The Last Days of Kali Yuga

by Paul Haines

  When I finished this story, I sent it my parents to read—yes, my mother reads everything I write, I don't give her an option, and this way, she's always forewarned. My mother replied saying she cried through every page, and that she found Dad doing the same thing the following morning. And then my brother rang me, still with the hitch fresh in his voice. And then my sister … I realised then that this story was perhaps too close to home for my loved ones and I forbade my wife read it.

  I sometimes think I limited the success of this story by selling it to a smaller, relatively unknown market, that perhaps I could have placed this with a high-profile magazine or periodical. Overland, one of Australia's most well-known literary magazines was definitely interested but wanted first publishing rights as opposed to first Australian rights, and I'd already promised it to Random Static in New Zealand. But it is what it is and it ended where it did, and possibly this story means more to me and my family—the Haines/McNabb/Martin clans—than it does to the general reader.

  ***

  The Last Days of Kali Yuga

  The sun sets early in Kathmandu's spring, dipping behind the Himalayas, its last rays failing to penetrate the pollution choking this city. Darkness will descend quickly. It's easy to get lost here, in this place, at the end of the world.

  'You know what I love about travelling?' Gabe drawls the words in his lazy Mississippi accent. He leans out the hotel window in the tourist heart of the city, watching the busy streets of Thamel. From the bed, I hear the shouting as the police use batons to enforce curfew.

  I lie on my bed staring at the ceiling. Cracks spider outwards from where the slow rotating ceiling fan is attached to the plaster. The air is cool this time of year, comforting.

  'What?'

  'Moving from country to country.' Gabe turns toward me, his face shadowed, his body blocking the last of the sun. 'It becomes too easy.'

  'Yes.' I'm not sure what he means but the response feels true.

  It has become too easy. Degradation slides into the soul, festering in its malevolence, ready to burst free. I can still see her now, her smooth adolescent skin, my fingers curled in her soft black hair, moving it away from her face to see the pain in her eyes. She sucks busily, this cheap Bangkok whore, the kind from Soi Cowboy where the beer is cheap, the neon bright and the women fuck too much, dripping poison from the slit between their thighs. And I force my poison into her mouth—it only takes a little more worthless coin for skin on skin. I need to punish someone, anyone, and she'll do. She can swallow all my guilt, resolve me of the blame. Afterwards, as I watch Gabe fucking another whore on the table, I hear mine vomiting in the hotel bathroom. With my seed spilt, I feel nothing. And I bury myself in it. Bangkok to Kathmandu has been a blur.

  An insect crawls from the cracks in the ceiling and scuttles to the window frame. Gabe pulls on a loose cotton shirt and sprays cologne onto his tanned face.

  It has taken time but I finally realise who I hate. Me.

  And from there where can you go?

  'Come on,' says Gabe. 'There must be a bar somewhere in this shit-hole not under curfew. Let's go get pissed.'

  If it weren't for Gabe I'd already be dead. Somehow, he keeps me going. So I rise from the hard bed with the stained sheets and follow him down into the light and the living.

  #

  'You girls want another drink?' Gabe places his empty San Miguel down on the upturned barrel.

  'Sure,' Carly replies. She's young, maybe eighteen, and wears colourful hippie clothing that looks brand new.

  'Love one.' Luna runs a hand through her recently braided hair. Costs less than a pound for an hour's braiding, she'd told us. Her fingernails are clean, long and unchipped.

  'Your round, Saul.' Gabe gives me a nod. He's drinking fast. I'm only halfway through my beer.

  I leave him impressing their minds with journeys of wonder and tales of bullshit. At the bar there's a plastic cactus near swinging doors beneath purple, flashing neon Mano's Mexican Canteena. Peanut shells are scattered on the floor. The real Himalayan experience, right here, in all its Western glory. The Nepalese barman dressed as a Mexican clasps his hands forward in prayer, bowing his head and shoulders slightly.

  'Namaste,' he says with a grin. He pronounces it numma-stay. 'You want more beer? Four San Miguel, yes?'

  'What's cheapest?'

