Gregory Roberts - The Mountain Shadow

‘I hear you.’

‘I want to know what it’s like to be me, when it’s just me.’

‘Go get ’em, Lisa.’

She smiled, and let out a weary sigh.

‘It sounds so selfish, but it wasn’t. It was generous, you know, not just to me, but to you and Karla, too. It let me see us all clearly, for the first time. It let me see how much you’re alike, you and her, and how different you both are than me. Do you understand that?’

In a damning way, in a kind and loving way, she was telling me that Karla and I were made for each other: Karla’s edges fitting my scars. True or not, strangely hurtful or not, it didn’t matter, because those minutes weren’t Karla’s or mine: they were hers.

The fall and summit within, what we do, and what we choose to become, are ours alone, as they should be, and must be. Lisa was deep in that serene, uncontradictable stillness born in resolution, and she was gloriously alone with it. She was clear, determined, brave and hopeful.

‘The new you is really something,’ I said quietly.

‘Thank you,’ she said softly. ‘And the new me, broken up with old you, and not sleeping in the same bed as the new you, needs to rent the guest bedroom to sleep in.’

‘Well,’ I laughed, ‘if your now isn’t too compromised by it, no problem.’

‘Oh, no,’ she said seriously, snuggling in beside me, her head on my chest. ‘But I do think, now that we’re separated under the same roof, we should have a few rules.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘Like with sleepovers. We should have a sleepover rule.’

‘Sleepovers? Your now is getting more crowded by the minute.’

‘We could hang a sign on the front door.’

‘A sign ?’

‘I mean, a sign that only we understand. Like a garden gnome, for example. If the garden gnome is on the left side of the door, one of us has a sleepover guest. If it’s on the right side of the door, no sleepovers.’

‘We don’t have a garden gnome. We don’t have a garden.’

‘We could use that cat statue you don’t like.’

‘I didn’t say I didn’t like it. I like it plenty. I said it didn’t seem to like me.’

‘And you’ll have to forgive the rent, for at least six months.’

‘Just to be clear on the sleepover cat signal,’ I asked. ‘Was it the left side of the door, or the right?’

‘The left. And you’ll have to forgive the rent.’

‘The rent’s already paid for a year, Lisa.’

‘No, I mean my rent, for the guest room. I’ll pay the market rate. I insist. But I put everything I have into the next show, and I’m skinned alive. I won’t be able to pay you for at least six months.’

‘Forget about it.’

‘No, really, I insist on paying,’ she said, punching me in the ribs.

‘Forget about it.’

She hit me again.

‘I give up. I’ll let you pay me back.’

‘And… I’ll need an advance,’ she added.

‘An advance?’

‘Yeah.’

‘You don’t work for me, Lisa.’

‘Yes, but I hate the word loan . It sounds like the noise a dog makes, when it’s in pain. I’ve decided, from now on, that when I need a loan I’ll ask for an advance. It’s a much more inspiring word.’

‘Advanced thinking.’

‘But I won’t be able to pay for food, electricity, phone or laundry bills for a while. Every penny of my advance will be tied up.’

‘Covered.’

‘I insist on paying it, when I have enough to spare from my next advance.’

‘Right.’

‘And I’ll need a car, but we can talk about that when you get back.’

‘Sure. Is that it, with the house rules?’

‘There is one other thing.’

‘Let’s have it.’

‘I don’t know. I mean -’

‘Let’s have it.’

‘I’m not cooking any more,’ she said, pressing her lips together until the bottom lip pouted free.

She’d cooked three times, in two years, and it wasn’t pleasant eating.

‘Okay.’

‘To be brutally honest, I absolutely hate cooking. I can’t stand it. I only did it to please you. It was a living hell for me every time, from beginning to end. I’m not doing it any more. I’m sorry, but that’s just how it is, even as a roommate.’

‘Okay.’

‘I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t want you to get any expectations, either. I’m big into expectations at the moment, as part of my process, and I hose them down before they become -’

‘Resentments?’

‘Exactly! Oh, God, I feel so much better. Do you?’

‘I feel okay,’ I said.

‘You do? Really? It’s important to me. I don’t want to drag any guilt or shame into my now with me. It’s important to me that you care enough to let me do this, and that you feel good about it.’

Good is only half the truth, and truth is only half the story. A small part of me was aggrieved that she was demanding so much and taking so much from the little that we had left. But the bigger part of me had always supposed or expected, however silently and reluctantly, that we’d part from one another one day, and probably with little more than we could hold in our hands. And then there was Karla, always Karla. I had no right to shade a minute of Lisa’s happiness. Good is only half the truth, and truth is only half the story.

‘I’m good, Lisa. I just want you to be happy.’

‘I’m so glad,’ she said, smiling through her lashes. ‘I was dreading this, you know.’

‘Why? When have I ever not listened to you, or not supported you?’

‘It’s not that. It’s more complicated than that.’

‘How?’

‘There are other things and other people to consider.’

‘What things, Lisa? What people?’

‘I don’t want to go into it, now.’

Women want to know? I thought. Men want to know, too .

‘Come on, Lisa -’

‘Look, you’re leaving tomorrow, and I want us to keep feeling happy about how far we’ve come tonight, okay?’

‘If that’s the way you want it.’

‘I do. I’m happy, Lin, and don’t want to spoil it.’

‘I’ll be back soon, a week or so, and we’ll talk again. Whatever help you need, it’s yours. If you want a new place, I’ll set it up, and clear the rent for a year. Whatever you want. Don’t worry.’

‘You’ve really evolved, you know,’ she said wistfully.

‘From what?’

‘From what I met,’ she said.

She looked up at me with an expression I couldn’t recognise, at first, and then I did. It was endearment; the kind of endearment we reserve for very dear friends.

‘Do you remember our first kiss?’ she asked.

‘Afghan Church. They chased us out. We almost got arrested.’

‘Let’s find out,’ she said, moving to sit across me, ‘how we’ll remember our last kiss.’

She kissed me, but the kiss dissolved in whispers and we talked, lying side by side in the dark, until the storm softened and died. When she slept, I rose and packed a bag for the morning’s train ride.

I put my guns, ammunition, long knives, some passports and a few bundles of money in a compartment I’d had made in the back of a heavy chest of drawers. I left extra money for Lisa in the top drawer of the dresser, where she’d find it.

When everything was set, I went to the window and sat in the wicker chair I’d bought for her, high enough to give a view of the street below.

The last lonely chai seller walked past our window, gently ringing the bell on his bicycle to attract the attention of dozing nightwatchmen. Little by little the thring-thring of the bell faded, until the street was silent.

All life orbits that sun, Fate’s heart. Ranjit, Vikram, Dennis the Sleeping Baba, Naveen Adair, Abdullah, Sanjay, Diva Devnani, Didier, Johnny Cigar, Concannon, Vinson, Rannveig, Scorpio, Gemini, Sri Lanka, Lisa: my thoughts, a voyager, sailed from sea to sea, with one star in the black-ink sky, Karla.