At a table next to theirs, a teenage surfer, half pimply youth, half pretentious dolt, was drinking a whiskey and Coke. He was eyeing Doris attentively, but I had the impression that any girl would have awoken the same interest in him. He and I had one thing in common: we were not missing one word of the conversation next to us.
After a quarter of an hour, Dick and Doris were joined by a girl their age, who was accompanied by someone they apparently didn’t know.
“Hi, Kate!” said Dick.
“Hi, Dick. Hi, Doris.”
I immediately felt Doris clam up just slightly. She seemed put out. It was clear she didn’t like Kate. What was going on between them?
A brunette with a provocative air, Kate was sexy rather than really beautiful. Rather high heels for the seaside, a miniskirt and breasts on display. She didn’t have much in the way of breasts, but Saint Wonderbra had been by, and the effect was satisfying. Anyhow, at the neighboring table, the teenage surfer couldn’t take his eyes off her cleavage. She smiled as she talked, working on the super-cool attitude of the girl at ease with her looks, at ease with her body.
“Sorry I’m late. I got changed after the beach, and I couldn’t find my things. Impossible to find my panties.”
It was obvious the young surfer intended to learn whether she had found them or not: his eyes had gone down from the cleavage to the miniskirt, which he was now staring at intently, waiting for the moment that would reveal the answer. Doris’s exasperation went up a notch. Kate was satisfied.
“Let me introduce Jenz. We met on the beach. You wouldn’t believe it, like, we both smoke Marlboro menthol lights. It’s crazy!” said Kate.
Very thin and hollow-cheeked, with an affable smile, Jenz introduced himself as coming from “a little European country,” Denmark as it turned out. The size of his bald patch had led him to shave his head completely, a clever way of hiding it from others. But, on the other hand, he was sporting a dense, dark blond beard. You got the feeling he was trying to compensate with his beard for the lack of hair on the top of his head. His voice was soft, to the extent that you had to listen hard to hear it. He replied to the others’ questions with a humility bordering on self-deprecation, like he was excusing himself for saying sorry for being a nuisance. Dick frowned slightly as he looked at him, as though he was wondering what type of animal this was. For him, it was obviously not natural that a man should be so retiring. Jenz was trying so hard not to offend that he was transparent. After five minutes, everyone had forgotten he was there. He no longer existed.
What could push someone to act like that? Would it be something like “they’ll leave me alone if I make myself small”? At any rate, I was sure that Dick had the opposite belief, along the lines of “they’ll respect me if I’m strong!”
Jenz was looking lovingly at Kate, who hadn’t once looked at him since introducing him to the others. She was completely ignoring him. Why had she brought him into the group? For the pleasure of being seen with a vacuous admirer who demonstrated her powers of seduction? To make Dick react? It did seem to me that she was doing her best to grab his attention. Doris must feel it as well, because her exasperated gaze at times threw out sparks of hatred.
The barman was taking their orders.
“A blue lagoon,” Kate asked.
“Sparkling water,” said Doris.
“What are you having?” Dick asked Jenz.
“Whatever.”
“Make up your mind!”
“Right, I’ll have the same as you.”
“Two beers,” Dick ordered.
Dick had had a good day. “The waves were awesome today, man, it rocked. At last, a kickass day,” he said.
“It was lovely to see the elements unleashed,” added Doris.
“You’re right,” Jenz slipped in.
“Oh, no! It was a drag today,” said Kate. “There were two guys who wouldn’t stop trying to pick me up. I was pissed—they wouldn’t back off.”
“Just go surfing,” replied Dick. “In the water, guys just look at the waves.”
“Oh, no! Not surfing. You fall all the time, and I might hurt my breasts if I did a belly flop.”
On the next table, the young surfer’s eyes went back up from the miniskirt to the cleavage.
Doris had decided not to fight. Hypersensitive, she was one of those people who want to be loved for themselves, as they are, to the point that she had developed the belief that if she tried hard to please, she wouldn’t be loved for who she was, but only for what she had done.
“Do you know why a man ejaculates in spurts?” Kate called out, creating a silence that was half embarrassed, half expectant.
Dick obviously appreciated the joke and was waiting for the punch line. Doris’s face displayed her contempt for vulgarity. Jenz was smiling ingratiatingly.
“Because a woman swallows in sips,” she went on, holding Dick’s gaze.
Jenz laughed stupidly, Dick coarsely. Doris was appalled.
The young surfer couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t known girls like that existed. Openmouthed, he kept his eyes riveted on her, staring hungrily. He must have been thinking she was an incredible lay. I was decidedly less sure about that: in my opinion, she was much more interested in the effect she had on men than in men themselves.
What could make a girl act provocatively to the point of telling obscene stories in public? What was she after? What must she believe about herself and others? No doubt she had a visceral desire to seduce, to arouse sexual desire in the other. I was beginning to see a couple of possible beliefs: “I exist if I seduce” or “I have value if I succeed in attracting men.” At any rate, I felt that her aggressive seduction wasn’t really a choice, that it spoke to a need to which she was a slave.
