The Janus Cycle

by Tej Turner

  A monk with very nice blue eyes and a cute smile, I might add.

  “Hey,” I said, looking down hungrily at the selection of cakes and pastries.

  “Hi!” he replied excitedly. “Do you want to try some of these? They are from the new Buddhist cafe down the road. They are vegetarian.”

  I’m not a vegetarian, but I was very hungry.

  “I don’t have to be Enlightened or anything, do I?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

  He laughed and shook his head. “No, of course not. You don’t have to be a Buddhist to come to our cafe, either.”

  “I thought monks weren’t supposed to make money?”

  “It’s a charity,” he explained. “All the profits go to the International Temple Foundation.”

  “Okay,” I said, shrugging. I ate it. It tasted a bit like cheese wrapped in cardboard but, hey, it was free. I picked up a piece of carrot cake for desert.

  “I like those rings in your eyebrow,” he said. “And your jeans. Did they come like that?”

  “Nah,” I said, shaking my head. I thought of returning some kind of similar compliment but swiftly realised that he was a monk and had no stylistic features. I could have told him he had a nice smile, but that would have been bit... well, you know. “I tore them up. Thanks for the food.”

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Frelia,” I replied. “Yourself?”

  “I’m Stephan,” he said. His arm twitched as if he was making to shake my hand but then thought better of it.

  “So how long have you been a monk, then?” I asked. He looked quite young and probably only had a few years on me.

  “Oh, just a few weeks,” he said. “So, do you want to come to the cafe sometime? I work there three hours a day in the afternoon. Everything is ethically traded!”

  He looked me in the eyes and, to my great surprise, it was in that way – he was flirting with me.

  “Maybe...” I replied. “But I often have college around that time.”

  “Or we could just meet up this evening? You seem interesting – I would like to talk to you!”

  I stared at him for a few moments. “You’re asking me out on a date?” I blurted. “I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to be doing that – you’re a monk. Isn’t it a vow you have to take?”

  “One of all 376 of them,” he replied.

  “Wow. Must have taken them a while to come up with that list,” I said dryly.

  He laughed. “I like you. You’re blunt... anyway it doesn’t have to be a date,” he said, although his eyes were saying something completely different. “Just two... friends, meeting up. How about it?”

  Did I mention he was cute?

  You are probably beginning to notice that I am a bit weird. I have inventive ways to get out of boring lessons, I feel no embarrassment at crying in front of a classroom of fellow students, I am an atheist doing a course in religious studies, I arrange to go out on dates with random Buddhist monks that I meet at the park, I have a few facial piercings, too, and I dress a bit funky.

  Well, I guess this relates to what I mentioned earlier about everything in the universe having cause and effect:

  No idea who my father was. Switched between three children’s homes, followed by seven foster families. Short time in juvenile detention. Arrested for the first time when I was 12. Virginity taken at 13. Blah, blah, blah. I am sure you get the idea; in some ways it’s all quite cliché.

  So yes, I am a bit weird, but please be assured that if you could see my face right now it would bear an expression of deep, engrossed, profound, and heartfelt concern.

  And, anyway, if you think I’m fucked up, just wait until you meet my mother.

  Okay, so, the first thing you need to know is that to meet my mother you need to go through some procedures.

  “Can you place the bag on the belt please?” the security guard asks.

  “Okay, sir,” I reply as I pull it off my shoulder.

  His eyes are drawn to my torn jeans and then travel up to my black t-shirt and poncho.

  “Are you carrying anything sharp with you today?”

  No, I decided to leave my machete and knuckle dusters at home for this special occasion.

  I shake my head.

  “Any electrical equipment in your bag?”

  Just a bomb, kind Sir.

  There I go again. Stop it, Frelia, there is a time and a place for that.

  “No.”

  “Nothing in your pockets?” he asks me suspiciously.

  “You can frisk me if you want to,” I say, winking at him.

  Oops... there are only so many opportunities for a gag I can resist.

  He seems embarrassed for a moment, but then recovers and ushers me to step through the barrier.

  “Visiting time finishes in one hour,” he warns.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I won’t be that long.”

  And there she was, sitting at a table, in a bare, white, insipid room. Dressed in a robe. Her hair was thin and although she’s pretty, her face is let down by dark patches under her eyes. It is like something from a movie. The only thing missing is the white sock-things over her hands – they came off about three years ago so I guess that’s progress.

  “Frelia!” she exclaimed as I opened the door. She got up from her seat and raised her arms as if to embrace me but then seemed to reconsider and sat back down.

  “Happy Birthday, Mum,” I said as I sat on a chair opposite her.

  We sat in silence for a few moments.

  “So how are... Harold and Jean? Was that their names?” she asked.

  I shook my head. “I don’t live with them anymore.”

  “Oh,” she said, her expression becoming sad. “Why not?”

  “Well, they got themselves what they really wanted; a nice baby, warm and fresh from the womb, and still soft and malleable – so why would they keep a mouthy teenager in the house.”

  “They kicked you out?!” she asked.

  “No,” I said shrugging. “Just, you know. I was cramping their style. It was a mutual agreement. I still meet up with Jean for coffee sometimes.”

