Journey From the Summit Page 10

  Thanking the man for his kindness and promising him I would pass on his regards to my father, we parted company.

  The house was set back from the road, with a large front garden. The garden was a courtyard design and partly shaded by a canopy of mango trees and coconut palms. Lilacs, periwinkles and stunningly bright marigolds intermingled with herbs and shrubs in disorganized splendour. The scent of jasmine filled the air as you entered the garden, and chickens wandered freely, pecking the dust for tasty morsels.

  A wide sandy path took you to a set of red laterite stone steps bordered by wide ornamental columns that led to a veranda of the same red stone. The house itself, a white bungalow with the traditional red-tiled roof, had a European, Baroque-style that blended with the original flavours of Indian architecture. Overall, you had a feeling that the house really belonged there, merging with the landscape, complimenting it and enhancing its backdrop.

  As we walked up the steps onto the veranda, I looked up above the door. There, written in black letters was the name ‘Valentino Villa’. I felt a surge of excitement as I realized that this was definitely the right house.

  As we knocked a tiny old woman stepped out onto the veranda, wearing a bright blue dress.

  “Hello,” I said offering her my hand. “I hope you don’t mind us calling by, but I think this house used to belong to my grandparents, and I’m on holiday here and wanted to visit,” I explained.

  “Who was your grandfather?” she asked cautiously.

  “My grandparents were Valentino and Lucinda Carreira,” I confirmed.

  “Your father is Joseph?” she asked looking at me more closely.

  “Yes that’s right!” I smiled, relieved that she knew of whom I was speaking.

  “Then this is still your grandparents’ house! Please come in,” she moved aside to let us pass her. “You must be hungry and thirsty?” she said walking into a simple kitchen. “Let me get you both something to eat and drink.”

  Before I had a chance to answer she was pouring freshly squeezed orange juice into three glasses, and taking eggs from a basket and breaking them into a bowl. As she began to whip up an omelette, she explained who she was.

  “My name is Tadoo. My mother was your grandparents’ servant. She worked for them all her life. When she died I continued to look after your aunts here, and when they moved away, they asked me to live in the house and care for it in their absence. I had nowhere else to go, so I’m happy to live here and keep it clean, and tend the gardens.”

  I was fascinated. I didn’t even know about the existence of this house until I mentioned coming here to Dad, and now to discover this place, and this little lady who takes care of it, and who knew my dad and my grandparents all her life, was quite a story. But it seemed Tadoo had more to tell us. She led us back out onto the veranda, and gestured at us to be seated at the wooden table, where she served us fluffy omelettes and fresh vegetables from the garden.

  “I love living here, but I don’t get paid to be here. Your aunt is very kind to give me a roof over my head, but I have no money for food. She comes here about twice in a year and brings some tins of food for me, but other than that I live off the produce from the garden –” she gestured to the food on the table – “and the kindness of neighbours.”

  It didn’t seem as though she was begging from us, but I suppose in a way she was. Still, I felt for her, and knowing she and her mother had worked for my family for their whole lives made me feel obliged to help her. I had a small gold ring, a simple band that I wore on my little finger. Although I always wore it, I felt no particular sentiment towards it, so it would cost me little to give it to her, and I thought she needed it more than I did at that point. I slid it off my finger and held it out to her.

  “Tadoo, I would really like you to have this. I don’t know if it would help you at all. You can keep it, or sell it if you need to, it’s fine either way.”

  “No, child! I cannot take this from you!” she protested.

  “I insist! You have been looking after my family home – think of it as my way of saying thank you.”

  She smiled at me, her rheumy eyes brimming with emotion.

  Daniel had sat quietly listening to the exchange between her and I, and must have also felt moved by her tale.

  “Tadoo, I would also like to help, if I may,” he said kindly. He pulled out 200 rupees, a paltry amount to us, but to someone with no money it could go a long way.

  “You are such kind children,” she said dabbing at her eyes with a small hanky. “This will help me so much.”

  She continued to tell us stories of my dad as a little boy, something I had never really heard before, from anyone. Her tales described a boy who had a great sense of fun and loved to make people laugh, a boy of whom his parents were very proud. I recognised traits in the boy she told of in the wonderful man I knew as my dad.

  When we had finished eating she led us back into the house. “I have some things I want to show you,” she said smiling.

  It felt so cool inside the house after the heat of the garden, even on the shaded veranda. The house inside was long and thin, each room leading into the next. A large reception room opened into the small kitchen one way and two small adjoining bedrooms the other way. A dining room was the other side of the bedrooms, in a most inconvenient layout. That said, the house had a charm in its simplicity that made you fall in love with it – or perhaps it was knowing that my grandparents had lived in it.

  In the reception room there were photos on the walls. Tadoo showed me pictures of my grandparents, aunts and of my dad as a boy. At the back of the room was an imposing armoire in a dark wood, but what Tadoo had wanted me to see was the engraving in beautiful calligraphy over the door of the dresser. Inscribed there was ‘Valentino & Lucinda’. I reached out and touched the wood, almost feeling their presence around me.

