Frankie Fey - 28. Shiv

Frankie was so tired that a straw pellet on the stone floor beside twenty-two other sleeping men seemed like luxury. In a coarse cotton nightshirt and wrapped in a sweet-smelling blanket, he slept deeply, only to be woken what seemed minutes later by the sound of a loud bell. He leaped out of bed imagining an emergency. Everyone was calmly getting up. A single candle gave just enough light to see the woollen monkish habits they were putting on over their nightshirts. Frankie found his hanging on a wooden peg beside his bed. After sliding feet into sandals, folding their bedding neatly, rinsing hands and faces in cold water at a row of basins at the end of the room, they filed along the freezing corridor to the equally cold and bleak meditation room where they sat cross legged on straw mats and began chanting something incomprehensible. Frankie gave up the attempt to follow and tried to empty his mind, or at least stop thinking about his situation. It was difficult to keep still and think of nothing, but eventually he found himself drifting into a sort of semi doze—eyes open and aware of what was going on, but unconcerned.

The daily routine was mind numbing—as it was intended to be. Woken between three and four in the morning, they folded their blankets, dressed, washed then assembled for communal chanting. At around six o'clock they scrubbed their whole bodies at the trough where Frankie had first seen them, then came in for a light meal. When there was enough daylight to see properly inside, the place was scrubbed and polished. The inside of the ancient stone building was scrupulously clean. Depressing and dull, but clean.

After a lecture by the Master in a language Frankie did not understand, they washed faces and hands and shaved heads at the outside trough. No one asked Frankie to shave his head, for which he was grateful. This was followed by working in the vegetable gardens or preparing food in one of the two kitchens. Simple fare for the monks, rich Asian food for the paying guests. Monks not rostered for duties were free to do as they liked. Most liked to sit and do nothing.

After a meagre lunch of lentil or rice soup and bread, accompanied by whatever vegetables the gardens provided, they took a short nap, then meditation for an hour, then manual labour—repairing, working in the gardens, chopping firewood, cleaning toilets, weeding, carrying heavy loads down the mountain for a purpose Frankie never discovered as he was never given the task.

As darkness fell they recited mantras until the evening meal of leftovers. This was followed by more meditation during which the monks had to be repeatedly hit to stay awake. Mind destroying tiredness due to lack of sleep enabled the master to take over the monk’s already troubled minds. No one can think clearly with insufficient sleep, so they lived in a sort of resigned trance, imagining they were Buddha’s blessed brotherhood experiencing disturbing visions of nirvana.

What surprised Frankie even more than the timetable, were the rules. Everything was regulated from the way they had to pick up and put down their eating utensils to the way they took off their sandals. Any error and they were hit by an older monk with a stick, hard enough to make the miscreant wince. He knew hazing was still rife in boarding schools and the army, but hadn't expected it in a place dedicated to spiritual awakening. But after receiving several painful clouts on the shoulders himself he realised it made unpleasant sense; regulate a man’s behaviour and his mind will accept regulation. But it seemed depressingly dreary to replicate in the monastery the miseries of life in the real world, just to prove that their sole hope of escaping reality was to retreat into their heads. Which was where all the other inmates, as Frankie had come to think of them, seemed to be. Drifting through the day like silent, sad automatons who seemed unaware of his existence and never attempted to communicate.

On the first afternoon when the other monks were sleeping, he had set off down the track in his tunic and sandals, but after only a few hundred metres a large man with a gun stepped out and forced him back. He was a prisoner. But not for long if he had anything to do with it. They couldn’t watch him twenty-four/seven. Meanwhile he might as well experience the life of a monk while working out a way to retrieve his passport and debit card.

*****

Over the following days - or weeks, Frankie began to lose count, he skipped afternoon meditation and wandered up the track above the monastery, having learned he was only stopped if he went downhill. He climbed nearby hills, explored valleys and sat gazing at the view, wondering why it depressed instead of elevated his spirits. And then he realised. It was as if he was back in Tasmania. Alone with a bunch of weirdos. Trapped in a cold, windy, uncomfortable place. Each time a sense of panic set his heart rate soaring. Deep breathing didn’t help. Was this his karma? Blood pounded in his ears and he would return to the monastery determined to quit the place. But how?

