Marsha is yakking on…
‘Those were lazy days, I spent a lot of time out in the garden, sitting in the shade reading about and learning the names of all the unfamiliar plants. I couldn’t believe how quickly everything grew there. Robin suggested I plant medicinal herbs and learn their uses. We didn’t have the internet then of course and it was difficult to get hold of the books I needed, but there was a good bookshop in Recife and I’d send you and the girl off on the bus to pick them up for me.
‘You didn’t go to school, but Robin taught you how to meditate out in the garden, so it wasn’t as if you weren’t learning anything.’
Yeah, now I remember him yelling at me for fidgeting.
‘Robin said there was plenty of time for you to learn the boring stuff, and that children in civilised countries didn’t even start to learn how to read and write until the age of seven. You picked the language up really quickly and after a few weeks you were able to translate for the maid in your funny Scotuguese, and the atmosphere between me and her became a little less fractious.
‘When the time came I didn’t want to leave Olinda. I tried to persuade Robin to stay and teach meditation there, but he couldn’t be budged from his calling no matter how idyllic our life had become. You had settled in nicely with us, so you took the next move completely in your stride.’
That’s not how I remember it. What I remember is being dragged to the car clinging to Maria’s thigh with both arms, my head against that luscious pillow of an ass. I’m screaming and Maria is crying, ‘Meu lindo, meu lindo,’ as my arms are wrenched apart and I’m shoved, all kicking legs and octopus arms, in the back of the car.
No wonder I don’t like car journeys, right?
‘The journey to the commune was unbelievably long and hot. You and Robin both slept on and off, him in the front seat, sitting bolt upright, you sprawled across me in the back. We were on the road for at least eight hours. Robin had taken a sleeping pill, and when you were awake you’d sit up chatting to the driver but mostly you slept. I didn’t sleep a wink, I was so terrified the driver would doze off and kill us all. He only made two stops and one of those wasn’t even a proper stop, just him slowing down enough to buy a bag of oranges from a roadside seller who trotted alongside the car. He peeled his oranges with both hands off the wheel and only half an eye on the road. I was a nervous wreck. And then, when we got there, Robin insisted we walk the last half-mile or so into the commune. I was so exhausted. He was fresh as a daisy. He marched up to the first person we saw and said, “I am Guru Bim and I have been sent to continue Guru Mehdi’s work.”
‘I don’t know what I’d been expecting. I think I’d imagined a large house with a few families living together in it, sharing meals and chores and what have you, but this was a complete village, with wattle-and-daub huts built willy-nilly in amongst the trees, a school, a clinic, a farm, the lot. I say huts because some of them were no bigger than garden sheds, while others were more rambling, as if new sections were built on as families grew larger. Everyone had their doors and window shutters open, with colourful curtains pulled across them to keep out the insects. Hammocks were slung between the huts, tied to the trees. Each hut had its own little garden. It was very pretty.
‘After a bit of negotiation Robin waved us over and we were taken to the main house, a single-storey, whitewashed stucco affair, quite Greek-looking, I thought. The rooms were large, with ceiling fans to keep them cool, which were powered by a row of huge solar panels, lined up along the back of the house. Out front was a full-width verandah, which was in the shade for most of the day. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it felt like home, but it did remind me a little bit of my summerhouse.
‘The residents threw a welcome party. They set up a microphone and amplifier on the front porch and people crowded round, eager to hear Robin speak. Hundreds of them if you included all the children. Robin was on cracking form, insightful and kind and funny; he stood and talked for two hours, praising the good work Guru Mehdi had done, explaining that the Universe had summoned him to help them all along the path towards enlightenment so they might be reunited with Guru Mehdi in spirit. He talked to them about meditation and shaking and after a short demonstration by me he said, “Listen to your heart,” and left the front porch to massive applause.
