MADE IN NIRVANA
Chapter 30
I wanted you to be happy
As they walked on the sand Karen talked in her own peculiar way, quickly, quietly and chuckling to herself. Maria understood almost nothing, but there wasn't a second's break when she could ask her to repeat herself. When they had met in Manali, Paul had told her they would go to Goa, but Maria hadn't remembered which part and, after all, Goa was a big state not a provincial village; what a chance to have met her right here! And now Paul was close by; in a couple of minutes she would see him again. He had shaken her to her core; she could still feel on her skin his embrace in the temple, she recalled that silent look between them. Then she had met Jean-Claude, who had given her more than dreams and illusions and had won her over with his warmth and passion. He had made her feel she could be loved, that she was beautiful, and had helped her to put Ugo in the past. Without him she wouldn't be the woman she was today. She remembered the dream in which Jean-Claude had taken her to Paul. He had taken her hand and put it in his; then he was gone, and Paul had led her into the water of the canal. "How is Paul?" she asked, taking advantage of a brief moment in which Karen took a breath. She launched into another long whispered speech, out of which Maria caught a few words. Had they split up? It seemed impossible! "He's not your boyfriend?" she asked. From Karen's response, it looked as if she had understood correctly.
Soon they began to climb the rocky slope and leave the beach. She wanted to ask how far the house was, but was unable to stop Karen's flow of words. At last they came to a small house in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by a few trees, with a small covered porch and the traditional red-clay floor tiles. Karen went into the house and Maria followed her timidly, a strong emotion, a kind of embarrassment, filling her heart.
Paul was crouched in front of a kerosene stove, on which a kettle was placed, and was lighting it up. He wore only a sarong tied at the waist, his blond hair had been lightened in the sun and rolled up in ringlets where it touched his shoulders. He lifted his face to look at Karen, but didn't smile. She told him she had come with a friend, and at that point he looked at Maria.
"Hello, do you remember me?" Maria said.
He studied her carefully, the glare coming through the door was behind her and, with the figure against the light, he couldn't see clearly who it was; but then he recognized her, and his face broke into an expression of surprise, followed by a smile. He stood up and walked over to her, hugged her and kissed her firmly on the mouth. Well, she wasn't expecting this! And they said that the English were cold and reserved.
"How are you?" she asked, hiding the emotion that made her tremble inside.
"Okay," he replied, without conviction; he shot a serious look at Karen and then brought his gaze back to Maria. "What about you? You look beautiful! I remember those blue eyes," he said, looking openly at her face and her pink sarong, crossed over her breasts and tied around her neck; it suited her, she knew, and two days in the sunshine had already tanned her. He too was tanned and was even more handsome than she remembered. He looked at her closely with his beautiful green eyes; her legs were trembling and she wanted to kiss him.
"I'm making tea. Do you want some?" he offered, heading for the stove.
"Yes, please," she replied.
There was silence between him and Karen, a heavy silence. Maria improvised, telling them that she had just returned from Italy. Paul paid some attention, but every two or three seconds he gave Karen a withering glance. She was mumbling something unintelligible, moving with downcast eyes around the only room, pretending to focus on every little thing. Maria continued to fill those voids, talking about Varanasi and how it had struck her. Had they ever been? She told them about Nepal and Pokhara, the magic mushrooms, Franca's hepatitis, the job she had left. Paul put a tumbler full of hot tea in her hand, into which he poured a little milk. Maria had the distinct feeling he hadn't heard anything she had said. She felt in a hurry to leave the room and the couple who lived in it, with all their problems. She took a couple of hot sips, followed by: "I'm going to the beach!"
Paul looked at her, surprised that she wanted to leave so soon. "But you haven't drunk your tea!" he argued. Bringing his attention back on Maria, he told her there was a party at Julie Jolly Restaurant that evening; was she going? Yes, she lived just around the corner and the Italian girls said she couldn't miss it. He wanted to know where she lived and nodded when Maria described, more or less, where her house was. She drank half the hot tea and then stood up, approaching the door to prevent further protests."I'll see you tonight, then!" she said, and took her leave; they needed to be alone.
Out in the sun she breathed a sigh of relief; the atmosphere in the house was so heavy, she wondered what had happened. She felt sorry for them, especially for Paul, who seemed much sadder than Karen. How could she no longer want a man like that? He was stunning and his spellbinding gaze made her forget what she was saying; her words came out all muddled and confused.
Her thoughts flew to Jean-Claude, in Paris; she wondered how he was, whether he was happy, if he was going through a difficult time. He had promised to write to her and perhaps he would do so, but she didn't count on it. If she didn't expect anything she wasn't going to be disappointed. Sanya had been clear about expectations, and it seemed a wise attitude. Living in the present was already quite demanding, with all these new people, different places and all the things she wanted to do: paint, travel and create.
She walked slowly toward the beach, enjoying the cool morning air and the warmth of the sun on her back, the chirping of birds, the tropical landscape in the middle of winter. Paying great attention, she descended the slope of jagged sharp stones. The beach was more crowded and the girls had already arrived. Maria removed her pink sarong, laid it next to Rossana on the fine sand and lay down on it, completely naked and comfortable with it. Where had she been? Maria told them about Paul and Karen from the moment she had met them, of the effect he had on her and of the tense situation into which Karen had taken her. From one thing to another, she also told them about Jean-Claude and their story. The girls were readily engrossed in Maria's romance, and couldn't wait to meet this Paul.
That evening they started to get ready way before time. They took a shower by throwing water over their head with a bucket, to rinse off soap and shampoo; a bucket each was enough for a good shower. Through many discussions, conflicting advice, experiments and changes they selected which clothes to wear.
Maria had very few items of clothing and her choice was easy: she wore her embroidered white silk shirt and her white pyjama trousers, which enhanced her tan. She clasped Jean-Claude's ankle bracelets, chose a necklace made of turquoise stones, and silver earrings with more small turquoise gems. For walking in the dark they had a home-made torch consisting of half a coconut shell, with a candle stump held within by its own wax. The candle, thus protected, gave a good light and wouldn't blow out in the wind. Finally, Margo gave her a stick: "Never go out at night without a stick!" she warned. "This is yours, don't lose it." Why the stick? Because of the dogs; she would soon understand.
As soon as they walked onto the dirt road, a pack of stray dogs sprang out of the darkness and started barking and growling, angry, aggressive and violent, like in Kathmandu. However this time the group of four girls and the Frenchman was well prepared and the dogs had to keep a good distance. They were barking, retreating and then advancing again, but with no chance to get to the calves of those foreigners who smelt so different. They were only a few minutes away from Julie Jolly Restaurant, which had been decked out for the party.
The whole area outside the restaurant gates was occupied by stalls on straw mats. The locals had organized small chai-shops with a kerosene stove, big teapots and all the necessary ingredients to make chai or instant coffee. Some prepared sweet omelettes filled with jam, and the more enterprising also sold biscuits, cigarettes, cigarette papers and matches.
"Do a lot of people come to these parties?" asked Maria.
"Hundreds, you'll see!" replied Betty.
People were coming from all directions, dressed in colourful, original ways. Maria found the only chair and sat down. She filled her eyes with those new, different young men and women, absorbing the atmosphere full of excitement, familiarity, music, and sensuality. Everyone else was seated on mats or on their sarong. Rossana was next to her, sitting on a mat, and looked around in awe.
Soon they began to climb the rocky slope and leave the beach. She wanted to ask how far the house was, but was unable to stop Karen's flow of words. At last they came to a small house in the middle of a clearing, surrounded by a few trees, with a small covered porch and the traditional red-clay floor tiles. Karen went into the house and Maria followed her timidly, a strong emotion, a kind of embarrassment, filling her heart.
