MADE IN NIRVANA
Chapter 19
The princess of the stream
Finally the day came to go to Pokhara. Franca's feet were almost healed, but the diarrhoea was still a problem. She had taken opium to stop it, which had worked for a couple of days, but now it was back. She took another lump of opium for the trip, which would last from morning to evening. She knew it wasn't wise to take it day after day, that's how people became addicted, but she would use it only while she had diarrhoea as it acted as a medicine, then she would stop. They left Kathmandu by bus and travelled along the main road, flanking the hilly countryside dotted with rice paddies of a dazzling pea green, bright and clean. The landscape was lush, rich greens of every shade and hue, green with yellow, green with grey, green and blue. Along the way the rare villages were sparsely populated. They arrived in Pokhara shortly after five o'clock in the afternoon.
As they got off the bus, Raffa pointed her finger toward the summit, to her right: "If I'm not mistaken, that's Mount Annapurna, but we'd better ask, I've never seen it so closely!" Standing with her hands on her hips, she admired the mountains all around. "It was worth spending all those hours on a bus just for a view like this, don't you think?" A triumphant smile lit up her face and made them all forget their tiredness. The mountains were majestic. How could one describe a peak of over twenty four thousand feet, one of the highest mountains in the world, viewed from its slopes? And there was also the lake, famous for its beauty. And something else…
"Magic mushrooms from Pokhara," said Franca aloud. "They're famous! I'm going to try them. Are you?" Franca didn't even have her backpack yet, which Maria brought down for her, and she was already planning the next 'buzz'. She decided not to worry any more, as Raffa had advised her, who replied: "Well yes, you have to try them; they are mythical! I don't want to go back to Italy without having had the experience. And then, if they grow wild only here, there must be a reason, right? Can you imagine these mountains and the magic mushrooms together? What a trip!" Maria was listening, she had heard about Pokhara's mushrooms.
"And you, Maria? Are you going to try them?" both girls asked.
"I don't know, I have to think about it. I'm afraid! I don't want to repeat the opium experience; I was scared. I don't like losing control."
Franca was about to give her opinion, but Raffa was quicker: "Take a small dose then, just to get an idea, and then you'll be able to say you've tried them."
She was going to think about it.
They found a guesthouse nearby. A square courtyard, sheltered by a wooden structure covered in climbing plants, hosted tables and wooden benches and was surrounded by a few rooms; it was a simple place, with the bare minimum, but pleasant and cheap. They settled in a large room with three iron beds. As there were no curtains on the windows they hung their sarongs; with a couple of bricks and a wooden plank they made a shelf and quickly created a welcoming environment.
That evening they saw the first sunset from the feet of Mount Annapurna. Small clouds were dyed bright pink by the sun disappearing behind the majestic peaks; in a few minutes it was dusk and then, suddenly, it was dark. The temperature dropped considerably and, once in bed, the sleeping bag was just enough to shelter them from the cold.
Maria was the first one to wake up, happy and curious about the new place. She ventured outside, wearing her only sweater, rubbing her arms to warm them up, hoping to find a chai.
The sun was about to appear from behind the mountains; from a small room came the sound of bells and prayers; chickens and pigs moved in and out of the kitchen, rooting for something to eat.
She peeped inside the door. The cook was squatting in front of the tandoori stove, intently adding pieces of wood, heating a kettle of water. Maria walked in shyly and, with a smile, kneeled next to the stove to warm up, rubbing her hands. The woman returned her smile and began to prepare the chai, while Maria explained with gestures, and a few words of Hindi and English, that she had slept well, despite the cold. The cook offered her a glass of piping hot tea and they drank it together. She told her she had two children and her husband was the man they had seen the day before.
Raffa got up as the sun began to warm the morning air and dry up the humidity of the night. She stood admiring the scenery and then, while waiting for her chai, she began to do star jumps, to keep warm she explained, laughing. Then she went to talk about magic mushrooms with the cook, who said "No problem!" and called her husband to give him instructions. The man nodded and left, taking with him an old straw basket. The cook explained that she would prepare the mushrooms in an omelette; that was the way to eat them, she said calmly, as if they were part of the regular menu, and perhaps they were.
"Let's call Franca," said Raffa. "She'll be very impressed by the menu we have prepared for breakfast!" She went to wake her up with a glass of steaming tea. Franca had got up several times during the night because of her diarrhoea and was tired and fed up with being sick but, as soon as she knew what was awaiting her, she woke up completely; she was very excited and couldn't wait.
Maria was still confused; she had to make a decision. She could choose not to eat them and stay safe, but then she would miss the only chance to experience these famous hallucinogenic mushrooms. Or she could take them, but the idea scared her because she had no idea of what a hallucinogen was. Alternatively, she could take a small dose and go through with the experience. But what was a normal dose? She went to talk to the cook and, after several attempts, managed to explain her question. The woman replied assuredly that four or five mushrooms were a normal dose, depending on the size. Well, then she would take two! The husband returned just then, approached Raffa and lifted the cloth that covered the basket, showing its content.
"How many mushrooms are there?" she asked.
"Twelve rupees," he said. Raffa proceeded to count the mushrooms.
"There are twelve, they are quite big, a rupee each!" she announced, jubilant.
"I want an omelette with two mushrooms and one egg," said Maria, pushing her courage to the limit.
"I want one with four mushrooms and two eggs," Raffa decided.
"For me an omelette with two eggs and the rest of the mushrooms, that makes six, right?" declared Franca without hesitation and satisfied with the allocation.
The man, who had remained silent with a blank expression on his face, said: "Twelve rupees. You want?"
"Yes, yes, we want," Raffa said quickly, feeling in her pocket for the money.
Franca decided she was going to explain things properly. She sat upright to command the man's attention, looking into his eyes: "So, listen up!" He looked at her, absently.
Showing the numbers with her fingers, which seemed longer and leaner than usual, using both hands in a theatrical manner, she began to explain. "For her, Maria..." she said, pointing her finger, "an omelette with two mushrooms and two eggs!" She made the V sign for 'victory' with the right hand and then with the left, to say 'two and two'. No one could explain more clearly than that, even a chicken would have understood!
"Actually, I want it with one egg and two mushrooms," Maria pointed out; she had thought long and hard about it. "So it's easier on the digestion."
Franca ignored her and, pointing a finger at Raffa, continued: "For her, four eggs and four mushrooms. No, wrong, two eggs and four mushrooms, okay?" She was making a lot of confusion with fingers and numbers. The man looked at her, motionless. "For me... " she declared, pointing her index finger at her chest: "Two eggs and the rest of the mushrooms. Is that clear?" she shouted, convinced that the man would understand better if she spoke louder.
"Three omelettes?" he asked, with a flat expression.
"If I wasn't full of opium I would throttle you!" Franca said, mildly exasperated. "Don't you understand anything?"
Raffa intervened to explain things more clearly and made even more confusion. Two eggs and four mushrooms, six eggs and two mushrooms, no sorry the other way round, two eggs and six mushrooms, two eggs and two mushrooms. Why didn't they get it that she just wanted one egg? Maria thought, on the verge of exasperation! But no one paid her any attention.
"Got it?" asked Raffa. Yes, he said, without looking at them, and walked toward the kitchen with the basket in his hand, while Franca shouted: "And three chai and six slices of toast with butter and jam! Capish?" Yes, yes, he nodded.
