Chapter 26
Death and Dying
“To my trusted comrade of the Soviet:
The lightly falling rain rolled off of every surface of the saturated jungle. The first deluge of monsoon rains had penetrated every object, and tiny rivulets transformed the predawn morning into a dreary, eerie, and misty world. The rainy season had begun. With the monsoons’ arrival, Tom’s feelings of absolute freedom departed on silent, and invisible, wings. Gone was his seemingly unlimited freedom of movement, his freedom of action; and, the freedom of light and heady thoughts that accompanied them. It felt like an onerous weight of humidity and despondency had been set upon his physical and spiritual worlds simultaneously. Much of his lightheartedness and positive outlook had been influenced by the heretofore unappreciated, yet wonderful, weather conditions. But the sun was suddenly gone, and the closeness of the jungle became oppressive - accentuated by the steadily rising humidity, and muted shadows. The sudden shift made Tom even more eager to complete his trek. He was physically exhausted, and emotionally tired. It had been hard going. While his blisters felt better after the Reiki woman‘s ministrations, they still hurt. He’d pushed himself too hard the days before, and his lack of sleep wore heavily on his spirits.
“Now I’ve got worry about the damned leaches!” he groaned under his breath.
Along with the suddenly close and damp environment came the remembered stories about leaches.
“As if rats climbing on the rafters above my head all night wasn’t enough, but now leaches?” he worried.
The discomforting thoughts weighed upon his tired nerves. Other hikers had warned Thomas about monsoon conditions. The main warning was of dangerously rising waters from flash floods; and the other less dangerous, but more offensive, one was about the tree leaches. They lived deep within the thick and soft humus layer of dirt and decaying debris during most of the year; but reproduced during the rainy season. He‘d been told that they inched their way up the tree trunks to the upper branches of the trees.
“For food?” he wondered.
They moved among the branches and leaves of the huge trees of the forest canopy high above. When it rained however, they often fell back to the ground. Because they were so numerous, they often landed on unaware hikers below. Once attached to a person’s skin, it required chemical or burning embers to remove them. Continuous thoughts of the rats and leaches threatened to creep Tom out, totally; so he consciously broke off the train of thought, and sought out the Kiwis to get moving.
“The sooner we leave, the sooner we get to Pokhara,” he reasoned.
Knocking on their door, Tom spoke loud enough to wake them.
“Hello my little Kiwis! Are we ready to eat?”
Michael came to the door after a few knocks; opened it, and stood in the misty gloom in his boxers, rubbing his sleepy eyes.
“Wassssup, mate?”
“I thought you guys wanted to get an early start of it?” responded Tom.
“That we did! Aren't we the eager one T’day? Give us a minute,” he said, as he turned aside and spoke to his sleeping friend.
“You don’t want to be going, now?” Tom heard him ask.
“I do!” he responded, indignantly. “Thomas is here, and blazing to go. We’ll be leaving, and you blokes can catch up w’it us. How’s bout that?” he asked his near comatose friends.
Tom couldn’t hear the replies, but he could tell that Michael was the only one that was awake; and anywhere near ready to leave.
“That’s it then, we’ll see you,” Michael said to his friends - then turned back to face Tom at the door.
“I’ll meet yas in the dining room in fifteen minutes, Thomas. They can catch up w’it us later.”
“I’ll order some Tsampa porridge for us, then. See you in a few,” replied Thomas.
Tom was relieved to be traveling with Michael alone. While he could be a personal challenge, he was entertaining company, and a good hiker.
“He isn’t such a bad guy, just a bit self possessed,” Tom rationalized to himself. “It could be fun.....”
Tom went back, and ordered breakfast; but was soon surprised to find that Michaels friend, Geoff, and the obnoxious American man came along with Michael.
“They decided to git movin, after all,” he commented bluntly to Tom, as he walked past him to the cook.
Tom could tell that Michael wasn’t really excited about the prospect, but he couldn’t exactly tell what was up with him either.
“Whatever,” thought Thomas. “Just so we get there.”
He tried to ignore the glaring stare from Geoff, and the open belligerence of the older American man. No one was in particularly great spirits, but Tom and Michael began to tease each other over breakfast, and brightened from their mutual efforts. The other two remained silent. Tom winced to see the American guy placing white sterile pads over his sores, and rewrapping his feet and ankles tightly with Ace bandages. His feet and ankles were covered in wide-open bloody sores.
“Should you be hiking like that?” asked Tom, innocently.
“What do you expect me to do, let you guys win the circuit? I’ve come this far, I’ll make it the rest of the way.”
“Win what circuit? It’s just a hike, man. You’re going to permanently damage yourself if you aren't careful,” added Tom, sincerely.
“Let me worry about that, and mind your own business!”
“Fine, it’s your body! Sorry for taking an interest ....”
The man only grumbled, and groaned as he squeezed his swollen feet into his hiking boots.