Paul was crouched in front of a kerosene stove, on which a kettle was placed, and was lighting it up. He wore only a sarong tied at the waist, his blond hair had been lightened in the sun and rolled up in ringlets where it touched his shoulders. He lifted his face to look at Karen, but didn't smile. She told him she had come with a friend, and at that point he looked at Maria.
"Hello, do you remember me?" Maria said.
He studied her carefully, the glare coming through the door was behind her and, with the figure against the light, he couldn't see clearly who it was; but then he recognized her, and his face broke into an expression of surprise, followed by a smile. He stood up and walked over to her, hugged her and kissed her firmly on the mouth. Well, she wasn't expecting this! And they said that the English were cold and reserved.
"How are you?" she asked, hiding the emotion that made her tremble inside.
"Okay," he replied, without conviction; he shot a serious look at Karen and then brought his gaze back to Maria. "What about you? You look beautiful! I remember those blue eyes," he said, looking openly at her face and her pink sarong, crossed over her breasts and tied around her neck; it suited her, she knew, and two days in the sunshine had already tanned her. He too was tanned and was even more handsome than she remembered. He looked at her closely with his beautiful green eyes; her legs were trembling and she wanted to kiss him.
"I'm making tea. Do you want some?" he offered, heading for the stove.
"Yes, please," she replied.
There was silence between him and Karen, a heavy silence. Maria improvised, telling them that she had just returned from Italy. Paul paid some attention, but every two or three seconds he gave Karen a withering glance. She was mumbling something unintelligible, moving with downcast eyes around the only room, pretending to focus on every little thing. Maria continued to fill those voids, talking about Varanasi and how it had struck her. Had they ever been? She told them about Nepal and Pokhara, the magic mushrooms, Franca's hepatitis, the job she had left. Paul put a tumbler full of hot tea in her hand, into which he poured a little milk. Maria had the distinct feeling he hadn't heard anything she had said. She felt in a hurry to leave the room and the couple who lived in it, with all their problems. She took a couple of hot sips, followed by: "I'm going to the beach!"
Paul looked at her, surprised that she wanted to leave so soon. "But you haven't drunk your tea!" he argued. Bringing his attention back on Maria, he told her there was a party at Julie Jolly Restaurant that evening; was she going? Yes, she lived just around the corner and the Italian girls said she couldn't miss it. He wanted to know where she lived and nodded when Maria described, more or less, where her house was. She drank half the hot tea and then stood up, approaching the door to prevent further protests."I'll see you tonight, then!" she said, and took her leave; they needed to be alone.
Out in the sun she breathed a sigh of relief; the atmosphere in the house was so heavy, she wondered what had happened. She felt sorry for them, especially for Paul, who seemed much sadder than Karen. How could she no longer want a man like that? He was stunning and his spellbinding gaze made her forget what she was saying; her words came out all muddled and confused.
Her thoughts flew to Jean-Claude, in Paris; she wondered how he was, whether he was happy, if he was going through a difficult time. He had promised to write to her and perhaps he would do so, but she didn't count on it. If she didn't expect anything she wasn't going to be disappointed. Sanya had been clear about expectations, and it seemed a wise attitude. Living in the present was already quite demanding, with all these new people, different places and all the things she wanted to do: paint, travel and create.
She walked slowly toward the beach, enjoying the cool morning air and the warmth of the sun on her back, the chirping of birds, the tropical landscape in the middle of winter. Paying great attention, she descended the slope of jagged sharp stones. The beach was more crowded and the girls had already arrived. Maria removed her pink sarong, laid it next to Rossana on the fine sand and lay down on it, completely naked and comfortable with it. Where had she been? Maria told them about Paul and Karen from the moment she had met them, of the effect he had on her and of the tense situation into which Karen had taken her. From one thing to another, she also told them about Jean-Claude and their story. The girls were readily engrossed in Maria's romance, and couldn't wait to meet this Paul.
That evening they started to get ready way before time. They took a shower by throwing water over their head with a bucket, to rinse off soap and shampoo; a bucket each was enough for a good shower. Through many discussions, conflicting advice, experiments and changes they selected which clothes to wear.
Maria had very few items of clothing and her choice was easy: she wore her embroidered white silk shirt and her white pyjama trousers, which enhanced her tan. She clasped Jean-Claude's ankle bracelets, chose a necklace made of turquoise stones, and silver earrings with more small turquoise gems. For walking in the dark they had a home-made torch consisting of half a coconut shell, with a candle stump held within by its own wax. The candle, thus protected, gave a good light and wouldn't blow out in the wind. Finally, Margo gave her a stick: "Never go out at night without a stick!" she warned. "This is yours, don't lose it." Why the stick? Because of the dogs; she would soon understand.
As soon as they walked onto the dirt road, a pack of stray dogs sprang out of the darkness and started barking and growling, angry, aggressive and violent, like in Kathmandu. However this time the group of four girls and the Frenchman was well prepared and the dogs had to keep a good distance. They were barking, retreating and then advancing again, but with no chance to get to the calves of those foreigners who smelt so different. They were only a few minutes away from Julie Jolly Restaurant, which had been decked out for the party.
The whole area outside the restaurant gates was occupied by stalls on straw mats. The locals had organized small chai-shops with a kerosene stove, big teapots and all the necessary ingredients to make chai or instant coffee. Some prepared sweet omelettes filled with jam, and the more enterprising also sold biscuits, cigarettes, cigarette papers and matches.
"Do a lot of people come to these parties?" asked Maria.
"Hundreds, you'll see!" replied Betty.
People were coming from all directions, dressed in colourful, original ways. Maria found the only chair and sat down. She filled her eyes with those new, different young men and women, absorbing the atmosphere full of excitement, familiarity, music, and sensuality. Everyone else was seated on mats or on their sarong. Rossana was next to her, sitting on a mat, and looked around in awe.
Maria felt his presence before she even saw him; she just knew he was there, and looked in his direction. Paul was walking and scanning around; she had the feeling he was looking for her. She followed him with her eyes until he saw her; she noticed a light gasp, as if he had seen the person he was searching for, and smiled at her. She returned his smile and nodded her head, but didn't move.
Rossana had already figured it out: "Is he that one?"
"Yes."
"He is gorgeous!"
"Couldn't agree more!"
"Why don't you go and sit with him?" she asked, excitedly. Meanwhile Paul had found a friend and had placed his sarong on the ground, sitting down next to him.
"And how do I do that? I can't just go there and say 'now I sit here!'"
"No, you're right. So what are you going to do?"
"I haven't got the slightest idea! I'll wait, and later… we'll see. In any case, he's just a friend, don't get too excited. Where are the Frenchman, Betty and Margo?"
"Outside, drinking chai. But he looked at you; it seemed as if he was looking for you."
"I had the same feeling too. Let's go and find the others. We'll come back later." She stood up and, even though she was behind him, Paul turned immediately to look at her, and their eyes met. His eyes were saying 'where are you going'? Maria replied with a wave of her hand, as if to say 'I'll come back'. Paul nodded. They had understood each other perfectly. She was stirred within; she had to go out and give herself time to think.
After a long while looking for them, they spotted Margo and Betty sitting at one of the chai-shops. There were already a lot of people, the kerosene stoves were in full swing, giving off an unpleasant smell that no one seemed to notice.
"You should see this Paul!" Rossana blurted out immediately, unable to contain her excitement. "He's just arrived and he is so handsome. You're so lucky Maria!"