While they were waiting, Maria started to have doubts. What if she lost control? How was she going feel? Would the mushrooms make her nauseous? How long did the effect last? Raffa interrupted her worried thoughts and reported that she had made enquiries before leaving Kathmandu, and the information had been confirmed by the cook: the lake was at the end of the main street and there were rowing boats for hire. Everybody took the boat across the lake because, on the other side, there were lovely beaches and a waterfall, somewhere. Three rupees per hour for a small boat. Was this fine with them? Yes! So, after breakfast they'd get a boat! Maria suggested they organize everything they needed to take with them before they ate the omelette, not knowing what the effect would be like. "Yes, good idea!" Raffa said with a smirk: "I'm going to wear a sarong and a head scarf to shelter from the sun, I don't need anything else." Did they have the money for the boat? Yes, all in order. Maria went to fetch the sarongs and the scarves and distributed them to the respective owners, feeling more organized. The breakfast started to arrive; first came the toast with butter and jam, six slices as ordered, brought by the cook. She was followed by her husband with three plates on which sat the omelettes; he placed them on the table and turned to leave. They were all the same! Franca shouted: "Hey, wait a minute, which omelette is which?"
The man turned around, shook his head and, with his usual blank expression, replied: "Three omelettes."
"Yes, right, but which is the one with six mushrooms? And the one with four?" Fortunately she was sedated by the opium, otherwise she would have pounced on him.
Again, Raffa took control of the situation and, speaking reasonably, she articulated: "Okay, don't worry. Do you know how many mushrooms there are in this omelette?" The man shook his head and turned to go back into the kitchen. "All right, we'll have to figure it out by ourselves!" she concluded light hearted.
"This is smaller," said Maria, sweating with anxiety.
"These two are more or less the same," said Raffa.
"This one is darker, so it has more mushrooms. I'll take it," said Franca.
"So this is mine," concluded Raffa cheerfully.
They took the first bite; the taste was strange, maybe they had forgotten to add any salt. The mushrooms had a slimy texture, not at all appetizing. Despite a knot seizing her throat, Maria swallowed the mouthfuls without chewing them, each followed quickly by a bite of toast and a sip of chai that the cook had brought just in time. The husband was not seen again. "I can't eat it all. It's horrible!" she said after a while, her stomach a little upset.
"Give it to me, I'll finish it!" said Franca, although she didn't like the taste either.
"Come on, let's pay and go get this boat," said Raffa, as soon as they swallowed the last bite.
They walked down toward the lake almost without speaking, excited, tense, not knowing what to expect. It was hot, but Maria felt cold sweats. Now she had them inside her body, those slimy mushrooms; who knew how many she had eaten. She felt like throwing up and fainting; mamma mia, how scary!
As they got off the bus, Raffa pointed her finger toward the summit, to her right: "If I'm not mistaken, that's Mount Annapurna, but we'd better ask, I've never seen it so closely!" Standing with her hands on her hips, she admired the mountains all around. "It was worth spending all those hours on a bus just for a view like this, don't you think?" A triumphant smile lit up her face and made them all forget their tiredness. The mountains were majestic. How could one describe a peak of over twenty four thousand feet, one of the highest mountains in the world, viewed from its slopes? And there was also the lake, famous for its beauty. And something else…
"Magic mushrooms from Pokhara," said Franca aloud. "They're famous! I'm going to try them. Are you?" Franca didn't even have her backpack yet, which Maria brought down for her, and she was already planning the next 'buzz'. She decided not to worry any more, as Raffa had advised her, who replied: "Well yes, you have to try them; they are mythical! I don't want to go back to Italy without having had the experience. And then, if they grow wild only here, there must be a reason, right? Can you imagine these mountains and the magic mushrooms together? What a trip!" Maria was listening, she had heard about Pokhara's mushrooms.
"And you, Maria? Are you going to try them?" both girls asked.
"I don't know, I have to think about it. I'm afraid! I don't want to repeat the opium experience; I was scared. I don't like losing control."
Franca was about to give her opinion, but Raffa was quicker: "Take a small dose then, just to get an idea, and then you'll be able to say you've tried them."
She was going to think about it.
They found a guesthouse nearby. A square courtyard, sheltered by a wooden structure covered in climbing plants, hosted tables and wooden benches and was surrounded by a few rooms; it was a simple place, with the bare minimum, but pleasant and cheap. They settled in a large room with three iron beds. As there were no curtains on the windows they hung their sarongs; with a couple of bricks and a wooden plank they made a shelf and quickly created a welcoming environment.
That evening they saw the first sunset from the feet of Mount Annapurna. Small clouds were dyed bright pink by the sun disappearing behind the majestic peaks; in a few minutes it was dusk and then, suddenly, it was dark. The temperature dropped considerably and, once in bed, the sleeping bag was just enough to shelter them from the cold.
Maria was the first one to wake up, happy and curious about the new place. She ventured outside, wearing her only sweater, rubbing her arms to warm them up, hoping to find a chai.
The sun was about to appear from behind the mountains; from a small room came the sound of bells and prayers; chickens and pigs moved in and out of the kitchen, rooting for something to eat.
She peeped inside the door. The cook was squatting in front of the tandoori stove, intently adding pieces of wood, heating a kettle of water. Maria walked in shyly and, with a smile, kneeled next to the stove to warm up, rubbing her hands. The woman returned her smile and began to prepare the chai, while Maria explained with gestures, and a few words of Hindi and English, that she had slept well, despite the cold. The cook offered her a glass of piping hot tea and they drank it together. She told her she had two children and her husband was the man they had seen the day before.
Raffa got up as the sun began to warm the morning air and dry up the humidity of the night. She stood admiring the scenery and then, while waiting for her chai, she began to do star jumps, to keep warm she explained, laughing. Then she went to talk about magic mushrooms with the cook, who said "No problem!" and called her husband to give him instructions. The man nodded and left, taking with him an old straw basket. The cook explained that she would prepare the mushrooms in an omelette; that was the way to eat them, she said calmly, as if they were part of the regular menu, and perhaps they were.
"Let's call Franca," said Raffa. "She'll be very impressed by the menu we have prepared for breakfast!" She went to wake her up with a glass of steaming tea. Franca had got up several times during the night because of her diarrhoea and was tired and fed up with being sick but, as soon as she knew what was awaiting her, she woke up completely; she was very excited and couldn't wait.
Maria was still confused; she had to make a decision. She could choose not to eat them and stay safe, but then she would miss the only chance to experience these famous hallucinogenic mushrooms. Or she could take them, but the idea scared her because she had no idea of what a hallucinogen was. Alternatively, she could take a small dose and go through with the experience. But what was a normal dose? She went to talk to the cook and, after several attempts, managed to explain her question. The woman replied assuredly that four or five mushrooms were a normal dose, depending on the size. Well, then she would take two! The husband returned just then, approached Raffa and lifted the cloth that covered the basket, showing its content.
"How many mushrooms are there?" she asked.
"Twelve rupees," he said. Raffa proceeded to count the mushrooms.
"There are twelve, they are quite big, a rupee each!" she announced, jubilant.
"I want an omelette with two mushrooms and one egg," said Maria, pushing her courage to the limit.
"I want one with four mushrooms and two eggs," Raffa decided.
"For me an omelette with two eggs and the rest of the mushrooms, that makes six, right?" declared Franca without hesitation and satisfied with the allocation.
The man, who had remained silent with a blank expression on his face, said: "Twelve rupees. You want?"
"Yes, yes, we want," Raffa said quickly, feeling in her pocket for the money.
Franca decided she was going to explain things properly. She sat upright to command the man's attention, looking into his eyes: "So, listen up!" He looked at her, absently.
Showing the numbers with her fingers, which seemed longer and leaner than usual, using both hands in a theatrical manner, she began to explain. "For her, Maria..." she said, pointing her finger, "an omelette with two mushrooms and two eggs!" She made the V sign for 'victory' with the right hand and then with the left, to say 'two and two'. No one could explain more clearly than that, even a chicken would have understood!
