by Steve Howrie
* * *
March
Tuesday 1
It was the Writers group meeting last night, and Anton asked us for suggestions for a new name for our club. Various names were put forward, including: Write and Wrong; the Night Writers; Shanghai Pen–Pushers; Words Anonymous; and the Manuscriptors – all of which were ‘interesting’, according to Anton. He then asked me if I’d like to read the first part of my new ‘Twisted Tale’ story. Was the world ready for this, I wondered?
“It was a cold, dark night. So cold, your bones could rattle in your skin. Everyone had gone home – everyone, that is, except the librarian and a studious–looking Chinese girl sitting opposite me. She was reading a book, making notes as she studied the pages through her black, thick–rimmed spectacles. ‘Ni hao,’ I said to her. She looked up with a quizzical expression. ‘Do I know you?’ she asked. ‘Not yet,’ I said, ‘but the night is young.’”
At this point, Julie also gave me a quizzical expression. But I continued.
“‘I’ve got a secret,’ I intimated. ‘I know where they’ve hidden the body.’ Now she was interested. ‘What body – what are you talking about?’ I just had to tell her – she deserved to know. ‘Your brother’s body.’ The young woman was incredulous. ‘What?’ she said. She was lost for words. Eventually she managed to say, ‘Is he… is he all right?’ I shook my head. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘he’s dead.’ Suddenly, she stood up. ‘Take me to him…’ But I was in no hurry. ‘NOW,’ she demanded. I shrugged my shoulders. ‘Okay,’ I said, ‘it’s your funeral.’ We left the library, and suffered the cold, driving rain as we walked in silence to the main road. I hailed a cab, and directed the driver to West Nanjing Road station. The girl looked anxious and confused. ‘I told him not to do it – too dangerous,’ she muttered. ‘He should never got involved those people.’ I put my arm around her shoulders to comfort her. ‘You really can’t trust anyone…,’ I said, ‘trust me.’ We arrived at the station and I took her to a small, dark alley round the back. ‘In here,’ I pointed, indicating a doorway. We went up an old flight of stairs to the second floor. I took a smooth, silver key out of my coat pocket and opened the door. Inside, a man’s body lay on the floor, face down. She rushed in and knelt by the man’s side, ‘Yitian!’ she cried out, tears rolling down her cheeks as she turned the body over. Then she paused. ‘Oh, thank god,’ she exclaimed, ‘it’s not him!’ ‘It isn’t?’ I said. ‘No, it’s only my husband,’ she replied.”
Everyone was quiet for moment. Then Melissa said, “Wow!” “Double wow,” added Maddy. “That’s really got potential... it needs a bit of editing, of course, but great!” “Yeah,” said Melissa – you need to add some sex, something to spice it up… maybe in the taxi.” “It’s certainly got a twist in the tail,” said Anton, “though it is rather short.
On the way home, Julie was quiet. Then she said, “Why did you write about me?”
“What d’you mean?” I said.
“The girl in your story – it’s me isn’t it?”
“Are you Julie, or her strange twin sister?” I asked her. She looked out the window, not amused. I continued, “The girl in the story is Chinese, with a Chinese husband and a Chinese brother and she wears glasses. How can that be you?”
“I think you know,” she said.
Wednesday 2
When I saw Google this afternoon, I asked her blood type.
“Why do you want to know?” she asked.
“Just a bit of research,” I said.
“What sort of research?”
“I want to see if there’s anything in this blood type, personality business.”
She went to find something.
“What is the best blood type?” she asked when she returned.
“Best? I dunno… just a minute…” I looked at the information I’d printed out from the internet. “In Japan, type O is considered to be the best type.”
“Okay, that is my blood type.”
“You can’t say that! You can’t just choose your blood type.”
“Why not? What if I wanted to change my blood?”
“You can’t just change your blood like you change your make–up – it doesn’t work like that. If you have a blood transfusion, after an accident say, they have to give you the same type of blood.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll die if they don’t.”
“I’m type O,” she said, holding up her medical certificate with a smile.
Type O: Bad tempered, good decision makers; they are typical leaders and are wise; they make good elder brothers.
Thursday 3
Google asked me today how my Chinese lessons were going. Actually, she said, “Nide Zhongwen xue de zenme yang le?” To which I eloquently replied, “Eh?” I’d totally forgotten I was going to sign up for lessons… but I was in for a surprise.
“No problem Simon – I can teach you.”
“You can? That’s great!”
She said she’d give me a special price, and we agreed on every Wednesday evening. Can’t wait! Actually, I think I’ve got a flair for languages, and learning Chinese should be a pushover.
We had our basketball match after school today – kids versus us teachers. It was great fun. Nigel (from Guidance) recruited some female students to be cheerleaders (he really wanted to join them, but we thought he looked ridiculous in the costume). The game was easy for the students. We played two halves, and by half–time the score was students 55, teachers 19. Dr Wang was right: it looked like we were going to be embarrassingly thrashed. Then suddenly our luck changed: Klaus went for a run, skip and a hop sort of attempt at scoring and landed painfully on his ankle. No way he could play after that, so David came on as a sub. What a player! Ran rings around everyone (including me), and with one minute to go, we were just one point behind at 66–65. I couldn’t believe it! Then, in injury time, Big Ron was fouled, and we were awarded two penalty throws. Ron insisted on taking them himself, and the first went straight in the basket. Sixty–six all! He just had to score the second to win the game, but he bottled it. The ball hit the rim, did about three revolutions and dropped outside the basket. It was a draw! Still, a fair result in the end I guess – and Davie was our big star.