  'Not the bottles.' He indicates the clattering cooler half-full of imported beers. 'Maybe you want pitcher of chang. Is Nepalese beer. Cheap.'

  'Yeah, whatever.'

  A smattering of tourists dot the barrels around the bar. The atmosphere is subdued, the conversation hushed. Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon drones from speakers hidden in the ceiling in an attempt to recreate the rush of the long-dead hippy days. The Maoist rebels are doing their best to kill Kathmandu; kill its spirit and people; kill off its thousands of gods in one mighty red-devil swoop. The rebels have been doing it for over a decade now. And overdeveloped tourism killed Thamel years before that. I don't know why tourists come here at all. I can't fathom Gabe's reasons for being here and he doesn't know mine. I'm not going back to the West and what it holds for me. I'm here to stay. And in this current political climate, it won't be for long. Perhaps a bullet from a machinegun or the cold steel of the khukuri will release me before I reach the next stage of infection. I don't care anymore.

  #

  Gabe has the girls laughing. His hand rests on Carly's thigh as he traces a finger over Luna's upturned palm.

  I slip 300 dirty Nepalese rupees, roughly nine dollars, across the bar in exchange for the pitcher of chang. Brown froth slops from the brim as I set it down on our barrel. They briefly break from their laughter to thank me and fill their glasses. Luna smiles, trying to engage. I nod and look away. In the doorway, a figure ducks back into the shadows. Someone small and dark. I stare at the door, waiting for the spy to slink back in, but no one comes. So I sip and wait.

  Gabe hits me on the arm. 'What's up with you?'

  'What? Where have the girls gone?'

  'Toilets. I got two girls here keen for it. What the hell are you playing at?'

  'Gabe ...'

  'Don't fucking Gabe me. You've been a depressed son of a bitch ever since we got off the train.'

  'Have yourself a threesome. I don't ...'

  'They're not up for one. I want you to show a bit of interest in Luna. Help me out. She's pretty sexy, Saul. I know you've fucked a lot worse, man.'

  'Look, I dunno. I'm just not ... feeling ... you know ...'

  Gabe flicks a fat joint across the barrel top. 'You need to chill out.'

  'Jesus Christ.' I pocket the joint, making sure no one sees it. 'This place isn't licensed.'

  Gabe fills my glass. 'It's not illegal either. There's a balcony over there. Don't fuck this evening up. Go, before the girls come back.'

  The balcony is refreshing, both in its lack of draped neon and the coolness of the night. Fires sprinkle the mountain walls of the Kathmandu valley, the only stars you can see in the evening. The pollution is relentless in its vigilance over the city, day and night.

  I drag deeply on the marijuana, letting it settle in my lungs, counting down the seconds as it is absorbed into my bloodstream before exhaling, watching the cloud of smoke dissipate, whirling away with my thoughts. I drag again and it hits quickly, a buzzing numbness spreading behind the eyes, across my temples and over the skin's surface. Gabe always has good ganja. I close my eyes and just as my eyelids shut I realise there is someone down on the street looking up at me. Someone small and dark. Before I focus, the person slips away.

  'Mind if I have some?' Luna startles me.

  Her fingers brush lightly against mine as she takes the joint. She leans over the balcony rail, exposing the cleft of her breasts. Her skin goosebumps and I want to run my finger over it to feel the fleeing warmth. Gabe is right: Luna is sexy. Her skin is clear, lightly tanned and looks soft. Her body is curvaceous yet firm with youth.

  'Kathmandu's supposed to be
shaped like the sword of Manjushri, the bodhisattva of wisdom.' She takes another puff. 'I think that's bullshit; the streets are a maze. Carly and I got lost yesterday. Best way to see the city. It amazes me that the Maoists think they can take this city. This place teems with religion and superstition. Gods look down on you at every corner. Do they really think they can kill the heart of this culture?'

  I know little about Kathmandu, except that the hippies came in droves to drop out over half a century ago.

  Smoke coils from her lips. 'Wow, this is good.' Luna giggles and looks at me from the corner of her eye. 'You know something? Good grass makes me really horny.'