  Finally we said goodbye to Tadoo and left Valentino Villa, with promises to return if time allowed. I hadn’t told her the reason we were here in Goa, allowing her to believe that Daniel was my friend and that we were on holiday together.

  Chapter Fourteen

  My visits to see Saul were becoming harder. Trying to stay positive and keep his spirits up when I had nothing tangible I could give him about his case was not an easy task. Adam had managed to talk him out of his futile plans, but he was still so despondent that sometimes I felt as though I was losing him. I knew the time was coming for me to leave soon, and I wanted so much to make the visits we had left as happy as they could be, but although Saul was always happy to see me, it was as if the light had gone out in him. Talking about things that happened outside always made me feel guilty that I was rubbing salt into his open wounds by having a good time without him. He rarely had much to say about things that he was doing, as life inside was monotonous to say the least, and he only ever really wanted to hear about positive outcomes in his case which, although we were trying our hardest, were still just hopes. So, mostly I would try to buoy his spirits by talking about the things we were doing to try and get him out, or the plans for our future when he got home.

  One day, when I walked into the visiting area, I was pleasantly surprised to see Saul with a genuine smile on his pale, sun-deprived face.

  “Flossie!” he said standing to draw me into his arms, “I have something to tell you!” he declared proudly.

  “What is it Saul?” I said full of hope.

  “Look!” he said grinning broadly.

  He opened his hand, which I hadn’t noticed until now had been a closed fist. Sitting in his palm was my necklace! I couldn’t believe it; I thought it had gone forever.

  “How on earth did you get that back?” I asked clasping his hands in mine.

  Saul explained how on his last visit to the courthouse he had been taken back to the holding cells in Panjim. The prisoners with hearings that day were from various prisons, and so they would be bussed in, held in Panjim until the court appearance, and would then go back there until late after
noon when they would be taken back to the prison at which they were serving their sentence or remand time.

  “We were standing in line waiting for some food, and I saw this guy wearing it around his neck! I don’t suppose he ever thought he would see me again,” he explained, the anger he must have felt now seeping into his voice. “I had an enamel mug in my hand that I was waiting to get filled with tea from the urn. I left the queue and lunged at the man, hitting him hard around the head with my mug and catching him off guard. Before he had a chance to realize what had fuelled my attack, I had grabbed your necklace and wrenched it from his neck!”

  “Oh my God!” I laughed at the irony of the situation, finding the whole thing quite unbelievable.

  “Karma,” Saul stated matter-of-factly. “It was mine. Everyone knew it was mine – no one had any jewellery and certainly not an English penny! He got what was coming to him, and I got our necklace back!” he said proudly.

  “Oh Saul! I knew it would be lucky for us!! It’s found its way back to you, and you will find your way out of here and back to me,” I said hugging him tight.

  “Take it Flossie. I cannot keep it safe in here, because I cannot wear it. It’s found its way back to you, where it belongs,” he said placing it in my hand. I could feel his warmth emanating from the coin in my palm.

  I looked at the two faces of the coin; one happy, one sad – love’s emotional balance: one minute making your heart soar with happiness; the next it ache with a deep sadness.

  One of the friends we’d made was a large, jolly Swiss man named Patricko who had lived in Goa with his wife for seventeen years. One morning he stopped by to ask if we would like to come out on his boat for the day. It was a free day for us so we were keen to unwind, and this seemed like a perfect way to do just that!

  We crossed the river on the ferry and arrived at a small bar where Patricko moored his boat. After climbing aboard we began our trip down the Chapora River. The journey down the river was calm, all you could hear was the whirring of the little boat as it chugged its way through the water. The riverbanks were lined with lush vegetation and dotted with tiny primitive villages. Finally, we arrived at a little island set back from the river.

  We moored the boat, and stripped off for a swim in the warm calm water. After a deliciously long bathe, we got out and went to dry off on a patch of grass between the palms. A gentle breeze ruffled the palm fronds and brought a welcome relief from the heat of the day. The island was idyllic and un-spoilt. The only other people on the tiny island were coconut men. We watched them effortlessly climb the trees and cut the fruit to fall on the sand below with a soft thud. Then they cut the unopened flowers from the tree, from which the the sap is used to make a drink, which can either be drunk raw as a nutty flavoured elixir or processed to turn it into an alcoholic drink called Arak.

  After spending the afternoon relaxing in the little oasis and sipping on the potent Arak that the coconut men had shared with us, we left the island just before the sun began to set. As we made our way along the quiet river, we noticed a group of water buffalo swimming in the distance, so we turned off the engines, and sat quietly watching as they crossed the river in a neat line. They waded through until it was deep enough for them to swim, and then effortlessly glided through the water to the bank on the other side. They were oblivious to their spectators.

  Before we turned on the engines again we were treated to another beautiful sight. The sun touched the clouds in a tender farewell to them as its last rays stretched down over the river before sinking into the water. We could not have wished for a better end to a perfect day. I felt as if the sun had touched me too, blessing me with its beauty as it said goodnight to the world.