“Why didn’t you tell us you were so good?” I asked him in the pub afterwards.
“Oh, it’s a long story…” he said.
“I’ve got a long drink,” I replied.
He proceeded to tell me about playing basketball for the San Antonio Spurs in the NBA league in the USA. Apparently a girl had taken a shine to him, and after dating a few times he fell in love with her. They went out for two months – before he found out that she was engaged to another player. They’d had a few arguments, and she was only going out with David to make her fiancé jealous and want her back. It worked for her, but David quit the team – and basketball. He never wanted to play again.
But our match with the students had reignited his passion for the game, and he was very pleased to get over his past mistake.
Friday 4
Had an interesting dream last night. I was at home helping Julie catalogue our CD collection, and then all of a sudden it was Google, not Julie. She started teaching me Chinese, pointing to something in the textbook, with our heads very close. When I looked up, our eyes locked. “Can I kiss you?” I said. She withdrew.
“What would Julie say?” she asked.
“She’d say ‘yes’ – she likes kissing me,” I replied. (I’ve noticed that I’m quite funny in my dreams.)
“I mean, what would she say if you kissed me?”
“She wouldn’t know,” I said.
She reached forward, gently kissed me on the lips. It was very sensual, and strangely familiar.
“D’you love me babe?” a voice asked.
I opened my eyes, and Julie was by my side.
“Y’know I do,” I said sleepily. “There’s no–one else for me.”
She asked me
what I was dreaming about, and I said, “My next story.”
“Am I in it?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I said.
(Note to self: delete, delete, delete!)
Saturday 5
Something’s happening to me. It’s difficult to explain, but I think I’m going through some sort of enlightenment, without actually being enlightened. I’ve got the feeling I’m moving on, without actually going anywhere. It’s like I’m waiting for some–one or some–thing, without actually having an appointment. I think I’m born for something greater than me. I asked Julie about it this morning after breakfast, and she said she understood.
“You’re just growing up, babe, don’t worry about it. It’s called adolescence.”
“But I’m twenty–seven,” I said.
“Yeah, you’re a late developer. Pass me the remote will you honey?”
Needed to talk to someone about this, but was getting zero understanding and sympathy from Jules. So called Google and asked if we could change our Chinese lesson to Saturday. She said okay, so I told Julie I was going to see Google, and she also said okay. So everything seemed okay.
Thought I should show some pretence at wanting to learn Chinese, and said ‘Ni hao’ when Google opened her apartment door. She got me some tea, and I began to tell her about my ‘adolescent’ feelings, as Julie described them. But before I could say another word, Google asked me about my Blog.
“It’s blogging along,” I said whimsically. She stared at me quizzically with that lab–scientist look she does so well.
“Why are you writing it?” she asked. I had to stop and think. Why was I doing it? For my own amusement, to pass the time of day, for my mum and dad, for my future children, to make some money, for posterity? I really didn’t know.
“Why d’you ask?” I said.
“Because I thought of writing one,” she replied, “a lot of people do – but I couldn’t think of a good reason. Perhaps if I could help someone it would be worthwhile.”
To help someone? I’d never thought of that. But how could my Blog help anyone? It’s not like I can reveal the cure for Cancer, the way to end all wars, or prevent World hunger. I can’t really help Mum and dad either – they’ve both got partners now, so they’re okay. And Julie’s very independent – she doesn’t really need me (except for cleaning, cooking and sex). “I don’t know what I could say to help anyone,” I said eventually.
“How about helping the Universe?” Google suggested.
“But you can’t help a Universe, can you? It doesn’t make sense.”
“I think you first have to know why the Universe is here,” she replied. I looked blank, and she continued. “In your classroom, you have to know why the students have come to your lesson before you can help them. If you don’t know, you might teach them maths, when they really need to learn English.”
“Right… but that’s easy: I’d just ask them what they wanted to learn. It’s a no brainer,” I replied.
“But if the students can’t speak or read or write English, how could you ask them?”
“I guess I’d have to find some way to speak their language,” I said.
“Okay. Well, it’s the same with the universe – you need to know what language it speaks before you can help it.”
This was stranger than my strangest dream… it was even stranger than Julie, and that’s saying something. I knew Google wasn’t quite normal, but now she seemed from another World. How can a Universe speak a language? “All right,” I said with a deep breath, “tell me: what language does the Universe speak?” She drew close to me, staring with those deep, brown eyes.
“It’s the language of the Soul,” she said.
Sunday 6
Couldn’t get over my conversation with Google last night. Somehow, I’ve got to ‘help the Universe’, and to do that, I need to speak the same language – the language of the Soul.
“What is the language of the Soul?” I asked Julie in bed this morning.
“Feelings,” she said without opening her eyes, “nothing more than feelings.” Then she suddenly opened her eyes and turned to me. “Have you written your bit for the Writers group, Simon? The meeting’s tomorrow.”
Totally forgot about that. We’re all supposed to write a piece on the theme ‘Evolution’. So I set about writing something quickly.
By lunchtime, I’d got it sorted, and I read it to Julie.
“What d’you think?” I said.
She frowned. “You say that Charles Darwin was a follower of the Darwinian Theory, right?” I nodded my head. “Do know who came up with the Darwinian Theory?”
“Darwin’s dad?”
“No.”
“His son?”
“No.”
“His wife?”
She gave me an exasperated look. “Simon, it was Charles Darwin! How can you ask such a deep question as ‘what is the language of the Soul’, then say such a ridiculous thing like that?”
“Practice?” I ventured. She was not amused.