“Lets be going now!” the man blustered to Michael and Geoff.
Michael thought it was funny to see the guy messing himself up; so, he pulled on his pack, and began walking. Geoff followed behind the two obsessed hikers, and Tom pulled up the rear.
“At least Michael’s fully awake, and ready to hike like the hiking fool that he is,” thought Tom.
Michael literally danced along the trails, and the heavyset American man bellowed as he labored to maintain a close second. Everyone could tell that he was in pain, but the man acted like a rabid bulldog - so sympathy was low for his rantings. He wouldn’t take care of himself, nor even accept a hand-up in close quarters; so everyone left him to his self-induced misery. He doggedly kept on Michael’s heels, despite his pain, and thereby kept Michael moving at a breakneck pace. Geoff could barely keep up with them, and Tom didn’t even try. He hung back, and tried to set a steady pace for himself.
“I’ll keep a good pace, like I always have, and just keep moving,” he decided to himself.
“Let them go wherever, I’ll keep within range,” he reasoned.
Tom could see the men ahead of him, especially when they were on the open switchback of the mountain hugging trail. But, at times, the jungle closed in on the trails, and they were lost to each other‘s sight. At one point, Tom decided to stop in a little village to buy everyone candy bars, and catch his breath - while he could still see the guys ahead of him on the open trail. They had hiked, nonstop, for a couple of hours, and Tom thought that a Snickers bar might brighten all their spirits - giving them a reason to rest, and bringing them together. They’d hiked through various villages, and Tom had found all of the villages strangely quiet. At first he attributed the pervasive dreariness to the start of the rains, but then he studied the people’s faces and saw that they were oddly sad and depressed. People everywhere were unnaturally quiet. No one was doing anything - they just sat, and stared, as if in a state of collective despair.
“Its much more than rainy weather,” though Thomas. The tension was palatable, although his hiking partners were apparently oblivious, being too wrapped up in their hiking drama.
Stopping in a little shop, Tom bought four large Snickers candy bars, and he used the opportunity to start a conversation with the shopkeeper.
“What’s wrong? Everyone, in every village we hike through, seems very upset. Its not just the rains, is it?“
“Did you not hear?” the man asked Tom in surprise.
“I’m so sorry,” replied Tom, meekly.
“We loved our king, like our own father......and he loved his people. He will be missed, and who knows what will happen now?”
“How’d they get killed?”
“No one really knows; but it is said that his-self, the prince, was quite angry that his parents didn’t approve of his marriage to an Indian woman. So he shot them, and then himself.”
“Do you believe that?” asked Tom.
“What is there to believe or to not believe? They are dead! This is very, very, bad for everyone.”
“Not so bad for the Maoists or communists, though, eh?” responded Tom, fishing for details.
Struck into silence, the Nepali man stopped talking to Tom altogether; obviously scared to even comment on the possibility. Giving up, Tom lurched off on a near sprint to catch up with his hiking mates.
“Jesus guys, hold up a bit.”
Panting from the effort of running, and from the new pain of a slight cramp in his leg, Tom held out the candy bars to the other hikers.
“Thanks, mate,” replied the handsome Michael, with a twinkle in his starry blue eyes.
His kiwi partner, Geoff, wasn’t so appreciative - seeing his friend being too familiar with Tom. But, that didn’t stop him from taking a candy bar.
“Guys,” Tom started; but without waiting for a reply, continued....
“I just talked to the shopkeeper in that last village, and the reason why everyone is so weird today, is that the royal family was slaughtered last night in the palace in
Tom was a bit out of breath, so he stopped speaking; expecting the guys to provide some response, or show some recognition of his ‘breaking news.’ He was disappointed. They were nonplussed, and retained blank expressions on their faces.
‘And that means what to us?’ was the non-verbal reply Tom got from their looks.
The old guy started talking, as if Tom hadn‘t even spoken -pointedly ignoring anything he had to say.
“We need to keep moving, to catch that early bus. I don’t want to wait the rest of the day for the last bus of the day!”
With nods of assent, the Kiwis picked up their backpacks, and began to move once again. Stunned, and unwilling to accept their apathy, Tom felt that he had to say something.
“Guys, don’t you get it? There’s a good chance that we’re going to get mixed up in a civil war here. The King was loved by the people, but he was performing a touchy balancing act with the Maoists, the other Chinese, and the Hindus. With him gone, obviously killed by one of the groups wanting control, the place is going to be a mess. We need to be careful, and to keep together. I hiked past armed mercenary soldiers looking for Maoists the other day, and none of them were very happy........now this! We’ve got to be really careful, ok?”
Tom, for all his efforts of warning, caution, and even a mini-political science lecture, was rewarded with distain. Tom could almost hear their thoughts, with looks of: ‘who gives a fuck?’