"Actually, I want it with one egg and two mushrooms," Maria pointed out; she had thought long and hard about it. "So it's easier on the digestion."
Franca ignored her and, pointing a finger at Raffa, continued: "For her, four eggs and four mushrooms. No, wrong, two eggs and four mushrooms, okay?" She was making a lot of confusion with fingers and numbers. The man looked at her, motionless. "For me... " she declared, pointing her index finger at her chest: "Two eggs and the rest of the mushrooms. Is that clear?" she shouted, convinced that the man would understand better if she spoke louder.
"Three omelettes?" he asked, with a flat expression.
"If I wasn't full of opium I would throttle you!" Franca said, mildly exasperated. "Don't you understand anything?"
Raffa intervened to explain things more clearly and made even more confusion. Two eggs and four mushrooms, six eggs and two mushrooms, no sorry the other way round, two eggs and six mushrooms, two eggs and two mushrooms. Why didn't they get it that she just wanted one egg? Maria thought, on the verge of exasperation! But no one paid her any attention.
"Got it?" asked Raffa. Yes, he said, without looking at them, and walked toward the kitchen with the basket in his hand, while Franca shouted: "And three chai and six slices of toast with butter and jam! Capish?" Yes, yes, he nodded.
While they were waiting, Maria started to have doubts. What if she lost control? How was she going feel? Would the mushrooms make her nauseous? How long did the effect last? Raffa interrupted her worried thoughts and reported that she had made enquiries before leaving Kathmandu, and the information had been confirmed by the cook: the lake was at the end of the main street and there were rowing boats for hire. Everybody took the boat across the lake because, on the other side, there were lovely beaches and a waterfall, somewhere. Three rupees per hour for a small boat. Was this fine with them? Yes! So, after breakfast they'd get a boat! Maria suggested they organize everything they needed to take with them before they ate the omelette, not knowing what the effect would be like. "Yes, good idea!" Raffa said with a smirk: "I'm going to wear a sarong and a head scarf to shelter from the sun, I don't need anything else." Did they have the money for the boat? Yes, all in order. Maria went to fetch the sarongs and the scarves and distributed them to the respective owners, feeling more organized. The breakfast started to arrive; first came the toast with butter and jam, six slices as ordered, brought by the cook. She was followed by her husband with three plates on which sat the omelettes; he placed them on the table and turned to leave. They were all the same! Franca shouted: "Hey, wait a minute, which omelette is which?"
The man turned around, shook his head and, with his usual blank expression, replied: "Three omelettes."
"Yes, right, but which is the one with six mushrooms? And the one with four?" Fortunately she was sedated by the opium, otherwise she would have pounced on him.
Again, Raffa took control of the situation and, speaking reasonably, she articulated: "Okay, don't worry. Do you know how many mushrooms there are in this omelette?" The man shook his head and turned to go back into the kitchen. "All right, we'll have to figure it out by ourselves!" she concluded light hearted.
"This is smaller," said Maria, sweating with anxiety.
"These two are more or less the same," said Raffa.
"This one is darker, so it has more mushrooms. I'll take it," said Franca.
"So this is mine," concluded Raffa cheerfully.
They took the first bite; the taste was strange, maybe they had forgotten to add any salt. The mushrooms had a slimy texture, not at all appetizing. Despite a knot seizing her throat, Maria swallowed the mouthfuls without chewing them, each followed quickly by a bite of toast and a sip of chai that the cook had brought just in time. The husband was not seen again. "I can't eat it all. It's horrible!" she said after a while, her stomach a little upset.
"Give it to me, I'll finish it!" said Franca, although she didn't like the taste either.
"Come on, let's pay and go get this boat," said Raffa, as soon as they swallowed the last bite.
They walked down toward the lake almost without speaking, excited, tense, not knowing what to expect. It was hot, but Maria felt cold sweats. Now she had them inside her body, those slimy mushrooms; who knew how many she had eaten. She felt like throwing up and fainting; mamma mia, how scary!
The boats were waiting and they didn't even have to haggle over the price; it was written on a piece of cardboard. Incredible! They pushed their boat into the shallow water of the shore and, one by one, climbed aboard awkwardly. Raffa took two oars and began to row. Maria took the other two and began to practice a little as she was a bit of a novice when it came to rowing. The sun was still climbing and pleasantly warmed the clear air. She looked around: the lake was very large, almost round, surrounded by dense lush vegetation and white beaches. The rays of the sun reached the shores, one at a time and, like a paintbrush loaded with light, transformed the colours of the trees from dark grey to a heart warming bright green.
When she looked up, the view took her breath away: at an altitude of almost nine thousand feet, the lake was surrounded by mountain ranges, the closest still shadowed by the higher mountains behind them which, lighter in colour, were already being touched by the sun. Behind the sunny mountains, and at least twice as tall as the highest peak, the imposing Annapurna group stood majestically; silhouetted against the clear blue sky, it sported numerous white peaks covered with snow and ice. That monumental image was mirrored in the waters of the lake; it seemed as if they were inside a painting with the real mountains and those reflected upside down in the water, clear, still, of an unreal beauty. The sun beat down while Raffa and Maria rowed slowly toward the centre of the lake.
Franca began to feel uncomfortable; irritably she complained: "Can't you paddle any faster? We're going at a snail's pace!"
"But it's so beautiful, don't you like it? Look around you," said Maria.
"It's too hot, I'm gonna dive," she snapped, standing up and taking off her sarong. She stood for a moment in her knickers and t-shirt and then dived into the lake, swimming skilfully with strokes full of frustration. She swam well and fast.
"Hey, wait a minute! You could paddle a bit too, right?" protested Maria.
"You do it! I'll see you later," Franca cried, swimming powerfully away from the boat. Maria watched her as she pushed toward the centre of the lake, one stroke after another, slicing the surface with energy, burying her head under the water and re-emerging again, with regular rhythm and controlled movements.
"So, now it's just you and me," said Maria, partly angry, partly concerned. "How crazy, jumping into the water immediately after a breakfast like that, with a stomach full of hallucinogenic mushrooms. I hope she won't get a stomach cramp!"
Raffa smiled, paddling quietly, admiring the scenery surrounding them: "She's fine, and we're fine too. Don't worry! Let's keep an eye on her until she gets to the other side."
Maria forced herself to relax. "Can you feel the mushrooms?" she asked with undisguised anxiety.
Raffa's laughter broke out loud and clear in the silence of the lake. "Without a doubt!" she replied, "and I also feel a bit sick, these mushrooms are big, but it will pass. Can you?"
"I feel slightly sick and also a bit weird. I want to get across the lake and put my feet on dry land as soon as possible."
Her friend perceived Maria's anxiety; she spoke in a calm and relaxed fashion: "If you worry too much you can have a bad 'trip' and become paranoid. Relax and enjoy the experience. If necessary, I can paddle alone. Breathe deeply, it'll pass."
Maria keenly followed her advice, looking around, watching Franca who had almost reached the opposite shore. There wasn't anyone else in the lake, it was getting hot and the scenery all around was amazing. Finally, Franca reached the beach and began to wave her arms, in her soaked pants and t-shirt, shouting: "I'm here!"
They laughed, relieved and amused. "There you are, see? She always manages in the end, our little Franca," Raffa said, and began to sing a mountain song: "Oh, up there on the Black mountain, there is a small tiny cave, with twelve outlaws by the light of a lantern."
Maria knew it well and began to sing with her: "Caramba let's drink whisky, iu hu, caramba let's drink some gin, some gin, and don't you listen to your heart, as everything comes and goes!"
