Lost in the Green Grass

by Henry Sands

  ‘God, sorry! Shit! I really am so sorry. It didn’t occur to me that anyone would be in here,’ he blurted embarrassedly.

  ‘Don’t worry. My fault entirely. I should have said something when you came into the washroom. Decided against it. Oops,’ the woman responded confidently with her American accent.

  ‘Oh, erm, I’ll come back later then, shall I? Don’t worry!’ said Anthony, before deciding that the best option was to scurry out of the canvas tent even more quickly than he had entered.

  In his effort to make a swift exit, Anthony stepped backwards onto the wooden block of incense that had been burning away by the door, sending a shooting pain straight to his left foot. ‘Owww!’ he yelped. ‘Buggeration! Bloody hell, so unbelievably sorry,’ he said again to the woman on the loo. ‘I’ve just burnt myself and now knocked over the incense pot. Silly me!’ He bent down to straighten things up, before pausing as he realised that he was now on his hands and knees, right in front of the woman on the loo.

  ‘You know what? I’ll just go now. Probably best. Sorry.’

  Not wanting to be seen lingering outside the washroom holding his foot, nor choosing to go back to his yurt and face waking up Lucinda, he instead walked towards the sound of the sea and the music which he could still hear nearby.

  He hadn’t realised initially just how close to the sea they were. The waves gently rolled in against the sand on the other side of the dunes.

  About 20 yards to his right, a small group of people, each dressed like exotic hippies wearing Mexican kaftans over their swimwear were huddled around a campfire. One of them was strumming a guitar, while another accompanied him on a drum. He couldn’t be sure, but it looked like Gabriel on the guitar, and he assumed those with him were others working in Tulum for the season, rather than guests.

  Anthony sat down on the beach and let the waves gently break against his burnt foot in an effort to soothe the stinging pain from when he stepped on the incense block. Although the water was probably too warm to do much good, the sensation of the waves against his skin diverted his mind from the wound.

  About 500 metres further down the beach, back towards the strip they had driven through on their way to the camp, he could see flashing lights and heard what he recognised to be electronic music.

  He took it all in, and by the time he checked his watch, he realised he must have been sat there for at least fifteen minutes. Surely by now the coast would be clear to the bathroom? He didn’t want to take any more chances so sat for another couple of minutes before dusting the sand off his legs and heading back over the dunes the way he had come from the camp.

  This time when he got back to the washrooms, he waited outside for a moment. Realising there was only canvas to knock against, he instead began whispering quietly, ‘Hello. Hello…?’ just to be sure they weren’t occupied.

  If anyone had seen him standing on one leg and talking to the canvas wall, they would have probably assumed he was high on something; fortunately, they did not.

  He took a deep breath and stepped back into the scene of his earlier embarrassment, being careful to ensure his feet were where they should be. The incense block had been picked up and relit with fresh sticks.

  Five minutes later, he was back in the yurt and quietly slipped into bed next to Lucinda, who had remained fast asleep, thank God.

  Despite the long journey and his weariness, Anthony found he couldn’t sleep. Instead, he lay on the bed, with his eyes open, staring up at the exposed wooden structure of their yurt above him. In his head, he recounted the evening’s developments over and over again, but each time it got to the stage of opening the canvas washroom door to reveal the mysterious woman sat on the loo, he would pause with the image of her breasts in his head. Anthony wasn’t one for internet porn or smutty magazines, unlike some of his colleagues who he knew watched it habitually. In fact, the only bare breasts he had laid eyes upon for as long as he could remember had been Lucinda’s, and that had become a seriously infrequent occurrence.

  Lucinda had long stopped considering her breasts to be something of sexual desire. Rather, she saw her buxom chest as a physical inconvenience, and any thoughts she might have once had of enticing Anthony, or anyone for that matter, to bed with her were now distant history.