‘We just want to be the first to get to Pokhara, so we can say we finished the circuit ahead of everyone else.’
Without saying a word of what they thought, they pointedly ignored Toms comments; and, began walking off, in single file, onto the trail. The last guy was the Kiwi Geoff. His ‘reply’ to Tom’s legitimate concerns, was a sardonic grin. Tom was stunned. Not so much by being blown off, but by their choice to remain ignorant.
“Obviously, Geoff has portrayed me as being goofy to the others. All he’s concerned about is retaining his ‘place’ among his buddies. How can they choose to consider anything as ‘trivial’ as a civil war?” he asked himself, sarcastically.
Tom couldn’t fathom the arrogance, and blatant ignorance, inherent in their blind obsession with the hiking alone - totally ignoring the world in which they walked. Then, to top it off, he was shocked at their very real efforts to retain their ignorance. He knew that the trek alone was enough of a challenge to most of the hikers, but he expected more from these men. They weren't challenged by the hike, they were morally challenged.
“They understand, they just don’t care,” he realized, sadly.
Internationally recognized as the best trekking course in the world, their only purpose in coming to
“That’s why they’d obviously told stories to the other hikers when they left early for the pass,” realized Thomas. “It was just another method of ditching other hikers, in their blind quest for hormonal dominance.”
The Dutch guys, of course, had fallen victim to the ego competition; and therefore, didn’t even take the time to wake Tom on the morning they were all to cross the pass. While Tom had assumed that Michael wanted to hike with him because he liked Tom, it was clear to Tom that their lackluster start this morning was due only to their fear that Tom might somehow beat them, if he went off alone.
“They didn’t really want to leave today. They’re tired, and it’s rainy, and miserable.“
But, they had come because Tom had woken them; and, they didn’t want to be left behind - as they had left many others.
“The worst ego monster is that American asshole! He just included himself, when he heard us moving. The poor bastard shouldn’t be hiking in his condition; and to top that, he’s racing Michael!” thought Thomas.
The man’s blisters were deep, nearly down to his bone. Covering his feet and ankles, they were painful just to look at.
“All he did, was wrap his feet in gauze and socks. He’s fricken driven, and isn’t even thinking of the damage he’s doing to his body........ just for bragging rights.”
Tom had seen tears roll down the man’s cheeks when he put his boots on earlier. As much as he fought the tears, they came unbidden, and unwelcome - due to the intense pain he was feeling. Tom watched now, in sick silence, as the man literally ran manically through the woods - all in order to be the first person to finish the circuit. The ironic thing was that he was running for all the wrong reasons, but it would probably help him anyway - depending upon what happened in the days to come. The amazing thing to Tom was that the important reasons didn’t even sink in, given his obsessive drive to win at all costs. Tom held out one last shred of hope for the guys, and voiced it loudly.
“Geoff,” he yelled at the vanishing back.
Geoff turned impatiently, and responded testily: “Yeah?”
“Hey, don’t lose me, and get too far ahead. Tell everyone that I’ve got to move slower because of my leg. I’m getting cramps, and need to be careful.”
“Oh, ok,” was all Tom got in reply - and in a none-too-convincing tone of voice.
Regardless, Tom got up slowly, and put on his heavy pack. It seemed much heavier than ever before, and he labored under its weight. He couldn’t tell if that was attributable to the rain, his leg cramps, the news of the royal family’s demise, or to his growing disillusionment with his hiking mates; or, to all four things. He no longer cared, and decided to press on - regardless of what his fellow Trekkers did. He resolved then, to get back to the relative safety of
“God Damn it! God Damn it! Fuck it!!!” he shouted; expressing his stupid luck, and the full realization of his injury.
Almost as quickly his body’s messages of pain went to his brain, his thoughts ran wildly, and he began talking to himself.
“Why are you cursing God, idiot?” he admonished himself, out loud.
“It’s your own s.t.u.p.i.d. fault...not anyone else’s! Get a grip on yourself, man!”
“Hang on stupid....you’re talking to yourself! Get a grip, and keep it! This is bullshit! It isn’t going to help you get up. Calm down. Just calm the fuck down!” he commanded his troubled mind, to still his rising panic.
He rolled over, onto his right side, and laboriously pulled himself up - into a seated position. The pain didn’t abate, however - it only got worse. But, he was no longer face down in the mud, lying downhill. It was a minor consolation, but at least his self dignity and equilibrium had been restored.
“I don’t need blood rushing to my head. It will make me black out,” he reasoned.
“Of all days, this is not the day to end up helpless,” he worried.
He then tried to reassure himself that he could still defend himself, or hide; if that became necessary. Survival suddenly became his overriding objective.
”Survive, Tom, survive,” his newly revised mantra sang through his consciousness.
“Don’t panic dude, you can get out of this. The guys aren't too far ahead; I can get help from them. Maybe a leg brace or something; or, just a shoulder to hang onto.”