They rowed in time with the song, laughing with excitement, singing with loud clear voices, fitting in a falsetto here and there, filling the air and the empty space with sound, blowing out all anguish and anxiety and letting a relaxed confidence settle in their hearts. Maria started to feel that everything was going to be fine; Raffa was with her and, before she knew it, the boat had almost reached the shore. She climbed out of it, into the lake where the water reached her thighs, her legs shaking a little. Without too much effort, she pushed the boat into the pebbles of the deserted and impeccably clean beach. They looked around to see where Franca was and saw her climbing up the hill, already far away from them, in her pants and t-shirt, bare feet. Raffa forestalled Maria's words: "She'll be fine, don't worry. She has nine lives like a cat, our little Franca! Let's go and see where this waterfall is."
Maria nodded, checking how she was feeling inside: definitely different; she had a stronger perception of images and sounds while her movements were becoming more awkward, time and space evanescent. She still felt nervous, but Raffa's calm and confident presence reassured her.
They walked uphill along the stream, partly under the sun, partly in the shade, in a perfect combination of warmth and coolness. The trees and thick bushes on both sides were a bright green of many different hues, enlivened by white and yellow blossoms and tiny red-purple flowers. "Can we stop here for a while?" asked Maria, fishing the words from the well of her memory. "I like this place, I feel comfortable. We can go to the waterfall in a little while." Raffa agreed, the place was idyllic, and she was happy to stop. Maria soon found her place: "I'll sit on that rock in the middle of the stream," she decided. It was just a couple of metres from the grass verge and the creek was not deep; she felt calmer. She removed her t-shirt and began to study it carefully. The weft was so complicated, infinite, strong; the pattern was sharp, full of lines and details, the colours had never been so bright, cheerful, piercing; and it had never been so soft or delicate. Maria rubbed it gently between her hands and stroked her face with the lightweight cotton. Carefully, she placed it on the rock and sat on it. The sarong was useful as a scarf and as a shawl to shelter her from the sun and she put it on her head. Raffa chose a rock nearby, on the shaded grassy verge, and so they sat, neither too close nor too far away. Maria hugged her knees and the time passed suspended, fluid. Gradually they stopped talking and let their minds wander, entrusted to the magic mushrooms.
The colours became more intense, the grass and the tree branches a more lively green, full of sap and moisture, and they were breathing. The bright yellow, pure white, deep red flowers radiated life, happiness, kindness. The water was not only running, it was alive in that movement: frothy, funny, full of bubbles, jumping and playing with the large and small rocks, flowing, running, living, safe in its course, unperturbed in the face of obstacles, too free to worry about what it would encounter, following its own way to touch the beach, and then merge with the water of the lake. Even the rocks next to her were breathing, she could see them in their details and as a whole; everything around her was pulsating with life, sweating, glowing and exuding energy. Maria stayed in the sun until it became too hot. She removed the sarong from her head, dipped it in the cool water of the brook, wrung it and wet her face, her dry lips, her hot cheeks; she closed her eyes and pressed the cool cloth onto her eyelids. She looked at Raffa and realized that she was plunging deeper and deeper into her fantasy world; she watched her smile, not focusing on anything in particular, she was looking into space and exuded a sense of peace. Maria perceived a certain strength coming from her heart and felt more courageous. If she wanted to move, all she had to do was decide where she wanted to go, visualize herself already there and tell her body to go, as and when she was ready. She concentrated on the task of moving into the shade. With her eyes she searched a good boulder to sit on and then, keeping hold on the nearby rocks, slipping on the stones covered with moss and lichens, she moved carefully along the stream bed, until she arrived at her new place and sat down in the shade, where it was cooler. Raffa smiled; her face looked different. If normally it was nice and sweet, now it was even more so; Maria wanted to hug her, but she was too far away. Only a few minutes had gone by, but it was already getting too cold in the shade. She didn't feel at ease among the darker colours, the grey light; she didn't feel safe and missed the comforting embrace of the sun on her skin. With great care she returned to her rock in the sunshine; there it was getting warmer and soon she felt curious enough to go and look for the waterfall of which she could hear the sound in the distance. "Do you want to go to the waterfall?" she asked.
Raffa looked at her in silence, thinking about the question, reflecting on the response. She hugged her knees and played with her feet in the water, carefully twiddling her toes, deep in thought: "There are fish in the stream, have you noticed?" She didn't expect an answer. "If you stay motionless, they come and nibble at your feet!" she added, deeply concentrated. Finally, as if awaking, she said: "Let's go and see the waterfall! How do you feel?"
"Good! I can move, but slowly. I wouldn't like to be alone, though, definitely not." Even if she knew that Raffa wouldn't leave her, she wanted to be completely sure. They walked uphill with their feet in the stream, keeping a distance from each other, giving and taking the space they needed. They slipped on the moss and the lichens and on the slimy substance that lived under water, laughing whenever they lost their balance. Their laughter sounded different, strange, it was the only human sound in the forest. Through their distorted perception, the short climb was turning into a huge adventure barefoot, full of dangers at every step, difficulties to confront, obstacles to overcome; they were walking uphill against the flow, the sun was hot and their tired legs struggled with the climb. The noise of the waterfall was clearly audible and the air was becoming more humid. They rounded the stream's last bend and there it was, white, impetuous, powerful and noisy. "How wonderful!" cried Maria, above the din of the outpouring. "It's so liberating, exciting, and… fun!"
"I'm going under the waterfall! Are you coming?" cried Raffa.
"I'm not sure... You go first! In a bit, maybe."
Her friend positioned herself close to the splashes, taking them in her hands and bathing her face. Then, with a bold step forward, she stood under the mantle of the cascade, which threw tons of water over her head and shoulders, with colossal force. She couldn't speak, but laughed happily. She then stepped back so that the wall of water was right in front of her, not touching her. Maria felt attracted to that power and approached slowly, feeling the weight of the water on her open palms; it pushed them down, it was phenomenally strong and heavy. She advanced one step further and closed her eyes, letting the fresh spray hit her face. Finally, with one more step forward she let the overwhelming amount of cold water fall over her. She uttered a cry, struggled to get her breath back and then cried again, first with shock, then with surprise, and then out of pure enjoyment.
They played a long time with the waterfall, enjoying its power, appreciating the incredible beauty of nature. The trees looked at them from the cliff above, silhouetted against the blue sky, protective, or perhaps hiding some inscrutable mystery. Around them were flying birds with gaily coloured feathers; butterflies of surprising hues moved fleetingly; and then small busy insects, perfectly efficient in their tiny movements; flying ants, delightful beetles, pea-green leaping grasshoppers, evanescent dragonflies and countless unknown insects, were dancing in rhythmic harmony. For the first time, she deeply appreciated their little lives, organized, varied, complex and so perfect!
When the noise of the waterfall became too intrusive and the lack of silence disturbing, they decided to leave. Slowly, they walked back downhill with their feet in the stream, and sat exactly where they were before, entering once again into their world of magic and discovery, imagination and deep respect.
Maria stared at the water that slipped over the boulders, avoiding them when it could, leaping over them when it had to, stumbling with sweeping enthusiasm, jumping and running, irrepressible. She lost the sense of her own self and body and identified with the water of the brook; she felt the rush, the pure unrestrained desire to accomplish its fate. She understood the water of the stream, completely, utterly, and like it, she felt fresh, clean, transparent and overflowing with the joy of living. She had become the water itself and like that mountain course, she felt the sun warm her life, illuminating her with a glowing golden splendour. She was a princess, the princess of the stream. Sitting solemnly on her rock, her heart bursting with jubilation, she felt grateful for her life, overwhelmed with happiness, full and satisfied.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a black thing stuck to the sole of her foot; she didn't like it at all. She tried to shake it off but it didn't move. She took a stick and pushed it, but although the thing moved and twitched, it stayed there. A disturbing sensation got hold of her and she looked at Raffa, who was watching her.
