The Water Is Warm

by Jennifer Stawska

  I know now that I will end my own suffering, not by letting go of you, but by going with you to where you are now - to where we will both be a part of the God that we found and where that will be our only truth. And all this writing, all these many words, all this time that I have spent shut away in these hotel rooms, all that leads to only one thing. To a realisation that the answer does not lie in love alone because I did once love Catherine and I am sure that I thought I loved Penelope before that. It does not lie in faith, because I know that our faith may not be the ultimate truth – we could be wrong and it doesn’t matter if we are.

  It leads me to an understanding once again that the true purpose of life is compassion, for that is both universal and it is also where the peace of God lies, in life and in death. So, Siddhartha was right and so was Christ in the beatitudes because that is what they both preached - true, hard-found compassion. And, where I have failed, it is because I have not shown it. Compassion defines the value of us all – like the husband watching his wife’s burning body in Nepal, like Raja, like Sunil. To you, Josh, it came naturally, to me it didn’t. It is what I neither showed nor found with Penelope or Catherine and that is why those relationships went wrong. But you took me to the redemption of understanding its meaning and, having witnessed your compassion, I am simply not prepared for there to be any question at all that I will lose such of it as I have learnt from you. I want my life to close with you, its highest point, in your compassionate love, and for that to be the end of my story for now and forever. If I do this now that will never change, whatever the future might bring.

  So, I go to God in the faith that I have found because that takes me to you and allows me to enfold myself once again within the warmth of the compassion that I seek with you. And as I swim out from the beach I will no longer be alone because I will carry you in the arms of my mind and then we will both mingle together, as we should. In compassion, in happiness and with God. I can achieve that only because you will be my last thought – how could you not be?

  And now, I know exactly how I want to end this. I want to end it in a way that you would. I can’t end with your words on the night of the opening of the hotel – ‘how fucking camp’ even though it is very tempting to do so. Just as tempting as ending with my own words from that third night in Unawatuna after you returned: ‘Nothing could be better.’ So, and that is your word again, I will end by saying this - I hope that the water is warm. That’s all. So, Viking, I hope that the water is warm. I think that might just bring a smile to your face. Tack så mycket, Josh.

  SG

  14th May 2008.

  POSTSCRIPT

  Simon’s email

  Dear Jennifer,

  This is a strange email with a strange attachment. The attachment explains everything.

  It is now 89 days since Josh died in the motorcycle accident that I have described. I have been spending that time writing about what has happened and, having done so, I have come to realise that I can’t carry on and don’t want to. It’s all in the story and, if you want to read it, you’ll understand. I’m too tired to repeat any of it now. I’m really sorry. There is so much to say but, yet again, there is nothing to add to what I have already written. You have been a very good friend and have bailed me out all too often. I am sorry to write to you in these terms and can well imagine how you will take this news. But I need to ask you for one final favour.

  Without beating around the bush, I need to ask you to be my executor. I have left everything to you in a will that you will receive. There is over £500k in bank accounts and I have posted three separate letters to you giving details of them. I have also posted in a separate letter to you the name and address of the lawyers here in Colombo - they hold spare copies of the will if the one that is posted to you doesn’t arrive.

  I need to ask you, if you can, to pass on to Sunil as much of what I leave as possible. You will see why if you read the attachment. I know it’s long – I never did learn to précis. At the end of the day, though, it’s up to you how you use the money and I hope that you and your family will have at least one decent holiday from it on me.

  I also know that it will probably take seven years before you will be able to take control of my estate but you can use this story as evidence of my death. I have sent you my two passports by separate post as well so that there can be no suggestion that I am roaming around elsewhere. There is plenty of money in my estate to pay for the application that you will have to make, so the costs of doing so should come from there.

  Please do not tell Sunil or Raja what has happened, at least until they have got used to me not being around. They think that I am back in England - that’s where I told them that I would be. There is surely no rush. Sunil was born on 9 September 1995 and so he will be nearly 20 in seven years’ time. It may be sensible to leave it until he is at least 21 before he receives the money but that is your call.