He knew that the guys would stop for a break soon, and would wait for him to catch up.
“It’s the law of the trail.....stick together, and watch each other’s back,” he reasoned.
If he didn’t show up, the guys should start to backtrack - and look for him. But Tom wasn’t very sure of that; given the American guys’ obsession, and the Kiwis ‘need’ to keep up, or ahead, of him. They were in the final stretch of a multi-week trek. Winning was their obvious objective. So, Tom tried to get up and move....ever so slowly. He fell almost immediately, as his left leg buckled underneath from the mild pressure.
“Damn it!! This really sucks.”
Tom let his anger override his pain; further hardening his resolve to persevere, whatever the costs. He just had to make it through the day - however hard.
“I only have to make it to Pokhara; it should be relatively safe there,” he reassured himself.
With the fear of being stranded alone upon him, Tom tried to reassess the Nepali situation, to prepare himself for the worst. Besides the obvious emotional effects of losing their King and their entire government overnight, Tom had seen terrified looks in some faces - underlining the very real fear of guerilla warfare in their neighborhood. Tom expected, given the passionate nature of the Nepali men, and the seemingly orchestrated nature of the situation, that riots would ensue....if nothing else. The whole country was headed for years of instability, and Tom didn’t want to be part of the collateral damage of the initial uprising. The only place where he felt safe was in
“Fight the urge to panic, Thomas. Calm down,” he instructed himself, shakily, as the pain lanced through his leg.
He struggled to fight down panic; and, eventually, his resolve to persevere proved to be stronger. He willed himself to calmness, cleared his mind of everything; and forced himself to remain in a seated position, for ten minutes of complete silence. His leg began to feel a little better, and his muscles didn’t contract; so, he decided to rest longer. He didn’t want to make the injury worse by moving too soon. While lying thus prone, he mentally assessed the damage. Since the pain had abated upon resting, he was encouraged that it wasn’t a really bad injury; and that he might be able to walk, carefully. So, he stood up again; and tried to walk without putting pressure on his left foot. It was impossible to walk without any pressure on his left leg; but, the pain wasn’t as bad as it had been before. He felt sharp stabs of pain now and again; but not the blinding pain that he felt, when he’d pulled the muscle. As he walked, the stabs of pain increased in frequency and intensity; and he was forced to stop. He rested again, then limped along as best that he could for an hour, starting and stopping for rests. He finally stopped completely, to let the pain subside; and, to recollect his thoughts.
“I’ve got to get my head thinking straight enough to make a clear, and logical, strategy to get out of this situation,” he said; aloud, to hear his voice and to stay rational.
Accepting that he was ‘down’ for a while, and that he had to stay calm, Tom propped his body up against the trunk of an ancient tree. The huge tree stood upon a ridge which bordered the path - high above a twisted valley crevice.
“I’m not sure if valley is the right word,” he considered. “But it’s deeper and wider than a crevice. I guess valley makes more sense,” he thought, while trying to define it for his clouded mind.
But there wasn‘t a valley floor, only a trail that twisted down sharply, and turned upward on the opposing slope, as soon as it reached the bottom. The good thing about the deep cleft, and the treacherous trail, was that Tom could see the trail for a long distance ahead. It was the furthest that he had been able to see ahead all day, and that alone was reassuring. The trees were thick about the trail, but always to the right of the trail. The trail was, in fact, a narrow and exposed ridge cut into the slopes of two mountains, whose bases met at the bottom of the valley.
“So, technically it’s a valley, huh? Even if there isn‘t a plateau at the bottom,” he confirmed to himself, trying to let the recognition of proper nomenclature keep his thinking clear.
Even as he spoke the words aloud, his thoughts rebelled at his ludicrous train of thought.
“Focus, idjit! Focus!” he admonished himself.
The danger, he felt, was to lose his focus, and then determination, thus giving into defeat. He couldn‘t allow that to happen, his life might depend on staying alert. Although he didn‘t feel any immediate risk of personal danger, he instinctively knew that it didn’t take long for situations like his to go from bad to worse, really quickly. While he was busy propping himself up physically, and emotionally, he also surveyed the narrow path opposite his position - on the adjacent mountainside. There was someone coming into view, around the corner of the other mountain; and he was moving in grudgingly, and jerky, strides. Tom watched the person with a bit of hope, not feeling so quite alone; and, he could see that it was a fellow hiker. He was too tall to be a local, and had a tourist backpack, and clothes. As the person came into clearer view, Tom could see that it was Geoff, the disgruntled kiwi. Tom waved his hands and arms, and yelled out to him.
“Geoff, hello.....Geoff.....here...Here!” he yelled loudly.
Hope now rising, Tom didn‘t feel as desolate.
“Hey, Tom......hurry up mate! We have to get going,” Geoff shouted across the divide.
