hand with unfaltering contact. His mind is clear, memories lucid. She keeps a hold, allowing the thoughts and emotions to permeate her own thoughts.
First to trickle through are feelings: infallible strength, courage, intelligence, but it is tainted with the drizzle of doubt and confusion. She lets the images swirl and make sense in her mind, allows the pictures to align and tell their unvoiced stories. His childhood is a blur, like undirected splatters of colour on a canvas; she will only see what is dominant in his mind in the present moment. She glimpses the old lady in his memories and she flinches, but manages to keep hold of his hand. She witnesses the terror on her own face as the lady squeezed her hand and hissed ‘curse’ through her rotten teeth from Jet’s perspective, coupled with his emotions: suspicion to anger to compassion.
The images change and she is offered solid insights into Jet’s life. The big, brown eyes of an Indian boy, no more than four years old, take form on her mind’s canvas, along with an overwhelming love and empathy. The little boy is on his hands and knees on the dusty ground, crying. He is last in a long line of children. The woman leading them is occupied by a crying baby in her arms.
Jet runs to the boy, he is worried. He lifts the little boy by his waist, onto his feet and gently brushes the dirt from his skinned knees, palms, and smooths the boy’s hair back from his brow. The crying boy wipes the tears from his eyes with the back of his hands and sniffs the snot back into his nostrils, leaving only a moist trail on his upper lip. He lifts his little hand, pushes it into Jet’s and grips his comparatively giant fingers. He peers up with his tear-glazed, brown eyes and smiles so wide his entire face crinkles. A warm feeling starts in the pit of Jet’s stomach and spreads throughout his entire body; almost brings a tear to his eye. Jet smiles back. He hasn’t smiled like this for such a long time, where he has no control over the joy he is feeling or the upward curl of his lips. This little boy is so endearing, vulnerable, yet strong.
He walks with the little boy, hand in hand, following the other children and the woman with the crying child who is still bellowing. They end up in a small dim room of a second-rate building, fitted out with a single table and two long benches on either side. Jet exchanges glances with the boy, but no words; their tongues speak a different language. The children take a seat at the benches. Those who can’t reach the dark timber floor with their feet, swing their legs back and forth. One girl strokes a tuft of her hair with tentative movements and a little boy searches the contents on his nose with his index finger. Jet’s new friend unclasps his hand from his, assumes a seat at the end of the bench. And the crying child finally settles, sitting in between two older girls on the opposite bench, one taking over the role of comforter, placing her thin arm around the crying girl’s shoulders. A beautiful sight.
Jet speaks with the woman, a fellow Australian of about twenty-six or twenty-seven. She explains about the children that line the benches: waifs of the world, orphaned by parents who have succumbed to the terminal indiscrimination of AIDS. She has volunteered to be their guardian in the orphanage set up by the resident monks. Jet peers at the parentless little blessings all in a row, from one to the next, their innocent small faces, wide curious eyes and begins to cry until he can taste the salty, empathetic tears on his tongue.
The little boy, his new friend, stands from the bench and tip-toes with clumsy steps to Jet’s side. He looks him directly in the eyes, again taking his hand. He offers Jet his most glorious, wide-toothed smile in an effort to comfort him. This boy who has nothing, no home, no parents, few basic needs, is comforting Jet.
The fog clears, the melancholy clouds shadowing his mind for the past year turn a splendid silvery-white, and when the complacency that has plagued Jet dissipates, along with a good dose of guilt and shame, he has an epiphany. How could he have been so wrong to ever think he was not happy, when he has a home, friends and family, a job, money and every basic need satisfied? How could he have dared conceive of such a thing when this child before him, after all he has dealt with, the loss of his parents, home life and livelihood, can consider himself in a high enough state of mind and emotion to lend Jet, a stranger, a nobody, his happiness?
In that little boy’s smile, Jet finds an answer—every ounce of happiness in his life can be found from within and is created by him, not by the material universe and what he has and has not. He had forgotten how lucky he is and has been reminded by an orphan child’s contagious smile. Jet decides he is not going home and that he will help this young woman at the orphanage for as long as it takes. With this decision, Jet finds happiness.
The next image swirls through and it is of herself: her subtle look of concentration as she holds Jet’s hand. She can feel Jet’s curiosity and concern. There are also other emotions which surprise Autumn—affinity, attraction, need. He likes the way her hand feels in his. He likes the gentle blush on her cheeks. He likes her silky white, smooth skin, soft pink lips, the rounded mounds of her breasts. He had forgotten lust, until now.
She lets go of his hand, keeping her eyes intentionally downcast until she is sure the heat from her cheeks has receded.
“What happened there?” he asks after silence carries on for longer than his patience will allow.
“You told me about your life,” she says.
He crinkles his eyes, disbelieving. “I never said a word.”
“You didn’t have to.”
He glimpses down at his hand. She knows he is drawing the connection, filling in the blanks, how she is able to see what he sees. “What did I tell you?” he asks.