I had started listening to people to have fun trying to guess their beliefs, but the more I discovered, the sadder I was to observe that human beings are not free. This absence of freedom didn’t come from some terrible dictator, but just from what each person believed about themselves, others, and the world.
On the sand, parents were organizing beach games for their children. I observed them for a moment and was surprised to hear them pushing their offspring to compete with the others. It wasn’t enough for them to be successful in their activities; they had to beat their little playmates, be better than them. What could the parents believe? That you are only of value when you beat others? That a result is only valid if it is better than the neighbor’s? I felt rather that the only valid competition was with yourself. Surpassing yourself rather than others. The sage had told me that you couldn’t judge a belief, merely take an interest in its effects. What could they be in such a case? A stimulus? Certainly. Motivation to progress. But what were the effects on your relationship to others? Can you experience friendship or love when you are used to comparing yourself to others? And what do you feel with other people? Do you swing between feelings of superiority and inferiority? Or pity and jealousy? These parents had no idea what they were creating in their children, something that was going to lastingly determine their lives in society. Their motives, their behaviors, their emotions would be marked in this way by a few beliefs inculcated at an age when you absorb models offered by the outside world.
Besides, how had these parents developed these beliefs? Did they get them from their own parents, or had they been faced with competitive people and, having been humiliated, now wanted their children to be in the position of the people who had dominated them? In that case, where was their choice?
Another nearby table had been occupied. A know-it-all was talking with a lady who was skillfully letting him think that she admired his erudition, whereas, obviously, she was hiding her boredom. On each subject, he tried hard to display his knowledge. He even picked up on her mistakes when she spoke, which was rare, given what little latitude he allowed her. I wondered which of them to pity more in this situation; he seemed so desperate to show what he knew. Perhaps he believed he didn’t exist except in his knowledg
e? Perhaps he was afraid to be thought of as an idiot or an ignoramus? Or perhaps he thought he couldn’t be loved by someone who didn’t perceive his erudition, so he felt obliged to demonstrate it to her?
The point all these people had in common was how little freedom they seemed to enjoy. They were grappling with their beliefs, and these beliefs restricted their choices by dictating their behavior. I was becoming more and more conscious of this. All I had to do now was listen to and observe strangers for a few moments to see the beliefs that underpinned their attitude. I was David Vincent in The Invaders. He could identify the aliens by their stiff little fingers; they were everywhere and had invaded the planet. My planet had been invaded by people’s beliefs.
18
I GOT BACK in my car, not sorry to leave Kuta, with its bars and overrated atmosphere, and arrived at my bungalow in the black, hot night. My ritual swim was heavenly.
Saturday morning seemed interminable. I spent it on the beach under the shade of a palm tree, observing the occasional comings and goings of the fishermen. I awaited the afternoon with impatience. I wondered what the famous “major apprenticeship” that the sage was keeping for our last meeting could be. Besides, I found it difficult to believe that this was our last meeting. I had gotten used to them, and each one had so awakened me to myself that it was difficult to accept that the cycle was going to end.
Why had I decided to meet the healer that first time? What wild stroke of luck had led me to hear of him and to come and see him when, on the face of it, I had no need of him? Life is weird; sometimes tiny decisions have incredible consequences. And years later, you wonder how it would have turned out if you hadn’t, at the time, made that tiny decision but another one. How many times, in the thousands of little crossings of my life, had I opted for the banal path, while the other would have turned out to be marvelous?
I had a quick, early breakfast. I wanted to see the sage at the very beginning of the afternoon so we would have a long period of time together. My motives for this were heightened by the fact that it was our last meeting—but also, I had to recognize, because of what it had cost me. Fate had decreed that I was to arrive within sight of his campan at the very time the plane I should have been on was taking off.
The garden was as I had seen it the first time, simple and beautiful, with its delicately perfumed flowers from the other side of the world. I walked forward and saw no one at first. The campan where he usually met me was empty. All was quiet. Perhaps I had come too early. I walked all around it: not a living soul. I sat down on a wall near the entrance and waited. The silence of the place was broken only by the odd rustling of leaves and the familiar cry of the gecko no doubt hidden in the rafters. Such calm was favorable to serenity and, for the first time, I told myself that I wasn’t made for living in a city. Twenty minutes went by before at last the young woman with the chignon appeared. I went up to her, and she anticipated my question.
“Master Samtyang isn’t available today,” she said.
“Yes he is. I know he was busy this morning, but he planned to see me this afternoon. Perhaps he didn’t inform you. Can you tell him I’ve arrived?”
“But he isn’t here.”
“Okay, he’s probably late. In that case, I’ll go and wait for him in the campan,” I said, making as though to move.
“No, he won’t come back today. He said as he left that I would see him tomorrow.”
“You must be mistaken,” I asserted. “I assure you that I have an appointment with him. It’s impossible that he forgot.”
“He didn’t forget, but he isn’t here, and you won’t see him.” She expressed herself with the same naturalness as usual, taking no notice of my dismay.
“What do you mean, he hasn’t forgotten?” I said, feeling anger mounting in me.
“He did indeed tell me you’d come this afternoon.”