  The beast within betrays me. They're only words, yet they stir. The blood pulses, giving life to the monster who delivers poison. I sip my beer.

  'You don't say much, do you?' Luna straightens and hands back the joint.

  Her nipples stand erect beneath her cotton blouse. She catches my darting eyes and smiles.

  'It's cold out here,' she says.

  'Do you want to go back in?'

  'No.' She snuggles in against me, her back to my chest and pulls my arms around her. 'We don't have to do anything. Just hold me in this moment.'

  We stand, warm against each other, watching the fires flare and fade up in the mountains. Music drifts from other bars through the empty street, lonely and lost, and as the dope takes hold ...

  I move my hand over my wife Laura's swelling belly, over the bulge that is our unborn daughter. Laura clasps her hands tight over mine and whispers, 'I love you.' The world feels safe. I breathe in her scent and kiss her neck.

  ... and Luna wriggles free of my arms.

  'Why did you stop?' She wipes the tears from my cheeks. 'What's wrong?'

  I almost tell her everything, this girl who is innocent to the world, yet knows more of its past than I. This woman who shows me warmth and reminds me of a time when ... 'Nothing. I lost myself for a second.'

  Luna kisses me where the salt has not yet dried. 'Do you want to talk about it? No? Shall we go back in?'

  As Luna leads me inside, I see clearly a man on the street. A Nepalese midget standing crookedly, staring up at me. He points toward the end of the street, beckoning me to follow. An enormous white horse canters in the distance, shining in the streetlight. The midget scurries in the direction of the horse, stopping to beckon once more.

  Luna takes me by the hand, pulling me into the warm banality of Mano's Mexican Canteena for more beer and peanuts.

  'Did you see that?' I ask her as we walk to the table where Gabe and Carly are kissing.

  'Yeah. That's why I came out to find you. They were already into each other.'

  'No, I mean the horse and the midget.'

  Luna laughs. 'What are you talking about?'

  And though her laughter is not unkind, it stings and I withdraw. I don't know anything about this girl. Why should I explain?

  'Up for another beer?' Gabe grins sharkly, his lips wet with Carly's saliva. She's staring at him, her cheeks flushed with blood. 'Your round, Saul,' says Gabe.

  'I'll get this one.' Luna rests a hand on my arm. 'You got the last one.'

  Gabe winks and Carly pulls his mouth to hers again. He stares at me as they kiss. For a man embraced in passion, his eyes are cold.

  #

  Sweat shines on Gabe's back, and Carly's hands slide down to his buttocks, grasping on the hard muscle and pulling him deeper inside. She arches her back and lifts her legs higher, moaning loudly with each thrust. Gabe is moving faster now, his balls slap, slap, slap against her vagina as he increases his momentum. The bed creaks and groans under their weight.

  'I'm going to cum, I'm going to cum,' Carly whispers between breaths.

  Gabe throws her lean legs over his shoulders and thrusts deeper. Carly moans, her eyes closed. Her hand scrunches the sheets as she heaves, her body wracking with orgasm.

  As she cums, Gabe turns his head toward me, his grin now a leer. His eyes burn in the candlelight of the room, shadows casting demonic distortions upon his face. He snarls, and his buttocks shudder, the muscles flinching, spasming as he finally cums.

  Carly kisses his chest, his arms, tries for his lips and settles for his hand. 'I love you I love you I love you ...' Her eyes roll in her head, unable to focus on anything but the sensations rocking her body.

  He slides out of her and reaches over to extinguish the candles on his bedside table. Gabe winks at me and nods. Before the darkness takes back the room, I see the condom he'd donned before having sex is missing from his shining penis.

  Luna murmurs something in her sleep, her head on my chest. We're still fully dressed, unlike the two in the bed on the far side of the room. I hope she's not disappointed I didn't try to kiss her or touch her. I run my fingers through her braids, the hair still soft and silky, careful not to blow the smoke near her face. The glow from the end of the joint looks like one of the fires burning on the mountainside. It fades quickly.