Saving his energy, by not coming further back on the trail, he stopped and yelled across to Tom. Still embarrassed about his condition, not wanting to be a burden, and knowing that Geoff really wasn‘t going to be helpful anyway, Tom moderated his reply.
“Ho there! Glad to see you. I’m moving a bit slow, I pulled a muscle a while back. Tell the guys to slow down and wait for me; we can‘t be alone anymore. I‘ll catch up in a bit.”
Tom could see the exasperated look on Geoff‘s face, even at the extreme distance; then his slumped shoulders at the recognition of the situation.
“Just go back and tell them to wait for me,” Tom suggested.
Then Geoff perked up a bit, his body language reflecting an internal decision.
“We ‘ave to keep moving mate, catch up when you can,“ he yelled to Tom.
He then turned quickly, and returned to his forward trek, at a near run, to catch up with his friends. He purposely left no time for Tom to reply. Tom‘s heart, and hope, sank once again. He wanted to trust that Geoff would do the right thing, but he didn‘t dare count on it. He had given no indication that he intended to do anything.
“But, at least they will wait for me at the village, with the bus. I’m alone, but not forgotten,” he rationalized.
Tom had no idea where that village even was, though; he had been depending upon the Kiwi‘s plan for the final leg of the trek into Pokhara. That’s what Michael had encouraged in him the night before.
”We know a way that will be the most direct, just come along with us,” he had told Tom.
Tom had been happy about the invitation, and had looked forward to Michael’s apparent goodwill, and entertaining company. Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure of his prior judgment. He had left himself dependant upon undependable people - the first time on the entire Trek.
“I hope I’m not just letting despair creep in,” he worried.
”They’ll wait,” he reassured himself.
“They know that I’m going to be delayed. So if I get really bad, and can‘t move, they’ll come back for me.”
Thus self reassured, Tom felt a little less pressured to push on too quickly. But, he decided, just like he had in other tough stretches of his trek through the mountains, that he had better keep moving anyway -just in case. However slow, it was important to him to not give in, and stop. He felt if he did that, he risked giving up on the effort; or, his leg muscles might totally freeze up, and thereby force him to stop for good.
“Keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving,” became his mantra de jour.
After a couple of hours of halting, and slow, progress he began feeling much more hopeful and positive that he was going to make it out of the jungle, and to the village.
“It’s a long day‘s trek, and certainly going to be my hardest and most painful - but its not impossible. It’s my last day, so I can afford to burn my last energy reserves. Just keep moving,” he urged himself onwards.
Even still, his body didn‘t listen to his mind, and his leg began to get worse. He knew, with bleak assurance, that it wouldn‘t be too much longer before he couldn‘t put any weight on it. So, he stopped, ostensibly to rest; but knew deep down, that he honestly couldn‘t go any further without assistance.......regardless of his positive, “self-help,” dialogue. After about forty five minutes, as despair threatened to creep in, he heard voices and noises ahead of him. There were people coming his way on the trail. Fear replaced growing despair, and he hid behind the tree he was resting against - until he could see who was coming. It was frustrating, and nerve wracking, because the trail was only visible for about a hundred yards, before it disappeared into the dense forest again. The voices, and noises of breaking brush, were getting louder, but were still indiscernible. He could tell that they were locals, not hikers, however, by the tone and inflection of the muted voices. The misty rain still fell continuously - light, but continual; and shrouded the world in gray. As Tom hid in the brush, behind the large tree, he tried to calm himself from unnecessary panic. But, another part of him knew that his reserves were low on everything, and he was more prone to panic than ever before. Therefore, it was with concentrated effort that he kept perfectly still - heightening his hearing to the point where he could hear the heavy drops of water falling off of the leaf canopy above. Every once in a while a few big drops would hit his head, or shoulders; so he began to feel the rhythm of the rain and trees. It was relaxing in a way, a nice ‘connection;‘ forced by mandatory silence, and quiet waiting. But still, his tension rose.
Tom‘s “Move, move, move,” mantra had shifted into a “quiet, patience, calm, patience. Quiet, patience, calm, patience....” mantra, that he spoke silently to himself.
After passing through the switchback ‘crevice-valley‘ where Tom had last spoken to Geoff, the trails had become denser with underbrush, narrower; and therefore, much harder to navigate. One side was mountain and trees, the other was a sheer cliff drop-off - of at least 400 feet. So, passing someone on the trails meant getting very close to them.....actually, feeling their breath on your face, close. The prospect of meeting someone hostile or just opportunistic, kept Tom’s nerves on edge. It wouldn‘t take much for two people to hold him, rob and strip him; then, throw his body down the mountainside. When, or if, his body was ever found, it would be unidentifiable - and his fall easily attributable to an accident. This easy cover-up possibility, worried Tom even further. That, and the brutal realization that in times of crisis, like the crisis Nepal was presently in, the good people usually stayed home; while the opportunistic, criminal types, ruled in the resulting chaos.