"Why lucky? He's not my boyfriend! I hardly know him," she said cautiously, but she could feel the same excitement. She ordered a chai. The girls were talking, but she couldn't follow anything they were saying; their voices were like a hum in the background, while her heart, her stomach, her breathing, were all in a whirl, and she was confused, agitated. The chai took a long time coming; she had almost given up waiting when she was finally handed a full glass of hot tea. She blew on it, but it was so hot she couldn't even hold it. She placed it on the mat, realizing she'd have to wait a lifetime before being able to drink it, but felt a strong sense of urgency to go back. "I can't sit here and wait for it to cool down, do you want it?" she said, offering it to Rossana.
"Are you going back inside?" her friend asked.
"Yes, I feel as if there was a huge magnet drawing me in that direction."
"Good luck!" said Rossana.
"Thank you!"
She had to control herself not to run, and slowed down just before crossing the threshold of the gate. The moment she walked through it, Paul turned and smiled at her. She had never seen him so handsome. He followed her with his eyes, every step she took, until she reached him. Quickly, he made room for her on his sarong and Maria sat down beside him; she smiled, but didn't feel the need to say anything. The music was very loud.
"Is this the first time you come to a Goan party?" he shouted in her ear.
"Yes!" she shouted and nodded.
Paul began to roll a joint. They smoked it together, passing it between each other. Their shoulders, their arms, their knees, their heads were touching; they were breathing in the same rhythm, in unison. Time had stopped, and it was beautiful. Paul sank the butt on the sandy floor and put his arm around her shoulders; it seemed the most natural thing in the world. He kissed her hair and she smiled. She turned toward him and he kissed her on the lips; then, looking into her eyes he kissed her again. Maria returned his kiss. She was feeling slightly lightheaded and everything was happening so fast, flowing effortlessly, without any resistance. He was the most beautiful man in the world and she felt from a place deep within herself that she could trust him. Completely relaxed next to him, comfortable, at ease in his embrace, she was happy to let things develop as they would and, trusting the present moment, which was taking her in an unknown direction, she let herself go, with abandon. They listened to the music, sitting ever closer, as if to merge one into the other, naturally.
"What do you want to do?" Paul had to shout to be heard.
"I don't like this music. It's too loud," she said, talking at the top of her voice: "Let's go to your house!" She wasn't rushing things, was she?
"Do you want to go through the village or the beach?" he asked.
She was surprised by his question and had no idea of the route to cover. The beach sounded more romantic: "Beach!" she shouted. When she stood up she met Rossana, Margo and Betty's eyes who, sitting nearby, had followed the developments. They smiled at her and Maria walked out with Paul holding her by the hand. She followed him out of the area of light created by the party and they walked down to the beach, in the dim light of his torch with weak batteries.
There was no moon to illuminate the path and the beach was shrouded in darkness. They walked holding hands. Paul would say something in his deep voice; Maria understood very little, but words were not necessary.
Every few steps they stopped, he held her tight and kissed her again, then walked a little further. The rising tide had taken up almost the whole beach and they had to climb the boulders and proceed carefully on the sharp rocks. Paul knew every inch of them while Maria didn't know where to put her feet and worried about cutting herself or twisting an ankle.
"Careful here," he'd say, "it's a bit dangerous!"
Yes, thank you, 'here' where? She couldn't see anything at all, put one foot in front of the other and trusted his instructions blindly. The decision to come through the beach wasn't at all romantic as she had imagined; quite the opposite, they were likely to break a leg! Paul helped her, taking advantage of every opportunity to hold her, kiss and touch her, learning to know her body in the dark.
Finally, to her great relief, they arrived at his house. He turned the switch on but the light wasn't working. "There is no electricity. I have candles, fortunately," he said. He lit the first candle and placed it carefully on the table. She observed him as he lit the second candle on the flame of the first one, this man she had dreamed of, who seemed unattainable, because of the distance between them, their culture, the language, his girlfriend, their completely different worlds, was there with her and wanted her. He stuck the second candle by dripping its own wax on the windowsill. As he lit the third candle Maria watched his blond hair curling up on his broad shoulders, his fine hands and the way he moved, at ease in the simple and cosy room.
He turned to her and took her hand. He sat on the mattress on the floor and pulled her down to sit on his lap. This was a dream, Maria thought, feeling as if she were watching the scene from the outside, a spectator that someone had pulled on the stage, and didn't know how to move, what to say, what to do, embarrassed and intimidated. Her mind insisted on asking her questions and giving explanations, while Paul caressed her, lifted her shirt, undid her pyjamas. He knelt on the bed and made her stand up, looking at her in the candlelight. She firmly pushed away all the competing, overlapping thoughts that were vying to disturb her. She looked at this beautiful man who desired her and, trusting his kind, charming eyes and the soft light of the candles, she let herself go to the present moment, his hands, his touch and the warmth of his body. She didn't ask anything else, didn't seek any answers and trusted her destiny, without fear. Something strong from deep inside was telling her to let go and be happy. It was a new skin, new smell, new gestures, another sensibility, another rhythm. They remained still after the love, her head resting on his shoulder, his arms holding her, his hands caressing her. She closed her eyes and lay on her side. Paul hugged her from behind, his arm around her waist, his knees bent behind hers, and buried his face in her hair. "You smell of salt and sun!" he whispered, with his beautiful voice. She smiled and, with her hand on his, she slipped into a light sleep, while the candles burned slowly, one by one.
When she woke up, he was busy with the kerosene stove, his sarong tied at the waist, his blond hair pushed behind his ears with those almost childish curls, and smiled. So it wasn't a dream, she was still here, with him. 'And now what?' asked her mind. Now it was a new day and she didn't know what it would bring but, for the moment, she was here and liked it. Paul turned to her and smiled. "I made you some tea. I'm going out for a minute," he said. He brought her a tumbler full of hot tea and caressed her, bending down to kiss her. "I won't be long!" he assured her.
She didn't ask where he was going or when he would come back. She'd take things as they came, without any questions. She leaned against the wall and began to sip the hot tea; she was thirsty. Her mind went back to the night before, to how things had developed; one emotion after the other, a look, a smile, a step, a hug, a kiss, holding hands, the feeling of being a precious, delicate thing to love and hold tight, like a treasure. The Treasure Tower! You are the Treasure Tower, Maria! Luna had said. She smiled, thinking about Luna. She felt just like that, a treasure tower, and would have liked to tell her, had she been here. I can send it to her, this moment of happiness; she will feel it with my 'daimoku', she thought. If it crossed the universe, boundlessly free, as radio waves did, then this is for you, Luna, Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, with all the joy I'm feeling, and I hope you are happy, too.
Her mind took her back to Jean-Claude and their last moments in Venice station, with the kitten between them. 'Don't cry!' he had said, giving her his handkerchief to wipe her tears. 'I'll miss you more than you'll miss me!' Only a week had gone by and here she was, in Paul's bed, in the Goan warm, tropical winter. She thought of the dream in which Jean-Claude had accompanied her along the canal and entrusted her to Paul. Had it been a premonition? In a way, he had been a bridge between the past, full of suffering, void of respect, and this present moment. Without his love that had helped her believe she could be loved, she wouldn't have had the quiet confidence to accept that Paul wanted her. Her heart clenched, thinking of Jean-Claude. Did he realize how much he had given her? She hoped he was happy.
Paul still wasn't back. He had probably gone to see Karen. They had a lot to sort out and maybe they were talking about it right now; five years together was a long time. Maria was happy to be here at this time and have the opportunity to console him in his sadness, even if it was only for a day or two. It was an auspicious beginning for her new trip in India!