  Life has moved on such a very long way since we last met and the time that we spent together in chambers seems like another life. But I have been happy here and have learnt a lot as my story will show, hopefully – what you do with the story is also up to you but I just wanted someone to know what has gone on.

  No tears please.

  Go well and thank you for your friendship.

  Much love

  Simon x

  JENNIFER’S CHAPTER

  Schlummert ein, ihr matten Augen, Fallet sanft und selig zu. Welt, ich bleibe nicht mehr hier, Hab ich doch kein Teil an dir, Das der Seele könnte taugen. Hier muss ich das Elend bauen, Aber dort, dort werd ich schauen Süßen Frieden, stille Ruh.

  Those are the words of Simeon’s song about which you wrote. And that is the story that dropped into my email inbox out of the blue nearly nine years ago. I had not the slightest idea that it was coming and it took me some days to read it through; after I had done so, I had no doubts about what I should do next. I am not going to write here about my own emotional reaction to what I read because that is too obvious. I found a gap in my chambers diary, booked a flight to Colombo and went to Sri Lanka for four weeks.

  I spent a couple of days in Colombo, visiting the park that Simon mentions and sitting under the same tree, which was easy to find. Then I went to Unawatuna and booked myself into Raja’s hotel. I wanted to see for myself what life had been like for Simon there and I learnt very quickly why he loved it so much. I met Raja and Sunil but did not say anything to them about my connection with Simon. How could I? The next question would have been ‘where is he now?’

  But the following year I returned. On the third day that I was there I asked to speak to Raja on his own and explained to him that I was a former work colleague of Simon’s. He gave me a very lukewarm reception as if he sensed that I was there to give him bad news. He just cut me dead and went about his business at the hotel. However, he obviously said something to Sunil because later the same day Sunil came to talk to me. He was nearly fourteen at the time, so this must have been August 2009.

  ‘My uncle says that you knew Simon?’ he said, guardedly.

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘I knew him too.’

  ‘I know that you did. He wrote to me all about you.’ Sunil was surprised.

  ‘Will I ever see him again?’ I had foreseen that question and had prepared my reply but dealing with it for real was wretched.

  ‘I am afraid not, Sunil. No.’ Sunil gave no reaction to this. He just watched me and said ‘I know. He never wrote.’ He walked away.

  The next day Raja approached me and explained that Sunil had told him about our conversation the day before. I had decided that I had to break the news there and then to Raja that Simon had died and that he had left everything that he owned to Sunil. I explained that I was the executor of the will. I thought that the next question would be ‘how much?’ but it wasn’t.

  Raja just dropped his shoulders, looked at the floor and said: ‘He was a very good man. A very fine man. And Josh was too’ and then he wiped his eyes and
walked away.

  He returned after a few minutes with some photographs and spent a long time explaining each photograph to me with obvious pride; while he did so, Sunil joined us and it became very apparent how much they had both loved Simon and Josh. I asked them whether they would like me to read some of what Simon had written; they looked at each other, smiled and, without more, Raja said that they would.

  So over the next few nights, I read to them a few parts of Simon’s story, including some of the bits in the UK. They both listened intently, hardly ever interrupting. At times they laughed and at other times they cried, especially when I read out some of the account of Josh’s death and then a summary of parts of the last chapter that Simon had written. I felt that it was important for them to know what had happened, however painful it might be.

  It was only then Sunil showed me the life story book that he had kept safely since writing it. It is a beautiful book that carries so much within it and Sunil was very hesitant when he took me through it, unsure how to tell me about the memories that it held.

  ‘Simon drew that with me.’ He showed me the pictures that they had drawn together and I could feel Sunil’s mood sinking, so I tried to be business like.

  ‘Now it is my job to make sure that you get the money that Simon wanted you to have. There is about £515,000 still in the bank. That’s about $640,000. Simon suggested that it might be better if it was kept for you until you are 21.’

