by John Walters
She glanced at Prem, who was sitting in the dirt playing with some pebbles. Was the life they had now in Pokhara so desirable that they could not afford to forsake it for the unknown? The only difference between what they had and what they might find was the difference between the security of the familiar and the insecurity of the unfamiliar. But either way they had nothing: no family, no money, no home; so what did it matter? It was worth the risk to try to find Jason and Jasmine and the others.
"Come, Prem," she said. "It's time to go."
He shrugged, gathered up his pebbles, and followed her.
At first when she asked a distinguished-looking Nepali man in blue jeans, a red sweater, and leather sandals where India was, he directed her to the bus terminal; but the price of two tickets to the border was far beyond her means. When she approached the drivers, who sat all together drinking tea around a rough wooden table, and asked them for free passage for herself and Prem, they roughly drove her away.
Later, a peasant leading her buffaloes to a watering hole directed Asha to a path meandering through the rice fields towards the south. So with their few belongings rolled up in Paul's sleeping bag on her back, and Prem trailing behind her, she started her trek to Goa.
* * *
"Thank God you've come to your senses," Sunny's uncle Tasos said. The paunch that was a result of too little exercise and too much beer and oily food was hidden by the enormous desk that filled most of his office, but clearly visible were the receding hairline, the bushy moustache that was always food-stained at meals, the three jeweled rings on each hand, the thick gold bracelet around his wrist, the thick gold chain around his neck, and the gray striped suit, yellow shirt, and garish tie that all clashed with each other. He reeked of garlic, too; Sunny had never been able to stand him touching her, even when she was young and he would hug her and kiss her cheek and press a few drachmas into her hand.
He leaned back in his swivel chair. "Your mother was worried sick when you left," he said. "She cried day and night. Nothing could comfort her. But she always hoped you would return, so she would continue embroidering, with tears in her eyes. She told all the relatives and friends that you had gone for holiday, to protect your reputation. And she insisted on keeping your dowry intact. Everything is there, just as it was when you left it. That boy Nikos you used to go with has a good responsible position now with an insurance company; when he heard you'd returned he approached your mother and asked how you were. He is obviously still interested; if you're careful and well-mannered and play your cards right you might still have a chance with him. Your father, rest his soul, was unable to provide a house for your dowry before he died, but if you be a good girl and obey your mother and go to church and work hard and do things properly, I will buy a flat for you and your husband to set up in, and perhaps a car as well. It's the least I can do for my departed brother. It's up to you. Think seriously about this. I was young once too, and I understand this restless behavior and rebellion against authority, but there is no future in it. Everyone must settle down sooner or later and get normal and raise a family and become an accepted member of the community. What do you say?"
"You've given me a lot to think about, uncle."
He smiled, as if her reply had signified agreement. "Yes. That's right. You think about it. In the meantime, here's a little bonus; buy yourself some clothes or a new watch or whatever." He stood and hugged her and kissed her on the cheek as he used to do, at the same time pressing a roll of bills into her hand. She almost retched as she smelled his garlic breath and the stench of his underarms mingled with the smell of the strong cologne he tried to mask it with.
"Thank you, uncle," she managed to gasp.
"You're welcome, child, you're welcome," he said, without relinquishing his grip on her. Was there a hint of lechery in his embrace? She finally managed to pry herself loose, get her hand on the doorknob, and make her escape.
At least she had the money. Since her return she'd been doing part-time secretarial work at Uncle Tasos's office and putting aside as much of the salary as she could. The bonus was the equivalent of a week's wages; she was still short of her goal but perhaps it would have to be enough. The urge within her to leave was getting more and more insistent. She'd been hanging on, hoping that Paul would contact her, but she knew there wasn't much time left. Christmas was fast approaching. If something had happened to Paul her best chance to get help was to find Jason and Jasmine, the ones he'd told her about with the extraordinary powers. They'd know what to do, if anything could be done.
On her way out she passed a man and woman going in the opposite direction, to see Uncle Tasos. Something made her pause. She remembered what Paul had said in Nepal about dark spirits chasing them. At the time she'd taken his word for it, but her perceptions of people had been changing steadily since she'd left Paul, and now... The two who'd just walked by didn't feel right. He was lithe and muscular, with white pants, a white shirt, and brown leather sandals without socks. She wore jeans, a pink see-through blouse, and flipflops, and carried a large handmade leather purse over her shoulder; her long auburn hair hung loose almost to her waist. These were not the type of visitors her uncle usually entertained.
Sunny retraced her steps and stood outside the office door; she could clearly hear the conversation. She'd missed the first few words of the exchange. The strangers spoke Greek with a strong accent, as if they'd just learned it.
"You have been generously recompensed; we don't think this is too much to ask," the man was saying.