Just then Paul came back; she saw his body silhouetted against the light coming in through the door. He approached, holding up his sarong in front of him, and let dozens of fragrant white flowers fall onto the bed and in her lap: a cascade of perfume!
Maria laughed, amused and touched: "They're beautiful! I've seen them before; are they real? They look like wax, or rubber!" The scent emanating from the flowers was so strong that her question didn't need an answer.
"Of course! They're frangipani," he replied. "There is a tree not far away. It has only flowers and no leaves; during the night they fall to the ground. I went to pick them up for you."
"How romantic!" she laughed, feeling happy. "I thought you had gone to see Karen," she added, "... to talk."
"No, not at all! I went to pick flowers for you," he said, kissing her on the lips, sitting on the bed and wrapping his arm around her waist."What are you doing today?" he asked. She had to go home and remove her contact lenses, which she had left in overnight, and then she wanted to paint. He had to write three long articles for the travel magazine he worked for.
They went out into the sunshine together, Paul's arm around her shoulders. At that very moment Karen was approaching the house and, when she saw them, she slowed down abruptly; even without glasses she could see that Paul was happy. They saw her at the same time. Maria moved away from him, but Paul didn't let her go and instead brought her firmly to his side and held her close. "Shall we meet tonight?" he asked, looking into her eyes.
"Yes, okay...," replied Maria, uncertain. "Today I'll paint and then..." Karen had slowed down even more. "But… you two...?" she added hesitantly, looking at Karen out of the corner of her eye. Paul interrupted her: "There is no more 'us two'. She's made her choice," he said firmly, "and I know what I want: I want to be with you. I'll pick you up around seven o'clock. I'll introduce you to some people I love very much." He didn't seem to be in a hurry and Karen had almost stopped. "Where are you going to paint?" he asked.
"I don't know yet. Do you have any suggestions?"
"Yes! Carry on this way for a while," he said, indicating the path ahead, "until you are in line with the chai-shop, but stay on top of the escarpment; from there, there is a spectacular view. Many times I thought I'd like to paint that image."
"Do you paint, too?"
"No, but I like those who do!" he said, laughing. He hugged her and kissed her again on the lips. Then he broke his embrace and Maria turned away, looking at Karen; she smiled timidly at her. Karen returned her an unsure, confused smile.
As soon as she got home, Rossana, Margo, Betty and also the Frenchman, wanted to know everything, word for word, in fine detail, or at least as far as Maria was willing to tell them without feeling embarrassed.
"Just you look at this one!" said Margo. "She's only just arrived and has got herself the most handsome man in Goa!"
"How did you do it?" asked Rossana, who was happy for her.
"I did next to nothing; this time he did everything," replied Maria.
"See that there was a reason for you to come here with me, instead of going to Colva? If you had gone to Colva you wouldn't have met him, would you?" Rossana said triumphantly. She was right! Maria hadn't even thought of that.
That evening at seven o'clock Paul arrived at the house, causing a lot of excitement; they were all waiting for him, pretending to be busy with lots of things to do. The girls were fascinated by him and strove to say something interesting in English; even the Frenchman was excited to meet him. Paul sat on the porch, happy to get to know her friends. He wanted to see what she had painted and praised her work. He promised to accompany her every day to see different places where she could paint, he knew the area well. Then, he took her to a restaurant nestled in the forest behind Vagator, run by a Goan family that was almost 'his' family. Lily and Peter had five children, four girls and one boy, who was the youngest; they all worked in the restaurant and were very friendly. He told her that Karen had been at his house the whole day; she was confused, no longer sure that she wanted to separate from him. Maria wasn't surprised and told him that she had been in a similar situation with her first boyfriend; she understood how hard it was to make such a difficult decision. At that time she had felt awful, because she knew she was causing him pain, as he still loved her. "Five years is a long time," she said thoughtfully. "Would you like to get back with her?" she asked, expecting an honest answer.
"No, I don't! I know what I want; it is here now, and I'm looking at her!"
She didn't expect this response and felt she was blushing. He was paying her a huge compliment, but was also giving her a lot of responsibility for his happiness. "How can you be so sure? We hardly know each other," she said cautiously.
Paul looked at her in silence, at her eyes, her hair, her mouth, her throat, and then back to her eyes: "I have always known you, Maria, I've only just found you again! Can't you feel it?"
She was puzzled. "I don't know, I haven't thought about it. I thought... I'm not used to things like that," she mumbled.
"Neither am I! It's not the kind of thing I do every weekend," he said, amused. When he smiled, small wrinkles formed around his eyes, and made him even more fascinating. "I know I want to be with you tonight, tomorrow night, and the night after, and then again. This is all I know. Isn't it enough?"
She felt burning with emotion, and surprise. "Maybe you're right," she said, blushing. "But let's take it slowly, one day at a time, if you don't mind."
"That's fine by me, as long as you are with me," he said, touching her foot with his.
Rossana had already figured it out: "Is he that one?"
"Yes."
"He is gorgeous!"
"Couldn't agree more!"
"Why don't you go and sit with him?" she asked, excitedly. Meanwhile Paul had found a friend and had placed his sarong on the ground, sitting down next to him.
"And how do I do that? I can't just go there and say 'now I sit here!'"
"No, you're right. So what are you going to do?"
"I haven't got the slightest idea! I'll wait, and later… we'll see. In any case, he's just a friend, don't get too excited. Where are the Frenchman, Betty and Margo?"
"Outside, drinking chai. But he looked at you; it seemed as if he was looking for you."
"I had the same feeling too. Let's go and find the others. We'll come back later." She stood up and, even though she was behind him, Paul turned immediately to look at her, and their eyes met. His eyes were saying 'where are you going'? Maria replied with a wave of her hand, as if to say 'I'll come back'. Paul nodded. They had understood each other perfectly. She was stirred within; she had to go out and give herself time to think.
After a long while looking for them, they spotted Margo and Betty sitting at one of the chai-shops. There were already a lot of people, the kerosene stoves were in full swing, giving off an unpleasant smell that no one seemed to notice.
"You should see this Paul!" Rossana blurted out immediately, unable to contain her excitement. "He's just arrived and he is so handsome. You're so lucky Maria!"
"Why lucky? He's not my boyfriend! I hardly know him," she said cautiously, but she could feel the same excitement. She ordered a chai. The girls were talking, but she couldn't follow anything they were saying; their voices were like a hum in the background, while her heart, her stomach, her breathing, were all in a whirl, and she was confused, agitated. The chai took a long time coming; she had almost given up waiting when she was finally handed a full glass of hot tea. She blew on it, but it was so hot she couldn't even hold it. She placed it on the mat, realizing she'd have to wait a lifetime before being able to drink it, but felt a strong sense of urgency to go back. "I can't sit here and wait for it to cool down, do you want it?" she said, offering it to Rossana.
"Are you going back inside?" her friend asked.
"Yes, I feel as if there was a huge magnet drawing me in that direction."
"Good luck!" said Rossana.
"Thank you!"
She had to control herself not to run, and slowed down just before crossing the threshold of the gate. The moment she walked through it, Paul turned and smiled at her. She had never seen him so handsome. He followed her with his eyes, every step she took, until she reached him. Quickly, he made room for her on his sarong and Maria sat down beside him; she smiled, but didn't feel the need to say anything. The music was very loud.
"Is this the first time you come to a Goan party?" he shouted in her ear.
"Yes!" she shouted and nodded.
