Fear of the Fathers: The Reiki Man Trilogy

by Dominic C. James

  Kamal shook his head. “No,” he said. “Well, I do not think so. Not like you mean anyway. Although I am very fond of her.”

  “Then what is it?” pressed Marvo.

  “It is my redemption old friend. My redemption.”

  Chapter 101

  For the first time in a very long while Stella had a hangover. She woke in the dark with no idea of the time or where she was. The last clear memory she had was downing two shots of tequila. After that the evening became a haze of music and laughter. She had a vague recollection of dancing on top of Kandinsky’s bar with one of his barmaids, and as the picture materialized in her head she shuddered with post-party embarrassment.

  After feeling around and satisfying herself that she was alone in the bed, she shut her eyes hard and made a determined effort to get back to sleep. But after ten minutes of trying various positions she gave up and succumbed to the unwelcome nagging of insistent alcohol.

  She switched on the lights, sat up, and grabbed her cigarettes from the bedside cabinet. After a couple of lung-clearing coughs she lit up and took a long drag of smoke. Without thinking, she reached down into the fridge and pulled out a bottle of beer. Before she could stop herself it was open and she’d taken a hefty swig. When she realized what she’d done her first reaction was one of horror, but then, as the alcohol topped up, she felt a resurgence of carefree spirit and grinned at her uncharacteristic surrender to hedonism. “Take life too seriously,” she muttered to herself. “Hah, what do they know?”

  She picked up the phone and dialled her attendant. She ordered smoked salmon, scrambled eggs, wholemeal toast, champagne and freshly-squeezed orange juice. Her food arrived within ten minutes.

  Her attendant was a young Russian who couldn’t have been long out of his teens. He was handsome bordering on beautiful, with both sculpted cheekbones and body. She gave him a flirtatious smile as he lay her food down. He grinned back at her with piercing eyes. A brief recklessness surged through her mind and she toyed with the idea of grabbing his collar and pulling him in for a kiss, but just as she was about to throw caution to the wind she reined herself in for being so foolish.

  “Will that be all?” said the attendant.

  She said it would and he left with her eyes burning holes in his firm backside.

  She got out of bed and sat down at the table in her long T-shirt. The food was wonderful and she savoured every mouthful.

  Halfway through there was a knock at the door. It was Stratton, and he came in and sat down on the bed. “You’re starting early aren’t you?” he said, nodding towards the bottle of champagne.

  “I’m having it with orange juice,” she said. “To go with my food. I believe it’s a combination you’re not averse to yourself. Do you want a glass?”

  “No thanks. I want to keep a clear head about me today.”

  “Suit yourself. If you will take life too seriously…” she said pointedly.

  “I never said that Stella. That was Kandinsky. You don’t need to prove anything to me.”

  “I’m not trying to prove anything to anyone. I’m just enjoying myself.”

  “Good. I’m glad to hear it,” said Stratton. “I just came in to see how you were. I thought you might be suffering a bit after last night’s exertions. But I can see I needn’t have worried.”

  “What do you mean by exertions?”

  “You know, dancing on the bar; singing loudly – that sort of thing.”

  “Oh, right,” she said. “I can’t really remember to be honest. Was I that bad?”

  “No. You were funny. It was good to see you let your hair down. It reminded me of…well, when we first met I guess. Back in the old days in Oxford – drinking cocktails in the afternoon, partying into the next day, that sort of thing.”

  Stella smiled. “Yeah, they were good times. Sometimes I wish we could go back to them. Life’s a lot simpler when you’re young.”

  “Isn’t it,” Stratton agreed. “But things move on whether we like it or not. Suddenly you’re ten years older and talking in clichés.”

  “Point taken,” laughed Stella. “Come on,” she urged. “Have a glass of champagne with me – for old time’s sake. We could have a bit of an all-dayer. We’ve got nothing else to do.”