‘Things rolled along nicely. I set up a medicinal herb garden using cuttings I’d brought from Olinda. Eventually I took over the clinic and became community nurse, treating people with my herbal medicines. It was a huge responsibility but Robin convinced me I was equal to the challenge. Before we’d arrived, the clinic had been run by a doctor chappie called Ken. Poor man had AIDS but we didn’t find that out until later. When I took over the clinic, Ken became Robin’s personal doctor. I don’t think Robin had thought through what a drain it would be on him physically to care for the spiritual health of so many others and over those first few years he became quite poorly. Meditation, shaking and herbs really can heal most things, you know, but the stress of having responsibility for other people can take its toll. Not that he would have let that stop him.’
Seriously? She still believes all that crap?
‘Running the clinic alone wasn’t easy, but Robin was always encouraging. When one new mother got an attack of mastitis that no amount of cabbage and fenugreek compresses would shift, the poor woman was so tired and run-down, I put in a request for antibiotics as a special case. Robin refused but promised to meditate on the problem and send her his grace. The next day, her mastitis had improved and within a week she was completely back to normal.’
This is my opportunity to tell her Ken probably treated it in secret, but I’m not ready to burst her bubble yet.
‘One of the kids went down with measles, and I discovered none of the youngest children in the commune had been vaccinated so I warned Robin that an epidemic would be disastrous. He shooed me away, saying it would take seven years to see the effects of our work and that it was ridiculous to expect overnight results. He said the only epidemic to concern us was AIDS, which he said had spread way beyond the homosexual communities and was infecting women and children.
‘I knew about AIDS of course, but didn’t know enough, and at the commune we were so cut off, even from events in Recife. One thing we did have plenty of was garlic so I had everyone eat a raw clove every day to boost their immunity. I was frightened. Everyone was. I asked Robin if I could order HIV testing kits from the hospital in Recife, but he said not to panic, that we didn’t need kits, and instead had me organise everyone into a long queue at the verandah so that he, with you as his assistant, could read everyone’s aura to divine if anyone was HIV positive. To my horror, he diagnosed almost everyone with HIV. Ken had AIDS. He also discovered two previously undetected cases of cancer, both at an advanced stage, and showing no real outward symptoms besides weight loss, which was affecting us all by then so they had gone unnoticed.’
Long sigh.
‘Those last couple of years there were tough. There was never enough food to go around. Fewer babies were being born, which helped, and we’d lost a few others to infections, etcetera. I found myself treating more and more people for anxiety and depression. I had bunches of valerian drying out all over the clinic, stinking the place out.
‘Robin’s constant encouragement, his assurance that the benefits of my endeavours would be spiritual first and physical second, kept me going. He was adamant that on a spiritual plane we were well and truly winning. I’ll admit there were times when even my faith in his methods was tested, but I put my trust in his vision and consolidated my faith in my meditation and it got me through.’
Jeez.
‘Then you and Thomas disappeared. No one knew where. Robin said you’d been sent on a special mission, but what the mission was and when you’d be back he refused to say. I just had to hope that whatever it was you were doing was part of his plan to restore health to the commune, but as time went on I suspected that Robin knew as little about your disappearance as I
did. Meanwhile, things got worse. A few adults with other chronic illnesses contracted pneumonia and died. Everyone was hungry; some were starving. People had no energy to work the vegetable plots so less food was being produced at a time when even a full yield would have been insufficient to feed us all. After much pleading on my part, Robin agreed to allow those in the worst health to reduce the number of hours they spent working, as long as they maintained their daily shaking practice along with everyone else. I made little badges out of old cardboard boxes for those people to wear. Nobody developed AIDS, though, besides Ken, and for that we were grateful, but the commune was no longer a happy place to be.
‘At last, Robin gave Ken permission to order essential medication for everyone. It had to be administered on a specific date given by the Universe, and he spent the weeks it took Ken to get all the supplies together making detailed astrological and numerological calculations. The date changed a few times, but when it all lined up at last everyone was given a holiday from all duties and ordered to spend the day resting in their homes.
‘It was a long day. Ken and I went from hut to hut, made sure no one was missed. At the end of the day there were just two syringes left in the fridge, mine and Ken’s. Robin’s was in the fridge in his room with all his other meds.