Paul began to roll a joint. They smoked it together, passing it between each other. Their shoulders, their arms, their knees, their heads were touching; they were breathing in the same rhythm, in unison. Time had stopped, and it was beautiful. Paul sank the butt on the sandy floor and put his arm around her shoulders; it seemed the most natural thing in the world. He kissed her hair and she smiled. She turned toward him and he kissed her on the lips; then, looking into her eyes he kissed her again. Maria returned his kiss. She was feeling slightly lightheaded and everything was happening so fast, flowing effortlessly, without any resistance. He was the most beautiful man in the world and she felt from a place deep within herself that she could trust him. Completely relaxed next to him, comfortable, at ease in his embrace, she was happy to let things develop as they would and, trusting the present moment, which was taking her in an unknown direction, she let herself go, with abandon. They listened to the music, sitting ever closer, as if to merge one into the other, naturally.
"What do you want to do?" Paul had to shout to be heard.
"I don't like this music. It's too loud," she said, talking at the top of her voice: "Let's go to your house!" She wasn't rushing things, was she?
"Do you want to go through the village or the beach?" he asked.
She was surprised by his question and had no idea of the route to cover. The beach sounded more romantic: "Beach!" she shouted. When she stood up she met Rossana, Margo and Betty's eyes who, sitting nearby, had followed the developments. They smiled at her and Maria walked out with Paul holding her by the hand. She followed him out of the area of light created by the party and they walked down to the beach, in the dim light of his torch with weak batteries.
There was no moon to illuminate the path and the beach was shrouded in darkness. They walked holding hands. Paul would say something in his deep voice; Maria understood very little, but words were not necessary.
Every few steps they stopped, he held her tight and kissed her again, then walked a little further. The rising tide had taken up almost the whole beach and they had to climb the boulders and proceed carefully on the sharp rocks. Paul knew every inch of them while Maria didn't know where to put her feet and worried about cutting herself or twisting an ankle.
"Careful here," he'd say, "it's a bit dangerous!"
Yes, thank you, 'here' where? She couldn't see anything at all, put one foot in front of the other and trusted his instructions blindly. The decision to come through the beach wasn't at all romantic as she had imagined; quite the opposite, they were likely to break a leg! Paul helped her, taking advantage of every opportunity to hold her, kiss and touch her, learning to know her body in the dark.
Finally, to her great relief, they arrived at his house. He turned the switch on but the light wasn't working. "There is no electricity. I have candles, fortunately," he said. He lit the first candle and placed it carefully on the table. She observed him as he lit the second candle on the flame of the first one, this man she had dreamed of, who seemed unattainable, because of the distance between them, their culture, the language, his girlfriend, their completely different worlds, was there with her and wanted her. He stuck the second candle by dripping its own wax on the windowsill. As he lit the third candle Maria watched his blond hair curling up on his broad shoulders, his fine hands and the way he moved, at ease in the simple and cosy room.
He turned to her and took her hand. He sat on the mattress on the floor and pulled her down to sit on his lap. This was a dream, Maria thought, feeling as if she were watching the scene from the outside, a spectator that someone had pulled on the stage, and didn't know how to move, what to say, what to do, embarrassed and intimidated. Her mind insisted on asking her questions and giving explanations, while Paul caressed her, lifted her shirt, undid her pyjamas. He knelt on the bed and made her stand up, looking at her in the candlelight. She firmly pushed away all the competing, overlapping thoughts that were vying to disturb her. She looked at this beautiful man who desired her and, trusting his kind, charming eyes and the soft light of the candles, she let herself go to the present moment, his hands, his touch and the warmth of his body. She didn't ask anything else, didn't seek any answers and trusted her destiny, without fear. Something strong from deep inside was telling her to let go and be happy. It was a new skin, new smell, new gestures, another sensibility, another rhythm. They remained still after the love, her head resting on his shoulder, his arms holding her, his hands caressing her. She closed her eyes and lay on her side. Paul hugged her from behind, his arm around her waist, his knees bent behind hers, and buried his face in her hair. "You smell of salt and sun!" he whispered, with his beautiful voice. She smiled and, with her hand on his, she slipped into a light sleep, while the candles burned slowly, one by one.
When she woke up, he was busy with the kerosene stove, his sarong tied at the waist, his blond hair pushed behind his ears with those almost childish curls, and smiled. So it wasn't a dream, she was still here, with him. 'And now what?' asked her mind. Now it was a new day and she didn't know what it would bring but, for the moment, she was here and liked it. Paul turned to her and smiled. "I made you some tea. I'm going out for a minute," he said. He brought her a tumbler full of hot tea and caressed her, bending down to kiss her. "I won't be long!" he assured her.
She didn't ask where he was going or when he would come back. She'd take things as they came, without any questions. She leaned against the wall and began to sip the hot tea; she was thirsty. Her mind went back to the night before, to how things had developed; one emotion after the other, a look, a smile, a step, a hug, a kiss, holding hands, the feeling of being a precious, delicate thing to love and hold tight, like a treasure. The Treasure Tower! You are the Treasure Tower, Maria! Luna had said. She smiled, thinking about Luna. She felt just like that, a treasure tower, and would have liked to tell her, had she been here. I can send it to her, this moment of happiness; she will feel it with my 'daimoku', she thought. If it crossed the universe, boundlessly free, as radio waves did, then this is for you, Luna, Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, with all the joy I'm feeling, and I hope you are happy, too.
Her mind took her back to Jean-Claude and their last moments in Venice station, with the kitten between them. 'Don't cry!' he had said, giving her his handkerchief to wipe her tears. 'I'll miss you more than you'll miss me!' Only a week had gone by and here she was, in Paul's bed, in the Goan warm, tropical winter. She thought of the dream in which Jean-Claude had accompanied her along the canal and entrusted her to Paul. Had it been a premonition? In a way, he had been a bridge between the past, full of suffering, void of respect, and this present moment. Without his love that had helped her believe she could be loved, she wouldn't have had the quiet confidence to accept that Paul wanted her. Her heart clenched, thinking of Jean-Claude. Did he realize how much he had given her? She hoped he was happy.
Paul still wasn't back. He had probably gone to see Karen. They had a lot to sort out and maybe they were talking about it right now; five years together was a long time. Maria was happy to be here at this time and have the opportunity to console him in his sadness, even if it was only for a day or two. It was an auspicious beginning for her new trip in India!
Just then Paul came back; she saw his body silhouetted against the light coming in through the door. He approached, holding up his sarong in front of him, and let dozens of fragrant white flowers fall onto the bed and in her lap: a cascade of perfume!
Maria laughed, amused and touched: "They're beautiful! I've seen them before; are they real? They look like wax, or rubber!" The scent emanating from the flowers was so strong that her question didn't need an answer.
"Of course! They're frangipani," he replied. "There is a tree not far away. It has only flowers and no leaves; during the night they fall to the ground. I went to pick them up for you."
"How romantic!" she laughed, feeling happy. "I thought you had gone to see Karen," she added, "... to talk."
"No, not at all! I went to pick flowers for you," he said, kissing her on the lips, sitting on the bed and wrapping his arm around her waist."What are you doing today?" he asked. She had to go home and remove her contact lenses, which she had left in overnight, and then she wanted to paint. He had to write three long articles for the travel magazine he worked for.
They went out into the sunshine together, Paul's arm around her shoulders. At that very moment Karen was approaching the house and, when she saw them, she slowed down abruptly; even without glasses she could see that Paul was happy. They saw her at the same time. Maria moved away from him, but Paul didn't let her go and instead brought her firmly to his side and held her close. "Shall we meet tonight?" he asked, looking into her eyes.