Without a word, her friend got up, with care she picked a leaf and approached as fast as possible. She took hold of Maria's foot. "Stay still. I'll get rid of it but I'll have to use the leaf, otherwise it will stick to my fingers. There, it's gone!" she said, while vigorously rubbing the sole of her foot.
"It's horrible! What is it?" Maria asked, fighting the nausea.
"It was a leech."
A shiver of disgust ran through Maria, from her head, down her back, her legs and reached her toes. She wanted to leave that place, quickly: "Shall we go to the beach?"
"Yeah, no problem." Raffa understood without any need for explanation. They set off and within minutes had reached the pebble beach; it was much closer than she remembered. She felt as if she were emerging from a world of fairy tales, rich in experiences and adventures; it seemed as if days had gone by, rather than hours.
When she looked up, the view took her breath away: at an altitude of almost nine thousand feet, the lake was surrounded by mountain ranges, the closest still shadowed by the higher mountains behind them which, lighter in colour, were already being touched by the sun. Behind the sunny mountains, and at least twice as tall as the highest peak, the imposing Annapurna group stood majestically; silhouetted against the clear blue sky, it sported numerous white peaks covered with snow and ice. That monumental image was mirrored in the waters of the lake; it seemed as if they were inside a painting with the real mountains and those reflected upside down in the water, clear, still, of an unreal beauty. The sun beat down while Raffa and Maria rowed slowly toward the centre of the lake.
Franca began to feel uncomfortable; irritably she complained: "Can't you paddle any faster? We're going at a snail's pace!"
"But it's so beautiful, don't you like it? Look around you," said Maria.
"It's too hot, I'm gonna dive," she snapped, standing up and taking off her sarong. She stood for a moment in her knickers and t-shirt and then dived into the lake, swimming skilfully with strokes full of frustration. She swam well and fast.
"Hey, wait a minute! You could paddle a bit too, right?" protested Maria.
"You do it! I'll see you later," Franca cried, swimming powerfully away from the boat. Maria watched her as she pushed toward the centre of the lake, one stroke after another, slicing the surface with energy, burying her head under the water and re-emerging again, with regular rhythm and controlled movements.
"So, now it's just you and me," said Maria, partly angry, partly concerned. "How crazy, jumping into the water immediately after a breakfast like that, with a stomach full of hallucinogenic mushrooms. I hope she won't get a stomach cramp!"
Raffa smiled, paddling quietly, admiring the scenery surrounding them: "She's fine, and we're fine too. Don't worry! Let's keep an eye on her until she gets to the other side."
Maria forced herself to relax. "Can you feel the mushrooms?" she asked with undisguised anxiety.
Raffa's laughter broke out loud and clear in the silence of the lake. "Without a doubt!" she replied, "and I also feel a bit sick, these mushrooms are big, but it will pass. Can you?"
"I feel slightly sick and also a bit weird. I want to get across the lake and put my feet on dry land as soon as possible."
Her friend perceived Maria's anxiety; she spoke in a calm and relaxed fashion: "If you worry too much you can have a bad 'trip' and become paranoid. Relax and enjoy the experience. If necessary, I can paddle alone. Breathe deeply, it'll pass."
Maria keenly followed her advice, looking around, watching Franca who had almost reached the opposite shore. There wasn't anyone else in the lake, it was getting hot and the scenery all around was amazing. Finally, Franca reached the beach and began to wave her arms, in her soaked pants and t-shirt, shouting: "I'm here!"
They laughed, relieved and amused. "There you are, see? She always manages in the end, our little Franca," Raffa said, and began to sing a mountain song: "Oh, up there on the Black mountain, there is a small tiny cave, with twelve outlaws by the light of a lantern."
Maria knew it well and began to sing with her: "Caramba let's drink whisky, iu hu, caramba let's drink some gin, some gin, and don't you listen to your heart, as everything comes and goes!"
They rowed in time with the song, laughing with excitement, singing with loud clear voices, fitting in a falsetto here and there, filling the air and the empty space with sound, blowing out all anguish and anxiety and letting a relaxed confidence settle in their hearts. Maria started to feel that everything was going to be fine; Raffa was with her and, before she knew it, the boat had almost reached the shore. She climbed out of it, into the lake where the water reached her thighs, her legs shaking a little. Without too much effort, she pushed the boat into the pebbles of the deserted and impeccably clean beach. They looked around to see where Franca was and saw her climbing up the hill, already far away from them, in her pants and t-shirt, bare feet. Raffa forestalled Maria's words: "She'll be fine, don't worry. She has nine lives like a cat, our little Franca! Let's go and see where this waterfall is."
Maria nodded, checking how she was feeling inside: definitely different; she had a stronger perception of images and sounds while her movements were becoming more awkward, time and space evanescent. She still felt nervous, but Raffa's calm and confident presence reassured her.
They walked uphill along the stream, partly under the sun, partly in the shade, in a perfect combination of warmth and coolness. The trees and thick bushes on both sides were a bright green of many different hues, enlivened by white and yellow blossoms and tiny red-purple flowers. "Can we stop here for a while?" asked Maria, fishing the words from the well of her memory. "I like this place, I feel comfortable. We can go to the waterfall in a little while." Raffa agreed, the place was idyllic, and she was happy to stop. Maria soon found her place: "I'll sit on that rock in the middle of the stream," she decided. It was just a couple of metres from the grass verge and the creek was not deep; she felt calmer. She removed her t-shirt and began to study it carefully. The weft was so complicated, infinite, strong; the pattern was sharp, full of lines and details, the colours had never been so bright, cheerful, piercing; and it had never been so soft or delicate. Maria rubbed it gently between her hands and stroked her face with the lightweight cotton. Carefully, she placed it on the rock and sat on it. The sarong was useful as a scarf and as a shawl to shelter her from the sun and she put it on her head. Raffa chose a rock nearby, on the shaded grassy verge, and so they sat, neither too close nor too far away. Maria hugged her knees and the time passed suspended, fluid. Gradually they stopped talking and let their minds wander, entrusted to the magic mushrooms.
The colours became more intense, the grass and the tree branches a more lively green, full of sap and moisture, and they were breathing. The bright yellow, pure white, deep red flowers radiated life, happiness, kindness. The water was not only running, it was alive in that movement: frothy, funny, full of bubbles, jumping and playing with the large and small rocks, flowing, running, living, safe in its course, unperturbed in the face of obstacles, too free to worry about what it would encounter, following its own way to touch the beach, and then merge with the water of the lake. Even the rocks next to her were breathing, she could see them in their details and as a whole; everything around her was pulsating with life, sweating, glowing and exuding energy. Maria stayed in the sun until it became too hot. She removed the sarong from her head, dipped it in the cool water of the brook, wrung it and wet her face, her dry lips, her hot cheeks; she closed her eyes and pressed the cool cloth onto her eyelids. She looked at Raffa and realized that she was plunging deeper and deeper into her fantasy world; she watched her smile, not focusing on anything in particular, she was looking into space and exuded a sense of peace. Maria perceived a certain strength coming from her heart and felt more courageous. If she wanted to move, all she had to do was decide where she wanted to go, visualize herself already there and tell her body to go, as and when she was ready. She concentrated on the task of moving into the shade. With her eyes she searched a good boulder to sit on and then, keeping hold on the nearby rocks, slipping on the stones covered with moss and lichens, she moved carefully along the stream bed, until she arrived at her new place and sat down in the shade, where it was cooler. Raffa smiled; her face looked different. If normally it was nice and sweet, now it was even more so; Maria wanted to hug her, but she was too far away. Only a few minutes had gone by, but it was already getting too cold in the shade. She didn't feel at ease among the darker colours, the grey light; she didn't feel safe and missed the comforting embrace of the sun on her skin. With great care she returned to her rock in the sunshine; there it was getting warmer and soon she felt curious enough to go and look for the waterfall of which she could hear the sound in the distance. "Do you want to go to the waterfall?" she asked.