I have to say, I’d no idea what Jules was talking about when she said ‘feelings are the language of the Soul’. I have feelings: I feel hot, I feel cold, I feel it’s going to rain. But now I just feel strange.
How do I talk to the Universe – and how can it talk to me?
Monday 7
Y’know the sort of feeling you get before a big thunderstorm? The sky goes dark, the wind whips up, and the air is charged with electricity. Well, I feel nothing like that. But I tell you this: there’s a big change coming into my life – at least, that’s what Meg the Mystic predicted when I signed up for a free trial horoscope last week – no strings attached. Just send your email address, name, and date of birth, and Meg will predict the next twelve months ahead. Because of an unusual astrological conjunction of Jupiter and Uranus – which will last for the next one hundred and eighteen days – it looks like the months ahead are going to be very important for me. Of course, I don’t really believe this crap – but Julie swears by it (she swears about most things actually). The free reading is only an appetiser, as you may have guessed, and the full reading will cost seventy–five dollars (special introductory price for gullible types).
I don’t know if Google has read Meg’s predictions, but perhaps she should. She looked very sad when she came into work today.
“What’s up?” I said.
“My bike – it’s gone.”
“Gone where?” I asked.
“Stolen, I think. I put the lock on last night at home, but this morning it was gone.”
“It could have been joy riders,” I said. “You might get it back.” I tried to be positive.
“You mean, Ken’s wife?” she asked.
“Ken?” I queried.
“Ken Ryders – the Physics teacher who worked here last year.”
“No no, I mean people who steal your bike just for fun, then dump it somewhere later. They don’t want to keep it.”
But Google said that doesn’t happen in China: if a bike or car is stolen, it’s for keeps. And it wasn’t just an old push–bike we were talking about either; it was her beautiful red e–bike. I didn’t know what to say.
“I’m sure the police will find it,” I offered. She shook her head.
“No, in Shanghai there is no chance. Too many people, too many streets, not enough policemen. They’ll record the loss, but probably not even look.”
“Well, fingers crossed,” I said. She smiled thinly, and went to her office.
It’ll turn up, I said to myself.
Tuesday 8
Asked Google today if there was any news about her bike.
“Mayo,” she said. I thought she was going to cry. I crossed two more fingers for her.
Sometimes I feel so helpless. When I was at Primary school, I had a crush on a girl called Jane Summers who lost a gold ring, and everyone was looking for it all around the school. I really wanted to find it and be her hero. Then she’d fall in love with me, and be my girl
friend, and everyone else would be jealous because she was really cool, and beautiful, and my stock would suddenly hit the ceiling, and then she’d want to marry me, and we’d be the Posh and Becks of our school. I remember being very disappointed when someone else found the ring. I can still hear my best mate Karl saying, “Hey, Mike Jones has found Jane’s ring! Isn’t that great?” And I thought, ‘I don’t believe it – that loser’. Only, I was the loser because three years later they were going out together, and five years after that they were married. Okay, I was only ten, but the feelings were real.
But y’know, if I’d found that ring, I’d probably never have met Julie, and then I’d probably never have come to China, and I wouldn’t have met Google, and I wouldn’t be writing this Blog, so you wouldn’t be reading it. So you could spend your time doing something much more useful. But you’d never know about Jane Summers and the ring.
Wednesday 9
Something’s happened... I don’t know what to say. It’s hard to express how I feel, or what I’m thinking just now… I don’t know how to put it into words. It’s amazing – truly amazing… got to tell Julie.
Thursday 10
On Tuesday night, I went to bed wondering what I could do to help Google. It wasn’t the same as wanting to find Jane Summers ring – I genuinely wanted to help Google find her bike, and not for the praise. Google was so upset: the bike was her independence, the love of her life, and her pride and joy – all rolled into one. And it was brand new. Then as I lay in bed, in a sort of half–awake, half–asleep state, I ‘saw’ a map in my mind’s eye. It was a map of Shanghai, and on the map I saw Google’s apartment, where she’d lost the bike; and in red I saw a line tracing a path the bike had been taken. I was certain that’s what it was. The next morning, I told Julie about the ‘dream’. “Can you still see the map?” she asked. I closed my eyes.
“Yes, just – and I remember it from last night.”
“Then you must follow it, babe, and as soon as possible.”
“But I’ve got lessons first thing...”
“I’ll cover for you… follow your dream.”
And so I did.
I went to Google’s apartment, and from there I walked in the direction of the red line. It was getting faint now, but I still had this strong feeling of hot and cold – like cold was on the wrong track, and hot was right. Anyway, I walked for miles, turning down one road, then across another. I went to places I’d never visited in Shanghai. I almost gave up at one point – but it was like I was being pushed forward. ‘Straight on, turn left here… carry on for a bit… now next right.’ After walking for over fifty minutes, I saw it, down a narrow a side street next to the door of a small house: her red scooter! I knew it was hers even before I got up close and saw the name Google in gold letters on the side. I just knew it. “I’ve found it!” I exclaimed to myself. And then I realised the truth of the situation: no, I didn’t find it – I couldn’t have. Some–one, or some–thing, directed me to find it. But at that moment, who or how or why didn’t matter. The fact was that this was Google’s bike, and it was no longer lost. I couldn’t wait to see the look on her face.
I pushed the bike back to school, and there was Google, her face buried in her work. When I showed her the bike, tears ran down her face.
“Oh Simon! How did you? Where was it? When…?” She was overjoyed – and I was warmed by her joy. Then she did something totally against her conditioning: she gave me a big hug, and I hugged her back. “Thank you,” she said.