‘I injected Ken in the kitchen and sent him off to bed. Poor man was on his last legs. I was more than capable of injecting myself.’
She lifts her right butt cheek off the chair, slaps it.
‘Robin was sitting up in bed, reading one of his spiritual books. A cannula was already fixed into his vein. He put his book down and patted the bedcovers for me to sit beside him. “Come and sit,” he said. “It’s been an exhausting day for us all.”
‘Tired as I was, I was grateful for a few moments of intimacy after many months of little contact. Since you’d failed to return, his health had deteriorated considerably.’
Wow, is she going to blame me for his death?
‘“Is everyone resting?” he said. I told him they were and that I’d never known the place so quiet, even during meditation sessions when there was always someone coughing or a baby crying. “Excellent,” he said. “And Ken?”
‘“He’s gone to his room,” I said. “I don’t suppose he’ll be up before midday tomorrow, he looks completely washed out.”
‘“Good. Well, let’s get me done so that you can go off and get some rest.”
As I pushed the syringe plunger slowly in, he said, “You and I will be leaving tomorrow, so make sure you get a good night’s sleep.” I was too tired to ask questions or even to think about whether what he was saying was true, so I said I would, threw the empty syringe into the bin and wished him goodnight. The last thing he said to me was, “Listen to your heart.”
‘I can say in all honesty that the next day was the worst day of my life. I woke up some time after eleven with a blinding headache. The heat in my room was suffocating. I had fallen asleep in my clothes. I went to fetch a glass of water from the kitchen. Someone, I presumed Ken, it couldn’t have been Robin, had made coffee even though coffee had been banned. I’m putting off getting to the point. It was so dreadful.’
She blinks and bravely bites her bottom lip. I don’t feel like laughing as much as I thought I would.
‘I went out on the verandah. People were out and about as usual, still weak and moving slowly in the heat. Nobody waved over to me or even looked up, but then they generally didn’t by then. Nobody looked any the better for their shots and long rest but I supposed it would take time. That’s when I remembered what your father had said about us leaving that day. The horrible thought occurred that he’d been sitting around waiting for me the whole morning and given up and gone off on his own, or, worse, with Ken. I rushed back inside and knocked on his door. When there was no answer I panicked. I knew he wouldn’t have thought to leave me a note, he would just expect me to find him wherever he had gone. I knocked louder and called his name then Ken’s door opened and he stuck his head out to ask if everything was okay. “Have you been in to see him this morning?” I said.
‘“Not yet,” he said, “I only woke up half an hour ago. Thought I’d have a drop of coffee to get myself going first. I expect he’s still asleep. Want me to look in and check?”
‘“It’s okay,” I said. “I’ll pop my head around the door.” I don’t know why I said that; it was absolutely forbidden to enter Robin’s room without an invitation. Maybe I thought the intimacy of our little conversation the night before had promoted me over Ken. But I knocked again out of respect for the rules and waited a few seconds before opening the door.
‘Despite his huge spiritual presence, your father was a slight man physically. Even so, lying there that morning he seemed to have shrunk even more overnight. I had seen enough death in my career to know instantly that he was gone. Then everything went red and Ken’s voice came echoing as if through a tunnel and the next thing I knew I was in my own room, propped up on the bed, with an electric fan trained on my face and Ken asking me to tell him my name.
‘The rest of that day I just lay on my bed, turning our last conversation over and over in my mind, searching for a deeper message. I meditated, hoping to make contact with his departing soul, but his soul had been united with the Universe years before. It was my own that was earthbound and trapped inside this useless shell.’
Taps herself on the chest.
‘I became obsessed with the idea that he had meant me to go with him and decided that if I meditated long and hard enough he would reach down from wherever he was and drag me up. I even tied my hair into a little ponytail like the Hare Krishnas to make it easier for him. But the next morning I was still there. In the end I understood that when he’d said we’d both be leaving, he meant that I was to return to England and continue his work here.