"But she's my niece," Uncle Tasos replied.
"We're not asking you to hurt her," the woman said. We just want you to detain her. We want to ask her a few questions."
"What sort of questions?"
"That's not your concern. But she met some people, some bad people, while she was traveling. We need to locate these people, so we need to find out what she knows."
"And you won't hurt her?"
"We want to talk to her. But this matter is of the utmost urgency and we can't take any chances. You will of course receive an additional fee for your trouble."
She heard the woman's purse pop open; then Uncle Tasos said, "Yes, yes. I will arrange it. Of course you understand I am very concerned for my niece's safety."
"You have nothing to fear."
Sensing the conversation was almost over, Sunny left the building, ran down the street, and caught a bus home. Her mother had a small single-storied white house with a red tile roof in Glyfada, on the outskirts of Athens close to the airport. Their tranquility was frequently punctuated by the screaming thundering vibrations of jet engines, but her mother and father had lived most of their married lives there and her mother refused to move to a quieter area.
When she arrived her mother was at work and her ten-year-old brother was at school. She hurried to her room, stuffed the money she'd saved along with her passport into a small pouch with a thin strap which she hung around her neck and hid under her shirt. Then she began carefully sorting clothes and arranging her backpack. She'd just finished when the doorbell rang.
"Uncle Tasos. I thought you were at the office."
He pushed his way into the sitting room. "An urgent matter has come up. I must spend a few days at my villa in Sounio. I would like you to accompany me; I will need help with typing and other work. I have already contacted your mother and she has no objection."
"This is sudden."
"I'm sorry, my dear. Sometimes the demands of business are like that."
"I understand, Uncle. Can you wait while I get a few things together?"
"Of course, of course. But don't take too long. We must be off at once."
The window in her room was already open; she lowered her backpack to the ground, then followed it. She jumped the fence and ran down a few small streets and alleys before she stopped a taxi.
On the way to the train station, though the sunlight was so bright she had to squint, she felt darkness like frantic scurrying shadows all around h
er. They were searching for her, but they were doing other things as well.
With Christmas less than a month away, she had to hurry.
Chapter 9
Further Interrogation
The spray of icy water caused Paul to break into paroxysms of coughing and shivering. He'd just drifted off to sleep when it hit him; he was dreaming of Sunny, and of tables covered with steaming steaks, roast chickens, macaroni and cheese, curries and rice, elaborate salads, bowls of fruit, and platters of pastry. The cold shower woke him up to the reality of his situation: naked and strapped to a metal chair that was bolted to the floor in a dimly-lit room without windows. He wondered how long he'd been there; it seemed his bladder had been aching forever. Finally with the involuntary shuddering he lost control and emptied it. The urine was warm on his legs, and the feeling of relief was at first pleasant; afterwards, however, the smell nauseated him, and he felt vomit rising in his throat. He heard Frazer's voice. "Having accidents, are we? Too the fuck bad. You're bringing this on yourself. If you would just cooperate and do your patriotic duty all this would be over. You are one stupid son-of-a-bitch, Traven. I'm gonna go grab a bite to eat and then maybe take a nap. Doesn't that sound nice? Let me know if you're interested. Remember, as soon as you get smart you can eat and sleep, not before. We just want you to do the right thing; it's not like we're asking anything unusual or abnormal. It's your duty, you bastard. By refusing to help us you could be endangering the whole fucking human race. What are you, some kind of insane selfish animal, covering up for these aliens? They've got you duped, brainwashed, indoctrinated. This is war and you are a goddamned traitor, a traitor to your own kind. Anything you get is less than you deserve, you scum." Afterwards the freezing spray hit him again, then there was silence.
"Paul. Hey, Paul."
"Chuck!"
"Are you all right, man?"
"No. I am sure as hell not all right. What's up?"
"I can't get to you. No way. You are as protected as the President of the United States and I don't have access."
"Shit. I'm screwed. I won't last much longer. I've been holding out but I don't even know why. What difference will it make if I spill what I know about Jason and Jasmine?"
"I don't know, man. At this rate we'll never get to India."
"Yeah. What's your status?"
"I can come and go, but not alone."
"Can you make a break?"
"Maybe, if I wait for an opening. But I won't leave you, no way."
"I want you to run for it as soon as you get a chance. Go to India, find Jason and Jasmine, tell them what's happened to me. If anyone will know what to do, they will. And tell them...tell them by the time you get there I'll probably have told Frazer everything I know. I'm going nuts and I won't have control much longer."
"You didn't leave me alone and I can't..."
"It's the only way, don't you see? I don't want you to go either. Once you're gone then I'm really alone. But you're going for help, don't you see? You're gonna come back and rescue me."