Today, the enormity of finding the bike really dawned on me. I relived the moment again and again; and whichever way I looked at it, I knew one thing for absolute certain: I did not find Google’s bike. But if I didn’t, who did?
When I told Julie the story, she listened without saying a word. When I’d finished, she looked at me in a way I’ve never really noticed before and said, “So now you’ve discovered the language of the Soul, Simon.”
Friday 11
I met up with Google, Sheila, Klaus, Ron, Graham and some of the admin girls after work last night to celebrate the return of Google’s e–bike. But I was surprised by their reactions.
“That was a lucky thing… finding Google’s bike,” Klaus remarked.
“Luck?” I said.
“Yah – a chance occurrence… but good fortune.”
“I didn’t actually see it as luck...” I started to say. Then Big Ron chipped in.
“Just using your detective skills, eh Simon? Looking for clues, getting into the head of the thief – that sort of thing…”
“No I… I just sort of felt it…” I didn’t want to tell them about my mental map. They’d think I was mental.
“Criminal mind, that one,” Ron said turning to Graham. “Got to be one to know one.” Graham nodded with a smile. Hearing this, Sheila came over.
“Don’t listen to them, Simon – I understand. ‘Women’s intuition’, right?” she whispered, but it didn’t stop Ron hearing it.
“Oh, I think we’re learning more and more about Simon by the minute – or should I say ‘Simone’?”
Well, ha–bloody–ha. Whilst they were having fun at my expense, I noticed Google looking across to me, so I went to talk to her in a quiet part of the bar. “Thank you Simon – I’m so happy,” she said.
“It wasn’t me,” I said. “I know it wasn’t. I was sent there.”
“By the Universe?” she asked.
“I guess so… or a part of it. It felt like I was somehow plugged in to the Universe, or something. I just knew where to go.”
“It must be trying to get your attention,” she observed.
“Well, it’s certainly got that now,” I said.
“Then don’t stop there… use it, make it yours.”
“How do you know so much about it?”
Then she told me about her Auntie – the one who died last November. Apparently, she was a very spiritual lady who taught Google a lot about following her true path, and ‘listening to her Soul’.
“What is my Soul?” I asked.
“It’s you – the real you. It lives forever, and grows, evolves.”
“Where is it?”
“It’s everywhere. It’s part of something much bigger – a Universal Soul. We’re all part of the Universal Soul, Simon. Well, that’s what Auntie used to say.”
Saturday 12
I couldn’t get Google’s words out of my head as I travelled home in a taxi last night. All my life I’d thought there was only me and other people in my life. Now there seems to be some sort of third force – the ‘Universal Soul’. What was this all about? Whatever it was, I had to find out: it was too important not to.
I hadn’t spent much time with Jules recently, so I suggested dinner downtown, so we could relax and talk. Just after we’d ordered our food, a thought came to me, straight out of the blue: where do thoughts come from?
“Jules, where do our thoughts come from?” I asked. She looked at me strangely.
“I dunno,” she replied. “Our brains, I guess.”
“You mean that our brains make thoughts?”
“Maybe… or perhaps our subconscious. I’m not a scientist, Simon – ask a brain expert. What’s it matter where they come from anyway?”
Just then, our food arrived.
“What if our brains just receive thoughts – like a radio receives radio waves?” I said. “It would explain inspiration, new ideas, brainwaves, women’s intuition – right?” I suddenly got excited. “What if every thought we ever had originated from a source outside of ourselves?” Julie seemed to me more interested in her Thai prawn curry than thought processes – but I continued. “Like this food. We didn’t make it, but we ordered it – and it came from the kitchen.”
“Go on…”
“I was given the thoughts to find Google’s bike – I’m certain of it. What about all those cool guys in history who had new ideas and inventions… what if inspiration is given to us, not created by us? What if there
is a higher power, a Universal Soul or whatever, that we can tap into? How much more are we missing from life by not listening to it?”
Julie reached over and gave me a big kiss. “What’s that for?” I asked.
“It’s for the new you, babe,” she said.
Sunday 13
Decided I should take more notice of my thoughts. If someone has taken the trouble to send them to me, the least I can do is listen. The first strong thought I had today was, ‘Call Anton’ – so I rang him on his mobile. “Simon, I was just thinking about you!” he said. “We should get together sometime.” We arranged to meet for coffee at Starbucks, and I told him all about finding Google’s bike.
“Well, that’s amazing!” he said. “But not extraordinary.”
“It isn’t?” I replied.
“No – not at all. Half the population of the world have this ability.”
“They do?” I said. I couldn’t believe it. “Who are they?”
“Women,” he replied. “Actually, everyone has the ability, but it’s mainly women who are attributed with using it. Unfortunately, in today’s world, Intuition is no longer valued – not like it was in ancient times. The ancient Greeks and Egyptians put far greater significance on Intuition than we do – and yet they used it far less than the civilisations before them.” Well, that got me really interested. What civilisations existed before the ancient Egyptians?
“The Atlanteans and Lemurians,” said Anton.
I had to admit that I thought Atlantis was just a fairy tale – like King Arthur, Robin Hood, or Harry Potter – but apparently not. In fact, according to Anton, the Egyptians and Greeks derived their civilisations from remnants of Atlantean culture.
“The Greek Philosopher Plato wrote about Atlantis. He believed that the Atlanteans lived in a very highly evolved society – technologically and culturally. In these times, many people believed that everything was connected – that we were all part of the ‘Universal Whole’… in effect, that we were all One. Consequently, whatever you did to another, you did to yourself. In ancient times, there was a great awareness of this connectedness, and also not the same need for the written or even verbal communications that we have in today’s societies. Everyone just knew what others were thinking and feeling and what to do to help each other. Intuition and inspiration were commonplace – nothing out of the ordinary. They believed that listening to and using your Intuition was the essence of creative and soulful living. It was what you used to find the purpose of your life and your place in the World.”