  #

  Laura's image slips into my dreams, her face shifting between anger and hatred, sorrow and fear. She weeps blood. Her skin is translucent, the virus shifting beneath, calling out, accusing me, building the broken body of our daughter curled in her stomach. The baby slips from between her thighs, slopping onto the floor in a splatter of fluid, and tries to stand, its torso twisted and scrunched. A brown arm streaked in blood points behind me as the baby staggers forward. How can her skin be brown? Had Laura slept around, too?

  A white horse rears up inches from my face, its hooves threatening to crush my skull. I stagger back but the hooves crash down on my chest, slapping away with painted hands I need skin on skin must have skin it will cost you she says it will cost you her nipples brown and erect the company can pay the company always pays for skin pussy shaved and pierced fuckie-fuckie I can pay and pay and pay ...

  'Find the white horse,' our baby whispers, pinching the whore's nipples between his midget fingers. His face is hairy and smeared with blood and he perches atop my chest.

  'I don't want to pay anymore!' The umbilical cord around my throat is strangling me.

  'Find the horse,' the midget whispers and the world suddenly rips apart ...

  #

  The light in the room is on and Gabe is pulling on his trousers. It's still dark outside.

  'Did you hear that?' he asks.

  Luna leans out of the window. 'I can't see anything from here.'

  'It sounded like an explosion. A big one.'

  Another thunderous roar splits the night, its force sending tremors through the hotel. The bed shakes, rattling against the wall and each rattle reverberates in my bones. The light flickers and sparks. Flakes of plaster drift from the ceiling.

  Carly screams and pulls the blanket over her head. Voices can be heard in the streets, then the warble of rising sirens.

  'We can see most of the city from the roof,' says Luna.

  I chase them up the stairwell, past opening doors and confused, frightened faces thick with sleep. Gabe leaps steps two, three at a time, already a flight ahead of Luna and me. We hear him laughing before we reach the rooftop, a coarse sound devoid of humour.

  Gabe dances near the edge of the balcony, his body framed by flames in the distance, his arms raised. Fire shoots into the sky as another explosion rocks the city, then another, and yet another.

  'The airport!' Gabe cackles as he twists in his dance. 'The rebels took the airport!'

  'Oh, no,' says Luna. 'I've got to get Carly.' Her eyes brim with fear, teeming with innocence. She rushes to the door and down, past other travellers venturing to the rooftop view.

  And Gabe dances and sings, the firelight alive on his skin. Dancing, chanting ...

  ... as the sleeping city wakes prematurely and wails.

  #

  Our room is empty; the girls have returned to their own.

  I lie in my bed in a darkness full of noise. Perhaps that bullet, that khukuri blade, that last lover, death, is closer than I thought.

 
; 'This can only be good for us,' says Gabe. 'This chaos.'

  'I don't know what you're talking about.'

  He rustles in his sheets. 'You and me, Saul. You know what I mean.'

  But I don't. I hardly know this man—this woman-fucking machine—I know him on a superficial level. A level of skin and bone, where manhood is measured in the pussy you've had, the amount of booze and drugs you consume; where less than the surface of really being human is revealed. And it is all I need to know. It's all any of us need to know, to live from day to day. Any more and we'd run screaming. I know he hates—I've seen it on his face—but what he hates remains a mystery. I've seen it in the disrespect and disregard he shows for everyone, for anything. I know this much.

  I see it in the mirror. Every time I look.

  He's right. We are the same. No. We were the same. I know who I hate now. Me and only me.

  'Have you ever wanted to kill anyone?' The confession needs to slip from my tongue, it needs to fall upon sympathetic ears. And as soon as the words are gone I want to bite them back, swallow them down. Bury them.

  An intake of breath and a second's silence that lasts an eternity before Gabe replies, the answer lingering on his lips. And it slides like velvet through the room and blankets me.

  'Yes.'

  'I think I have killed someone, Gabe. Maybe more than one.'

  Silence.

  'Gabe?'

  Only silence, then his voice of caramel. 'I thought that was what we were doing, man. You in your way and me in mine. You should try mine. It's so much more intense.'

  And like a blanket over the face, his words start to suffocate. I choke in the dark stillness of our room, unable to speak, until all I hear is breathing, deep and heavy, from the other side of the room.