One day he finally plucked up the determination to face Wiley, get his gear and get out. Concealing a sharp rock in his robe he knocked on the door. There was no response. He tried the door. It was locked and anger mutated into a worm of fear wriggling in his guts. What if he was never going to be free? What if…? He thrust the thought away and was on the point of returning to the meditation room when he noticed that the door that led to the part of the monastery where the paying guests were staying, was open. Every time he had tried it before it had been securely locked.

Heart pounding he went through and along a short corridor to another door on which he knocked. It was opened by an excessively slim and attractive young woman in a sari. Frankie apologised for interrupting and asked the whereabouts of Wiley.

‘I don’t know,’ the young woman replied in a surprisingly deep voice. ‘I will ask Lu.’ She disappeared to be replaced by a middle-aged man in a lime green tracksuit with a face that probably originated somewhere in south East Asia. He held out a hand.

‘Hi, I'm Lu; you must be Frankie. What’s the problem?’

‘I need to see Wiley. He’s not in his office.’

‘He’s away on business for a couple of weeks, come in.’

Inside was the complete opposite of the rest of the monastery; a polished stone floor covered in colourful rugs, comfortable arm chairs and couches, a blazing fire, and on the far wall, large, double glazed windows offered spectacular views across an apparently bottomless ravine to jagged snowy mountains.

‘This is beautiful! And I suppose your bedrooms are as comfortable?’

‘Pretty good, you can sample mine tonight if you like.’ Lu’s predatory smile was probably intended to be enticing.

‘Thanks, but I'm not into guys.’

‘Neither am I, normally, but stuck up here a man gets desperate.’

‘That’s scarcely a compliment.’

Lu laughed a little too boisterously. ‘What are you drinking?’

‘Just water, thanks. If the monk master, or whatever he’s called smelled anything else on my breath he'd beat me with his stick. I'm beginning to think he’s a sadist.’

‘He is.’ Lu looked across the room and yelled, ‘Shiv! A whisky for me and water for Frankie.’

‘Can you please let me know when Wiley returns? He has my gear locked in his room so I can’t leave.’

Lu’s hand rested heavy on Frankie’s shoulder. ‘Of course I will let you know. Meanwhile, sit down and relax.’ He dropped onto the sofa and patted the seat beside him.

Frankie sat as far away as he could, but Lu sidled closer till their thighs were touching.

The sari clad young woman appeared with a tray, handed Lu his glass and offered Frankie the tray. In the daylight streaming through large windows Frankie realised Shiv was no more than eighteen, had a well-defined jaw, a shaving shadow and an obvious Adam’s apple. She was looking down at him intently as if trying to communicate.

‘You're a man, Shiv.’

‘Yes.’

Frankie turned questioningly to Lu.

‘None of us are turned on by boys, but there are no females here so we make the best of what we’ve got. From behind with her skirt up all you see is a nice bum and a tight little hole. Tighter than my wife’s hole, that’s for sure.’

‘And you all fuck him?’ Frankie was unable to conceal his disgust.

Lu’s face darkened. ‘Her, not him! Shiv is female and don’t you forget it!’

Frankie turned to Shiv. ‘Do you like being fucked by these men, Shiv?’

‘It is my job, sir. What I’m paid for.’

Frankie turned back to Lu. ‘Why have I never seen any of you around the monastery?’

‘We have our private garden, gymnasium, Internet, library and access to walking tracks. That's where the other two are. Shiv cooks for us and cleans. She's a good girl and well worth the fortune we pay her.’

‘Except I haven't received anything yet, and I've been here five weeks,’ Shiv said softly.

‘You'll get it when we leave. Now bugger off and start making supper.’

Shiv scurried out a door.

‘Well, it’s been a pleasure, but I'm sure you have better things to do than hang around here.’ Lu heaved himself off the couch and opened the door.

Frankie walked out silently and the door slammed behind him. ‘Fuck! I shouldn’t have sounded critical. He’ll take it out on that poor guy, Shiv,’ he whispered to himself. ‘I am such a fool!’ The feeling of being trapped almost overwhelmed him. They were both prisoners, he realised. He also had no control over his life! Taking long, deep breaths to slow his heart he shuffled back to the empty dormitory, the worm of fear burrowing deeper into his confidence.

The following morning during outside ablutions, Shiv appeared, wrapped in a blanket.

‘I'm sorry to intrude, but the men are asleep and I needed to see you.’ His face looked drawn and ill in the cold morning light.

