by Damien Leith
Excruciating pain pierced my sleep. I lunged at my right leg like a security guard at a thief.
Even in the dim light of the room, I could see the extent of the spasm. I groaned. My entire calf muscle had contracted so tightly that the muscle looked like something growing out of my leg. In a half-awake panic I began rubbing the cramp with the palms of my hands, just to heat the muscle, to release its painful grasp on me. But this was useless.
Breathe, Sean, just breathe. Come on, just relax.
More awake now, I started to remember. I released my palms from the leg and began trying to quieten down.
I’d had many muscle spasms when I was a kid. From being one of the shortest in school, I’d grown late and fast into an average-sized young man. Suddenly I was getting almost nightly attacks of cramp, in either leg. Instinctively I’d tried to rub the muscles, to push them back into place.
‘Stop shouting like that,’ my brother John yelled one night after being woken by my panicky, pained wails.
‘I can’t. It hurts!’ I rubbed the leg frantically.
‘You’ve got to calm yourself down,’ John called more quietly. ‘Just try to relax and the pain will go away.’
‘No it won’t, I’ve got to push the muscle back in.’
‘No, you don’t, just let go of your leg and take a few deep breaths. Try it, for Godsake.’
What did I have to lose?
He was right. Within seconds the muscle relaxed and my body bathed in relief.
In the dark of this morning in Nepal, heeding that advice again, I felt the spasm start to loosen.
In the room next door an alarm clock went off loudly. The walls of the guesthouse must have been wafer thin.
Three bleary-eyed people, all struggling to wake themselves up, sat eating quietly.
‘Today we start upwards,’ Mani said.
‘Upwards,’ I moaned. ‘You said today would be easier than yesterday.’
‘Today not so bad as yesterday, but first uphill and then up, down, up, down. Not so bad and also jungle today.’
Akio got excited. ‘Ah, jungle, I like it! Maybe we will see monkeys!’
‘You like monkeys?’ I asked, slightly bemused.
‘In Japan my brother has a pet monkey. I like it very much.’
It’s not everyday that you talk to somebody about their brother’s pet monkey.
Akio wrote into his notebook, which he had placed beside him. He must have noticed my curiosity.
‘I am student. I keep journal so I not-o forget,’ he explained.
‘Do you have a camera?’
‘Camera good-o but I think journal better. Camera cannot take picture of man I hear screaming on this morning!’
The penny dropped and I must have blushed. I smiled and then turned away from him.
I sipped my milk tea; it was hot and had too much cinnamon in it. Mani rose from the table and announced that we would leave in five minutes. Again I sipped my tea. I had packed earlier, and was under no pressure now. Despite my lowered gaze, I could feel Akio staring at me oddly.
‘Is something the matter? I finally looked up and asked, trying not to sound hostile.
‘Yes, no problem.’
He glanced away but I noticed that he was still very much in thought. I decided to get it over with him; surely even he had had a cramp before.
‘You look as though there’s something on your mind.’
‘Okay, I have been-o thinking—’ He fell silent again.
‘Yes, what?’
‘Today we might meet bandits!’
Relief. ‘Don’t worry about bandits,’ I said breezily. Everything will be fine. You have nothing to worry about!’
Akio regarded me seriously; obviously I had interrupted too soon. He had something more to say.
‘I not-o worry about bandits. What I think is, when we meet bandits today, I not want to give money.’
‘You what?’
‘Bandits no good-o.’ He became more confident, more focused. I could tell from his tone that he felt determined about what he was saying. ‘It is not a donation, they rob us. I not want to be robbed so I no want to give my money!’
Obviously he had a point—and one that I agreed with. Donating at gunpoint sounded more like robbery than charity to me. But if they had guns I was going to give them whatever they wanted. The Maoists didn’t scare me off the trek but I wasn’t planning on messing with them either. Years of travelling up and down to Northern Ireland had taught me that it was better to avoid confrontation; do as they asked and go home.