  But there was something about the situation that Anthony had witnessed which awoke senses deep inside him that he had rather forgotten existed. It couldn’t have been the size of her breasts that caused this, for they were by no means large. But they were perfectly round, as if they had been cast with the mould of a pudding bowl, he mused, with the tips of her nipples upturned. Unable to get the image out of his head, Anthony finally drifted off to sleep.

  *

  As the sun rose the following morning, the yurt filled with natural light, revealing the full simplicity of its structure. It was 6am, but with the combination of light and jetlag, there was little chance of them going back to sleep.

  There were a couple of small armchairs in the corner of the room, with a miniature rustic wooden trunk between them, doubling up as a coffee table. On the other side of the bed was a wooden clothes rail, a small chest of drawers and a shoe rack. Lucinda didn’t quite understand why such a significant proportion of the little valuable space they had inside the yurt was taken up with the shoe rack, given that footwear was seemingly prohibited.

  Next to the entrance door there was also a wood burner, which might have been useful if their yurt was in Mongolia, where yurts had originated from, but had limited use on the Caribbean Sea, where the temperature stayed fairly consistently warm throughout the year.

  Despite its simplicity, Lucinda was surprised by the comfort of the bed and had enjoyed the best night’s sleep for as long as she could remember. Anthony was enjoying the morning peace, broken only by birdsong and the sound of the waves in the distance, when a re-energised Lucinda piped up,

  ‘Come on, Anthony. Chop, chop! I need the bathroom; will you grab my stuff and come with me?’

  ‘You realise it is light outside now, Lucinda? You’re probably not in need of a torch now, darling.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, I’d worked that out myself. Just come with me, though. I don’t know what on earth’s out there.’

  They put on their linen dressing gowns that had been left out for them on the clothes rail, a fairly civilised touch, thought Lucinda with raised eyebrows, and headed back to the washroom. By their door, they were also grateful to find a fresh pot of coffee, two mugs and a plate of freshly baked croissants, which Anthony carefully placed on the little table outside the yurt.

  Once they returned from the washroom, which Lucinda realised was neither as far nor unpleasant as she had remembered it being, they enjoyed their breakfast listening to the sounds of the circling swifts flying above them from tree to tree.

  Lucinda felt grateful for the birds’ presence as it gave them something to focus on, and distracted them both from the increasingly awkward silence she felt between them.

  These moments could be avoided at Ferryman’s Cottage, for there was always something to keep them busy, and it was rare that they ever found themselves alone with nothing to do other than make conversation.

  But here, sitting outside their yurt in Mexico, that stark reality was staring them straight in the face. After twenty-two years of marriage, they had quite literally run out of things to say to each other. Eventually, the silence was broken, by Anthony.

  ‘Isn’t that sound of the waves breaking the most lovely thing to wake up to?’ Anthony said congenially.

  ‘Yes, I suppose it is,’ Lucinda replied. One week, that’s all. One more week, she thought to herself.

  They heard a male voice cough before Gabriel appeared around the side of the yurt. He seemed to be wearing some sort of white toga outfit, once again revealing his arms which they could now see were completely covered in Celtic tattoos.

  ‘How
did everyone sleep?’ he asked, and without giving Lucinda or Anthony a chance to respond, proceeded to answer his own question. ‘That’s great, great. So, I wanted to come and give thanks for the day ahead with you guys and help us think about the plans that await you over the next week or so. Perhaps I could tell you a little about what we’ve got going on here; you can let me know what you would like to join, and I’ll also let you know a bit about what else you can do here in Tulum. Does that sound good?’

  Again, before either of them was able to answer, Gabriel motored on.

  ‘That’s great. So, each morning at 8am, we do our sanctum yoga classes just here on the beach in front of us. They’re beautiful, and a wonderful way for you to reach inner peace through a voyage of self-discovery. Then in the evenings, around 6pm, we do our themed yoga classes here too. These alternate between Vinyasa, Drum and Tantric classes. We also do a prenatal one, if you’re interested.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m not. I’m fifty-eight,’ replied Lucinda, somewhat bemused.

  ‘No, sure, great. I just wanted to let you know we offer that too.’ The irony had been lost on Gabriel.