Autumn explains what she saw. She doesn’t fill him in on the last images she was privy to, though.
Jet doesn’t speak for a long time; mouth slightly parted in surprise, or is it shock? He shakes his head and blinks rapidly. “You saw all that from touching my hand?”
She nods.
“That’s unbelievable.”
She gives a single snort of air. “For you it’s unbelievable. For me, it’s an undeniable reality.”
“You were holding my hand for no longer than five seconds tops, and you saw all that?”
“It’s an instantaneous exchange.”
“What did the old woman show you?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t. I can’t. I don’t want to think about it.”
“That bad?”
“Worse. I have never seen anything like that in my whole life, ever.”
Jet nods his head and then shakes it. “It’s fascinating. To see all about Darshan…”
“That’s the little boy’s name? Darshan?”
“Yeah. He’s a gorgeous little thing.”
“I could see he had you the moment he looked at you.”
Jet smiles. “You know, I had been sitting under that friggin’ tree for six days,” he says nodding towards the temple grounds where the Bodhi tree stands. “Meditating and thinking and swearing, trying to find what that little b
oy gave me in a second.”
“Happiness?”
Jet nods his head and says, “Well, yes. But something more like clarity.” He brings his knees up to his chest and rests his arms loosely on his knees. “We don’t know anything about who Darshan’s dad was and we assume his mum had died many months before he was sent to our orphanage. A monk found him begging for food out the front gates. He had been fending for himself for God knows how long. I don’t even want to imagine what could have or had happened to him over that time. Still, he seems well adjusted enough.”
“Are there are a lot of kids like Darshan?”
“Unfortunately, yes. That’s why the monks set up the orphanage. They noticed a lot of the children hanging around the gates of the temple begging for food and money.”
“It’s a very noble thing you’re doing, working at the orphanage.”
“Hardly noble. I had no choice but to stay here. Once I saw what these kids have had to contend with, I couldn’t go back home to Australia.”
“Still, it must be hard, day in day out, being a young man and all.”
Jet smiles a crooked smile. “There’s more to life than temporary pleasures. Darshan taught me that. The kids I look after remind me of that every day.”
Autumn recalls what she saw, the desire Jet has for her. And it seems I remind you of what the children distract you from.
“However, in saying that, it’s nice, every once in a while, to take a day off. I’ve been here for seven months now and today is my,” he lifts his fist and counts one, two, three fingers, “this is my fourth day off.”
“I’m sorry to have intruded on your day.”
He puts his palm up. “It’s no intrusion. It’s kinda nice to meet a fellow Aussie. Especially an Aussie who is so interesting.”
Autumn smiles.
“So are you going to tell me what else you saw? Surely my meeting Darshan isn’t the only part of my life I showed you.”
She lowers her eyes, but she can’t hide the blush.
“Ah. I thought it was something like that?” He isn’t embarrassed and doesn’t try to explain, merely lets it hang in the air that his emotions are real and are nothing to be ashamed of. Living how he lives, caring for the lives he cares for, there is no use for mind-games or pretence. There is only room for honesty.
“How old are you, Jet?” she asks.
He grins. “You don’t already know that?”
She shakes her head, smiles. “There is plenty I don’t know about you.” Autumn looks to her hand. “The insights I receive are selective and limited. I really only see what is currently on your mind, or what has long bothered you.”
He nods. “I’m twenty-seven.”
“What did your parents say about you staying on here in India?”
He shrugs. “Impartial, really. I’m a grown man. They know I make my own decisions and are happy for me to go my own way. They have always been like that.”
“Do you miss them?”
“Yeah, and my brother and my niece. But my family can look after themselves. My kids here can’t.” He smiles a wide smile. “So what are you doing here? You don’t look like the normal pilgrim that rolls through here in search of enlightenment.”
“I won a trip.”
“You won a trip?”
“Yeah. From a travel magazine. I have to blog about my experiences.”
“And you are here by yourself?”
She feels frantic as she remembers David. In Jet’s company and after the incident with the old lady, he hadn’t even entered her thoughts. “No,” she says quickly, reaching for her bag to retrieve her mobile. “I’m here with a guy.”
“Oh,” whispers Jet. “Your boyfriend?” There’s a gloomy inflection, which Autumn doesn’t catch.
She checks the screen of her mobile for a message or missed call. Nothing. David must still be on the toilet, poor thing. She turns to Jet, now able to give him her full attention. “Um, no, he’s not my boyfriend. He’s another winner.”
“So you had to travel here with some random stranger. He could be a pervert or, or…”
Autumn laughs. “He is a bit of perv. He’s been trying to put the hard-word on me since I met him at the airport in Brisbane. But other than that, he’s a decent guy. He’s been very helpful getting around India, that’s for sure. Poor thing is not feeling well now, though. He’s gone to find a toilet as we speak.”
Jet winces. “Ooh. Not good. But still, better him than you.”
“I told him not to eat those cucumbers.”