Frankie took him to the outside room he had sheltered in when he arrived. ‘What is it?’

‘I overheard them talking about you last night. They often forget I’m there. Lu said you were a very pretty young man, so they shouldn’t be too hasty about letting you go. They have no intention of releasing me; I know that for a fact. I'm very frightened. I don’t want to end up in a brothel.’

‘Did you know they were going to fuck you when you applied for the job?’ Frankie asked.

‘No way! The advertisement was for a man to cook and do minor housework, that's all. I thought it was to be in a city, not up in the mountains. And I'm also worried I might be infected. Until last week there were ten men here and they all fucked me. And I wonder... It’s very sore. Can you look for me?’ He bent over and pulled up his robe to expose a red and swollen anus.

‘It looks sore, but not infected. Just bruised, I think. How on earth did you cope with ten?’

‘I taught myself to relax my sphincter and have so far avoided splitting my ring, but I worry every time that it will happen. But they don’t care; to them I am nothing but a fucking toy.’

Frankie was horrified. ‘Do they use condoms?’

‘Yes, but only because they're worried the others might have diseases, not to protect me. But they're mean on lube. I want to escape, but they have my documents and I don’t think they are going to pay me for the five months I've been with them.’

‘As soon as Wiley returns I’ll get my gear and we’ll leave. Together we’ll easily make it down the mountain and escape. I’ve been going for walks and know an alternative way to the track from here.’

‘Thank you, Frankie. You are the only nice person I have spoken to since I left home.’

*****

During the prolonged evening meditations, Frankie’s ‘essential self’ had begun to morph from a precious, secret, personal jewel inside his head, into a vague feeling that he was part of an all-encompassing consciousness that included every living creature on the planet. The idea was intoxicating. It meant his thoughts could change the thoughts of others! And that meant that if there were enough people thinking the same thing they'd be able to change the world!

Fortunately, this delirium only lasted until he caught a chill and was excused the night meditation classes to catch up on sleep. Another potentially dangerous change was his developing ability to remain mentally calm when stressed; able to meet pleasure and pain, praise and blame, good and bad luck, with genuine equanimity. A state of mind which, if controlled is very useful, but if permanent is more or less the definition of a zombie. It was his brain’s way of coping with the insecurity of his position.

In the free time during afternoon meditation, Frankie continued walking up the track to an abandoned village, climbing the nearest hills, and gazing at the magnificent panoramas. Recently he'd been crawling around examining the multitude of small plants and insects. From higher up the track, the ancient stone monastery with its arched doorway and crumbling old bell tower perched precariously on the edge of a mountain, looked extraordinarily romantic. But then so did the villages. The sad fact that nothing ever lives up to our imagined ideals is the cause of much dissatisfaction. He realised that people always want things to be a certain way, and when they're not they sulk. If humans would only want what is possible, they'd not need retreats and drugs and psychiatrists.

Frankie needed certainty. Without it he was in danger of falling apart or doing something really foolish.

Constantly having to shelter from cold winds he failed to understand why monks would choose such a benighted place, although he understood their desire to escape from human society, brilliantly described by Edward Bellamy in his book, Looking Backwards that Frankie had recently downloaded from Gutenberg. Bellamy likened nineteenth century human society to a giant coach pulled along rough roads by the masses of humanity. The driver is hunger, and the seats on top of the coach are comfortable, well up out of the dust, with fine views. From their vantage point the few lucky passengers critically discuss the merits of the straining team. If a sudden jolt of the coach causes passengers to fall to the ground, they are instantly compelled to take hold of the rope and help to drag the coach, on which they had before ridden so pleasantly. It is therefore regarded as a terrible misfortune to lose one's seat. Those on top feel sorry for the poor wretches pulling them along, but never consider assisting them, even if the coach gets bogged down or comes to an impossibly steep hill. Hunger lashes the toilers so pitilessly many faint at the rope and are trampled in the mire. At such times the passengers will call down encouragingly, offering ointments and salves, exhorting them to patience while holding out hopes of possible compensation in another world for the hardness of their lot in this one. When the coach is travelling well again they are relieved, not for the toilers, but because they haven't lost their seat. The misery of the toilers at the ropes does not engender pity in the passengers, but pride in the value of their position and a determination to hold onto their seats even more desperately than before. If the passengers could guarantee they would never fall from the top, they would never trouble themselves in any way about those who drag the coach.

