‘I feel ancient this morning. Dr Ekachai thinks I’m in my mid-thirties and I suppose that’s about right. I think I’m probably older than you but younger than him. I don’t understand how I’ve worked that out though.’
‘That’s fine,’ Ellen reassured her. ‘How long have you been in hospital here?’
‘About two weeks. The doctor told me,’ she admitted.
‘How do you feel about the fact that you can’t remember much about your past?’
Ellen wasn’t taking notes and her previous questions had sounded like polite interest. This question was unexpected and seemed to warrant a reaction rather than a considered response. ‘Mostly I feel angry, like I’ve been cheated. Sometimes it’s just frustrating but at times it sends me wild, like I want to smash up my room or punch someone.’
Ellen nodded as though she understood perfectly. ‘Is this a common feeling, this anger?’
Kai thought for a minute. Looking back over the past few days, anger had seemed like her strongest emotion. She was depressed but that felt more like a lack of emotion than a feeling of sadness or hopelessness – a kind of emptiness. She thought about how often she’d snapped at Ekachai over nothing, the times she’d felt like throwing her meal tray at the wall or smashing the window just to get some fresh air.
‘Probably,’ she admitted.
‘And is this anger directed inwards or outwards?’
Kai looked at Ekachai and he smiled his encouragement.
‘Outwards I suppose. It’s usually towards other people or inanimate objects.’
‘But you don’t feel angry with yourself? Is it like someone has done this to you and now you want to punish them?’
Kai nodded slowly. ‘I suppose so. I just don’t feel especially rational sometimes.’
She expected the doctor to reassure her, to tell her that everyone with amnesia feels like this, she wanted to be told that she was normal but instead Ellen continued to study her with an intensity that was becoming uncomfortable. Kai looked again to Ekachai for support but he’d obviously abdicated responsibility for her for a while. He was sitting on the edge of Dr Thomas’s desk, his hands knotted between his thighs, studying the two women. Trying to control the panic, Kai turned back to Ellen and was relieved when the doctor smiled at her.
‘Okay, how about we try to get you to relax?’
‘Sounds good,’ Kai admitted. ‘It’s not something I’ve felt much recently.’
Ellen stood up and reached for something on her desk, hidden behind Ekachai. ‘Here, hold this.’
It was a glass prism, angular and cold. Kai turned it over in her hands, enjoying the feel of its smooth surfaces and the way it caught the light and split it into its component colours, throwing rainbow shadows on to the walls and ceiling. She ran her thumbs along its planes, enjoying its coolness.
‘Now close your eyes.’
Kai did as she was instructed, still holding the piece of glass, warming it between her palms.
‘Try to imagine the prism. Can you still see it?’
Kai tried to picture it as she felt it. All she got was a series of white and blue blobs floating in blackness. She tried to focus, to force them into a coherent shape but they swirled their defiance and refused to coalesce. Opening her eyes, she looked at the piece of glass again and then at Ellen.
‘Sorry, all I’m getting is a load of patterns.’
Ellen leaned forward and removed the prism from Kai’s hand.
‘Try again,’ she urged. Kai closed her eyes for a second time and let the patterns play themselves out. Just as she was about to give up she saw a shape forming and slowly, steadily a fixed image grew in her mind.
‘Yes, I think I’ve got it,’ she whispered, afraid to disturb the fragile image by speaking too loudly or too soon.
‘Okay,’ Ellen whispered and Kai felt the weight of the glass gently placed back into her hands. ‘Hold that image.’
Silence.
‘Now,’ Ellen began again, ‘your tension is like the prism, hard and sharp but you have the power to dissolve it. Can you do that? The power is like a wave of light from your mind, eating the glass away like a sugar cube dissolving in water.’
She tried to concentrate on destroying the barrier, sending rays of consciousness out like darts of lightning. Nothing. It still hung there in the darkness taunting her with its beauty. She took a deep gulp of air and tried again, gently this time, realising that a violent onslaught was counterproductive and this time Kai could see it, the prism, melting in a blue light. As it melted, she felt her body relaxing into the chair, light, almost weightless.