  “I’d love to,” said Stratton. “But like I said, I want to keep a clear head today. I already feel a bit heavy after last night. Kandinsky wants to talk to me about stuff, and I can’t do it if I’m pissed. Why don’t you finish your breakfast and find Jennings and Oggi. I’m sure they’ll be up for a bit of a session. Oggi’s like a kid in a candy store at the moment.”

  “I suppose so,” said Stella. “I just thought it might be good for us to have a bit of time together. We still haven’t really spoken properly since you did your resurrection act.”

  “I know, but today isn’t the day. We’ll have plenty of time over the next week or so. Just find Jennings and Oggi and enjoy yourself. I’ll catch up with you later.” He got up and rested a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Everything will be alright,” he said, and kissed her lightly on the cheek.

  She watched him leave and finished the remains of her breakfast, chewing over his final words and wondering in her heart if they were a false hope.

  Chapter 102

  Dr Vashista was in optimistic mood about Titan’s prognosis. He said that as far as he could tell from his limited knowledge of animals, the panther was recovering quickly and would be back to normal by the time they reached their destination. Stratton sat on the floor next to the big cat’s makeshift bed of soft blankets and stroked his head. Titan placed a lazy paw on his lap.

  “Has he eaten anything yet?” Stratton asked the doctor.

  “He had a go at some finely-chopped beef this morning, and he’s been taking on plenty of liquids. Remarkable capacity for recovery animals; they are so resilient. I doubt whether a human would make such progress so quickly.”

  “Probably not,” said Stratton. “But this one’s got energy flowing through him in abundance.”

  “He has indeed,” said Vashista. “He is a fine specimen. I hope you don’t mind, but I have been performing some Reiki on him myself.”

  “Not at all,” said Stratton. “I had no idea you knew Reiki.”

  “I wouldn’t have got this job if I didn’t. Arman is very much into his alternative therapies. I also do acupuncture and reflexology – as well as being a regular doctor that is.”

  “I’m glad to hear it. I won’t be so worried about him now.” Stratton stayed with Titan for another hour or so, encouraging him to eat some more food and to take on water. Then, after he fell asleep, Stratton thanked Vashista once more and headed off to see Kandinsky.

  Stratton found his host in the large entertainments room sitting in front of his giant screen, chatting to Anatol and watching Die Hard.

  “Hello my friend,” said Kandinsky. “Come and join us. Are you a fan of these films?”

  “Isn’t everyone?” said Stratton.

  “Exactly,” said Kandinsky. “And what is that?” he asked, pointing to the hessian bag in Stratton’s hand.

  “It’s something very important,” said Stratton. “I thought you might like to have a look at it.”

  He handed Kandinsky the bag and sat down on the chair next to him. The big Russian slid his hand in and removed its contents. For a moment he stared. “Is this what I think it is?” he said. “Is this the real thing?”

  “Yes,” Stratton confirmed. “That is the box.”

  Kandinsky moved it delicately round in his hands, his eyes filled with unbridled wonder and reverence. He stayed silent for ages, studying every symbol, nick and groove. At last he said: “It is not often I am truly humbled Stratton, but this is one of those rare occasions where I cannot think of anything to say. Two thousand years of history – it is quite remarkable. Just to think, Jesus Christ himself created this all those years ago. The more I stare at it and think about it, the more beautiful it becomes.”

  “I thou
ght as a Jew that you wouldn’t be affected by its maker so much,” said Stratton.

  “I am not a practising Jew, that died with my father. Like you, I have no religion. But I do have a sense of history – and my God is this history.” Once again he turned the box round in his hand and marvelled.

  “I have a bit of a favour to ask you,” said Stratton.

  “Anything,” said Kandinsky.

  “I was wondering if you have a safe I could store it in for the rest of the journey. I’m not suggesting that anyone on board would take it, but I’d feel a hell of a lot better if I knew it was somewhere out of reach. It’s either that or carry it around with me for the rest of the trip. I hope you’re not offended.”