*****

Most days when he was sitting quietly beside the track, men in rough peasant clothes would trudge past carrying bulky loads on their backs if they were going up, and compact loads if going down. They never acknowledged his presence, even when greeted. Sometimes they stopped at the monastery, sometimes they didn’t. There was no point in asking the other monks; none spoke English and none showed the slightest interest in him, or anything else it seemed. The youngest was a mere boy of fifteen, the oldest a fellow in his fifties. All were lean to the point of emaciation. All seemed to have given up on life, accepting in bovine submission whatever fate befell them.

Every day Frankie became increasingly depressed.

Two days after promising to help Shiv he was summoned for a chat with the Master who asked in heavily accented English if he had any questions about life.

Frankie shook his head. Life posed him no problems, and even if it had he wouldn’t ask a man who thought starving himself and his flock of food and sleep was the way to live. ‘It’s interesting learning about life in a monastery,’ he said without much conviction.

‘What have you learned?’

‘That there's little difference between lives of constant toil and unquestioning obedience in the real world and that imposed here.’

‘The difference is that here they learn to accept their lot and stop complaining.’

‘What about enlightenment?

‘Their burdens are lighter—that's a form of enlightenment.’ His smile was smug and Frankie’s distaste for the man became dislike.

‘It seems to me they just become indifferent, accepting passively all the shit that’s thrown at them.’

‘Acceptance is not passive resignation. It changes the focus from fighting the present moment to working with the present moment. We need to accept and understand that it doesn't matter if we become stressed or calmly breathe deeply; the world remains the same. The bell of life will keep ringing. Failing to accept things as they are is a source of much suffering.’

‘If humans had behaved like that from the beginning, we’d still be hunter gatherers.’

‘Would that be a bad thing?’

Frankie smiled wryly. ‘No, it would be a good thing—at least for the natural world.’

The Master nodded. ‘So you approve of our methods.’

‘No. Good ideas and behaviours should emanate from within the individual himself, not be imposed by force. You’re taming them, not educating.’

‘That’s one way of putting it. But if they leave here they’ll be able to endure the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, be better workers prepared to accept lower wages, be more law abiding and better citizens.’

Frankie pondered the ‘if’ but decided not to go there. ‘Better for the wealthy, but not for them.’

‘There are always winners and losers, Frankie.’

The next day was clear and sunny after a heavy frost. Snow would be coming soon so he had to get out! After a strenuous walk Frankie found a private spot out of the wind to luxuriate in the thin sunlight that to him was the best possible tonic. Soon Wiley would return and he would escape with Shiv. His mood improved, he laughed and was suddenly able to see his situation objectively. He wasn’t trapped, except in his mind.

A soft footfall caused him to tense, ready for action. What action he had no idea. A snapping twig. Unable to bear the uncertainty, Frankie sprang up and away, landing on a rock beside him, crouching like a nervous panther.

‘I’ve disturbed you… apologies. I didn’t realise anyone was here. I’m Michael.’

The speaker was of medium height and build, probably in his forties, dressed in heavy padded trousers and a fleecy coat with the hood pulled up. Impossible to judge his physical characteristics, but the voice and language was American English. He took a deep pull on his cigarette and tossed the butt away.

‘That’s litter.’ Frankie remarked reflexively.

‘It’s biodegradable, and the ants love them,’ the man responded in a pleasant baritone. ‘You're Frankie. I recognise you from Lu’s description. But you're leaner, harder, older and not so cuddly as I expected.’

‘Lack of food, plenty of exercise and I've never been cuddly.’

‘You look good.’

‘Are you chatting me up?’

‘Yes. I’ve a proposition.’ He paused and gazed off into the distance.

‘So you didn’t stumble upon me by accident.’

‘No, I followed you.’

‘A stalker in the mountains—good title for a book.’

‘Do you like being a monk?’

‘It’s mind bogglingly boring and pointless… perhaps that's what's ageing me.’

‘I wouldn’t be surprised.’

‘What's your proposition?’

‘Wiley told us about your independence, common sense, intelligence and personal charm, so as I'm looking for an attractive, fit, fluent English speaker as manager of a new nightclub, I wanted to offer you the position.’

‘Here? In the mountains?’