‘Good,’ Ellen’s voice seemed to come from inside her own head. ‘Now, tell me what you did this morning.’
Kai obediently described her breakfast and her walk to Dr Thomas’s office.
‘Good. What did you do yesterday morning?’
It was easy, yesterday was clear in her mind. She told Ellen about her conversation with Ekachai and her meeting with Mark.
‘Okay Kai, now think back to when you were asleep for a long time. Do you remember that?’
‘Dark, it was really dark, like I was floating in warm water.’ Kai heard herself say. ‘Then light. Then I was here.’
‘Can you go back into the dark?’
Kai tried. Images surfaced, first impressions of the hospital; the faces looking down at her, the feel of the cotton sheets of her bed, and the prism. Slowly she tried again to dissolve the glass and, as it disappeared she was in the darkness, conscious of nothing but Ellen’s voice.
‘Where are you, Kai?’
‘Dark.’
‘Okay, now we’re going back further still. To before the dark. Do you think you can do that?’
Lulled by the voice, Kai thought she could do anything – as long as Ellen was there, speaking, reassuring. Again she fought the prism and this time it was replaced by light – green light like the sun through a canopy of leaves. ‘Trees. I can see trees. And water, maybe a river.’
‘Where are you?’
‘Don’t know. Outside, I can see the sky.’
‘Okay, that’s good. Anything else?’
‘I’m warm. Feel happy, no, contented. I like it here.’
‘Well done, Kai. Now try to think back. How did you get there?’
Kai tried to focus on the place, tried to feel it, make it real, but it wouldn’t come. Following the voice, she tried to go further back, to find a time before the place with the water and the big sky. There was a lot of green and blue, movement, a sense of speed.
‘I’m moving,’ she said. ‘Going back I think.’
‘Okay, hold that feeling. Keep going back. What can you see?’
‘The same. Still warm. I’m tired.’
‘I know. Not long now. Can you go further back?’
The sense of motion continued but the direction had changed. She seemed to be going forwards, back into the darkness, the unconsciousness before she’d woken in hospital. But this time it was different. The black held flecks of white like the static of a badly tuned television set and the flecks were trying to form a shape.
‘Where are you Kai?’
‘Dark, fuzzy, shapes. I don’t know. I think there’s a face.’
‘Hold it Kai. Hold the face and bring it to the surface.’
In the darkness she tried to hold the image but it was indistinct, at times it was barely a shape at all then the specks of white gradually formed something more concrete before disappearing again. She clenched her fists and strained against the back of the chair trying desperately to hold on to the face.
Suddenly the prism was back. ‘I’ve got the glass again.’
‘You know what to do, Kai, dissolve it, get behind it.’
She tried again and again, visualising the blue light that could destroy the obstruction. It came in strong waves, each one in time with her racing heartbeat, dissolving the lines and angles of glass, trying to destroy it completel
y.
Not this time. The prism held itself at the front of her consciousness, became part of her consciousness. She could feel herself trembling with the effort of trying to banish it.
‘No good,’ she gasped. ‘I’m too tired.’
She felt someone take her hands and she clung on desperately, dropping the prism onto the carpet.
‘It’s okay, Kai, ssh, you’re safe. Listen to me. Can you feel my hands?’
A nod was all she could manage.
‘Good, hold on to me and come back. The prism’s shrinking. Can you see it? Smaller, tiny now. Has it gone? Come back, Kai. Open your eyes.’
She steadied her breathing and concentrated on clearing her mind of the shapes and shadows that lurked at the edges of her consciousness, picturing the room that she was in, the chair, the doctors. Ekachai was looking down at her, his eyes concerned and puzzled while Ellen was still holding her hands and studying her face.
‘I’m okay,’ she smiled wanly. ‘God, that was hard work!’
Ellen let go of her hands and sat back in her seat running a hand through her hair.
‘That was really good,’ she said. ‘You managed to remember something from before the hospital. Can you still see it?’