"Yes, okay...," replied Maria, uncertain. "Today I'll paint and then..." Karen had slowed down even more. "But… you two...?" she added hesitantly, looking at Karen out of the corner of her eye. Paul interrupted her: "There is no more 'us two'. She's made her choice," he said firmly, "and I know what I want: I want to be with you. I'll pick you up around seven o'clock. I'll introduce you to some people I love very much." He didn't seem to be in a hurry and Karen had almost stopped. "Where are you going to paint?" he asked.
"I don't know yet. Do you have any suggestions?"
"Yes! Carry on this way for a while," he said, indicating the path ahead, "until you are in line with the chai-shop, but stay on top of the escarpment; from there, there is a spectacular view. Many times I thought I'd like to paint that image."
"Do you paint, too?"
"No, but I like those who do!" he said, laughing. He hugged her and kissed her again on the lips. Then he broke his embrace and Maria turned away, looking at Karen; she smiled timidly at her. Karen returned her an unsure, confused smile.
As soon as she got home, Rossana, Margo, Betty and also the Frenchman, wanted to know everything, word for word, in fine detail, or at least as far as Maria was willing to tell them without feeling embarrassed.
"Just you look at this one!" said Margo. "She's only just arrived and has got herself the most handsome man in Goa!"
"How did you do it?" asked Rossana, who was happy for her.
"I did next to nothing; this time he did everything," replied Maria.
"See that there was a reason for you to come here with me, instead of going to Colva? If you had gone to Colva you wouldn't have met him, would you?" Rossana said triumphantly. She was right! Maria hadn't even thought of that.
That evening at seven o'clock Paul arrived at the house, causing a lot of excitement; they were all waiting for him, pretending to be busy with lots of things to do. The girls were fascinated by him and strove to say something interesting in English; even the Frenchman was excited to meet him. Paul sat on the porch, happy to get to know her friends. He wanted to see what she had painted and praised her work. He promised to accompany her every day to see different places where she could paint, he knew the area well. Then, he took her to a restaurant nestled in the forest behind Vagator, run by a Goan family that was almost 'his' family. Lily and Peter had five children, four girls and one boy, who was the youngest; they all worked in the restaurant and were very friendly. He told her that Karen had been at his house the whole day; she was confused, no longer sure that she wanted to separate from him. Maria wasn't surprised and told him that she had been in a similar situation with her first boyfriend; she understood how hard it was to make such a difficult decision. At that time she had felt awful, because she knew she was causing him pain, as he still loved her. "Five years is a long time," she said thoughtfully. "Would you like to get back with her?" she asked, expecting an honest answer.
"No, I don't! I know what I want; it is here now, and I'm looking at her!"
She didn't expect this response and felt she was blushing. He was paying her a huge compliment, but was also giving her a lot of responsibility for his happiness. "How can you be so sure? We hardly know each other," she said cautiously.
Paul looked at her in silence, at her eyes, her hair, her mouth, her throat, and then back to her eyes: "I have always known you, Maria, I've only just found you again! Can't you feel it?"
She was puzzled. "I don't know, I haven't thought about it. I thought... I'm not used to things like that," she mumbled.
"Neither am I! It's not the kind of thing I do every weekend," he said, amused. When he smiled, small wrinkles formed around his eyes, and made him even more fascinating. "I know I want to be with you tonight, tomorrow night, and the night after, and then again. This is all I know. Isn't it enough?"
She felt burning with emotion, and surprise. "Maybe you're right," she said, blushing. "But let's take it slowly, one day at a time, if you don't mind."
"That's fine by me, as long as you are with me," he said, touching her foot with his.
That evening, while she was in his arms, Maria, who hadn't stopped thinking about what he had said, asked him: "How can you say that you've always known me? What makes you think that?"
Paul removed the arm he was hugging her with and propped himself up on one elbow, his head resting on his hand, and looked at her: "Do you remember the first time we met?"
"On the bus to Manali?"
"Yes. And you were wearing that funny sari."
"How could I ever forget! Franca had persuaded me to wear a sari, so we didn't look like tourists!" They both laughed.
"The first time you looked at me I felt something very strong in here," Paul said, pointing to his chest. "And then, when you started to cry, climbing through the mud of the landslide, I felt there was a powerful bond, even though at that time I didn't do anything to help you, because I couldn't!"
Maria thought back to those moments, she had found his presence magnetic. "For me too, it was powerful. It seemed as if time had stopped and I kept thinking about you," she said, thinking back to that time.
"Then you came to smoke in our room and I watched you without being noticed," continued Paul. "I wanted to make love to you on that bed, and if I could have..."
Oh… really? And she thought it was all in her head. "You taught me to smoke from the chillum, with your hands around mine. It was a very strong emotion!"
"I wished I could have been alone with you just then," he said, looking into her eyes, kissing her on the lips.
"And then you gave me your address!"
"Yes, which I'd never given to anyone else. That was an excuse to make you sit next to me, and there was a small chance that you might visit. Why didn't you come to see me? After all, you were close by."
"Because I liked you too much. What could I do? I would have been unable to say a word, embarrassed by the way I felt. And there was Karen, I couldn't do that to her."
Paul nodded. He went on to confide: "Then we met again in Vashist; another 'coincidence'. I don't believe in coincidences. You were even more beautiful! After the restaurant, when we went to make charas and then inside the temple, I couldn't keep away from you, I was attracted to you like to a compelling magnet."
She remembered how alive she felt when he was close to her, when he embraced her and later, teaching her how to make charas. So, the feelings were mutual, while she had always driven those thoughts away as pure fantasy.
"I thought about you every day, wondering where you were, what you were doing, if I'd ever see you again," confessed Paul.
She was speechless with surprise. Then, her thoughts, her dream, were not just a figment of her imagination; they were coming from him, too, thousands of miles away.
"I chanted for you, many times," she recalled.
"What do you mean?"
"I repeated this phrase, a sort of mantra, many times, thinking of you, for your happiness, because I wanted you to be happy."
He wanted to know what the sentence was and Maria said it to him.
"And you chanted it because you wanted me to be happy?" He looked at her in surprise.
"Yes, when I was chanting, and you were coming to my mind, I would send you my wish, which flew on these words. I wanted your happiness, even if I wasn't going to be part of it… I just wanted you to be happy."
Paul hugged her tight. After a long pause he said: "I'm touched, Maria. You did well to chant that phrase. As you can see, it worked! You have to teach it to me, too."
All the time he could take out from his work they spent together. While he was writing during the day, Maria went to the beach with the girls or painted. Late in the afternoon Paul would come and pick her up from her house and he'd take her to see new places along the coast or inland, in the 'jungle'. They were places that could be a subject, or offer inspiration, for her paintings. She watched him as he talked with people: he was kind, friendly, treating everybody with respect, with calm and quiet confidence; everyone liked him, men, women, the young and the old. They spent every night together.
One morning she woke up early and decided to go to the beach; she wanted to chant while it was still deserted, so she could do it aloud. Then she would begin a new painting. She took with her some paper, colours and paintbrushes, and went out in the cool, damp early morning air. The chai-shop was still closed; she was the first to arrive. She sat on a bench and began to chant, watching the sea. When she felt energized and happy, she laid paper and colours on a table and began to paint. The chai-shop man arrived within half an hour. "Chai?" he asked with a smile. "Yes, please, I'd love some!"