Raffa looked at her in silence, thinking about the question, reflecting on the response. She hugged her knees and played with her feet in the water, carefully twiddling her toes, deep in thought: "There are fish in the stream, have you noticed?" She didn't expect an answer. "If you stay motionless, they come and nibble at your feet!" she added, deeply concentrated. Finally, as if awaking, she said: "Let's go and see the waterfall! How do you feel?"
"Good! I can move, but slowly. I wouldn't like to be alone, though, definitely not." Even if she knew that Raffa wouldn't leave her, she wanted to be completely sure. They walked uphill with their feet in the stream, keeping a distance from each other, giving and taking the space they needed. They slipped on the moss and the lichens and on the slimy substance that lived under water, laughing whenever they lost their balance. Their laughter sounded different, strange, it was the only human sound in the forest. Through their distorted perception, the short climb was turning into a huge adventure barefoot, full of dangers at every step, difficulties to confront, obstacles to overcome; they were walking uphill against the flow, the sun was hot and their tired legs struggled with the climb. The noise of the waterfall was clearly audible and the air was becoming more humid. They rounded the stream's last bend and there it was, white, impetuous, powerful and noisy. "How wonderful!" cried Maria, above the din of the outpouring. "It's so liberating, exciting, and… fun!"
"I'm going under the waterfall! Are you coming?" cried Raffa.
"I'm not sure... You go first! In a bit, maybe."
Her friend positioned herself close to the splashes, taking them in her hands and bathing her face. Then, with a bold step forward, she stood under the mantle of the cascade, which threw tons of water over her head and shoulders, with colossal force. She couldn't speak, but laughed happily. She then stepped back so that the wall of water was right in front of her, not touching her. Maria felt attracted to that power and approached slowly, feeling the weight of the water on her open palms; it pushed them down, it was phenomenally strong and heavy. She advanced one step further and closed her eyes, letting the fresh spray hit her face. Finally, with one more step forward she let the overwhelming amount of cold water fall over her. She uttered a cry, struggled to get her breath back and then cried again, first with shock, then with surprise, and then out of pure enjoyment.
They played a long time with the waterfall, enjoying its power, appreciating the incredible beauty of nature. The trees looked at them from the cliff above, silhouetted against the blue sky, protective, or perhaps hiding some inscrutable mystery. Around them were flying birds with gaily coloured feathers; butterflies of surprising hues moved fleetingly; and then small busy insects, perfectly efficient in their tiny movements; flying ants, delightful beetles, pea-green leaping grasshoppers, evanescent dragonflies and countless unknown insects, were dancing in rhythmic harmony. For the first time, she deeply appreciated their little lives, organized, varied, complex and so perfect!
When the noise of the waterfall became too intrusive and the lack of silence disturbing, they decided to leave. Slowly, they walked back downhill with their feet in the stream, and sat exactly where they were before, entering once again into their world of magic and discovery, imagination and deep respect.
Maria stared at the water that slipped over the boulders, avoiding them when it could, leaping over them when it had to, stumbling with sweeping enthusiasm, jumping and running, irrepressible. She lost the sense of her own self and body and identified with the water of the brook; she felt the rush, the pure unrestrained desire to accomplish its fate. She understood the water of the stream, completely, utterly, and like it, she felt fresh, clean, transparent and overflowing with the joy of living. She had become the water itself and like that mountain course, she felt the sun warm her life, illuminating her with a glowing golden splendour. She was a princess, the princess of the stream. Sitting solemnly on her rock, her heart bursting with jubilation, she felt grateful for her life, overwhelmed with happiness, full and satisfied.
Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a black thing stuck to the sole of her foot; she didn't like it at all. She tried to shake it off but it didn't move. She took a stick and pushed it, but although the thing moved and twitched, it stayed there. A disturbing sensation got hold of her and she looked at Raffa, who was watching her.
Without a word, her friend got up, with care she picked a leaf and approached as fast as possible. She took hold of Maria's foot. "Stay still. I'll get rid of it but I'll have to use the leaf, otherwise it will stick to my fingers. There, it's gone!" she said, while vigorously rubbing the sole of her foot.
"It's horrible! What is it?" Maria asked, fighting the nausea.
"It was a leech."
A shiver of disgust ran through Maria, from her head, down her back, her legs and reached her toes. She wanted to leave that place, quickly: "Shall we go to the beach?"
"Yeah, no problem." Raffa understood without any need for explanation. They set off and within minutes had reached the pebble beach; it was much closer than she remembered. She felt as if she were emerging from a world of fairy tales, rich in experiences and adventures; it seemed as if days had gone by, rather than hours.
Large buffalos grazed the grass around the perimeter of the beach; they ignored the girls and the girls ignored them. Carefully they chose a sunny spot, covered in round pebbles. Neatly, they lay down their sarongs and sat, watching the lake flooded with light. It was a relief to see the horizon further away, the large and open space. They lay next to each other and closed their eyes. Their spontaneous and natural friendship was warming their hearts; it was made of affection, respect and, at that particular moment, a profound awareness of their uniqueness and preciousness. Little by little, the buffaloes approached, quietly browsing, taking advantage of their immobility to satisfy their curiosity. The horns, as big as an arm, were brushing the girls' heads while their huge mouths ruminated lazily; the large nostrils sniffed the trusting, relaxed young women until, satisfied with the intruders' harmlessness, they moved away, swaying heavily.
Raffa and Maria waded into the lake and swam close to the shore, enjoying the fresh water and its cooling effect on their bodies and minds. Gradually, they were coming to themselves, regaining normal perception of sight, hearing, touch, moving away from the lightness and heaviness of the magic, finding once again the ability to control their movements and a readiness of reactions. The effect of the mushrooms was waning and Maria welcomed the changes with a mixture of relief and gratitude. She wasn't hungry or thirsty; she felt safe, happy, at peace, and couldn't stop smiling.
Unexpectedly, breaking the stillness of the lake, from behind the side of the mountain appeared a rowboat. Franca, in her underwear, was standing in it while other people paddled; they were talking and laughing loudly. She greeted them waving her arms and shouted: "Do you want to come for a ride in the boat?"
Maria reacted with annoyance to Franca's shouting. She exchanged glances with Raffa and understood immediately: they were not in the mood to join a noisy group: "No thank you! In a little while we'll go back. See you at the guesthouse."
It was really time to go back. Slowly, ceremoniously, they took the boat; Raffa held the oars, while Maria pushed it into the lake, her legs in water up to her knees. She climbed on board and took her oars. They began to paddle, feeling as tired as if they had worked all day, but happy and bright. They paddled up to the middle of the lake where they stopped to wait for the sunset. They didn't have to wait long: the setting sun tinged the whole valley with a new light, bathing in golden pink the world's highest peaks, kissing Mount Annapurna's snows. The divine fireball began to hide behind the summits, taking the words out of their mouths, any thoughts from their minds. With the dimming light, they paddled to the lake's shore from where they had set off that morning. It seemed as if a whole lifetime had gone by.
It was already dark when Franca arrived, barefoot, still in her t-shirt and pants and wrapped in a sarong that one of the boys had lent her to protect herself from the evening dampness. None of them were hungry and they sat under the sheltered structure, talking about the day's experience, drinking chai and munching on a couple of biscuits. Franca had walked along the mountain side and, on a beach not far away, she had met a group of young Italians. She had spent the whole day with them, smoking chillums. Maria didn't feel like socializing and left Raffa and Franca talking together while she went to bed, to enjoy the solitude and the silence, reliving the strong emotions of that day. The next day they woke up late and famished and, after a hearty breakfast, they walked to the centre of Pokhara. Franca had arranged to meet one of the boys, but they had forgotten to arrange a time so she had to wait, hoping he'd arrive soon.