“What’s going on?” I exploded. “I changed my airline ticket at his request, purposely to meet him. I must see him. Where is he?”
“I don’t know.”
The situation was beyond belief. I had the impression of being in a bad dream.
“Did he ask you to tell me anything?”
“Didn’t you see the message he left you?”
“Where?”
“In the campan.”
I ran there, disgusted by the turn of events. Why play this trick on me? He knew what the change of ticket cost me. What excuse would he have?
The message was sitting on the camphor wood box. A little yellowy piece of paper, folded in four. I leapt on it and unfolded it. I recognized his light, sinuous writing:
The disappointment, dismay, or perhaps even anger that you must feel as you start to read this message will accompany your transition to a new dimension of your being, one in which you no longer need me to continue your evolution.
By making the decision to come today, you have achieved a major apprenticeship for yourself. You developed an ability that was cruelly lacking in you until now: the ability to make a choice that costs you something and therefore to give something up—in other words, to make sacrifices in order to advance on your path. Thus the final obstacle to your self-fulfillment has been broken into pieces. Now you have at your disposal a strength that will accompany you all your life. The path that leads to happiness sometimes requires you to renounce the easy way, to follow the demands of its will in the depths of yourself.
Have a good journey.
Samtyang
I remained silent for a long while as I progressed from anger to stupefaction, from stupefaction to doubt, from doubt to understanding, from understanding to acceptance, from acceptance to gratitude, from gratitude to admiration.
This man had had the guts to impose a test on me, knowing that I would be angry with him and might even not forgive him. He had done it because it wasn’t enough to understand, nor even to share an idea, in order to change. You had to experience something intense, involving you personally—that was what he had given me.
By leaving, he had forgone my farewell, my thanks, and my gratitude for all he had given me. And, by that act, he demonstrated what he had just taught me, amplifying the strength of his message. It was high art.
I remained alone a long while, filling myself for the last time with the atmosphere of this place, so special, loaded with meaning, then my hands went to my neck and unclasped the chain with the cross that I was wearing. I carefully took it and put it in the little box on the shelf.
19
I SET BACK off and, after a short stop in a village to fill my bag with provisions, headed due north at top speed. Half an hour later, I stopped, tightened my shoelaces, put on my bag, and set off on the path. After a few minutes walking, I already strongly felt the heat, and the sweat was beginning to form on my forehead. I looked up, my hand in front of my eyes to protect them from the sun. Dominating me with all its height, like a magnificent giant, immobile and immutable, was Mount Skouwo.
The climb took me nearly four hours. Four hours of effort and, at certain moments, of suffering. The climb was sometimes steep, and I got out of breath. Sometimes the path went along the side of the mountain at the same height, and I recharged my batteries, breathing in the air perfumed with tropical bushes whose names I didn’t know. The higher I went, the more impressive the view was.
I reached the summit exhausted, emptied of energy but filled with an intense satisfaction. I had succeeded in surmounting my laziness, in mobilizing my courage and strength, in following all the way through on my decision. Now I felt all-powerful and stood on Mount Skouwo like a captain at the bow of his ship, overlooking miles of fields, rice paddies, and forests, the wind whistling in my ears, intoxicating me with a perfume of adventure.
A new life was beginning for me, and, henceforth, it would be my life, the fruit of my decisions, of my choices, of my will. Farewell to doubts, hesitations, and the fear of being judged, of not being able, of not being loved. I would live each moment consciously, in accord with myself
and with my values. I would remain an altruist, but remember that the first present to give others is my balance. I would accept difficulties as challenges to be faced, presents given to me to develop. I would no longer be the victim of events, but an actor in a play whose rules were uncovered little by little, and whose final purpose would always keep a measure of mystery.
The way down was fast, and I made a detour to sit beside the lake at the foot of the mountain, over which reigned the temple of the goddess of the waters. A magical place, of unbelievable beauty. The setting sun soon disappeared, and the scene became magical. A vast stretch of water dominated by the gigantic shadow of Mount Skouwo. No habitation in sight. Not a living soul. Absolute silence. And the black temple with its pagoda roof stood out like a Chinese shadow on the white reflection of the clouds, on the surface of the lake. I remained there for a long while, drinking in the serenity of the place, filling myself with calm and beauty.
I drove back to my bungalow in the dark, concentrating on the road to avoid the numerous Balinese cars driving with no lights on. I arrived at once tired and light. I went to the water’s edge. The ascending moon bathed my beach in a restful atmosphere. Nobody. The fishermen’s families had long since left the spot.
I got completely undressed and entered the warm water naked. I swam in silence, relaxed and free, feeling the water gliding over my body. I had the impression of swaying with the slow movement of the waves and merging with the ocean. I took a deep breath and went down into the water, diving toward the bottom. I seized a stone resting on the sand. Its weight allowed me to float, neither drawn to the surface nor dragged to the bottom. I curled myself up, drawing my knees up to my chest, keeping the stone in my arms. I stayed like that a long while, weightless, immersed in that warm, gentle water, feeling the muffled, dull sound of the waves on the surface as regular, calming pulsations.
The Man Who Wanted to Be Happy Page 11