I was taken aback by Anton’s insight and wisdom.
“And do you believe this Anton?” I asked him.
“I do Simon, very much so. And I think you are beginning to believe it too.”
And he was right.
Monday 14
It was hard getting back to work after the weekend. My head was full of so many new ideas and new thoughts, and I wanted to share all these with my students. In the end we just shared Probability and Statistics; but now a door had opened, I couldn’t go back to how I thought before.
Over lunch, I got talking to Sammy, one of the Admin girls who works in the same office as Google. “Google seems very pleased to get her bike back,” she said.
“Yes, very pleased,” I replied.
“We should say thank you to Jesus for that,” she observed between mouthfuls of Soup.”
“Jesus? What did Jesus have to do with it?” I asked.
“It was either Jesus or Satan who guided you there, Simon.”
“Why does it have to be one or the other?”
“It always is – it says so in the Bible.”
I had to tell Sammy that I was not a believer, and never had been.
“That’s okay, I’ll pray for you,” she said.
“Why?” I asked.
“Because if you don’t let Jesus into your heart, you will burn in hell forever and ever when you die. Sorry about that.” She smiled and went back to her office, leaving me pondering what she said.
When I was eleven years old, I was mad–keen on football (still am I guess). So when I was asked to play for the local Church team, I jumped at the chance: always up for a game of footie, no matter who it’s with. Only thing was, in order to play for their team, I had to go to Church every Sunday. Hated it. They got me teaching the New Testament to younger kids in Sunday school. I was only eleven for Christ’s sakes! Anyway, I decided in the end it wasn’t worth doing something I didn’t like just so I could do something I did. Don’t get me wrong, I think there was a bloke called Jesus (or whatever his name was) and I’m sure he was a pretty cool guy with a good message (make love not war, or whatever). Same goes for his other mates, Buddha, Mohammed, Krishna etc. All had good things to say. But I don’t think old Jesus wanted to create a new religion in his name, which is what happened of course. And I’m dead certain he wouldn’t have wanted people to be as extreme as Sammy, lovely though she is.
Whatever directed me to Google’s bike was something very powerful – a part of me I’d forgotten about, or lost contact with. Of course, if Sammy’s right, I’ll burn in hell for eternity for not being a Christian. But at least I won’t have to endure the cold Shanghai winters.
Tuesday 15
It was nice to go to the Writers Meeting last night and listen to people’s writings on the theme of ‘Evolution’. Anton had written an article called ‘Evolution and Revolution: a short history’; Melissa wrote ‘The Evolution of Sex’; Julie offered ‘Darwin was a Moron’; Toni wrote a poem called simply ‘Evolution’, which illustrated his painting; and Maddy wrote ‘Eve–o–Lution’, which was a short story about a woman called Eve who was born in the fictitious town ‘Lution’ in the year 986AD and became the leader of her tribe. Interesting.
I liked what Anton said at the end of his piece: ‘Evolution, like Revolution, can happen overnight. Inspiration, or revelation, can change how you, as a thinking, feeling being, experience and perceive the world. Consequently, your whole Self, your entire being, could transcend itself in an instant – and in doing so you could take one upward step on the ladder of Evolution.’ What rung of the ladder of Evolution am I on, I wondered?
My article said the same sort of things as Julie’s, except completely in reverse. Julie ended her piece with a poem.
THE EVOLUTIONARY HOP, by Julie
Adam and Evolution,
What’s the solution
To all this mess?
We can only guess.
Was my daddy Adam?
My mummy Eve?
Who would believe
It’s down to chance?
Would you like to dance
The Evolutionary Hop?
I think we should stop
Thinking we know it all
And start to crawl
Back to the sea.
It was agreed that most of the night’s offerings could be considered for possible inclusion in our Anthology (well, all except mine, actually). But it’s the whole that matters… (the one in my heart).
Wednesday 16
Received an email from Mystic Meg this morning.
“Dear Simon, I have recently made an interesting discovery, so I thought I'd write to you today to tell you all about it. I have been studying your situation on an astrological level, as you know, and this particular discovery is somewhat unusual and very precious. It concerns a certain someone who has been by your side for the past twenty–six years without you being very much aware of it. However, this person has accompanied and protected you all the way through your life. You must be wondering just who this person could be.”
I was.
“Well Simon, this person is your Guardian Angel.”
Guardian Angel? I thought about that. Where was my Guardian Angel when my mum trapped my fingers in the car door when I was eight? Or when I fell off my bike when I was ten? Or when a cricket ball hit me in the eye when I was thirteen? Or when got glandular fever when I was seventeen
? Or when I got stuck in a drain last year?
No, I don’t think I’ve got that sort of Guardian Angel. But I tell you something, I’m not on my own in this World – and I’m going to find out exactly who or what is watching over me (I hope it’s young and female).
Checked my computer again after school and found an email from Eunice (UK job agency). She asked how China was, and I told her it was big. I also said I was enjoying the job, but might be moving on. (I’ve still got those job offers from schools in Thailand, Turkey and Vietnam.) What am I going to do with my life? I decided to talk to Jules about it.
“What do you want to do with your life, Simon?” she asked me.
“I thought I was asking the questions?” I said.
“You thought wrong, dear,” she replied. “So?”
