Chapter 10 — Morning
And thus begins Chapter Ten.
Now, children.
At some point,
beneath the stars,
beside a stranger who no longer felt entirely like a stranger,
we fell asleep.
The council grows quiet.
No dramatic decision.
No:
“Goodnight.”
No ceremonial end to the perfect evening.
One moment,
conversation.
Stars.
Hands intertwined.
The next
nothing.
Sleep.
The oldest fast travel system.
Now.
Morning arrived through violence.
The council becomes concerned.
Not physical violence.
Worse.
A ringing phone.
Children.
There are few sounds more offensive than a phone ringing while your soul is still several layers beneath consciousness.
I opened my eyes.
Slowly.
Confused.
Forest.
Blanket.
Morning light.
Then
Laia.
The council smiles.
Beside me.
Still asleep.
One arm resting over me.
Children.
For a moment,
I forgot about the phone.
Because there is something strange about waking beside someone you met only hours ago
and feeling absolutely no urgency to move.
No awkwardness.
No panic.
No sudden need to reconstruct every decision from the previous night.
Just
peace.
The phone continued ringing.
The council sighs.
Reality insists.
I reached for it carefully,
trying not to wake her.
Answered.
Paul.
Of course.
“Where you at?”
The council nods.
A reasonable question.
Children.
My friends had gone to sleep knowing I existed somewhere inside a forest hostel while actively hallucinating.
Morning had arrived.
I had not.
Concern was justified.
“I’m in the compound.”
The council pauses.
Technically accurate.
Paul accepted this deeply unhelpful location information.
“Meet us at breakfast.”
The council nods.
Breakfast.
Now.
At That Krazy Hostel,
breakfast was not some elaborate buffet.
No polished silver trays.
No chef.
No artisanal anything.
It was essentially:
Table.
Man.
Food.
Fifty rupees.
The council erupts.
FIFTY?
Children.
Luxury.
By the economic standards of That Krazy Hostel,
I was surprised they weren’t paying us to eat.
I hung up.
Then
I did nothing.
For perhaps a minute.
Maybe less.
I simply lay there.
Laia still asleep beside me.
Her hand across me.
Morning filtering through the trees.
The acid mostly gone.
The world behaving normally again.
And I wanted to remember it.
The council grows quiet.
Not photograph it.
Not yet.
Just remember.
The warmth.
The stillness.
The ridiculous fact that yesterday this person had been a stranger I crashed into while inventing a terrible dance technique.
And now
this.
Children.
Sometimes life moves with absolutely no respect for pacing.
Eventually,
I moved her arm gently.
Sat up.
And naturally,
that woke her.
She opened her eyes.
Looked at me.
And smiled.
The council listens.
Not the polite smile of:
Ah yes.
The stranger from last night.
No.
Familiar.
Comfortable.
Like we had done this a thousand times.
Like we’d known each other for years instead of one chemically unreliable evening.
Children.
That smile remains.
Not because it meant anything grand.
Not because destiny had written our names somewhere.
Just because it was easy.
And ease is rare.
I made some stupid joke.
The archive has lost the wording.
The council sighs.
Archivist?
Not fully installed.
She laughed.
And there it was again.
That simple,
plain ease of the mind.
No performance.
No trying to be interesting.
No MDMA confidence.
No rave.
Default Nuo.
Decorative houseplant mode.
And somehow,
that was apparently fine.
The council smiles.
We stood.
Gathered ourselves.
And headed toward breakfast.
Together.
Now.
Paul and Kosmo were already there.
The council leans forward.
Eating.
Talking.
Probably discussing important things.
The moment they saw me,
their expressions changed.
Then they saw Laia.
The council becomes interested.
Skepticism.
Immediate.
Children.
I introduced her.
“Laia.”
Paul looked at me.
Looked at her.
Looked back at me.
Kosmo did the same.
The council waits.
Then came the accusation.
“Did you kidnap her?”
The council erupts.
A fair question.
Children.
From their perspective,
the facts were suspicious.
Yesterday:
Nuo arrives alone.
Today:
Nuo returns from forest carrying blonde woman.
Investigation warranted.
Before I could defend myself,
Laia put an arm around my shoulder.
The council grows very still.
“I’m joining the party for a bit.”
The council erupts.
Children.
Externally?
Calm.
Cool.
Composed.
Internally?
Blushing.
Catastrophically.
The sort of internal blush that requires no visible evidence to still feel like your entire skeleton has turned red.
The council applauds.
Default Nuo survives another encounter.
Now.
The four of us sat.
Food arrived.
Fifty rupee royalty.
And we began discussing the plan for the day.
The council looks toward Paul and Kosmo.
Yes, by “we,”
I mean:
Paul and Kosmo discussed the plan.
Naturally.
They spoke.
Considered routes.
Mentioned places.
Possibly assessed supplies.
Responsible expedition behavior.
And Laia and I?
The council waits.
Dog.
The council collapses.
Children.
There was a dog.
What were we supposed to do?
Ignore it?
Impossible.
We scratched ears.
Rubbed belly.