  The monsoon season began. The air felt thick and heavy with the impending storms that were on their way. The sun, when it did shine, had turned dim, cloaked in stultifying cloud. The palms stood still against the hazy sky, waiting silently for the lashings that would drench them. At last the rains came, a release from the pent-up tension in the air, falling in heavy torrents and washing all but a few travellers on to new destinations. The locals began to cover the roofs and verandas of their houses with woven together palm leaves. All their possessions were moved into one room where they would burn a small charcoal burner to keep everything from going mouldy. They bought tinned food that wouldn’t perish in the humidity. Daniel and I followed suit.

  At first when the rains came we rushed outside, to shower in the downpour! It was so heavy you could shampoo your hair, and running water was a luxury we had long since forgotten. Soon, though, the rain became torrential; gardens, verandas and roads flooded, making travelling difficult, especially on motorbikes. We had to wait for it to ease before we could venture out again, and then try to run errands between downpours.

  Then the dreaded time came for me to leave. I had spent four months living in this country, dealing with things I have never previously even imagined. Almost everyone who comes to Goa comes for a good time. Some come for the sunshine and golden beaches, others for the colourful and diverse culture; many come for the party scene, which this destination is so famous for. I had come to be with and try to help free the man I loved. Now, after what seemed like the blink of an eye, I was leaving without him.

  I had no money and I had to fly home via Thailand. I knew my only option was to ask my parents for money to see me home. Once again I had to deceive them; hating having to ask but not knowing what else to do. They still knew nothing of Saul’s plight and thought that we were together, but knew I had to travel part of my journey home alone. They agreed to wire money to Thailand on the condition that I paid it back as quickly as I could. My plan was to buy jewellery in Bangkok and to travel north to the Golden Triangle where I knew I would find an abundance of beautiful but inexpensive trinkets, and if I could invest a little I could make a dent in my debt to my parents.

  But first I had to do the hardest thing I’d ever had to do in my life. I had to say goodbye to Saul, not knowing when I would see him again. Saying goodbye to the few friends I had left here, and to Daniel, who had become my big brother was going to be hard enough, but leaving Saul was going to be the most agonizing nightmare for both of us. I couldn’t allow myself to think of how it would hurt him, as that only added to the magnitude of my own pain, but as the day dawned I knew I had to somehow find the strength to walk away.

  I walked into the visiting area and sat quietly beside Saul. I couldn’t look into his eyes and see the man whom I lived for but was about to leave. Leaving him was going against every natural instinct I possessed. Every fibre of my being wanted to wrap myself around him and hold him forever. I felt as though I was about to amputate a limb with no anaesthetic. I took his hands and raised my eyes to his. In them I saw my feelings mirrored and shrouded with unshed tears. There was nothing that either one of us could say to lessen the pain, or make any sense of parting. Saul pulled me hard against him as if he could somehow make us one, never to be separated.

  “I will be home soon Flossie,” he promised, finding strength in himself for us both. “I am coming home to you and when I do I want to make you my wife. I want to marry you. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my life. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Flossie.”

  Emotion choked any response I may have had and I could only cling to him harder and nod dumbly against his chest. A marriage proposal should be the happiest moment in any girl’s life but right then happiness was the very last feeling I could imagine.

  He pulled back from me, holding me by my shoulders.

  “Well, how do you feel about being the wife of an ex-con?” he joked, trying to lighten the heavy wretchedness we were both feeling.

  “Oh Saul,” I said smiling through my tears. “I want to be your wife more than anything in the world!”

  He pulled me back to him and kissed me hard, bruising my lips.

  Eventually the guards pulled us apart and pushed Saul away from me back towards his prison cell. Didn’t the
y know that my heart was as much a captive as Saul was? I would never feel free from utter despair until I could be with him again. How could I feel the warmth of the sun, hear the rush of the sea, or appreciate the sparkle of the stars while my Saul was being kept away from me. I may be able to walk away from here, but my mind, heart and soul were with Saul, imprisoned.

  That evening, the few friends who remained in Goa all got together for dinner in a local restaurant. None of us had much money left, but everyone scraped enough together for a meal so that they could say goodbye to me. These friends had all been there for me in one way or another and had lent me their support. They all felt they knew Saul, although none of them had actually met him, they knew our story and were eager for his release too. I was bowled over by their warmth and kindness. They all brought me small gifts; talismans of sentiment that I would always treasure. Leaving them signified the end of my time here and the end of my connection with Saul; this in itself was painful and emotional.

  The next morning I had two more difficult farewells to say before I could finally leave. I had to find a home for our beautiful Holmes. We had come to love her so much, taking her with us wherever we could. She wore a little red bandana round her neck so everyone knew she belonged to someone and wasn’t another stray. Many a time I’d held her warm little body and sought the quiet comfort from her that she gave so trustingly. She knew all the secrets of my heart like no one else. She would lie faithfully beside me while I slept and ask only for food and love in return. Jake had long since left us and turned feral with the other strays, just returning now and again for food, but Holmes had remained our faithful and loving pet. How I wished I could take her with me and not leave her behind. How I hoped with all my heart that she would continue to receive the love that she deserved. I couldn’t leave her with Daniel as he would hardly be at home, spending all his time at the prison and courts – it wasn’t fair to ask him to take care of Holmes too. Finding her a home was not easy. Local families were poor and had no money to feed another mouth.