‘The funeral was held that evening. Deaths were always dealt with quickly because of the heat, you know. It was a quiet affair – we were all in shock. Ken asked me to say a few words but I couldn’t do it. Nobody in my position could have. Instead the whole commune honoured his passing by shaking together in silence through the night, like one of those silent discos they have down on the beach sometimes. What a blessing it was that you weren’t there.
‘When I thought no one would notice I took myself off to my room to pack a few essentials, clothes I hadn’t worn since my arrival because they hung off me, I had lost so much weight. I’ve put it all back on again now. Then I sat there all night in the dark, waiting, listening for his voice.
‘Just before sunrise, when the air was still cool, and everyone had gone to their beds, I set off to walk the few miles to Cabrobó. From there I went by taxi to Recife. My credit card had expired so I was stuck there for the few days it took for a new one to be delivered to the bank. Those days were torture. Nobody spoke English and I felt conspicuous and threatened even during the day. So I shut myself in my room and meditated until it was time to leave. I wasn’t used to the noise of the traffic, the oily traffic fumes and the smell of the river that wafted up through my hotel room window. The people out on the streets scared me. I’d been away from home for six years.’
Sad Blue Steel.
Okay, so now I’m stunned at how someone can be so ignorant. Not just her, me too. I was there, for some of it anyway, but I had no idea. At least I have the excuse I was a kid and I can honestly say I never fell into the trap of thinking the sun shone out my dad’s ass. I do feel kind of sorry for Marsha, though, for how pathetic she is and how deluded.
I can’t do it, I can’t tell her. Not so much because I don’t think she should know but because I don’t want to witness her reaction.
I tell her I need to go and be on my own to process everything she’s told me. I even manage not to fight back when she throws her arms around me and says, ‘So wise at such a young age, so like your father.’
I make for the side gate, but she follows, begs me to go through the house. She has something to give me and tries one l
ast time to persuade me to see my dad’s old room. I want to see it even less now than before, but she’s upset so I lie and say I’ll come back and see it another day.
On the window ledge by her front door is a pile of postcards. She picks one off and gives it to me. At first I assume it’s another old card from the Trembling Leaves days because it has a photo of my dad on the back, sitting cross-legged in Marsha Ray’s garden in the sunshine, the summerhouse behind him. But I’m wrong about that.
‘It’s just a little meditation group we’ve started,’ says Marsha. ‘We meditate on the Grace of Guru Bim. Perhaps you’d like to join us tomorrow evening as our guest of honour.’
All that nice stuff I said just now, about feeling sorry for her and all? Forget it, she’s an idiot.
I walk real slow down towards the water. I head over to the pizza joint to pick up a latte and then go sit on the same beach where I saw the cool family in hopes they might be there again.
This one day, right, I was sitting on the beach at Redondo, watching the surfer dudes, when a pod of dolphins came in, wheeling around in the waves alongside them. Six or eight of them, doing their usual stuff, looping around so that after a while you’re so mesmerised you forget you’re even watching them. Then, right when my brain had switched off, four of them shot up out of the ocean like guided missiles, getting some serious air, then flipped over backwards to all four points of the compass. It was like they’d been rehearsing it for days out there in the ocean and had come in to the shore to try it out on an audience for the first time. You’ve seen them do that stuff, right? Man, that shit changes your life. I wasn’t even high. I expected the whole beach to burst into applause, but only me and this one other guy saw it. Fucking zombies will applaud a routine plane landing, but not even notice an Olympic-standard act of marine life spontaneity. When I looked around, everyone else on the beach was looking the other way, throwing balls or taking pictures of themselves kissing their boyfriends. I have to look away when I see that, but once I’ve seen it I can hear the mouth noises, even if the kissers are too far away for that to be humanly possible. I guess that’s why me and the Great Dudini can relate – we both have supernatural hearing. And why I will probably never find another girlfriend. Not that I’d ever date another SoCal girl; they all speak like they’re choking on a fishbone.
Narcissism for Beginners Page 21