“I dunno… I really don’t. Things have changed since I found Google’s bike. I’d like to make a difference, I guess.”
“Then do it – make a difference. Use everything you’re good at to achieve your dream.” She paused. “What are you good at anyway?”
“I seem to be good at finding bikes…” I said lamely.
“Then find things… and start with yourself.”
Thursday 17
Klaus came looking for me this morning in the office – he wanted to make sure I was okay. Said he hadn’t seen me around much lately. “No, I’ve been trying to find myself,” I said.
“Well, you did a good job finding Google’s bike,” he replied.
“I thought you said that was just luck?”
“Yah, but you can earn your luck.”
Earn your luck? “How do you do that?” I asked.
“Ah, zat is a good question!” Klaus exclaimed. “Actually, the answer is not really scientific.”
He went on to tell me about people who play games of pure luck, like national lotteries or some casino games, such as roulette. They study patterns, learn when to play and when not, and develop some sort of intuitive feel for the games. And there are many cases of such people who do actual win big.
“You mean, it’s sort of… getting out of it what you put into it?”
“Yah, in a way.
“Have you had any success like this Klaus?”
“I have – at Roulette – and I did use a system. I spent a long time studying the winning number patterns on roulette tables in Germany, and developing a ‘feel’ for the game, and I won enough for a two week holiday in Portugal. But in the end, I think my winnings were more to do with what I needed at the time, and less about the system I used. So as I say, it’s not really scientific.”
Maybe science had not yet caught up with reality?
In the afternoon, one of my students (Emma) came to me. She was quite upset. “Teacher, I have problem – can you help me?”
“Okay,” I said, “what chapter is it?”
“No, not maths – I have lost something… something very valuable. I know you helped Yao Ting (Google) find her bike, so I hope you help me.”
I always want to help my students; but when Emma told me she’d lost her new mobile phone (costing two thousand yuan), I didn’t think I could help. I mean, when I helped Google find her e–bike, it just happened. You don’t have inspirational dreams like that every day. Well I don’t. Having said that, she did seem very upset, so I said I’d try.
Friday 18
Lay in bed last night, focussing on Emma’s mobile phone, trying hard to see another map in that twilight zone between wake–fullness and sleep. But all I saw was Julie.
“Simon, what are you doing?”
“I’m trying to find a student’s mobile.”
“And you think it’s in our bed?”
I sat up. “No… I thought I could find it in Shanghai – like I found Google’s bike. But I can’t get connected.”
“To the phone?”
“No, to the Source.”
“Perhaps it’s not yours to find. Perhaps she should be more careful – and needs to learn a lesson.”
“How did you know it’s a ‘she’?”
“Because you’re a man, Simon.”
Julie’s very perceptive like that (knowing I’m a man I mean).
Saturday 19
The weekend – hurrah! But no further luck with Emma’s mobile phone, despite studying a map of Shanghai for nearly an hour. Tried closing my eyes and just dropping my finger on a point on the map. “There!” I exclaimed opening my eyes.
“Are you sure?” Julie said.
“Yeah.”
“Hope it’s waterproof then,” she said heading for the kitchen. “You’re pointing at the Huangpu River.”
Decided this was not such a good idea after all. Perhaps Julie was right – I’m not meant to find the phone.
I called Google to talk about Emma’s mobile – what would she do in this situation?
“Well, Auntie always had a notepad with her; and whenever she didn’t know what to do, she would talk to her Soul.”
Talk to her Soul? Apparently, Auntie had a sort of conversation with herself. She’d write down a question, and then write the answers which came to her. It felt like talking to her mother, she used to say to Google; but actually she thought it was a conversation with her Soul. “And you think I can do that?” I asked.
“Sure, why not? You found my bike, so you must have a good connection.”
“Have you ever done this?” I asked Google.
“Yes – whenever something was important.”
“Did you ask about your bike?”
“Auntie always told me not to ask anything for myself… unless it also helped another person.”
Later on, when I was on my own, I found my school notepad, and began to write.
‘I don’t know why I want to find the phone…’ I started. Then all of a sudden, there was this other voice in my head – as if I was having a conversation with myself.
I think you do, it said. So I wrote that down.
‘Well, maybe… maybe to show I can do it again… to be a hero,’ I wrote.
Yes – and other reasons.
‘What reasons?’
I think you know.
I stopped and considered this. ‘Well, if I’m honest, I want to prove this is real – not just a chance occurrence, like Klaus said.’
But you know it’s not chance. Who do you want to prove this to?
‘I suppose I want to prove it to the others.’
Why?
‘You ask difficult questions.’
They’re only difficult if you don’t want to look.
‘I do want to look – I want to find the phone!’
Mmm… interesting. So you still think that you’re doing this… finding things?
‘Well, I know I didn’t find the bike…’
But you’re acting as if you did. Perhaps you need to let go, and let me do it. I know where it is.
‘Really?’
Why be so surprised? It’s under her pillow.
Sunday 20
I was completely taken aback by my writings yesterday – gobsmacked in fact. Read it over several times, but didn’t think I could show it to anyone else – not yet anyway. Couldn’t wait to let Emma know about her phone. But being Sunday, I thought I’d have to wait until school tomorrow. Then my mobile rang – it was Emma!
“Teacher – don’t worry about finding my phone…”
“Oh, I’m glad you called…”
“My mum suggested I phone my mobile to see if someone answers it…”
“I wanted to tell you…” I tried to say.
“But when I called the number from school, it just rang and rang…”
“I think you’ll find that it’s…”
“So I phoned it when I got home this weekend, and you’ll never guess where it was.”
