I just wanted a Heineken, then the pub manager started some nostalgic tracks from school days. Perhaps it was nostalgia instigated by my unproductive life, I lost count of how many I had ordered. So, hugging myself I came home shuffling, I was already in front of the lodge, stood there exposed by the yellowish lights. There was nothing that I could do in the room; I was too drunk to pick up a book, or write something. But I could sit somewhere and watch people, may be I could just sit there the whole night.
I felt for the pipe and the tobacco packet. I didn't know what I should be doing though. Puffing the smoldering pipe I walked the road which I had taken while coming from the pub, then walked further till I got to the foot of the mountain. I had come to climb this, then to stay in my tent with the packed food for weeks. Why should I go back to that despicable city, where I had only acquaintances; partners who I could easily buy with money; pleasure available at every counter. I still couldn't figure out what had brought me to that city.
It was much colder, I had to button up the coat to the neck. The pipe glowed, the only source of illumination there, and I kept on sucking hard and puffing more smoke than usual. I was confused; I didn't know why I had come to this cold, dark place. Why it was so difficult to know it,why I couldn't just go back and sleep.
I did have a lame excuse. That Australian lady who had sat next to me for a while and promised that she would be back to talk about the hike. Her made up face dotted with constantly blinking green eyes, hair done up in a bun,ears dangled with long sparkling earrings. And the face shone better when it stood on the buttoned up high neck of the her black jacket. She listened to me for a while, then she poured out hers. It was with a hug, in which you felt her fragrance and softness, she left me.
I became certain she wouldn't show up. It was almost midnight, and in that remote corner of the world nights are always long. The lone tree with leaves rustling because of the breeze drew me towards it. I went up and felt its trunk. It was an old tree with its roots branching out all over the place ,and thus had marked its own territory.
What I had been running from? I hadn't been in talking term with my family; I didn't have friends. But I always walked about with an ambition once, by now I could recall what it was like to have one but couldn't figure out the passion involved in its pursuit. For years I had been living the life others wanted me to live; to get up in the morning only to stand in good clothes and then to be on one of the floors of some distinct skyscraper.
They gave everything and all that I had to do was to put them in order so that their greed could be fed more and more. And when I had to think for myself what I should write myself my mind was just a blank sheet covered in wax upon which nothing could be written. The only time I was happy was the last day of the month, like most morons, would rush to the nearest ATM machine to see if our master had actually transferred money. When the notes slipped out and they were between my fingers I couldn't help myself feeling grateful as though they had just saved my life. I had been a slave, yes a fucking slave just like anybody. May be over a beer I would pretend that I could really whine like the rest, and when we had had enough of whining then gossip would dawn upon us.
No one talked about packing up a bag to set out for some unknown place, or about a piece of genuine expression. Whatever we said was already said by others ,and we were only trying to say the lines in a more theatrical fashion. Just like a kid holding a crayon and his teacher holding his entire small hand in his and giving him direction over a sheet ,and after having repeated running over the drawn line without straying.
So, I just packed and left the place without a word; away from BBM, away from those banter-abundant social networks. Here I was with enough money for food and drinks, life-saving drinks.
In the mist, head dug in leaves scattered with black tobacco, legs curled and the hands in between the thighs I found myself. It was just like the dark night. Now the mist was doing what the darkness had done at night. I was back at the lodge to grab something to eat and also to pack up. I slouched in a couch not thinking anything. Incapable of words, ideas and movements, but I knew it was wrong. Something must be done. The understanding that the urge couldn't match my capability compounded by the moroseness. I wished I could just jump up and ,all shaken off, and be on my way.
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