  ‘What’s the drum yoga class about?’ Anthony asked.

  ‘It’s when we use the beat of a drum to generate deep meditative experiences.’

  ‘I see. Perfect. That sounds lovely. Perfect. Great. Thank you,’ Anthony said, leaving Gabriel wondering if the Brit had an incredibly polite form of Tourette’s.

  ‘We also have our beach evenings on Wednesdays and Fridays, when we encourage all our guests to come together for group dances under the stars. We try and keep these as private occasions for our guests; very different from the raves you’ll find further down the beach. You probably thought it was pretty quiet last night? That’s because it was Monday. Wednesdays, Thursdays, Fridays and Saturdays are the big nights here. You’re gonna love it.’

  ‘Sounds heavenly,’ Lucinda responded, barely able to accompany her comment with an equally sarcastic smile.

  ‘Awesome. I’m so pleased to hear you guys are stoked for this,’ answered Gabriel.

  ‘And what about the trips to see the ruins, or any boat trips perhaps?’ Anthony asked.

  ‘Oh yeah, we do that too. There is the fishing man and the ruin man. I just, like, call them and they come and get you. Easy as that. When d’you wanna go?’

  ‘Well, shall we go this morning? Lucinda, what do you think, darling?’

  ‘Why not? Let’s give it a try.’

  ‘Right, I’ll call the ruin man now. Have a great day, guys, and don’t forget to give thanks.’

  ‘Thanks,’ they replied in unison.

  *

  Twenty minutes later, they were in a cab on their way to the Mayan ruins on the edge of town that dated back to AD 564. The benefit of getting there early in the day meant they had the whole place almost to themselves, but even at that time, Lucinda found the heat intolerable.

  The Tulum ruins, built on top of a cliff, had once been a bustling Mayan port and home to over 600 people, with dwellings and scattered stones positioned around a central area of grass.

  ‘These Mayans seemed rather more advanced in their accommodation than we seem to be at Camp Mayo today,’ joked Anthony. ‘Look here, this one even has a stone toilet attached to its house.’ Lucinda gave a little smirk from the corner of her mouth.

  The Mayan town had been built around a prominent castle and temple, and some of the inside walls still possessed original murals, which had been surprisingly well preserved.

  After forty-five minutes of exploring the different Mayan buildings, the crowds started to build up and the heat became too much; they decided it was time to head on. Back at the entrance, Mr Ruin Man, their driver, was waiting under a tree with four other drivers who he clearly knew well.

  ‘You like?’ Mr Ruin Man asked, as he jumped up to greet them.

  ‘Very much, yes, but too hot now!’ Lucinda responded.

  ‘You want to go swimming to cool off? I know a secret place, the best cenote around. No tourists.’

  This part of Mexico was known for its cenotes, a series of natural swimming pools scattered around the jungle, formed when the natural limestone bedrock had collapsed over the years, leaving perfect freshwater pools behind.

  Anthony had read about them and was keen to visit, so he asked Lucinda if she was happy to go. He had brought a beach bag with them, just in case they had wanted to stop and swim on the way home, and so were fully equipped for the excursion anyway.

  ‘Sure. It’s not like there’s that much to do back at the camp, is there? Let’s go,’ Lucinda said, and they got back in the car.

  Ten minutes later, Mr Ruin Man pulled into a petrol station, off the main road. Anthony and Lucinda assumed this was for a petrol top-up, but when he pulled in on the far side of the forecourt away from the pumps, they both looked a little confused.

  Putting his hands upside down to his face, as if imitating a pair of glasses, Mr Ruin Man said in one of his evidently well-practised English phrases, ‘You buy! You buy!’

  Lucinda initially assumed he wanted them to pay for his petrol, before crossly turning to Anthony with a “told you so” sort of face and saying, ‘They’re always trying to get something, aren’t they? Always wanting more.’

  ‘Who are?’ Anthony asked, somewhat confused.