I suddenly realised that I didn’t need to tell her what I knew. So I just said, “Where was it?”
“Under my pillow!”
She told me how stupid she felt, and apologised
for wasting my time. I said it didn’t matter – I was just pleased that she’d found the phone. And suddenly, I felt a little bit more grown up.
Monday 21
Desperately wanted to tell Google about my writings today – since she was the one who told me how to ‘talk to my Soul’. So I took her to the school coffee bar after lunch.
“You should do something with that,” she said after I’d told my story.
“You mean my talent?”
“No, your coffee. The way you’re waving it about, you’re going to spill it. Anyway, it’s not a talent, it’s a gift – and gifts should always be used wisely. So what are you going to do with it?”
It was a good question. What was I going to do with it?
“I dunno… but not school–teaching, anyway.”
“Good idea,” she said. “You’re not any good at being a teacher, from what I’ve heard.”
“Who said that?” I replied indignantly.
“Your students,” she said.
I had to admit she was right. I wasn’t born for teaching.
“Don’t put yourself down Simon,” she said sympathetically. “You’ve found a connection with your higher self, and that is a wonderful thing… you should treasure it, and see where it leads you.”
As we were leaving the coffee bar, she turned to me and said, “What about becoming a detective?”
A detective! How do you become one of those, I wondered? You probably need something like four years studying Criminal Justice or Psychology at university. And once you’re qualified, you’d have to be a uniformed policeman first and walk the beat looking tough. No, that isn’t for me. Decided I should ask Julie about it.
“You – a detective!” she laughed. “Simon, you can’t even find your way home.” Well ha–bloody–ha. “Sorry babe… but I can’t see you in the Police Force,” she added. But I had to admit that I couldn’t either. And to be honest, I didn’t think it would be any use learning techniques for crime solving when I had my own method.
“Well, what about being an amateur detective.” I suggested, “like Sherlock Holmes, Philip Marlowe or… or…”
“Batman?” she suggested.
“Yeah.”
Julie looked at me for a moment, and then smiled. “Can I be Robin?” she asked. I looked into those deep, round blue eyes that always made me melt into nothing.
“Of course you can Jules,” I said.
But the truth was… I had someone else in mind for that role.
Tuesday 22
I did an adventurous thing today – and didn’t tell Julie. Went to see Dr Wang to say I’d like to take up her offer and continue teaching at the school next year, but could I work part–time? “I thought you did work part–time?” she said. I told her that was when I worked in the Guidance Office – I was a maths teacher now. So she said she’d think it over and get back to me. Just as I was leaving her office, she asked what I was going to do with the rest of my time. I didn’t want to tell her the truth, so I just said “sleep”. She seemed happy with that.
‘Private Investigator’ – I like the sound of that. Much better than saying ‘Amateur Detective’. Am I really going to try to do this? Am I crazy? What will Mum and Dad say? Better not tell them yet. Anyway, I’m still going to work part–time, so even if I can’t make a living as a P.I., I’ve still got dosh to live on… and Julie’s still working too.
Took Google out to dinner after work – said I’d got something exciting to talk about.
“How d’you like to be my sidekick?” I asked.
“Side–kick?” she repeated. “What’s the meaning?”
Told her I was seriously thinking of taking up her idea of being a detective, or private investigator, and needing an assistant.
“How much does it pay?” she asked.
I hadn’t thought about that. In fact, I hadn’t thought much about any sort of details – and that was one reason I needed Google. I considered this for a minute.
“I suppose it would depend on how much our clients pay us,” I replied.
She looked pensive, and then said, “And what sort of things would we be investigating?”
“Oh, missing things, missing people, spying on couples... that sort of thing.”
“Missing dogs?” she asked.
“Yeah, missing dogs, cats, hamsters…”
Her face lit up. Google really likes dogs. “Okay,” she said, “count me in.” Then she had a sudden thought. “What about murders?”
“Oh, I don’t think so – not at first anyway. We’ll work up to those.”
Wednesday 23
Dr Wang came to see me today with some good news.
“Simon, I’ve just looked at the schedules for next year, and it will be fine to work part–time. David Gillespie only has a light timetable just now, so he can take on the other half of your maths teaching load.”
I decided to tell Julie about my plan tonight… but I didn’t know how to break the news that she wasn’t going to be Robin. I was prepared for the worst – but you never know with Julie. “Oh, that’s a good idea babe!” she said, turning away from the television for a millisecond.
“It is?”
“Yeah – Google can speak Chinese, I can’t. You need someone who can speak the language. And when I have the baby, I’ll be busy.”
Baby?
Thursday 24
Mum phoned tonight to let me know the clocks are going forward this weekend. “Yes, I’m going forward too,” I said.
“That’s good,” she replied. “You were always a very backward child.”
That’s my mum for you. Anyway, I decided there and then to tell her about my new career.
“A Private Eye? You mean like Philip Marlowe? I can’t see you being one of those Simon, you always faint at the sight of blood – and you look nothing like Humphrey Bogart.”
I did try to tell her that my aversion to seeing blood was my own (when she trapped my fingers in the car door when I was eight), and that looking like Humphrey Bogart was not actually a prerequisite for being a private investigator; but she didn’t seem to be listening.
“How’s Donald?” I asked.
“Oh you know… he’s not getting any younger, but he does seem to be working later and later these days. It’s hard to be dentist after you turn sixty… so many young bucks working night and day to make a living – and he thinks he has to compete with them. It’s nice that he’s got Samantha working with him.”
“Samantha?”