‘In Kolkata. I’ve just received an email informing me that the people who want to dispose of me have themselves been disposed of, so it’s safe to return.’

‘Just you or all three of you?’

‘All three. We’ve a string of nightclubs across India.’

‘I'm not qualified. I've never managed anything.’

‘You’ve managed your life and finances very well.’

‘You’ve checked my bank account?’

‘Isn't the Internet wonderful?’

‘It’s a privacy and security nightmare.’

‘Wiley told us you didn’t object to his advances, and that's another reason I want you—it’s a gay club.’

‘I did object to his advances, and I’m not queer.’

‘And you're not homophobic.’

‘When are you going?’

‘Today, because Wiley will be back the day after tomorrow.’

‘He has my valuables. I’ll have to wait till he gets back.’

‘You don’t honestly think he’s going to let you leave, do you?’

‘Why not?’

‘You know about this lucrative hideaway for wanted men, and how he charges through the nose to keep the unwanted members of wealthy families drugged up until he disposes of them after they’ve been ‘missing’ for a reasonable time.’

Frankie’s innocent heart froze mid beat. He sat down on the rock with a thump. ‘So that's why they're all like zombies. I've never had anything to do with drugs so it didn’t enter my head. But the Master? Surely he…’

‘It was his idea.’

‘But…but where do they get the drugs from?’

‘You’ve seen porters passing every day, drugs on the way down and guns on the way up. Over the hills and far away is a mountainous country that is planning a revolution. Wiley’s a middle man for many unpleasant things.’

‘So when he goes away he’s…?’

‘Undoubtedly. So, are you going to hang around waiting till he shoves you off the cliff?’

‘He’s already tried that once. What about that girl… Shiv?’

‘She’s coming too. Lu has a job for her. So… if you're coming we’d better get your stuff.’

‘I’m coming!’

Back at the monastery they were met by Lu and a bloated, balding, greasy Englishman called Algy. Both the others were dressed in slacks and blazers, stacking suitcases outside the main door. Shiv in his sari was assisting. He looked up in relief when Frankie walked in. Neither of the other two showed any interest.

‘Wait outside Wiley’s office.’ Michael jogged down the corridor and returned seconds later with a fireman’s axe. After smashing the office door he did the same to the cupboard and told Frankie to get whatever was his, while he went to ask the others if they wanted anything of Wiley’s before he smashed the place up.

Frankie quickly put on his shirt and concealed his passport, debit card and money in the secret pockets. There were about a dozen other passports and credit cards as well as bundles of rupees also in the cupboard, so he grabbed a passport of a similar size and colour, a Visa card and a small wad of rupees, and stowed them in his satchel along with his other clothes, so if Martin made a rough check he wouldn’t wonder where the real passport was. The rest of the money he added to his own, hoping it wouldn’t be noticeable. The shirt was bulky and made of a canvass-like material, so even when the pockets were empty it looked the same as when full.

When Michael returned, Frankie was zipping up his trousers. ‘That feels better,’ he said in relief. ‘That bloody monk’s robe made me feel an utter idiot.’

Michael was too busy smashing every thing in sight, especially the electronic gear, to respond. Three minutes later they joined the others waiting for porters.

‘What’s Wiley done to annoy you?’ Frankie asked Michael.

‘The bloke who told me it was safe to come back also told me that Wiley was the one who informed on us. That's what.

Six porters arrived, hoisted the luggage onto their backs, then headed a procession down the stony path.

They'd been walking for about ten minutes when Algy shouted, ‘Any moment now!’ They stopped and crowded the edge of the track, looking back towards the monastery.

A sudden flash of orange was followed a full second later by a deep thudding boom. The ancient structure quivered, collapsed and became just another small landslide tumbling down to the raging river far below. For the second time that day Frankie froze, turning wide-eyed to Michael who was already striding boldly down the track.

‘The monks? Those men and boys? That fifteen year-old kid?’

‘How long to you reckon they suffered? Ten seconds? That’s if they even realised what was happening. They were for the chop anyway in a year or so. We did them a favour.’

Frankie had to run to keep up. ‘We could have told the police about the place and freed them.’

Michael’s laugh echoed off the hills. ‘The police will have had several fingers in this pie. Welcome to the normal world where dog eats dog and the devil takes the hindmost. Come on, I thought you were fit. It’ll be dark before we get to the bottom if you don’t speed up a bit.’