“Not good prospects,” thought Thomas.
“Not good at all, considering the collaborating fact that I haven‘t seen anyone on the trails at all today,” he said aloud.
“Damn, I’m talking to myself again.... Out loud even... FOOL!”
Tom tried to remain silent, but was nearly freaking out. As he sat, he felt abnormally large drops of rain fall upon his head and shoulders.
“Damn, I’m going to be soaked, Anna! And, double damn, I’m talking not only to a parrot again; but to a non-existent parrot at that!”
He moved to his right, to ease the stress on his left leg, and to keep the muscles within it moving. While shifting about, he placed his right hand on the ground - to steady his movement. His hand landed on the familiar tree debris of leaves, needles, and twigs; and then, encountered something big and slimy. His hand squished a big bug. He yanked up his hand, in total panic, to see that it was a huge leach! He totally freaked.....jumping to his feet, and put too much stress on his right leg. But, his reflexes didn‘t listen to anything logical. Tom’s mind registered instant revulsion, and his body’s reflexes responded with an immediate result. He sprang away from the tree, and nearly fell off of the cliff; barely keeping his balance, as he stood on the narrow and slippery path. Shaking from the nasty surprise, his hands instinctively moved around his head and shoulders; searching for more of the god-awful leaches. Unfortunately, his hand encountered that which his mind didn‘t want to recognize; and, he spasmodically knocked them off his head and shoulders. The large “rain drops,” hadn‘t been raindrops at all, they were the hideous tree leaches that he had heard about. Tom‘s attempts at silence were totally lost in his frantic movements to defend his body from the big, black, blood sucking leaches.
“Thank God I squished one with my hands, before the others had a chance to attach to my body,” he thought, somewhat relieved.
Upon closer examination, he could see the sucker cup on their underside, and he winced at the thought of trying to detach that from his skin. As he finished clearing himself of the leaches, he body shook from the aftershocks of the disgusting exercise. He quickly got a grip on his revulsion, however, and perked up his audio senses to determine what, if any, of his antics had been picked up by the oncoming people. Nothing had changed in the tone of their conversations, but it had grown louder, and less muted, as they approached the area where Tom was standing. Bracing himself for a confrontation, his reflexes were at fever pitch - ready to fling any aggressor off of the mountain, before they had a chance to attack him. As they came into view, however, he was relieved to see that they were a group of porters carrying heavy loads between them; and, herding a couple of goats, and children, ahead of them. Upon seeing Tom, their faces reflected no surprise, fear or threat; just a non-response, that bordered on disgust.
‘Crap, now we have to get past this stupid tourist,’ was what he read through their faces and body language; and, heard in their voice intonations.
They were obviously tired, and still had a long way to go; considering that the only village was at least four hours behind Tom. He knew that they knew that, and he tried to be as helpful and accommodating as he could for them. Trail etiquette dictated that he move to a place wide enough for everyone to pass each other. Since there wasn‘t a space wide enough ahead of Tom, he backed up for twenty or so feet; and struggled for about ten minutes, until he found an area where the path was wide enough to accommodate two men side by side.
“It’ll be tight, but will work,” he thought; and, smiled a large smile to show them his positive attitude.
His body didn‘t feel like smiling, and they could see the pain it took Tom to make the effort. The oldest of the five men carried nothing, and walked with a tall walking stick that was carved into a simple, but elegant and effective, tool. It was clear that he didn‘t really need it, but he used it like most herders did, to guide his animals, to pick and test for a good and solid trail, and to provide a semblance of defense against whatever wild animal that might come along. As the men and animals passed Tom, he caught the old man‘s attention with his eyes, and pointed to his injured leg for the old man‘s consideration. They could all see how Tom favored his leg, since he took no effort to hide his weakness to the non-threatening group. Speaking in English, and knowing that they understood about as much English as he did Nepali, Tom pointed to his hurt leg and made a couple of stumbling, and painful, steps. They understood that Tom was hurt; but showed no real interest, nor empathy, for him. To them, Tom was merely a not-as-bad nuisance hiker. He had been helpful and polite, but he was still an outsider; one of the rich kids that traipsed all over their world, and laughed like silly monkeys in the process. Most hikers were unaware that the locals despised their obnoxious intrusion into their heretofore quiet lives. Sure, they brought extra money and interesting things to some people; but the cost was much higher than the benefits. Only the parasitic people really benefited from their presence; those, and the people who opened their homes to them. But for every eight good ones, there were at least two assholes who caused trouble. So, benign neglect was the best Tom could expect from these guys; people who worked hard every day, in order to just live. Knowing this, Tom didn’t expect any assistance, nor did he think poorly of them for not providing any. They had enough to do, to keep themselves and their families alive; they couldn’t take on all the troubles of spoiled brats who put themselves into dangerous situations, out of arrogance or stupidity. If Tom was hurt, and couldn’t move, then he might die.....oh well. No big deal, either way. So, Tom didn’t delude himself into thinking that he would get anything but muted tolerance for his existence. But, Tom also knew, that they did have a need for hard currency. Per capita income in
“When I make it out of this, I’m keeping this stick!” he resolved.