  Sunil just shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care. I should have just gone on looking at the book with him. I know Sunil better now.

  ‘I would like to think about that,’ Raja said. He could see that Sunil was shutting down and so ended the conversation.

  But we returned to talking about the money later and, in the end, it was agreed that I would hold the money for Sunil in accounts in England until he was 21 but that he would have the interest on it once I took control of Simon’s estate. It has all taken some careful investing after the banking collapse. I also agreed that I would not show anyone else Simon’s story until the same time – that it would be Sunil’s choice whether the story was ever published.

  I returned to Sri Lanka a number of times after that and brought my husband with me. Increasingly, for us both, it started to feel like home. So in the end we have stayed here. I left the bar in 2011, just resisting the temptation of dumping my wig and gown in the Huntspill River as Simon had done, my husband ditched his accountancy job and we brought our kids here too.

  I have spent a lot of time with Sunil, adding to his life story book. We have also drawn many of the things that he has seen; Sunil is a very good and explicit drawer and painter. Although many of his pictures are not pretty, they are very expressive. I have been talking to him repeatedly about what has happened; somehow that has created a link, a continuum of Simon’s life and work.

  Now, as I write this, the weeds of commercialism and westernisation that were once swept away by the tsunami have invaded again the beach of which Simon was so fond. There are also crowds of people driving into the nature reserve at Yala with the short termism that pervades so much of the human occupation of this fragile globe - what will things be like in 100 years’ time, I wonder? The solution for us was easy. Raja built up the hotel business in Unawatuna, made some money and, with a bit of help from us and an advance of your money, Simon, we have all now moved east along the coast. We have a regular turnaround of tourists in the smaller hotel that we have built here and where we look after our guests as our friends.

  Sunil is now a very handsome and tall young man, having just turned 21. I have done what you asked and have now paid the rest of the money over to him. He has put it into buying a hotel in Mirissa and is becoming quite an entrepreneur. I did not push the question of publishing your story but I gave him a copy when he turned 21 in September 2016. He has read it and has asked me to get it published on the internet, which is why I have done so. Do we fear complaint from the likes of Brian because of what Simon wrote? Here in Sri Lanka? No. I have written to him.

  Sunil and Raja speak of you often. They lost so much in the tsunami and, before that, in the civil war; but, despite losing you and Josh also, they remember you both with a heavily guarded pride, as if knowing you both had touched them - gilded them - with an enduring meaning and purpose. It shows in them. You would be very proud of Sunil; now I have grown to love him also, as you did Simon, and I want to protect him as you tried to do.

  There is something else that I have done. I have tracked down Catherine, met up with her and given her a copy of what you wrote; she is the only other person who has seen it so far. She has heard your apology and, I believe, understands that you did love her despite all the many difficulties that you faced.

  And Josh, the man you met and loved in Sri Lanka? I now have some photographs of how you and Josh were when you were here in Sri Lanka. I have also heard the accounts of you both, which others still tell. You were the golden boys. A magnificent couple. The photograph that I cherish was taken by a tourist and is one of those that Raja first showed me. It is a photograph of you both, on the beach at Unawatuna, with your arms around each other’s shoulders with the volley ball net in the background. It was probably taken at the same time as the photograph to which you have referred in what you wrote. You each have brilliant smiles on your faces and are looking slightly inwards towards each other. You exude happiness. It is as if the sun shone out of you. That’s how I think of you.

  Well, Simon, you have told your story and now I have done what you asked. I have published it for all the reasons you gave and although it is dedicated to Josh, I also wish to record my own tribute to the memory of you, my very good friend Simon Greenwood, whom I loved too.

  What about me and my family? Well, as for us, we are happy, very happy and I intend to keep it that way. I think that, having finished writing this little postscript, I will go for a swim with my husband in the warm water of the sea which surrounds this beautiful island and then sit and drink some mango juice in the sun with two wonderful Sri Lankans – our best of friends, Raja and Sunil. And yes, the water is warm.

  J.S.

  February 2017.