Kai closed her eyes and, at first, saw nothing but static, but then there was more light, the sky, trees and a river below her. This was a memory. She tried to imagine herself into the scene but, as she began to feel the sun on her skin, the static descended again.
‘I can see it but I can’t hold it. It all goes fuzzy.’
‘What about the face?’
She shook her head, reluctant to go back into the darkness. ‘I couldn’t get it. It might not have been a face, it was just a shape.’ Even to herself she sounded like she was lying but the doctors both seemed satisfied, even relieved. All she wanted to do now was escape back to the safety of her room where she didn’t have to confront her past unless she chose to, where she could hide.
‘I think perhaps I should take Kai back to her room now, Doctor Thomas. She seems tired.’ Ekachai seemed to echo her thoughts.
‘Fine,’ said Ellen standing up. She gave Kai a huge smile and for a moment Kai shrunk back, thinking the doctor was going to hug her.
‘That went well, Kai. I think we should try again in a few days, see if we can get you any further back. How would that be?’
She would have agreed to anything just to get back to her room and, having promised another session in two days’ time, she found herself trotting back down the stairs with Ekachai trying to keep up. She found herself desperate for the security of her former prison.
‘You seem to have recovered some of your strength,’ the doctor commented from three stairs behind.
‘Ah, it’s easy when it’s all downhill,’ she joked in that voice that didn’t quite sound like her own. ‘Anyway, it’s nearly lunch time and I wouldn’t want to miss one of your delicious hospital meals.’ Ekachai smiled uncertainly as though he hadn’t quite picked up on the irony. Kai knew that this apparent change in her mood was confusing him but she didn’t want him to see just how shaken she really was. Any sign of a problem and he might decide that she wasn’t ready for the great outdoors. And she really didn’t need the doctor’s uncertainty to fuel her own doubts.
He left her at the door to her room after promising to look in on her later and Kai collapsed gratefully on her bed, scrabbling in the bedside cupboard for the journal, eager to lose herself in trying to find herself.
The next few entries were maddeningly factual, details of meals, hotel rooms and very little of the person doing the writing. Frustrated, Kai flicked through the next few pages just reading a phrase here and there until she was suddenly drawn back in by an entry for early October.
October 2nd – Xiahe
This place feels like home. As soon as I stepped off the bus I felt safe and comfortable. I don’t know what it is but there’s something soothing about being so far removed from the familiar and expected. Penny asked for a postcard from somewhere exotic and I think I’ve found the perfect place. I know exotic for most people means hot weather and beaches but, for me, this is seriously exotic.
I’ve booked into a very basic guesthouse with only two toilets and a shower somewhere in the basement. The room is ‘Tibetan style’ which seems to mean a mattress on a raised platform and very little else, which suits me – at least it’s clean. I arrived here at about 5pm after an interesting bus journey. I was the only woman on the bus, which was pretty terrifying. Every time we arrived at a stop, especially in the middle of nowhere, I was convinced that I was going to be bundled off somewhere and molested or sold into the white slave trade. It’s funny now, lying in the comfort and safety of my bed, but I was really nervous for most of the journey. Of course nobody took the slightest bit of notice of me beyond the odd casual glance but I was never quite able to relax and enjoy the scenery.
I’ve not really had a chance to explore as I only had about two hours of daylight after I checked in but I have discovered a great place to eat, next to the monastery, and I finally got a cup of coffee. It was instant, it had powdered milk in it and it was heavenly! The restaurant also sells cheap beer – what more could a girl want? Chocolate maybe? I think I’ll stay for a few days and indulge myself.
October 3rd – Xiahe
I spent most of today wandering round the town and soaking up the atmosphere. It’s a peculiar place, divided into two very distinct halves, the Chinese side, which is quite modern and clean, and the Tibetan side, surrounding the monastery, which looks very run-down and is much more interesting than the Chinese half.