Soon, more people arrived and they all came over to observe her work, exchanging a few words. Having to go for a pee, she walked into the forest behind the chai-shop and stopped near the small stream. As she was bending down, she noticed a long snake, of an unbelievably bright yellow colour, a few steps away from her. Instead of moving away, she thought that since she was born in the year of the snake, this creature would 'recognize' her; she stooped to pee, her eyes fixed on the big reptile. The snake reacted badly to her proximity and leapt toward her, almost flying. Maria darted to the side and moved several metres away, surprised by the snake's reaction and disturbed by her incredible naivety.
She returned to the chai-shop sweating, her legs trembling, and shared with everybody the experience she'd just had. She was finishing her story when she saw Paul approaching. He hadn't yet reached the chai-shop when he said: "I had the strangest dream, I dreamed of a snake." All the people present looked at Maria.
"What colour was it?" she asked.
"Bright yellow!" he replied.
That weekend they went to a distant shore, a very special place where, next to the sea, there was a fresh-water lake. They had walked for many hours to get there and decided to spend the night sleeping on the beach, returning to Vagator the next day. Later in the evening they settled their sleeping bags under a tall palm tree.
"The other day you told me it's not a good idea to stop under coconut trees," recalled Maria.
Paul pointed his flashlight upward and said: "There isn't a single coconut on this palm tree, look!" They had been lying down for a while when Maria felt Paul's breathing change; he had already fallen asleep. A strong feeling of uneasiness came over her, becoming more and more insistent; eventually she couldn't ignore it any longer. She shook him, called him and finally managed to wake him up.
"I was already asleep," he groaned.
"Yes, I know, I'm sorry, but can we swap places? Come and lie down here, I'll swap with you."
"Why? I'm sleeping!" Paul resisted.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry, but please, let's swap!"
Unwillingly, he exchanged places with her. In the middle of the night, she heard a thud next to her head, felt a rush of air and the earth shuddered; they both woke up. "What was that?" she asked, in the dark.
"I don't know," Paul replied, lighting his torch.
A coconut in its green and pointed bark, big as a football, had fallen from the top of the palm tree and had landed in the sand, one inch from Maria's head, where a few hours before Paul's blond head had been resting!
Day after day they were getting to know each other better, in a relationship where words were often unnecessary, and the idea of separating seemed inconceivable. Every day he told her that he loved her, nobody had ever said it so convincingly and so often; it was a new experience and she didn't know whether it was wise to get used to it. The need to protect herself from pain regularly raised its head and said: 'Be careful Maria, words are easy to say. Maybe this is just the way he is and, who knows, one day he could suddenly change.'
One evening, sitting on the wall of Lily and Peter's restaurant, waiting for the dinner they had ordered, Maria asked him if he had had some nice love stories. Thinking of her own, she could remember one, the one with Jean-Claude, and even that was only a half nice story, the other half was Céline's. And yes, her first relationship had been a good one, but habit had suffocated it. Paul didn't have to think about it long. He began to tell her about the relationship with Patricia, three wonderful years; then there had been Louise, a beautiful woman, two great years; then Valentina, ah she was amazing, tall, beautiful, interesting; and then the other... Maria listened, more and more serious, as he recounted, going on and on. The grilled fish with chips arrived but, meanwhile, she had lost her appetite. 'See that's what I warned you about?' her mind told her, putting her on guard. 'Although this with you is a beautiful story, it's just one more to add to the other great stories of his life. And what did you think, little romantic woman, to be the special one, different from all the others? That such a man would stay with you? He is handsome, romantic and clearly has good stories. You are but one of them, with a beginning and an end. Careful not to get hurt; don't get burned again!'
In her heart, she distanced herself, and began to think about leaving. How much longer could she stay in Goa? Everyone said they'd never leave. She had a six-month visa and when that ran out, what would she do? He lived in India, she lived in Italy. Her mind, always ready to help, said 'Better to suffer a little now than to suffer a lot later.'
A few days later, sitting on the same wall, she let him know that she was leaving.
"When? Why?" Paul asked, visibly shocked. Because she had come all this way to see India and had made plans. As much as Goa was beautiful and they were having a great time, she didn't want to end up like everyone else and stay for months. And he, did he necessarily have to work from Goa?
"I've got another week's work," he said. "After that I could join you!"
'One week, the famous Goan week,' her mind pointed out. 'What did you expect?'
"I'm going to Hampi and I will stop there a week. Then I'll go down to Mysore, but that's a big city. If you come to Hampi you'll find me, otherwise it will be more difficult," she announced. She had no great hopes; there was the saying 'Out of sight, out of mind!' It had become famous for a reason, right?
That evening Paul held her tight, he told her he respected her decision although he didn't like it. After completing his work he had to leave his house; maybe in a week he could make it, but she wasn't giving him much time. He was thinking aloud, Maria was listening, but didn't want to have any expectations. The girls were just as surprised by her decision. Why was she doing that? She had found such a man, and she was leaving? Couldn't she at least wait for him? They didn't agree with her decision; Rossana was especially shocked.
And where would they see one another again? They made plans and decided to meet in Kathmandu at the end of spring. It was hard to leave Goa, it was true, and the only way to do so was to buy a ticket. Hampi was one and a half day's travel away, a place almost unknown outside India. It had once been the capital of one of the many kingdoms, where thousands of beautiful stone temples had been built in an imposing architecture.
Paul took her to the bus station; they had slept very little. He held her tight until she had to get on board: "I can't stand to see you go. I wish I could go with you."
"I'll be at Hampi's bus station in a week's time. If you decide to come, you'll find me there."
"I will come!" he assured her. She settled on a window seat. Paul held her hand from the outside. When the bus started to move he kissed her hand, then followed her with his eyes, as the bus drove away. He waved and smiled, but Maria could see his sadness; he was confused and worried.
Paul removed the arm he was hugging her with and propped himself up on one elbow, his head resting on his hand, and looked at her: "Do you remember the first time we met?"
"On the bus to Manali?"
"Yes. And you were wearing that funny sari."
"How could I ever forget! Franca had persuaded me to wear a sari, so we didn't look like tourists!" They both laughed.
"The first time you looked at me I felt something very strong in here," Paul said, pointing to his chest. "And then, when you started to cry, climbing through the mud of the landslide, I felt there was a powerful bond, even though at that time I didn't do anything to help you, because I couldn't!"
Maria thought back to those moments, she had found his presence magnetic. "For me too, it was powerful. It seemed as if time had stopped and I kept thinking about you," she said, thinking back to that time.
"Then you came to smoke in our room and I watched you without being noticed," continued Paul. "I wanted to make love to you on that bed, and if I could have..."
Oh… really? And she thought it was all in her head. "You taught me to smoke from the chillum, with your hands around mine. It was a very strong emotion!"
"I wished I could have been alone with you just then," he said, looking into her eyes, kissing her on the lips.
"And then you gave me your address!"
"Yes, which I'd never given to anyone else. That was an excuse to make you sit next to me, and there was a small chance that you might visit. Why didn't you come to see me? After all, you were close by."
"Because I liked you too much. What could I do? I would have been unable to say a word, embarrassed by the way I felt. And there was Karen, I couldn't do that to her."
Paul nodded. He went on to confide: "Then we met again in Vashist; another 'coincidence'. I don't believe in coincidences. You were even more beautiful! After the restaurant, when we went to make charas and then inside the temple, I couldn't keep away from you, I was attracted to you like to a compelling magnet."
She remembered how alive she felt when he was close to her, when he embraced her and later, teaching her how to make charas. So, the feelings were mutual, while she had always driven those thoughts away as pure fantasy.
"I thought about you every day, wondering where you were, what you were doing, if I'd ever see you again," confessed Paul.