  “There is no need to make apologies,” said Kandinsky. “I understand perfectly well your concerns. It is always better to be careful. I would do exactly the same thing in your position. It will go into my safe and nobody will touch it until you pick it up at the end of your journey – that I can promise you. Come, we shall go now and secure it. Then we shall return and watch Mr Willis kick ass.”

  Stratton followed Kandinsky to his office, which was small and functional. An antique desk took centre stage with a matching chair behind. On top of the desk was a PC and piles of paper in various states of order. Behind was a bookcase housing an eclectic mix of law books, thrillers, classics of Russian literature, scientific tomes, and religious histories.

  Kandinsky went to the bookcase and pulled back a copy of Doctor Zhivago. A row of ten books folded down revealing a safe door behind. “Not very original I know,” he said. “But even if someone found the safe they would not be able to get into it. I only have it behind the books for aesthetic reasons.” He proceeded to type in a long combination on the safe’s keypad, and then put his eye to the small scanner directly above. The metal door clicked open. Stratton handed him the box and it was stored away.

  “There we go,” said Kandinsky. “You can relax now.”

  “Are you the only person who can open it?” asked Stratton.

  “Yes. Well, myself and Anatol. So don’t worry, if anything happens to me you will still be able to get to it.”

  “That’s not quite what I meant.”

  “Oh, I see,” said Kandinsky. “You do not need to worry about Anatol. I have known him since we were boys. I trust him with my life. He is like a brother to me.”

  “That’s good enough for me then,” said Stratton, not wishing to offend his host.

  “Come,” said Kandinsky. “Let us go back to my den and relax.”

  When they arrived back Stella, Oggi and Jennings had turned up and were sitting at the bar drinking outrageous-looking cocktails. After a brief chat Stratton and Kandinsky moved over to the seated area and left them to their own devices.

  For a while they sat quietly watching the remainder of the movie. Kandinsky drank champagne and smoked a cigar while Stratton nursed a mineral water. As the credits rolled to the jolly sound of Let it Snow Kandinsky finished his glass and called for one of his girls to get another. “Are you sure you won’t have a glass?” said Kandinsky.

  “No,” said Stratton. “I’m fine thanks. I’m not really used to drinking any more, and last night was plenty for me.”

  “Come, we are all friends here. I cannot drink alone. A glass will be good for you, it will clear your head of last night.”

  Taking the view that refusing his host was out of keeping with the spirit of the moment, Stratton relented.

  “Good man,” said Kandinsky. “You will have plenty of time to worry when you get to India. For now you should take a break. I have some excellent Columbian cocaine if you would like some, the best you will find anywhere in the world.”

  “Don’t tempt me,” said Stratton. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll give it a miss.”

  “I do not blame you. I do not use it myself, but I keep it on board for guests. It is a habit I am glad to have dispensed with.”

  “Did you used to take a lot then?” Stratton asked.

  “Yes,” admitted Kandinsky. “Too much. At first, when I was only a minor dealer, I was very strict with myself and never took anything. I was not making enough money to warrant using the produce. But as I moved higher up the chain I made the big mistake of dabbling in the merchandise. I controlled it for a long time, but eventually, as was inevitable, I lost myself. I spent years in a crazed paranoid world, corrupted by both power and powder.”

  The girl returned with their champagne.

  “So what stopped you then?” asked Stratton, as he took a tentative sip of his drink.

  “Tragedy,” Kandinsky said flatly. “I instigated a chain of events that got out of hand. Once I realized what I’d done it was too late. I woke up one morning and decided enough was enough, and I have not taken anything since.” His face fell for a moment. “Anyway,” he laughed. “Let us not become morbid over the past. ‘What is done is done’, as they say. We can only influence the future.”

  “Perhaps,” said Stratton quietly.

  Kandinsky either ignored, or didn’t hear, the comment. “It is very strange for me,” he said. “Sitting here with you I feel somewhat in awe. It is not a feeling I am used to with human beings.”

  “In awe of me? Why?” said Stratton.

  “Because you have died and you have come back to life; you have been resurrected. You have seen the other side. It is not something one encounters every day.”