‘Akio, I think you should give them what they want.’ I spoke softly but with purpose. ‘It won’t be very much money to us,’ I continued, ‘and I think it’s better to be safe than sorry.’
Akio remained calm, his tiny eyes staring at me intently. I saw that he was trying to size me up, trying to calculate whether it was worth arguing with me. Whether I could be persuaded to stand up with him against the rebels.
‘We will see,’ he eventually replied. ‘I will think about it today while we walk.’
I wasn’t satisfied. Sure, it was every man for himself, but I knew too well that in such situations it was better to be united. The fact that I’d give a donation would be entirely outweighed by Akio’s reluctance. We’d be seen as one defiant unit. And Akio had probably never known the kind of violence that a terrorist group could mete out to those who resisted.
I wanted to shake some sense into him. Make him see the danger. Make him see it my way. Listen here. You’ll keep your mouth shut and give them whatever the hell they want or you can piss off.
It’s amazing how fantastic your imagination can make things look, especially a confrontation. I remembered back to when I was in primary school and I was being bullied by a boy older than me and twice my size. I told my parents and they advised me to confront him.
‘Don’t run away from him,’ Dad instructed. ‘Talk to him, tell him to leave you alone.’
For the rest of that night I’d thought of different conversations I could have with the bully, and before I fell asleep I had planned an entire speech.
The following day in the schoolyard I walked up to the boy. I was terribly nervous as I recited the speech in my head.
‘What do you want?’ he growled.
I was petrified. The words I’d practised just vanished from my mind. Suddenly I did what I never thought I would do—I lunged forward and kicked him between the legs. The bully collapsed to the ground. My look of astonishment must have lasted all day.
For now, I decided to let things lie with Akio. Time out. I was irritated though—and overcome by an urgent need to pray and rub my hands together. I began repeatedly brushing one palm roughly over the top of the other. Dear God…It was a familiar action to me but to another it would have looked absurd—as though I was desperately trying to remove some imperceptible affliction from my hands.
‘What you doing?’
I turned away from Akio, trying to conceal my embarrassment. ‘Nothing,’ I muttered. ‘Just trying to think of something.’ It was a pretty lame excuse, but I’d been using it for years and it had always seemed to work.
‘But, with your hands, why you do that?’ Suddenly it wasn’t me directing him; I was the child now.
‘I…’ I what? What kind of stupid excuse can you give now, Sean?
I was exposed. There he was, this forthright little man I hardly knew, catching me off guard in the most uncomfortable of ways.
Have I questioned him about any of his peculiarities? Why should he ask me about mine? Why should I feel the need to defend myself!
‘I thought I felt a leech on my fingers. I was wiping them clean!’ How practised I was at feigning—lying. It was the easiest route. Pathetic.
‘Ah, I see.’
He probably thought I was some kind of weirdo.
‘We leave now!’ Mani’s voice came like a rescuing hand over the side of a cliff. ‘Yes, I think it’s time!’
I leapt up.
‘Ah yes, good-o, I think we make good time if we leave now.’ Akio spoke pleasantly and without any hint that he was still curious. Maybe he believed me.
Mani threw my backpack upon his shoulders and we were on our way. It was a cold morning, not unlike a winter’s morning back home in Ireland. A shroud of wispy clouds crossed our path and the night’s rain added its own slippery touch. Yesterday the weather had been warm and heavy—quite a contrast to the cool and wintry feel now on day two. Thirty minutes into the trek, though, and despite the pinching cold, all three of us were sweating. The path still led uphill. It was, in fact, a continuation of the three thousand steps of the previous evening. It was a strenuous start to the day.
Soon Mani found a dry spot to put the backpack down. Everybody was pleased with the break, even though we’d only been walking a short time.
‘Not so easy now!’ Mani massaged his calf muscles. ‘But later not so bad.’