Spoke nonsense.
The dog understood perfectly.
The council smiles.
A true Unbegun.
She had passed the final test.
Now.
Eventually,
Paul and Kosmo succeeded in dragging our attention back toward civilization.
There was a plan.
The council leans forward.
And there remained another detail.
The acid.
The little envelope opened.
The council counts.
Four stamps.
Four people.
Children.
The mathematics practically performed itself.
The council becomes concerned.
One for Paul.
One for Kosmo.
One for me.
One for Laia.
Onto tongues they went.
The council sighs.
Morning nutrition.
Breakfast.
Acid.
A balanced Goa diet.
Now.
Transportation.
The council becomes very interested.
The Abomination waited outside.
Paul climbed on.
Kosmo climbed on.
I prepared to follow.
Then reality intervened.
Four people cannot fit on one scooter.
The council pauses.
Children.
Even Goa’s flexible interpretation of vehicle capacity has limits.
Fortunately
Laia.
The council cheers.
She had rented her own scooter.
A functioning one.
Children.
Do you understand what this meant?
Footrests.
A horn.
Parts remaining attached.
Possibly brakes.
The council grows emotional.
Technology.
Laia climbed on.
I climbed behind her.
Arms around her waist.
Naturally.
The council raises an eyebrow.
For safety.
Obviously.
My chin rested near her shoulder.
I held on.
She started the scooter.
And then,
for only the second time in recorded history,
I contributed to logistics.
The council gasps.
I leaned forward.
“Where are we going?”
The council applauds.
Children.
Growth.
Tiny,
fragile,
easily reversible growth.
Kosmo looked toward us.
He smiled.
And said the dangerous words.
“I know a spot.”
The council becomes silent.
A spot.
Children.
Never trust a local who says:
“I know a spot.”
The sentence contains adventure,
beauty,
and a statistically unreasonable possibility of bodily harm.
No location.
No description.
No distance.
Just
spot.
The council nods solemnly.
Quest marker acquired.
The Abomination started.
Paul and Kosmo disappeared ahead.
Laia accelerated.
And we followed.
Children.
There I was.
Riding behind the woman I’d met less than a day ago.
Arms around her.
Chin near her shoulder.
Following a half dead scooter into unknown Goa.
Acid slowly preparing to renegotiate reality.
The council listens.
And I felt
good.
Not euphoric yet.
Not psychedelic yet.
Just good.
Road beneath us.
Wind.
Her hair occasionally hitting my face.
The Abomination rattling ahead like a mechanical prophecy.
The council smiles.
Then,
eventually,
we stopped.
The council leans forward.
Had we reached the spot?
No.
Of course not.
We had reached the place before the place.
The council groans.
Children.
Kosmo parked.
Laia parked.
Paul got off.
I got off.
And looked around.
Grass.
Trees.
More grass.
No building.
No trail.
No visible destination.
No road.
Not even an insultingly bad road.
Just nature.
Kosmo pointed.
The council watches his hand.
“That way.”
The council pauses.
That way?
That way.
Children.
He pointed vaguely toward vegetation.
That was the navigation.
No path.
No marker.
No sign.
Just:
There.
Apparently,
the rest had to be done on foot.
The council looks toward me.
I looked at the terrain.
Looked at Kosmo.
Then at Paul.
Then Laia.
Children.
Even ancient Nuo could identify the obvious.
“Yeah, no shit.”
The council erupts.
There was nowhere left to drive.
The road had ended.
The actual wandering was about to begin.
Now.
Before beginning any physically demanding activity,
responsible hikers traditionally perform several tasks.
Stretch.
Hydrate.
Check footwear.
Review the route.
The council waits.
We rolled a joint.
The council collapses.
Naturally.
Children.
Preparation is personal.
The joint passed.
Paul.
Kosmo.
Laia.
Me.
Smoke drifted into the morning.
The acid waited somewhere beneath consciousness.
The unknown spot waited somewhere beyond the grass.
And four idiots stood at the edge of absolutely no trail,
fully committed.
The council grows quiet.
Then we began walking.
No road.
No map.
No certainty.
Just Kosmo ahead,
Paul nearby,
Laia beside me,
and the old Nuo following because someone else appeared to know where he was going.
The council smiles.
Some traditions really are ancient.
Thus concludes Chapter Ten.
The Morning After.
The Fifty Rupee Breakfast.
The Fourth Stamp.
And The Road That Wasn’t A Road.
Children.
I had woken beside a stranger who smiled like an old friend.
By breakfast,
she had joined the party.
By morning,
the four of us had taken acid.
By noon,
Kosmo had pointed into raw vegetation and announced:
“That way.”
The council nods.
A perfectly reasonable Goa itinerary.
The Abomination waited behind us.
Civilization waited behind that.
And somewhere ahead,
hidden beyond grass,
trees,
and whatever terrible terrain Kosmo had decided qualified as accessible,
was the spot.
Children.
We had no idea what it was.
Which,
for Old Nuo,
was not a problem.
Paul knew.
Kosmo knew.
Laia seemed happy.
And I?
I followed.