“Somehow I’ve got to get it onto the plane. I think it may have saved my life!”
Thus emboldened, he was looking forward to catching up with the Kiwis, and showing them his resourcefulness. He was proud and strengthened by the whole experience; and therefore, lost the last remnants of despair that nagged at his consciousness.
“I’m going to make it now, for sure!” he said aloud, no longer worried.
As the next three hours progressed, fairly quickly, the trail eventually became a real trail, and then opened up....onto an even wider path. Without the impediments of tree roots, and wild trails, Tom made very good progress. He didn’t, however, find his fellow hikers.
”They must be waiting ahead at the village, where the bus comes,” he told himself, as he kept on his course, slow but steady.
His leg threatened to freeze up, but he kept on.....sometimes slowly, but always forward, always moving. He had too. Regardless of his strengthened determination, and his invaluable walking staff, he knew deep inside that he still wasn’t safe until he met up with his hiking partners. So, he walked on, and on, and on; willing his aching body, through sheer will, to keep going. He knew he was going to collapse when he got to the village; but he also knew that he wouldn’t be alone, and that he would then be able to collapse without worry. The village, he thought, would only be a short bus ride from a nice comfortable hotel in Pokhara; and a hotel with hot water, and a clean bed. The prospect was overwhelmingly attractive, and it kept him moving.
“I can smell the hot steam of that shower now!” he told himself.
The last hour seemed like an eternity; but it ended suddenly, when the trees parted and the path widened into a broad, dirty courtyard area. The open dirt yard was bordered by a couple of mud buildings; and contained a few random bicycles, a few random people, and two old black cars that were used as cabs. It was weirder than Tom could have imagined. Again, the mix of old, new, bizarre, and practical, confused his logical mind.
“Don’t EVEN try to figure it out, Thomas. Just figure out where the bus stop is, and when the bus leaves,” he told himself silently.
There were a couple of broken wooden tables with chairs by one of the buildings, but they were empty of people. Tom sat down, unceremoniously, and tried to make sense of things.
“Maybe I am in the wrong place? Where are the guys? Did I pass them? Did I make a wrong turn? How much money do I have left?”
Before his thoughts and questions could stir up more trouble than he was prepared to handle in his exhausted state, he collared a man who walked by him.
“Hello? Do you know where the bus to Pokhara comes? Am I in the right village?”
“You are in the right place. But, the bus left an hour ago. There is another one maybe later; maybe not. Maybe, tomorrow....”
Panicking now, Tom realized that the guys had knowingly left him behind. This thought swept thru his awareness, and threatened to take away the remaining ability he had to deal with things rationally.
“Did you see any hikers come through today?” he asked the man, bluntly.
“Yes, only three. One old, two young. Very rude!”
“They took the bus?”
“They aren't here.....I didn’t see”
“Thank you for your help,” Tom said, curbing his rising tide of panic with effort.
“I can’t look weak, like the target I now am! I’ve hardly anything left, what am I going to do? They left me, the bastards! They left me! What if I had been stranded, they weren’t coming back. Bastards! Selfish fucking bastards!”
Sensing Toms’ turmoil, but wanting none of it, the man moved quickly away from him.
“Think, Tom Think!”
He struggled to retain control over his exhausted mind and body. He counted his cash, and had very little left, barely enough for the bus fare.
“What the hell am I going to do?” he wondered, silently.
“Show confidence, you idjit! Keep your cool, just a while longer. Take a cab,” his inner, resourceful, voice told him.
“But how can I afford that?” asked his rational voice.
“I dunno, just work that out.”
So, Tom got up off the bench, and went to the empty cab, looking for the driver. One of the cabs had abruptly left, while he had been speaking to the man; and, he didn’t want to lose the last one.
“A cab in fricking nowhere land....go figure!” his rational voice said, incredulously.
“Crap, don’t figure; just do! You didn’t make it thru the forest to give up here!” responded his pragmatic self.
As he looked inside the cab, a man came up behind him. Turning, Tom took the initiative and spoke first.....pulling all the confidence he could from deep within, to appear like a rich tourist who was stranded.
“Let him take advantage of me, thought Tom.....act dumb....overpay.....but make him wait until we get to Pokhara, where there are banks and hotels to get money,” he told himself, as he concocted an immediate strategy.
“Surviving in this jungle isn’t much different that the other one, it simply takes will, determination, quick reflexes, and alert senses. Keep alert a bit longer,” he schooled himself.
“Hey, is this your cab? I am a bit stranded and need a ride. I hurt my leg and can’t hike any longer.”