  “I guess not. I haven’t thought about it for a while. It doesn’t really seem strange to me anymore.”

  Kandinsky leant back and blew a big smoke ring. “So tell me, what is the other side like?” he said.

  “It’s like waking up, I guess. I can’t really describe it though, it’s something you have to experience for yourself. I imagine it’s probably different for everybody. To be honest, I can’t remember all that much about it.”

  “Is there a hell?” asked Kandinsky.

  “I couldn’t tell you,” said Stratton. “But if you mean eternal damnation, then no, personally I don’t think there is. I think there’s just infinite levels of learning and consciousness. Some are painful, some are pleasurable – it all depends on what you take in with you.”

  “But is there retribution?” pressed Kandinsky. “Is there what you would call Karma?”

  “Yes, of course there is, but not the way most people interpret it. Karma isn’t about revenge or retribution, it’s about understanding. It’s about empathizing with other souls. There is no malice to Karma, it is simply there to instruct.”

  “So, if, before he dies, a man repents of his sins then he will not face Karma?”

  “I don’t know,” said Stratton. “I guess it would depend on why he was repenting. If it was just out of fear, then he hasn’t learnt anything, has he? If he repents because he truly understands at the core of his being exactly what he’s done wrong, then I suppose there would be no need for another lesson. But like I said, I’m just hypothesizing. The essence of being is extremely complex, and I can’t really give you a definitive answer. Are you scared of retribution then?”

  “I do not know if ‘scared’, is the correct word,” said Kandinsky. “I am wary of it, shall we say. I am aware of the dreadful things I have done, and I regret them. I am expecting to be punished, and I approach it with acceptance.”

  “Then you’re on the right track. The lesson won’t seem so bad if you feel it’s justified.”

  Kandinsky leaned forward and sipped his champagne. “I have often thought about admitting my crimes and spending the rest of this life in prison. Perhaps then I could have a clean slate when I move on.”

  “Possibly,” said Stratton. “But you’re always going to be in prison until you release yourself. No amount of time behind bars will redeem someone if they don’t want to be.”

  “Very true,” said Kandinsky. “Like you say, it is very complex. I am sorry to be so persistent in my questioning, but in light of your unique experiences I thought you might be able
to provide me with some answers.”

  “Don’t apologize, I really don’t mind. It’s interesting to discuss it with you. But always remember, Buddha says: ‘Work out your own salvation. Do not depend on others.’”

  “Of course,” said Kandinsky. He raised his glass and laughed. “Thank you Stratton. I now have even more unanswered questions than I did before.”

  Chapter 103

  At the bar Jennings, Stella, and Oggi were making the most of what was fast becoming a holiday. Jennings had already forgotten he was a wanted man, and Oggi was equally oblivious to his own predicament. Stella was just happy to let months of pent-up emotion evaporate slowly without trauma or confrontation.

  While Stella and Jennings chatted to each other, Oggi was sat in between the two heavenly barmaids. He had a beer in one hand, a cigar in the other, and an arm round each of the girls. A healthy pile of white powder was stacked on the bar in front. Nearly every time he spoke the girls would laugh and give him an affectionate tap as if he was the funniest man in the world.

  “Looks like Oggi’s in his element,” said Stella.

  “Yeah,” said Jennings. “It’s like he’s died and gone to heaven isn’t it? I wonder if they actually understand what he’s saying?”

  “Probably not,” laughed Stella. “But they all seem to be having a good time, so what does it matter.”

  Jennings smiled and sipped his whisky sour. “You’ve certainly changed your tune,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Up until last night you seemed quite disgusted by the thought of these ‘kept women’.”

  “Well, I can’t bothered any more. I’m fed up with being fed up, if you know what I mean. Besides ‘when in Rome…’.” A high-pitched squeal of laughter came from one of Oggi’s adoring fans. “Come on,” said Stella. “Let’s go and have a game of pool and leave Hugh Hefner here with his bunny girls.”