  “So where are you living now?” she asked.

  “A special home stay for sixteen to eighteen year olds. It’s run by a couple. They’re nice enough. I get to live there and go to college, and they get money from the state for putting a roof over my head and nice, bubbly feelings of positive karma. It’s a good arrangement.”

  She put her cold hands around mine, tightly.

  “But you’re happy?” she asked, with an anxious look in her eyes.

  “Yes,” I said. “I mean, I’m not ecstatic or anything. Just, you know, normal. Content and all that stuff. How are you?”

  “I’m okay...” she said, shrugging. She was lying – I could see a deep sadness and restlessness in her eyes. “As much as you can be in this place.”

  “How’s the treatment?” I asked.

  “They still think I’m crazy...” she replied.

  I shook my head. “I hope you get better soon, mother...”

  Her eyes became shiny, as if she was holding back tears. “I wish I could see you more, Frelia,” she said.

  I looked down at the table, feeling guilty. “I think about you a lot... but it’s... hard, Mum.”

  Her hands pulled away from mine and then went back to her lap. She looked down at the table.

  “I didn’t ask to be put here, Frelia.”

  No, I thought. You just wrote “Unknown Mystical Being” as my father on my birth certificate... I can’t imagine why the social services were concerned by that little stunt.

  “Tell me who my Dad is,” I said. “I need to know, Mum.”

  She looked at me with teary eyes, and I fleetingly thought that this was going to be the moment I had been waiting for my whole life. I was finally going to know.

  “He was... well he appeared from nowhere... he could do that... I think he was a time lord,” my mother said. I turned away, crossed my arms,
and looked at the barred window. “But one day—”

  “Time Lord? Come on Mum, this isn’t an episode of Dr Who!” I exclaimed as I stood up and reached for my bag. “This is my life!”

  The terrible thing about it all was that I knew she actually believed it. Sometimes I wished my mother was just a liar rather than crazy.

  “I’m... sorry,” I said, looking down at the floor. “I should go now... I have college things...”

  “I love you Frelia,” she said as I left.

  So that’s my mother. Don’t know what exactly I inherited from her apart from my looks and a stupid name. I guess I must take after my father, whoever he was.

  Time Lord indeed!

  If I was crazy, I would like to think that I would at least be more original.

  So the two objectives of attending college and wishing my mother a happy birthday didn’t go exactly to plan, but it wasn’t a complete waste of a day; I still had my (non)date with a Buddhist monk to look forward to.

  I went to meet him at the park, at the same place as earlier. He was waiting for me on a bench, and greeted me with a wave as I walked over.

  “Hi!” He seemed, for some reason I couldn’t fathom, really excited to see me. “You’re here! How was your day?”

  I guess some people would find this a bit creepy, but I actually found his enthusiasm for everything quite charming. I smiled. “It was... okay I guess,” I replied. “Did you give away any more cakes?”

  He nodded. “Yeah, and then we prayed to Amitabha and... oh sorry! I don’t want to bore you. Here!” he said, ushering me towards him. “Come, sit.”

  “Thanks,” I said, parking myself next to him. “Are you allowed to be alone with me? I thought you had to have a third party around when near a member of the opposite sex?”

  “Not all monastic orders are the same,” he replied. “The one in this town is Tibetan. We are trusted to spend time with whomever we want, but any breaking of vows is still a cause to leave. So anyway, Frelia is an unusual name; your mum must be interesting.”

  “Oh yeah,” I replied. “She’s a fucking treat.”

  We sat on the bench for an hour or so and chatted. When he found out I was studying religion we had much to talk about, because he was versed in all kinds of philosophies and beliefs from around the world. We had quite a lot in common; we both wanted to travel and had an appreciation for the simpler things in life. He didn’t really tell me much about his life before he was a monk but it was obvious that he was quite educated. I didn’t really tell him much about mine either; not because I am ashamed of my history, but more that talking about it all opens an exhausting can of worms.

  The way he always seemed so cheerful and excited about everything was quite cute. He had a childlike innocence in that way, though he was also quite worldly and knowledgeable.

  Eventually, he told me that he was due back at the monastery for three hours of silent meditation but he had just enough time to be a gentleman and walk me home. The time had passed so quickly.

  “This is where I live,” I said as we reached it. “Thanks for walkin’ me. I’ve had a really good time on this... well, whatever it was.”

  He smiled. “Me too! We should meet again!”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “Okay. I’ll come to the cafe some time.”

  “Or tomorrow?” he asked, looking at me hopefully.

  He was giving me the puppy eyes.

  “Alright. I’ll come meet you after college. 6 o’clock?”

  He nodded.

  We stood in silence for a few moments and he looked at me

  “Well if you weren’t a monk, and this was a date, this would be the part where you kiss me,” I joked, trying to ripple out the tension of an awkward moment.

  And then he kissed me.

  The next day we met up at the bench again but he insisted we went for a walk along the lake. We strolled around in silence for a while but, once we were hidden between a cluster of trees, he made to put his arm around me.