"Yeah. Yeah. I get it. A rescue mission. Then I gotta hurry."
"Once you're free you'll have to hurry. But wait and make your escape when you're sure; you'll only get one chance."
"Don't worry, man. I won't blow it. I'll come back and get you. Take care."
"Sure. I'll be all right."
In the mental silence that followed Paul kept his eyes open so they wouldn't spray him again. He listened to the rhythmic bubbling rasp of his breathing as phlegm built up in his lungs; he listened to the drip-drip-dripping of the remains of the water as it flowed from his body and from the chair to the concrete floor; he listened to the steady electric hum of some sort of surveillance equipment in the corners of the room. Time seemed to stretch out like a rubber band, then snap back in confusion; it pulsed like the blood coursing through his veins; it throbbed like a wound; it gasped like the dying sobs of someone trapped in premature burial. How long? How long? How long? How long?
When the door rattled and then opened Paul was semi-conscious and didn't notice. When the two men unbuckled his arms and legs and pulled him to his feet he looked from one to the other with a wide-eyed vacant stare.
They led him back to his old room. Clean clothes were laid out on the bed; he showered and dressed. Then they took him to the main building, to the room where Finwinkle and Frazer had first interrogated him. The table was set with a steaming hot meal: thick steak, fried eggs, toast and butter, coffee.
The door closed and he was alone. He looked around suspiciously, as if searching for the nozzles that would momentarily spray him into wakefulness, then sat down and began to eat.
The plates were empty and he was pouring himself another cup of coffee when Finwinkle came in. He sat down opposite and said, "Glad to see you helped yourself. Had enough? Good." He cleared his throat. "A most unfortunate situation. My apologies. Frazer has a tendency to be impulsive."
"Impulsive?"
"I have to be honest and admit that we discussed such a course of action as a contingency, but he was a bit premature in its execution. I've been away a few days and he took matters into his own hands."
"The son-of-a-bitch tortured me."
"Torture? Well, let's say he used extreme methods of persuasion. And the fact is, while I don't condone his methods, we are running out of time. We don't know what these aliens are up to, and every day that passes gives them more time to do whatever they're doing. If what they're doing turns out to be malevolent, that's bad. I managed to pull you out of that room this time, but if you don't cooperate with us fully and completely very soon, Frazer's going to get the green light, and what he's done so far is nothing compared to what he's capable of doing. And next time I won't be able to help; my hands'll be tied."
"He almost killed me."
"No, he won't kill you, but you'll probably wish he would. Listen, all this is unnecessary. Let's go over your story one more time. Not all of it; let's go straight to when you met Jason. You haven't told us everything, have you? You're still leaving something out. You took the LSD and...what?"
"I walked up into the mountains, started to hallucinate, and Jason found me."
"Right, and he pulled you off the snow. But did you notice anything unusual at that time?"
Paul didn't answer.
Finwinkle leaned forward and said, "Look, Traven, this is your last chance with me. If I don't get answers right now, I'm walking out that door and you won't see me again; Frazer will take over."
"Okay, there was something else," Paul said. "They were telepathic."
Finwinkle sat back again slowly. "Telepathic. How do you know?"
"Because when I was with them so was I. Jason joined me on the acid trip and kept me from flipping out completely. Afterwards we could talk mind to mind. When I met Jasmine I could communicate with her the same way."
"Amazing."
"You don't believe me?"
"On the contrary; I definitely believe you. Did you have this ability before you met them?"
"No."
"Nothing? Special luck at cards, maybe? Intuitively catch what people were thinking before they said it, that sort of thing?"
"No."
"Not at all? Think now, this is important."
"When I was on psychedelics sometimes I thought I was on the verge of something, but the hallucinations and paranoia always got in the way."
"Drugs, yes. And when you met Jason you'd taken a huge dose. Was it the most you'd ever taken?"
"Definitely. By far."
Finwinkle hesitated, as if lost in thought. Then he asked, "When you parted company with Jason and Jasmine did the power fade?"
Paul took a chance and lied. "Yes."
Finwinkle stared into his eyes, then picked up the phone. "Bring it in."
The men who had escorted him to the room wheeled in a huge instrument-laden table that seemed to have sprouted wires like weeds in an abandoned garden.
"Okay, Traven," Finwinkle said. "Strip an
d lie down."
"But..."
"I'm not going to torture you; this isn't going to hurt. It's a lie detector. But if you don't cooperate these men are going to do it by force."
Slowly Paul removed his clothes. When his skin touched the chilly plastic they pushed him flat and bound him with straps across his forehead, shoulders, chest, elbows, wrists, knees, and ankles. Then they began attaching wires capped with tiny rubber suckers to his temples and neck, over his heart, just above his wrists, on both sides where his legs met his groin, and inside each thigh.