“Yes, his assistant. Lovely girl – from the Philippines. She’s only twenty–five – younger than you Simon.”
I do worry about mum.
Friday 25
Julie asked me today how much longer I was going to write my Blog. “Just another ten minutes,” I said.
“No, I mean how many more months.”
I hadn’t really thought about that. I’d just kept blogging along as if I was going to do it forever.
“Would you like me to bring it to a quick climax?” I said. She seemed to like the idea of that. Perhaps she’s right – perhaps I should bring it to some sort of ending soon. But how?
“What do you suggest?” I asked.
“Can it end with us having a baby? You won’t have time to write your blog once the baby arrives, anyway.”
I had to do a double–take. She’d promised me last month that she was going to do all the work when she had the baby. I looked back in my blog to find the date. There it was: February 22.
“...if we can have a baby, you won’t have to look after it at all. I’ll feed it, clean it, get up when it cries – I’ll do everything.” I read this aloud to Julie.
“Simon, you’re always writing what you want to hear, not what I say. I’ve told you this a million times.”
“Are you still recording our conversations?” I asked.
“No, I stopped that a while ago,” she said. “Your blog got boring.”
“And when exactly did you stop the rec
ordings?”
“February 21.
Saturday 26 /Sunday 27
Spent the whole weekend thinking about my future. Sometimes, in the past, it seemed like life was just about getting a better job, a better standard of living, finding the right girl, and (eventually) settling down with a family. Now that’s all changed. The world has suddenly opened up, and I truly want to make a difference.
Monday 28
It was the Writers group meeting tonight, and Klaus turned up. Hadn’t seen him there for a long time. “I thought you didn’t like us, Klaussie?” I joked.
“No, I like everyone – even you Simon,” he replied. “And I’ve brought something for the anthology.”
And so he had. A Sci–Fi story called ‘Mars Landing’, which he’d copied and distributed to the group. In his story, a British Earth astronaut called Roger (who, it has to be said, is a bit of a plonker in the story) arrives on Mars with his German colleague Tobias. (Klaus told me later that Roger was based on me! He’s got to be joking.) Anyway, at first, they find no signs of life. But then Roger disappears down a crater, falling into the mysterious world of the Martians, who live in cities below the surface. There he meets Perusha who takes him as her sex–slave. Fortunately, he’s rescued by Tobias, who selflessly persuades Perusha to let him take Roger’s place so Roger can go free. The story has everything in it you could ever ask for – except perhaps believability.
“Did you co–write this with Melissa?” I asked.
“Yah, how did you guess?”
“Just a hunch. Do you really think that life could exist on Mars?”
“Maybe – at one time in the past. Some people believe that life on Earth actually originated on Mars.”
“So, we’re all Martians then?” asked Maddy.
“Yah, maybe.”
“Can’t wait to get my hands on my sex–slave,” said Melissa.
“What do you think, Simon?” Maddy asked.
“About being a sex slave? There’s worse jobs. I think Klaus has written good Science Fiction.”
Julie had been quiet for a while. Then she said, “Perusha should be a man.”
“Come again?” I said.
“Perusha should be a man: men are from Mars, and women are from Venus.”
“Right, but that would ruin the story, wouldn’t it? I mean, you couldn’t have Roger being taken as a sex slave by a Martian bloke…”
“Why not?” challenged Julie.
“Oooh, this is getting very interesting,” said Melissa.
“And Roger could turn out to be gay,” added Maddy.
As Jules and I returned home, I told her I might not go to the next meeting. “It’s just getting very silly,” I said.
She cuddled me. “You’re right – and you’re growing up Simon.”
Tuesday 29
Decided to look for a publisher for my blog today. If I’m going to finish it soon, I really should find the lucky company that’s going to make a fortune from my words of wisdom. Went online and found a dozen or so publishers that said they consider unsolicited manuscripts. (That’s a bit like unsolicited sex, but the paper version.) Anyway, printed out half a dozen copies of the first fifty pages at school and posted them off to some promising UK publishers. Didn’t send it to the USA as they haven’t yet developed the part of the brain necessary to understand British humour.
“How long d’you think I’ll have to wait for a reply?” I asked Google (she seems to know a bit about publishing). Could be up to five months, she told me. What! Then she explained: one month to get there, another to open the packet; a third month to decide which person to give it to; one more month for someone to read it, and the last month to get back to me. “I could have written another book in that time!” I exclaimed.
“Then why don’t you?” she said.
Wednesday 30
During my maths lesson this morning, I let it slip that I could be published again. Only this time I didn’t pretend it was in a maths journal and told them it was my Blog. The kids were very impressed that I’d written this entirely on my own.
“Can we read it?” a couple of them asked excitedly. I had to think about what I’d blogged about them – or about the school.
In the end, I just had to say, “Okay, you can read it – but then I’ll have to kill you.” The next thing I knew they were talking very quickly in Chinese to each other. Then one said,
“Okay Simon, we won’t read.”
(Note: I wouldn’t really have killed my students.)
Thursday 31
The last day of March!
Read my Mystic Meg horoscope online his morning.
“Someone you work with may not see things the same way you do. Have the confidence to do your own thing. You work best when you follow your own ideas and instincts.”
Well, the first part is certainly true (thinking back to the time when I found Google’s bike, and Ron was having a laugh about it). And I think I do work best when I follow my own ideas and instincts. It seems that Mystic Meg has got me spot on. But Google saw it differently. “I don’t think that’s you,” she said.
“But it seems to fit perfectly!”
“Yes, I agree – but you’re reading the wrong horoscope. That’s mine.”
This is why I need Google.
What will April bring?