Jet laughs. “On the train?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s not the first to come off second best as far as they’re concerned. Jennifer, the girl I work with, was sick for a fortnight after eating the shit they serve on those trains.”
“We’re flying home tomorrow night. I hope he’s better by then. A twenty-nine hour flight with food poisoning doesn’t sound too appealing.”
“You’re leaving tomorrow?”
She hears his disappointment this time and finds it rather curious, considering they have only just met. However, she can understand how he would be lonely here all by himself. Her body buzzes with sympathy for him.
Her phone interrupts the moment. “That’s David,” she says looking at the flashing screen. “I better grab this.”
Autumn answers the phone to David, whose voice is hoarse, weak. She tells him where she is and he spots her from the temple gates and waves before ending the call and trudging across the field towards her, hot sun beating down on him.
When he joins them, she can see his face is pale, forehead beading with sweat. He eyes Jet suspiciously as Autumn introduces them, explaining the circumstances under which they met.
“You don’t look too good,” says Autumn as David sits on the grass beside her.
“I feel like death warmed up. I’m sorry, but I need to get back to the hotel.”
Autumn sits up straighter, her forehead crinkling. “Do you need a doctor or something?” She reaches into her backpack and pulls out another fresh bottle of water. She thrusts it at him. “Here.”
He takes the water from her and sips on it.
“Where’s your hotel?” asks Jet.
“Patna.”
Jet’s face crinkles. “There are no trains back to Patna until tonight. You can probably catch a rickshaw back, but the roads are bad. Besides, do you think you can last a couple of hours without needing to…?”
“Shit water? No. Definitely not.” David drops his head in his hands.
Jet stands. “Come back to the orphanage with me. You can stay in my room for the day. There is fresh, clean water and amenities.”
David rounds his lips to say no, but then clutches at his stomach in pain and nods. “Thank you. I appreciate it, mate. How far is this orphanage?”
Jet points to a rickety, old building only a few hundred metres to the right of them. “It’s just over there.”
David stands. “Good.”
They pace towards the orphanage: an L-shaped building with long verandas, shaded by the leafy branches of an enormous fig tree. Autumn and David follow Jet up a flight of stairs, along a veranda to the back of the building where he opens a door into a small room, no larger than the size of a bathroom. Inside, a single bed hugs the left wall, a bookshelf lines the right, and in between, on the back wall, is a small desk filled with papers and pens, a lamp and other such clutter. An old, box air-conditioner protrudes from the single window on the wall beside the bed.
Jet flicks the air-conditioner on and it begins to gasp and groan like it is an old man about to fall over and die, but immediately Autumn can feel the cool blast of air pushing from its vents.
“This is my room. You can rest here.”
David nods, eyes wide with immense gratitude.
“I’ll show you the bathroom and kitchenette,” says Jet.
They walk around to the other side of the building. Directly behind Jet’s room, shared by a common wall, is a
tiny bathroom with a shower, basin and toilet. It is old but clean, smelling like bleach; a welcomed scent. It is half the size of Jet’s room. Behind the second door is a tiny kitchenette with a water filter, bar fridge, sink and a few wobbly cupboards. Jet grabs a bottle of orange liquid from the cupboard along with a glass and pours an inch of the liquid into the glass, then tops the rest up with cool water from the filter.
“Drink this,” he says handing the glass to David. “It’s electrolytes. The best thing you can do in this situation is avoid getting dehydrated.”
David clutches the glass and drinks it down, wrinkling his face at the foul, sweet taste. “Thanks.”
Back in Jet’s room, David falls onto the bed and rolls onto his side. They shut the door behind him so he can reap the full benefits of the air-conditioner. Outside his door, Autumn sighs heavily; frowns.
“He’ll be fine,” says Jet.
She nods. “I hope so.”
“I’d be happy to keep you company today, if you like?”
She nods quickly, her eyes widening. “Yes, please. I’d appreciate that. I really don’t think I can spend the day alone, not after what has happened.”
He rests his hand on her shoulder. “It’s fine. I’m more than happy to have the company. I can give you a tour of the temples. Show you all the touristy spots so you can blog your heart out about it later. I can take you to lunch too. I soon learnt where it’s safe to eat.”
Autumn nods, her shoulders relaxing back to their rightful position. She had been almost regretting ever coming on this holiday until she peered into Jet’s gorgeous brown eyes. “Thank you,” she says with a breathy sigh. She relishes his comforting hand on her shoulder, like a blanket on a cold night. As she visually soaks in his tall frame, broad shoulders and his strong arms, his touch transforms from one of comfort, to one of intimacy. A bashful pink spreads across her cheeks and collarbones. The ground seems like the only appropriate place to look so she lowers her eyes and chews on her bottom lip.
Jet removes his hand and when she finally peers up at him again, he is grinning. “So it’s like that for you too?”
Autumn starts to shake her head but can’t deny that it is every bit as much like that for her too. She opens her mouth and from between her half-smiling lips, whispers, “Yes. Yes it is.”
The Paler Shade Of Autumn Page 3