“No, it’s my brother’s cab,” was all Tom got in reply; and the man left him standing there, in the now empty courtyard.
Everyone had left. It was just Tom, a car, and a couple of bicycles.
“Weird, everything feels weird today....not a good sign,” his people senses told him.
Like an animal in nature, his senses were highly attuned for survival; and all minutiae registered at some level, to give him a reading on the relative safety of the environment in which he was living. All cues screamed: “Caution....danger! Ambiguous, and undefined, a bit amorphous, but it’s dangerous nonetheless.”
A man came out of the building that the other man had disappeared into, unceremoniously, minutes before.
“Hello, you need a cab?”
“Yes, I’m injured, and can’t hike any longer. Is this your cab?”
“Yes, but today is not so good of a day to travel. There is much trouble coming.”
“Yes, I heard the sad news.....very disturbing; but, I can’t stay here, all of my friends are in Pokhara and there is no place to stay, or get medical treatment, here.”
“You want to drive to Pokhara?” he said with obvious incredulity.
“Yes, I need medical attention, and to be with my friends there. Money is no object, how much do you want?”
Tom knew he had opened Pandora's box on this one. Where ordinarily, he would toughly negotiate a fair rate; he was purposely leaving himself wide open to be gouged. This was his only hope, to bet on the man’s greed to override inertia, and get them on the road to Pokhara. Also, since Tom had no cash on him, he needed a big carrot to get the guy to be patient. With the possibility of total thievery ahead of him; any self respecting Hindu was eminently bribable. If Tom had offered it first, the guy would have been suspicious. No, Tom knew that he had to have the guy thinking he was really robbing him, for his to strategy to work.
The glee on the man’s face was visible. He jumped right for the bait that Tom offered.
“2,000 rupees to Pokhara,” he said as his first offer.
Tom knew it was outrageous, nearly $50 in U.S. dollars, a fortune out in nowhere land,
“Fine. But we have to leave now, ok?’”
Stunned, expecting his first offer to be blown away, the man smiled with a sinister ‘I’ve got a great pigeon’ smile.
“We go right away....let me tell my brother where I am going.”
Within minutes, they were on the road to Pokhara. Tom stretched out in the back seat, and propped up his throbbing leg upon his backpack for comfort.
“These people you speak about, surely they didn’t leave you on the trail, alone and hurt? Those sons of whores; how could they do that?” the driver asked Tom rhetorically, as Tom recounted his day of hardships during their long drive to Pokhara.
“Your brother met them, he hardly spoke to them and yet he could tell.....”
“Yes, I saw them too. One was tall and handsome, the other his servant. And then, the fat American.....a pig! He yelled at my brother to serve him! My brother, an elder of the village! Imagine!”
“Unfortunately, I can. It’s getting to be embarrassing to tell people I’m American. Because the only ones people see are the assholes.”
“You American? It is not true! You French, maybe Swiss?”
“Hardly. But thanks for the compliment anyway! You’re a shameless flatterer!”
“Yes. I am a good driver, no?”
“Most certainly.”
“Mr. Thomas?”
“Yes?”
“Here is the bus we are seeing. It is most certainly the bus that your hiker friends ride. Look and see if you find your friends, and I will drive slow next to bus.”
"O.k., thanks.”
Tom arched his back, and shifted his position so that he could see out of the cab window. The bus was loaded down with people, and the windows were open so that people could breathe. As always, there were even people on top of the bus. Squashed in the last row of the bus, with his head hanging out of the window, was Michael. Geoff and the American were riding atop the bus. Everyone on the bus was looking at the black cab that followed alongside them. There was nothing else to look at on the desolate road, and the cab had been following the bus for a couple of kilometers. Catching Michaels’ attention, and then that of the guys atop the bus, Tom waved and smiled at them as he told the cab driver to speed away. It made Tom’s day to see the looks of consternation and confusion on Geoff's and the American’s faces; and to see Michael’s acceptance that Tom had ‘won’ by passing them up. Tom had no interest in ‘winning,’ but he’d be damned if he was going to be their sore loser.
“I’ll be nice to them when I see them, but I no longer have any time for them in my life,” Tom said aloud, to himself.
“They’ve shown me their true colors, and it wasn’t a pretty sight. I could’ve gone the whole trip without living that,” he bemoaned.
The cab driver just laughed, as he sped on to Pokhara.
©Tibet
***************
©Tibet, Lamplight Unto a Darkened World…the American Delusion, a Parody of life ( L'illusion Américaine, une Parodie de Vie); is copyright protected, by author, Patrick Mahoney. Online Internet Reproduction/Propagation/Quotation Encouraged, with this citation. Any Printed reproduction, other than for personal reading, requires written permission by author, patrickm at http://patrickm.gather.com/ or patrick1000000000@yahoo.com
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