The centre of Pokhara consisted of a large tree, hundreds of years old, surrounded by a low stone wall on which they could sit in the shade of the generous boughs that extended widely, reaching all sides of the small square. The trunk was so big that the children could hide behind it playing hide and seek and the shadow of its branches provided shelter to entire groups of people and animals. Franca sat on the wall, chillum in hand, determined not to move until the boy arrived. She wasn't well, the diarrhoea had awakened her during the night and she had taken another lump of opium. While waiting for it to take effect, she had severe pain in her abdomen and often, leaving one of them on guard, she had to hurriedly go and squat in the woods, returning with an exhausted expression. They took it in turns to keep her company and, since Raffa was happy to stay there, Maria took the opportunity to go for an exploratory walk along the road.
The warm air smelled clean and fragrant, it had a light and ethereal feeling. A row of huts on both sides of the road formed the village of Pokhara. A little further down, the tailor's hut showcased some beautiful satin waistcoats, one in particular caught her eye and she fell in love with it: it was of a silver satin woven with purple flowers, lined in black. She looked at it for a long time, twenty rupees said the tailor. Nepalese rupees were worth less than the Indian rupees, however, all the same, it was a bit expensive; she thanked him and went on. Another shop was selling necklaces and bracelets with turquoise and coral, as well as loose stones and round beads of inlaid silver. She thought about getting some, after all her trip was already way into its second half and, within three weeks, she would be back in Italy. The idea of returning to Venice hit her, she wasn't ready, and drove the thought away, putting it off till later, much later. At the beginning of her trip the days were passing slowly, but now they were racing by one after the other, and she often failed to realize how quickly they were going; however, for now she was here and didn't want to think about anything else. She looked at every single thing, turning the stones in her hand, stroking the bracelets, leafing through the prints. She walked back at a leisurely pace toward the tree, admiring the huge snowy peaks that made her feel very small, but clean and fresh. Sitting under the tree the two girls were still waiting. Maria reported the results of her excursion and Raffa decided to go for a stroll and look at the shops.
Finally the Italian boy approached, skinny, walking without haste; he sat on the wall greeting Franca with a faint voice, completely ignoring Maria. He was holding a strange bamboo pipe and began to prepare something, awkwardly. Maria watched him with curiosity, she had never seen a pipe like that; it was the opposite of a pipe normally used for smoking grass.
"Are you leaving tomorrow then?" Franca asked.
The boy thought for a long time about the question, stopping what he was doing and, after an endless reflection, replied: "Yes, tomorrow." He looked at his pipe, as if to remember what he was supposed to do, and finally carried on with what he had interrupted.
"Then you're not taking the coke or the speed, are you?" urged Franca.
He paused again, unable to do and speak at the same time and, before answering, he finished filling his pipe with tobacco. "Yes... No... The others are finishing the coke... but we have too much speed... and more." It cost him a lot of effort to say all these things and he paused to recover from the effort. He looked at his pipe as if he couldn't see it. Absent-mindedly, he pulled a small package out of his pocket: "I've got this for you... speed, mushrooms... a bit of charas and a bit of grass... too bulky."
Franca took the packet and opened it as a child opens a Christmas present.
For the first time, the boy looked at Maria and, holding out his pipe, said: "Do you want to light it?"
The pipe was made up of a thick vertical bamboo tube and another smaller tube protruding out of the bigger one. Strange shape... Maria hesitated. She didn't like the energy of this boy; he never looked anyone in the eye. At the same time, however, she didn't want to seem grumpy. Assuming it was grass, she took it, while the boy was preparing to light a match. "What's inside?" she asked, just to be on the safe side. The boy struck the match, but hadn't understood her question; two things at a time, too hard.
"What's in the pipe?" repeated Maria. Waiting for his reply, that she knew wasn't going to come right away, she lowered the pipe. The match was still burning and the flame came to his finger tips, burning them. The boy suddenly jolted and Maria burst out laughing.
"Smack," he said.
"What is 'smack'?" she asked, looking from him to Franca.
After a long pause, the boy replied: "Heroin."
With anger she pushed the pipe away from her. "I don't want it!" she said, shocked. How could he offer it like that? She had almost lit it! She addressed him with dismay, scolding him: "And you shouldn't smoke it either. Are you crazy? Do you think you can handle it? Be stronger than this?" She wanted him to listen to her, with all her being but, from what she had learned about heroin, she knew she couldn't reach him. Indeed, the boy was expressionless and didn't answer, but she didn't expect to hear Franca's voice saying: "I'll light it!" The words hit her like a stone in the face. There she was, her arm outstretched, a light of excitement in her eyes.
"Are you crazy? Franca, don't! Don't light it! You know very well what can happen. You'll become a slave to it. You know how it ends up!" She spoke earnestly, desperately clashing against Franca's wild passion for the buzz; she searched for stronger, better words, but couldn't find any.
Franca's response was violent: "Get out of the way, Maria, that's bullshit! Why don't you mind your own fucking business? What do you care about me, huh? Move!" Franca pushed her aside, staring at her with anger. Then, unable to control herself, she let out what had obviously been festering for a long time: "You always find other friends who are better than me, of course! And now you've even stolen my friend. Don't tell me that you care about me! Watch me, goody two-shoes, while I smoke it all!"
At that very moment, something inside Maria died. She stepped back and walked away, with her body and her heart. Without a word, beaten, defeated, she watched as the boy lit the match. Franca inhaled strongly, filling her mouth with smoke, as she did with the chillums, keeping it in her lungs for as long as possible, and then exhaled. She saw her colour change; she turned red in the face, then white, then grey. Looking into the void she stood up and, holding on to the wall, she vomited.
Maria looked at the boy and shouted with anger: "Why did you come here? And with that stuff? Look at her now! Are you happy?"
He was taking small puffs on his pipe, but seemed disappointed that there was nothing left. He closed his eyes. "It's all right," he said, drawing out the words.
She felt like hitting him, but she knew that the responsibility was Franca's. It was she who had chosen to smoke heroin, just what she had feared from the start; as if she had always known it would end like this. Franca was still standing, leaning heavily on the wall, pale, unable to move, speak or open her eyes.
"Where is Raffa?" Maria cried softly, her heart full of pain and anguish. Now she was alone, truly alone.
Raffa and Maria waded into the lake and swam close to the shore, enjoying the fresh water and its cooling effect on their bodies and minds. Gradually, they were coming to themselves, regaining normal perception of sight, hearing, touch, moving away from the lightness and heaviness of the magic, finding once again the ability to control their movements and a readiness of reactions. The effect of the mushrooms was waning and Maria welcomed the changes with a mixture of relief and gratitude. She wasn't hungry or thirsty; she felt safe, happy, at peace, and couldn't stop smiling.
Unexpectedly, breaking the stillness of the lake, from behind the side of the mountain appeared a rowboat. Franca, in her underwear, was standing in it while other people paddled; they were talking and laughing loudly. She greeted them waving her arms and shouted: "Do you want to come for a ride in the boat?"
Maria reacted with annoyance to Franca's shouting. She exchanged glances with Raffa and understood immediately: they were not in the mood to join a noisy group: "No thank you! In a little while we'll go back. See you at the guesthouse."