Akio nodded in agreement, still wiping the sleep from his eyes. I just gazed out across the vast, vibrant landscape.
The previous day’s trekking had loosened my muscles and I didn’t feel so fatigued this morning. And it wouldn’t be unlike me to find some competitive energy, too, with Akio joining our group. Ever since I was a kid I’d striven to be the best at everything, from athletics to music to how many pints of beer I could drink. Relentlessly, I’d pushed myself, often beyond my capabilities, especially against someone I didn’t know well. But trying to be the winner was never my drive: it was the desire to let people know what I could do.
Mani was back on his feet. So was Akio. I went ahead a few steps. It felt good to be leading the group.
‘You know,’ she said with a giggle as we strolled along the beach, ‘you walk very fast.’
‘Do you think so?’
She pinched my side. ‘You know so!’
Suddenly she stopped in her tracks. It was almost sundown, the beach was quiet and still, the Indian Ocean shushed calmly alongside us.
‘Isn’t this sunset breathtaking!’ she exclaimed in a gasp of emotion.
Our footprints were still visible along the shoreline, under the intense reds, oranges and yellows of the sky. We stood side by side, hand in hand, watching the horizon and the daylight fading. Then the night sky was upon us. We didn’t speak for some time. We were both happy to breathe in the cool air and enjoy the surroundings. ‘You know,’ she exclaimed cheerfully, ‘if you don’t slow down, you might just walk by a moment like this.’
Perhaps she was right. I was moving so fast I was actually running away from things.
‘How about we go and get some food,’ I suggested.
‘Sounds perfect to me,’ she said, with a beautiful smile on her face.
The path continued uphill, occasionally dipping down much to the relief of all three of us. I found that in taking the lead I’d actually wound up quite a pace, and often I had to stop to allow Mani and Akio to catch up. Now I wasn’t trying to race my way through the mountains, but had just discovered that in leading I could have some time to myself. And the prayer that Akio had witnessed earlier still needed finishing undisturbed.
Dear God…
I began thinking about the Maoists. We were getting close to Ghorepani with every step and that’s where the British guy had met them. What if they did have machine guns? What if things got out of control? What if the guns went off even accidentally? What if they decided to take tourists as hostages?
Dear God…
Time went by in the blink of an eye when I was dealing with a disturbing thought or an incomplete prayer—my many different attempts at reciting a prayer properly could take so much of my attention that anything else could pass without my being aware.
‘What happened?’ Mani rushed up as I scrambled to my feet, embarrassed.
‘I’m fine,’ I said with a slight grumble. ‘Not a bother.’
‘What happened?’
‘I don’t know,’ I said. ‘I must have tripped over my feet.’
‘Not concentrating,’ laughed Akio as he reached us. ‘Eyes not on road.’
‘I had my eyes on the road,’ I snapped back. ‘I just tripped—simple. Anyone could do it.’
Mani threw me a sharp look; I was taking out on Akio what I should have been taking out on myself.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.’
Akio accepted my apology humbly and gave a friendly laugh.
‘Anyone fancy a break?’ I said then, knowing we all did.
‘Maybe we stop for lunch in the next village?’ Mani became enthusiastic at the prospect. ‘Dal bhat for Mani!’ He rubbed his stomach in a show of his unending love for the dish.
At the thought of food we shot off along the track. With so many downhill sections now, it was even tougher, being forever teased. Each downhill burst felt like fresh air, the muscles eased, the pain drifted away and then suddenly—bang!—an uphill slog grabbed hold of our legs and tied two giant boulders to our ankles, bringing us instantly back to earth.
As I struggled along, I couldn’t shake my frustration at having tripped earlier. Rituals and prayers—they’re the bane of my life, I thought with disappointment. They’ve affected everything I do, everything I love, even my music for Godsake!
A flurry of memories came to mind, one eventually settling upmost.