I managed to get on to a guided tour of the monastery but it was all pretty confusing. The monk who showed us around spoke fairly good English which was helpful and he was obviously keen for us to understand the importance of the place. He tried to give us an insight into Tibetan Buddhism but it’s so confusing: so many Buddhas and lamas. I was engrossed by the whole idea of the monastery being like a university. Apparently there are different colleges and each novice can choose to specialise. I found myself drifting off into some fantasy world where I could live in the mountains and study; how appealing it feels at the moment – a real escape. Sadly I don’t think I’m Buddhist material. I like the non-violence idea and the thought of spending a good chunk of my day in silent contemplation but I bet it gets bloody cold up here in the winter!
Abandoning all hope of making it as a nun I headed back to the restaurant for lunch and a beer. I was joined by two English women, Josie and Sarah, who had been working as English teachers in northern China and were spending their earnings travelling before they had to head home to get real jobs. One of them told me that they were staying at the same place as me and they were looking for someone to make up a threesome for a day trip up to the grasslands. I agreed. It seemed like a good idea to see some of the countryside and it felt safer to go with two women than on my own, especially after my experience in Wutaishan. I’m now really looking forward to going exploring: it seems there are places even more remote than this.
I wandered a bit further out of town this afternoon and sat and watched people going past, intent on their pilgrimage and the ritual of touching the walls of the monastery and turning the prayer wheels. It’s a world removed from what I’d be doing back home. Someone asked me before I left how much this trip was going to cost. When I told her she said, ‘You could buy a car and put down a deposit on a house for that.’ If I’d said that I was going to spend it all watching ordinary people go about their daily lives she’d have probably had a heart attack. I just said, ‘I know.’
What more would I know about the world I live in, and about myself, if I’d not made my big escape, my bid for independence, and instead just bought a small car and a suburban semi?
What I really wanted to say was ‘I’ve done all that. I had my car and my half-share of a house and, believe me, it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.’ But, as usual, I
kept my mouth shut and left her to her own, misinformed opinions.
October 4th – Xiahe
After yesterday I didn’t think things could get much better but today has been one of those days that, even as they’re happening, you know you’ll remember for the rest of your life.
It was a grey dawn when we set off in a rattle-trap of a mini-van – our driver was some local in need of an extra income and our guide turned out to be the man who runs the guesthouse. After about ten minutes we’d left Xiahe behind and we were on a rough track heading relentlessly upwards. Xiahe stands at over nine-and-a-half thousand feet and we were heading even higher. My ears started popping just at the thought of it.
My companions were very quiet and I got the impression that neither of them were morning people, especially when the younger one fell asleep on a particularly bumpy stretch. I was relieved because the scenery was too spectacular to be ignored, and even from my spot, huddled in the back, I could see for miles
We passed through a village which the yak-herds use in winter and it was like something from one of those bad American road movies where everyone stares at the newcomers in town and you just know they’re going to meet a grisly end. The men on bikes had dismounted and they watched as we rolled to a halt outside a building that looked like a cross between a shop and a social centre. A group of women, dressed Tibetan style, their arms bare and wind-chapped, were chatting outside.
The stop turned out to be a toilet break – without the toilet! The driver and guide went off in one direction and we went in the other, behind the shop. There was nothing we could do about the icy wind but it made for a very quick stop. When we got back in the van we giggled about how easy it is to lose your inhibitions in China. There’s no way I’d stop for a pee in the UK and squat behind a wall in full view of the village shop. Maybe it’s because we know that the Chinese think we’re strange whatever we do so there’s no point worrying about it.
Our main objective for the day was a monastery high in the hills above the grasslands and it took us about three hours to get there. Beyond the village the road rapidly degenerated into a dirt track and, due to the rain, it was more like a mud bath in places. Of course it was in one of those places that we got stuck, wheels whining and driver cursing. There was nothing for it: the four of us had to get out and push while the driver tried various tactics with the accelerator and clutch to get us moving again. It sounds horrendous but it was so funny. Three women, all of us pretty small, and a young man in his best clothes, up to our ankles in mud trying to shift a protesting mini-van.
Forgotten: a truly gripping psychological thriller Page 7
