The Mountain Shadow

The fire sizzled, defeated in the flood. Firemen joined the dancers. Someone turned on music somewhere. Cops swayed in a line beside their jeeps. The dancers laughed, soaked through, satin-skin clothes reflecting colours in the puddles at their feet.

I danced on a river of wet light. Storms rolled, while the sea came to the earth. Winds leapt at us like a pack of happy dogs. Lakes of lightning splashed the street. Heat sighed from every stone. Faith in life painted our faces. Hands were laughter. Shadows danced, drunk on rain, and I danced with them, the happy fool I was, as that first flood drowned the sins of the sun.

Part Three

Chapter Fourteen

‘Are you awake?’

‘No.’

‘Yes, you are.’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘If you’re not awake, how come you’re answering me?’

‘I’m having a nightmare.’

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What kinda nightmare?’

‘It’s horrible. There’s this persistent voice, destroying the first good sleep I’ve had in weeks.’

‘That’s your nightmare?’ Lisa mocked from behind my back. ‘You should try a year in the art business, baby.’

‘It’s getting scarier. I can’t make the voice stop.’

She was silent. I knew from her breathing, as you do when you like a woman enough, that her eyes were open. The overhead fan turned slowly, stirring liquid monsoon air. Street light slivers penetrated the wooden shutters on the windows, dissecting the paintings on the wall beside the bed.

Morning was still half an hour away, but the false dawn flattened all the shadows in the room. Surreal grey settled on every surface, even on the skin of my hand, beside my face on the pillow.

The Peyote Effect, Karla called it once. And she was right, of course. The drug’s tendency to paint the universe in the same shade was like a false dawn of the imagination. Karla, always so clever, always so funny . . .

My eyes closed. I was almost gone; holding a peyote button in the palm of my dreaming hand, and almost gone.

‘How often do you think about Karla?’ Lisa asked.

Damn, I thought, waking up, how do women do that?

‘A lot, lately. That’s the third time I’ve heard her name in as many days.’

‘Who else talked about her?’

‘Naveen, the young private detective, and Ranjit.’

‘What did Ranjit say?’

‘Lisa, why don’t we not talk about Karla and Ranjit, okay?’

‘Are you jealous of Ranjit?’

‘What?’

‘Well, you know, I’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately, late at night.’

‘I haven’t been here lately, Lisa, so I didn’t know. How much time have you been spending with Ranjit?’

‘He’s been damn helpful with the publicity for the shows. We’ve had lots more people coming through the doors since he got on board. But there’s absolutely nothing going on between us.’

‘O . . . kay. What?’

‘So, how often do you really think about Karla?’

‘Are we doing this now?’ I asked, turning over to face her.

She raised herself on an elbow, her head tilted to her shoulder.

‘I saw her yesterday,’ she said, watching me closely, her blue eyes innocent as flowers.

I frowned silence at her.

‘I ran into her at my dress shop. The one on Brady’s Lane. I thought it was a secret, my secret, and then I turned around and saw Karla, standing right beside me.’

‘What did she say?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean, what did she say to you?’

‘That’s . . . kinda bizarre,’ she said, frowning at me.

‘Whaddaya mean, bizarre?’

‘You didn’t ask how she looks, or how she’s feeling – you asked what she said.’

‘And?’

‘So . . . you haven’t seen her for almost two years, and the first thing you ask me about is what she said. I don’t know what’s more freaky, that you said that, or that I kinda understand it, because it’s about Karla.’

‘So . . . you do understand.’

‘Of course I do.’

‘So . . . it’s not bizarre.’

‘The bizarre part is what it tells me about you and her.’

‘What are we talking about, again?’

‘Karla. Do you want to know what she said, or not?’

‘Okay,’ I said. ‘No.’

‘Of course you do. First, let me say she looked great. Really great. And she seems fine. We had a coffee at Madras Café, and I laughed myself silly. She’s on a thing about religion at the moment. She said – no, wait, let me get it right – oh yeah, she said Religion is just a long competition to see who can design the silliest hat. She’s so funny. It must be damn hard.’

‘Being funny?’

‘No, always being the smartest person in the room.’

‘You’re smart,’ I said, turning onto my back, and putting my hands behind my head. ‘You’re one of the smartest people I know.’

‘Me?’ she laughed.

‘Damn right.’

She kissed my chest, and then nestled in beside me.

‘I’ve offered Karla a place with me in the art studio,’ she declared, her feet wriggling in time to the words.

‘That’s not the best idea I’ve heard this week.’

‘You just said I was smart.’

‘I said you were smart,’ I teased her. ‘I didn’t say you were wise.’

She punched me in the side.