She was speechless with surprise. Then, her thoughts, her dream, were not just a figment of her imagination; they were coming from him, too, thousands of miles away.
"I chanted for you, many times," she recalled.
"What do you mean?"
"I repeated this phrase, a sort of mantra, many times, thinking of you, for your happiness, because I wanted you to be happy."
He wanted to know what the sentence was and Maria said it to him.
"And you chanted it because you wanted me to be happy?" He looked at her in surprise.
"Yes, when I was chanting, and you were coming to my mind, I would send you my wish, which flew on these words. I wanted your happiness, even if I wasn't going to be part of it… I just wanted you to be happy."
Paul hugged her tight. After a long pause he said: "I'm touched, Maria. You did well to chant that phrase. As you can see, it worked! You have to teach it to me, too."
All the time he could take out from his work they spent together. While he was writing during the day, Maria went to the beach with the girls or painted. Late in the afternoon Paul would come and pick her up from her house and he'd take her to see new places along the coast or inland, in the 'jungle'. They were places that could be a subject, or offer inspiration, for her paintings. She watched him as he talked with people: he was kind, friendly, treating everybody with respect, with calm and quiet confidence; everyone liked him, men, women, the young and the old. They spent every night together.
One morning she woke up early and decided to go to the beach; she wanted to chant while it was still deserted, so she could do it aloud. Then she would begin a new painting. She took with her some paper, colours and paintbrushes, and went out in the cool, damp early morning air. The chai-shop was still closed; she was the first to arrive. She sat on a bench and began to chant, watching the sea. When she felt energized and happy, she laid paper and colours on a table and began to paint. The chai-shop man arrived within half an hour. "Chai?" he asked with a smile. "Yes, please, I'd love some!"
Soon, more people arrived and they all came over to observe her work, exchanging a few words. Having to go for a pee, she walked into the forest behind the chai-shop and stopped near the small stream. As she was bending down, she noticed a long snake, of an unbelievably bright yellow colour, a few steps away from her. Instead of moving away, she thought that since she was born in the year of the snake, this creature would 'recognize' her; she stooped to pee, her eyes fixed on the big reptile. The snake reacted badly to her proximity and leapt toward her, almost flying. Maria darted to the side and moved several metres away, surprised by the snake's reaction and disturbed by her incredible naivety.
She returned to the chai-shop sweating, her legs trembling, and shared with everybody the experience she'd just had. She was finishing her story when she saw Paul approaching. He hadn't yet reached the chai-shop when he said: "I had the strangest dream, I dreamed of a snake." All the people present looked at Maria.
"What colour was it?" she asked.
"Bright yellow!" he replied.
That weekend they went to a distant shore, a very special place where, next to the sea, there was a fresh-water lake. They had walked for many hours to get there and decided to spend the night sleeping on the beach, returning to Vagator the next day. Later in the evening they settled their sleeping bags under a tall palm tree.
"The other day you told me it's not a good idea to stop under coconut trees," recalled Maria.
Paul pointed his flashlight upward and said: "There isn't a single coconut on this palm tree, look!" They had been lying down for a while when Maria felt Paul's breathing change; he had already fallen asleep. A strong feeling of uneasiness came over her, becoming more and more insistent; eventually she couldn't ignore it any longer. She shook him, called him and finally managed to wake him up.
"I was already asleep," he groaned.
"Yes, I know, I'm sorry, but can we swap places? Come and lie down here, I'll swap with you."
"Why? I'm sleeping!" Paul resisted.
"I know, I know, I'm sorry, but please, let's swap!"
Unwillingly, he exchanged places with her. In the middle of the night, she heard a thud next to her head, felt a rush of air and the earth shuddered; they both woke up. "What was that?" she asked, in the dark.
"I don't know," Paul replied, lighting his torch.
A coconut in its green and pointed bark, big as a football, had fallen from the top of the palm tree and had landed in the sand, one inch from Maria's head, where a few hours before Paul's blond head had been resting!
Day after day they were getting to know each other better, in a relationship where words were often unnecessary, and the idea of separating seemed inconceivable. Every day he told her that he loved her, nobody had ever said it so convincingly and so often; it was a new experience and she didn't know whether it was wise to get used to it. The need to protect herself from pain regularly raised its head and said: 'Be careful Maria, words are easy to say. Maybe this is just the way he is and, who knows, one day he could suddenly change.'
One evening, sitting on the wall of Lily and Peter's restaurant, waiting for the dinner they had ordered, Maria asked him if he had had some nice love stories. Thinking of her own, she could remember one, the one with Jean-Claude, and even that was only a half nice story, the other half was Céline's. And yes, her first relationship had been a good one, but habit had suffocated it. Paul didn't have to think about it long. He began to tell her about the relationship with Patricia, three wonderful years; then there had been Louise, a beautiful woman, two great years; then Valentina, ah she was amazing, tall, beautiful, interesting; and then the other... Maria listened, more and more serious, as he recounted, going on and on. The grilled fish with chips arrived but, meanwhile, she had lost her appetite. 'See that's what I warned you about?' her mind told her, putting her on guard. 'Although this with you is a beautiful story, it's just one more to add to the other great stories of his life. And what did you think, little romantic woman, to be the special one, different from all the others? That such a man would stay with you? He is handsome, romantic and clearly has good stories. You are but one of them, with a beginning and an end. Careful not to get hurt; don't get burned again!'
In her heart, she distanced herself, and began to think about leaving. How much longer could she stay in Goa? Everyone said they'd never leave. She had a six-month visa and when that ran out, what would she do? He lived in India, she lived in Italy. Her mind, always ready to help, said 'Better to suffer a little now than to suffer a lot later.'
A few days later, sitting on the same wall, she let him know that she was leaving.
"When? Why?" Paul asked, visibly shocked. Because she had come all this way to see India and had made plans. As much as Goa was beautiful and they were having a great time, she didn't want to end up like everyone else and stay for months. And he, did he necessarily have to work from Goa?
"I've got another week's work," he said. "After that I could join you!"
'One week, the famous Goan week,' her mind pointed out. 'What did you expect?'
"I'm going to Hampi and I will stop there a week. Then I'll go down to Mysore, but that's a big city. If you come to Hampi you'll find me, otherwise it will be more difficult," she announced. She had no great hopes; there was the saying 'Out of sight, out of mind!' It had become famous for a reason, right?
That evening Paul held her tight, he told her he respected her decision although he didn't like it. After completing his work he had to leave his house; maybe in a week he could make it, but she wasn't giving him much time. He was thinking aloud, Maria was listening, but didn't want to have any expectations. The girls were just as surprised by her decision. Why was she doing that? She had found such a man, and she was leaving? Couldn't she at least wait for him? They didn't agree with her decision; Rossana was especially shocked.
And where would they see one another again? They made plans and decided to meet in Kathmandu at the end of spring. It was hard to leave Goa, it was true, and the only way to do so was to buy a ticket. Hampi was one and a half day's travel away, a place almost unknown outside India. It had once been the capital of one of the many kingdoms, where thousands of beautiful stone temples had been built in an imposing architecture.
Paul took her to the bus station; they had slept very little. He held her tight until she had to get on board: "I can't stand to see you go. I wish I could go with you."
"I'll be at Hampi's bus station in a week's time. If you decide to come, you'll find me there."
"I will come!" he assured her. She settled on a window seat. Paul held her hand from the outside. When the bus started to move he kissed her hand, then followed her with his eyes, as the bus drove away. He waved and smiled, but Maria could see his sadness; he was confused and worried.
To go to chapter 31 click here:Chapter 31
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