  ‘These people, the Mexicans. Isn’t it enough that we’ve already paid well over the odds to drive us this morning? Now he wants us to pay for his petrol too. I won’t have it. Let’s tell him to take us back to the hotel, right now.’

  From the front seat, Mr Ruin Man continued mimicking his glasses on his face, saying louder, ‘You must buy! Here, you buy!’ He then made a swimming gesture, at which point Anthony clicked.

  ‘Ahh! I think he means we need to buy a snorkelling mask! What a thoughtful man,’ Anthony said.

  ‘Yes, yes! You snorkel!’ Mr Ruin Man said, satisfied that they had finally understood him.

  Anthony got out of the car and walked into the petrol station shop, soon finding a large basket marked “cenote snorkel” on the side. He picked up two boxes of snorkels from the basket, one large, one medium, and handed the shop assistant 400 pesos, about $15. Back in the car, Lucinda and Mr Ruin Man were sat in uncomfortable silence.

  Ten minutes later, they were slowly navigating the little white Hyundai around potholes along a jungle track.

  ‘Nearly arrive, you see, no tourists here. Not far, not far!’ Mr Ruin Man said over the front seat, in an effort to reassure them as he sensed Lucinda’s increasing unease.

  They eventually arrived at a road barrier, where he pulled over and parked next to two other white Hyundai taxis. They got out of the car, and Mr Ruin Man pointed down a path off to their left, where there were three hotel rental bicycles leaning against a tree. They both found the presence of others here in the middle of the jungle reassuring.

  About 50 metres down the path, they found a small table with an elderly Mexican man sat behind it and a sign saying 200 pesos. Anthony handed over some notes from his pocket and in exchange received a couple of towels.

  They followed the path on for about 75 metres further when they heard splashes. And then, in front of them, they saw the rock pool and its crystal clear water, below overhanging rocks and tropical trees and flowers. It was unquestionably one of the most magical swimming spots either of them had seen before.

  On their right, two heavily oiled men were sunbathing together on a rock. It was only after putting on his prescription sunglasses that it occurred to Anthony that the men were completely naked, with the younger of the two possessing a penis that wouldn’t have been much smaller than a woman’s arm. Surely it must be a health hazard having something that size dangling around, he thought to himself.

  It was an easy decision, therefore, to walk down the path on the left instead, which led to another rock
and a large branch growing out over the water about six feet below, to which someone had attached a swing rope.

  As they changed into their swimwear, Anthony held up a towel to provide Lucinda with some screening, not that it seemed to be required. As they were doing this, another German couple walked past, also naked. Anthony recognised them as the couple from the airport minibus who checked into the naturist hotel. They nodded at each other and casually strode on to the other side of the cenote.

  ‘Why is everyone here naked?’ Lucinda whispered to Anthony, trying not to laugh.

  ‘God knows! Isn’t it enough for these people to be naked at their own naturist hotels? Shall we go for it?’

  ‘Go for what precisely, Anthony?’

  ‘You know; no costumes. Otherwise, we might look a little silly while everyone else is stark bollock naked!’ Anthony reasoned.

  ‘Not nearly as silly as we look without them. Now hold that towel up higher!’

  Swimwear on, they jumped off the rock and into the clear water below. As they momentarily escaped the humidity of the day and washed off the salt from their bodies, they felt refreshed.

  They had, of course, heard about the healing quality of minerals and knew there were many specialists who swore by the power of crystals and healing salts, but neither of them had given this much thought in the past. There had been no reason to. However, on entering the rock pool, they felt that the water was turbocharging their energy and re-purifying their lethargic bodies. It was as if they had taken a double shot of life.

  Once Lucinda had resurfaced in the water, which was surprisingly cool, she took a deep breath and followed the rock face down under the water, feeling the roughness of its surface that had stood unchanged for thousands of years.

  The rock had a solidity to its presence. Solidity: something that she felt her life had lacked for as long as she could remember. For the first time since her days at Ladbroke Walk, Lucinda felt an overwhelming presence of her first husband and her only true love, David.