It was a showcase I’d played for record company execs back in Ireland. Showcases are nothing special—playing to one or two people who, if truth be known, usually had little power in making decisions. Generally ‘they’d be in touch’.
On this day, performing solo in a room in front of four casually dressed men, I played my heart out, singing songs that meant the world to me. I’d written them for myself, but people obviously liked them, including the four guys sitting before me.
After the set of songs the room fell silent. The men showed no reaction, then began to chat among themselves as if I wasn’t there. My mind started racing with worry and doubt. Finally they stopped talking. They’d reached agreement and they returned their focus to me.
‘Hi, Sean!’ said one. His accent was American; his tone slightly condescending. ‘You probably know who I am but, in case you don’t, I’m Don Taylor.’ I nodded in acknowledgement. He was a well-known record producer.
‘We’re delighted that you agreed to come and play for us today. We’ve all heard so much about you. What with the media and your gigging in Dublin, you’ve made quite a name for yourself over the past while, even internationally.’
‘Cheers,’ I said quite pleased with myself. ‘I didn’t know I’d spread so far.’
‘You must have some friends in the States,’ another interrupted. ‘They sent us on your material.’
‘Anyway,’ Don continued, cutting across the second man, ‘as I’m sure you know, this is a new venture for our companies. It isn’t usual that four major recording companies will come together to promote one artist.’
Cool, I thought, totally uninterested in the patter. I didn’t care about the current tide of the music industry or any of the other corporate talk that music execs spewed on about. All I wanted to know was how he liked the music.
‘I must tell you, we liked what we heard today. We liked it a lot.’ All four smiled in agreement.
‘Your music is awesome, man.’ Don suddenly drifted from formal to I’m-with-the-band! ‘The only problem we have is with you.’
I liked it better when he was praising me. I had to allow time for the information to compute. ‘Me!’ I exclaimed. I had been inflated and popped in a matter of seconds. ‘What do you mean, me?’
‘You don’t look good. You’ve no image.’ His tone was harsh and direct. ‘Sean, what can I say?’ he continued more genially. The music industry is a tough place and it takes more than a couple of good tunes to sell records.’
My grip tightened on my guitar neck. I could feel myself becoming flustered. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The music doesn’t count?
These four guy
s had first contacted me months earlier. In the time that followed, they’d heard my music, seen pictures of me, thrown me the odd compliment and basically told me that this showcase gig was just a formality.
Formality, my ass!
My mind raced, faster, infuriated. I’d been used. Standing in front of them, I wondered how I was supposed to respond to criticism like that. Thank them for the frank but belated appraisal? Without realising it, I began rubbing my hands and feet together. Not much in the beginning, but as they continued to stare at me I became conscious of what I was doing. I tried to stop. I tried to speak but I was in a mental freeze. No words could explain this mad action I was performing. I clenched my fists, then loosened them. Rubbed one shoe over another and then repeated the act.
Turn your back to them. No, I can’t do that, I’ll look even worse.
Dear Holy God please protect…
I had to move my hand on the guitar neck. It felt as though all the negativity I’d heard was now at the tip where I was holding it. If I moved my hand the negativity would go. But before I moved it, I had to wipe the tip so that the negativity would be able to leave.
Dear Holy God please protect…
Surely I looked as though I was having a fit, but the four men continued to look on without comment.
What are they staring at? I NEED TO TURN MY BACK AND COMPOSE MYSELF.
‘I need to compose myself,’ I suddenly exclaimed aloud, then turned around.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
There was a silence in the room that was sharp and vicious. Finally I turned back and looked at the men.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I exclaimed, ‘I really am so sorry.’
They continued to stare at me.
‘Obviously I don’t take criticism easily!’ I laughed nervously, trying to make light of the situation. Still the men remained quiet.
Wait a minute, why am I taking this crap from these guys? I can leave this. These guys have no hold on me. I am a free agent. What have I lost? Just a little time and ego.
I stepped down from the small stage where I’d been standing and packed away my guitar.