It was really time to go back. Slowly, ceremoniously, they took the boat; Raffa held the oars, while Maria pushed it into the lake, her legs in water up to her knees. She climbed on board and took her oars. They began to paddle, feeling as tired as if they had worked all day, but happy and bright. They paddled up to the middle of the lake where they stopped to wait for the sunset. They didn't have to wait long: the setting sun tinged the whole valley with a new light, bathing in golden pink the world's highest peaks, kissing Mount Annapurna's snows. The divine fireball began to hide behind the summits, taking the words out of their mouths, any thoughts from their minds. With the dimming light, they paddled to the lake's shore from where they had set off that morning. It seemed as if a whole lifetime had gone by.
It was already dark when Franca arrived, barefoot, still in her t-shirt and pants and wrapped in a sarong that one of the boys had lent her to protect herself from the evening dampness. None of them were hungry and they sat under the sheltered structure, talking about the day's experience, drinking chai and munching on a couple of biscuits. Franca had walked along the mountain side and, on a beach not far away, she had met a group of young Italians. She had spent the whole day with them, smoking chillums. Maria didn't feel like socializing and left Raffa and Franca talking together while she went to bed, to enjoy the solitude and the silence, reliving the strong emotions of that day. The next day they woke up late and famished and, after a hearty breakfast, they walked to the centre of Pokhara. Franca had arranged to meet one of the boys, but they had forgotten to arrange a time so she had to wait, hoping he'd arrive soon.
The centre of Pokhara consisted of a large tree, hundreds of years old, surrounded by a low stone wall on which they could sit in the shade of the generous boughs that extended widely, reaching all sides of the small square. The trunk was so big that the children could hide behind it playing hide and seek and the shadow of its branches provided shelter to entire groups of people and animals. Franca sat on the wall, chillum in hand, determined not to move until the boy arrived. She wasn't well, the diarrhoea had awakened her during the night and she had taken another lump of opium. While waiting for it to take effect, she had severe pain in her abdomen and often, leaving one of them on guard, she had to hurriedly go and squat in the woods, returning with an exhausted expression. They took it in turns to keep her company and, since Raffa was happy to stay there, Maria took the opportunity to go for an exploratory walk along the road.
The warm air smelled clean and fragrant, it had a light and ethereal feeling. A row of huts on both sides of the road formed the village of Pokhara. A little further down, the tailor's hut showcased some beautiful satin waistcoats, one in particular caught her eye and she fell in love with it: it was of a silver satin woven with purple flowers, lined in black. She looked at it for a long time, twenty rupees said the tailor. Nepalese rupees were worth less than the Indian rupees, however, all the same, it was a bit expensive; she thanked him and went on. Another shop was selling necklaces and bracelets with turquoise and coral, as well as loose stones and round beads of inlaid silver. She thought about getting some, after all her trip was already way into its second half and, within three weeks, she would be back in Italy. The idea of returning to Venice hit her, she wasn't ready, and drove the thought away, putting it off till later, much later. At the beginning of her trip the days were passing slowly, but now they were racing by one after the other, and she often failed to realize how quickly they were going; however, for now she was here and didn't want to think about anything else. She looked at every single thing, turning the stones in her hand, stroking the bracelets, leafing through the prints. She walked back at a leisurely pace toward the tree, admiring the huge snowy peaks that made her feel very small, but clean and fresh. Sitting under the tree the two girls were still waiting. Maria reported the results of her excursion and Raffa decided to go for a stroll and look at the shops.
Finally the Italian boy approached, skinny, walking without haste; he sat on the wall greeting Franca with a faint voice, completely ignoring Maria. He was holding a strange bamboo pipe and began to prepare something, awkwardly. Maria watched him with curiosity, she had never seen a pipe like that; it was the opposite of a pipe normally used for smoking grass.
"Are you leaving tomorrow then?" Franca asked.
The boy thought for a long time about the question, stopping what he was doing and, after an endless reflection, replied: "Yes, tomorrow." He looked at his pipe, as if to remember what he was supposed to do, and finally carried on with what he had interrupted.
"Then you're not taking the coke or the speed, are you?" urged Franca.
He paused again, unable to do and speak at the same time and, before answering, he finished filling his pipe with tobacco. "Yes... No... The others are finishing the coke... but we have too much speed... and more." It cost him a lot of effort to say all these things and he paused to recover from the effort. He looked at his pipe as if he couldn't see it. Absent-mindedly, he pulled a small package out of his pocket: "I've got this for you... speed, mushrooms... a bit of charas and a bit of grass... too bulky."
Franca took the packet and opened it as a child opens a Christmas present.
For the first time, the boy looked at Maria and, holding out his pipe, said: "Do you want to light it?"
The pipe was made up of a thick vertical bamboo tube and another smaller tube protruding out of the bigger one. Strange shape... Maria hesitated. She didn't like the energy of this boy; he never looked anyone in the eye. At the same time, however, she didn't want to seem grumpy. Assuming it was grass, she took it, while the boy was preparing to light a match. "What's inside?" she asked, just to be on the safe side. The boy struck the match, but hadn't understood her question; two things at a time, too hard.
"What's in the pipe?" repeated Maria. Waiting for his reply, that she knew wasn't going to come right away, she lowered the pipe. The match was still burning and the flame came to his finger tips, burning them. The boy suddenly jolted and Maria burst out laughing.
"Smack," he said.
"What is 'smack'?" she asked, looking from him to Franca.
After a long pause, the boy replied: "Heroin."
With anger she pushed the pipe away from her. "I don't want it!" she said, shocked. How could he offer it like that? She had almost lit it! She addressed him with dismay, scolding him: "And you shouldn't smoke it either. Are you crazy? Do you think you can handle it? Be stronger than this?" She wanted him to listen to her, with all her being but, from what she had learned about heroin, she knew she couldn't reach him. Indeed, the boy was expressionless and didn't answer, but she didn't expect to hear Franca's voice saying: "I'll light it!" The words hit her like a stone in the face. There she was, her arm outstretched, a light of excitement in her eyes.
"Are you crazy? Franca, don't! Don't light it! You know very well what can happen. You'll become a slave to it. You know how it ends up!" She spoke earnestly, desperately clashing against Franca's wild passion for the buzz; she searched for stronger, better words, but couldn't find any.
Franca's response was violent: "Get out of the way, Maria, that's bullshit! Why don't you mind your own fucking business? What do you care about me, huh? Move!" Franca pushed her aside, staring at her with anger. Then, unable to control herself, she let out what had obviously been festering for a long time: "You always find other friends who are better than me, of course! And now you've even stolen my friend. Don't tell me that you care about me! Watch me, goody two-shoes, while I smoke it all!"
At that very moment, something inside Maria died. She stepped back and walked away, with her body and her heart. Without a word, beaten, defeated, she watched as the boy lit the match. Franca inhaled strongly, filling her mouth with smoke, as she did with the chillums, keeping it in her lungs for as long as possible, and then exhaled. She saw her colour change; she turned red in the face, then white, then grey. Looking into the void she stood up and, holding on to the wall, she vomited.
Maria looked at the boy and shouted with anger: "Why did you come here? And with that stuff? Look at her now! Are you happy?"
He was taking small puffs on his pipe, but seemed disappointed that there was nothing left. He closed his eyes. "It's all right," he said, drawing out the words.
She felt like hitting him, but she knew that the responsibility was Franca's. It was she who had chosen to smoke heroin, just what she had feared from the start; as if she had always known it would end like this. Franca was still standing, leaning heavily on the wall, pale, unable to move, speak or open her eyes.
"Where is Raffa?" Maria cried softly, her heart full of pain and anguish. Now she was alone, truly alone.
To go to chapter 20 click here: Chapter 20
If you want to buy the hard copy or the kindle version of Made in Nirvana, please go to ´link to buy´on the top menu for the correct link for your country.