  “Sorry,” I said as I shuffled away. “But I think we should just be friends.”

  “Good friends,” he said, smiling.

  “No,” I shook my head. “I mean that... I don’t want to mess things up for you. They will kick you out if they find out you kissed me.”

  “That was just a slip up—”

  “That’s the thing, I don’t want to be some guy’s ‘slip up’,” I said.

  “I didn’t mean it that way... I really like you!” he exclaimed. “I was thinking about you a lot today.”

  “This is so weird! I like you too, which is why I just want to be friends. There’s no future for us. Don’t you see? You live in a monastery, I’m at college.”

  “I’m not going to be a monk forever!” he said. “You know, in East Asian countries most of the population become a monk for just a year of their lives, and then they just—”

  “But you are now. Listen,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s just be friends for now. I have enough weirdness in my life without all this.”

  He sighed.

  “So,” he said. “What’s weird in your life?”

  I ended up telling him everything. Well, not everything, but most things, and he listened. He wasn’t put off by it at all, in fact, he was very understanding. I thought that all of the things about my past would draw him away from me but for some reason it seemed to make me even more intriguing to him. When I tell people about my childhood it is usually interrupted by expressions of concern and apologies – I hate it when people do that; my past isn’t their fault and it doesn’t bother me anymore so why should it bother them? He actually liked the fact that I was complicated.

  I wasn’t used to that.

  By the end of the conversation he was due back at the monastery again so he walked me home. He didn’t kiss me that night but I walked into my house feeling like we had truly connected. I had not opened myself up to someone like that for a long time.

  We met every afternoon after college for the rest of the week, usually to sit somewhere in the park and chat, but we also went for walks around places and he even helped me with my homework. Each evening he would walk me home at the end; and on the sixth night we had another ‘slip up’ and kissed again.

  We kissed for a prolonged amount of time, and I am pretty sure that his wandering hands were approaching second base by the time I pulled away.

  We had a repeat of the ‘friends’ conversation the next day, and everything was restored back to order.

  Three days later we had sex.

  If you ever have sex with a monk at the park, you’ll find the robe is handy: it’s easy to slip off, so there is no awkward fumbling around with buttons, zippers, and sleeves to get them naked...

  It also doubles up as a very comfortable blanket.

  The next day, I meant to go and meet him but instead I found myself accidentally walking straight past the park, into a shop to buy a bottle of whiskey, and then through the derelict quarters of the city and into a favourite haunt of mine, Janus.

  I don’t go to Janus very often anymore, partly because I’ve been busy with college and seeing Stephan, but also because it has been invaded by a particularly annoying bunch of teenagers who have taken over the main bar downstairs while the rest of us are under siege in the upper rooms. Luckily for me, I have been going to this place for several years and know all the nooks and crannies; there is a secret entrance at the back which leads to the hallway upstairs, so I can reach the hidden rooms where the more authentic characters hang out without having to encounter any of the wannabes.

  I made my way down the hall and peered into some of the rooms my friends usually hang out in. It was a Thursday so the place was fairly quiet but I did open one of the doors to see a group of my arty friends lounging on beanbags around a coffee table. Namda was there.

  “Frelia!” she called as she saw me. She patted the beanbag next to her. “Where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you for ages!”

&n
bsp; “Oh, don’t even go there,” I said, rolling my eyes as I drew out my bottle of whiskey and took a swig. “I think I have got myself into... a bit of a situation.”

  “Oh, really?” Namda asked, her eyes lighting up. “It’s a guy, isn’t it?”

  “How did you know?” I asked.

  “You kind of have this glow about you,” Namda replied, winking. “Little gleam in your eye.”

  That’s what I like about Namda: talk to her about a problem and you don’t end up crying on her shoulder, you come out of it laughing and seeing the funnier side of it all.

  “So,” she said, nudging me with her elbow. “Tell me! What’s he like?”

  “He’s nice,” I said. “Sweet, understanding. Clever as well.”

  “So... what exactly is wrong?”

  “He’s a monk.”

  “A what?” she said, leaning closer.

  “A friggin monk!” I exclaimed. “Robes and everything.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “How’s your knowledge of Buddhism?” I asked.

  “Not great,” she admitted, shrugging. “I heard they like to... meditate, yeah?”

  I laughed. “Yeah. Monks make vows of sobriety... and celibacy.”

  “So he won’t have sex with you?”

  “No,” I said, shaking my head and taking another swig of whiskey. “That’s the thing. We have!”

  She covered her mouth to stop me seeing that she was laughing, but it was a futile gesture and we both exploded into a fit of giggles.

  “Well, anyway,” Namda said, holding her chest as we managed to gain control of ourselves again. “Seriously, Frelia. Can’t you see? If he betrayed his Lama – or whatever it is – for you, he must really like you.”

  “I like him too,” I admitted.

  “Well, what the hell you doing here then?” Namda exclaimed.

  By the time I had drunk enough ‘courage’ whiskey and made my way back to the park, I was an hour late to meet him (well technically we never actually agreed to meet, but it was the time we had met up every day for over two weeks now) so I wasn’t expecting him to be there.