Out of the Shadows. Senta Holland

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      Cold-hearted old men in white coats. Did they know what they were doing to me?

      I felt so alone.

      I held somebody’s hand.

      I don’t remember whose.

      Only that it was the only hand that was there. Somebody human. Something other than fear and desolation and pain. Even if it was an old cold-hearted man.

      I gripped it with the same desperate and trustful grip that I’m holding his with right now.

      But I know I will have to let it go when the pain grows worst.

      At the airport, the same place where we met all these many hours ago, and every one of these hours is embedded deeply into the ridges of my core memory, I followed him from station to check-in station, all disguised as palm trees.

      He put his bags on the cart, and he had to pay the airport tax, and then finally it was time and he had to go.

      I followed him around with tears glistening in the tropical midday sun.

      He didn’t say much and I found that I was making little remarks in a small voice.

      At the end, I trotted along beside him and cried.

      So much to lose.

      So much just found.

      So much life just opened up.

      So much to develop, and maybe cut off.

      Now I wasn’t sure why he had given me the pictures, though I was glad I had them.

      ‘I’ll call you,’ I said again.

      ‘Yes, on Saturday,’ he replied, again not looking at me.

      We stood in the sun, beside the too cute little hut that was really the boarding gate.

      The lady in the shadows nodded to him.

      ‘I have to go,’ he said.

      Would he have just turned?

      I didn’t give him the chance.

      With all my strength I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him with my whole body.

      He gave an embarrassed little laugh and then he hugged me back.

      This may be our first fully clothed hug I thought.

      How strange to hug him when I’m not naked.

      I kissed him. He didn’t really kiss much, but this time I just drank and drank and drank his mouth dry.

      I remembered the sea mussels, all soft inside. I was one of them. If I could have changed myself into liquid, I would have soaked him through his clothes and seeped in through his pores, so that I could travel inside him. Wherever he went. Losing cohesion would be a small price to pay.

      Then I let go.

      I was never one to fight to the last.

      Always hoped they would stay of their own accord.

      He said ‘goodbye’ and went.

      I saw him give the attendant his ticket, I saw him walk past the barrier.

      He turned round and waved. I waved too. The waving cut through my breath. It seemed final.

      Something in me pushed and pushed.

      He turned again.

      I couldn’t help it, I couldn’t hold it back. I hadn’t held anything back for the last three days and five hours.

      It came up in an awkward shape, unformed, unfiltered, unheard of, unthinkable.

      ‘Don’t go!’ I blurted out.

      He stopped and blurted back.

      Just as awkward and unfiltered.

      ‘I have to.’

      Yes.

      Then he was gone.

      I saw him drive past, sitting on the little wagon where I had spotted him when he arrived.

      I waved again, but it was too late.

      Then he was gone.

      The sun was very hot and bright as I walked back from the airport to the main tuk tuk ring road. It was a long way, particularly carrying my computer in my backpack. I cried and cried and cried.

      My feet rubbed raw against the cheap new flip-flop shoes. I didn’t care. I was accosted by motorcycle drivers and then insulted and cursed when I didn’t want to ride with them. I didn’t care. I cried so much water I could have passed out from the dehydration. I grew a monumental headache, so that I nearly didn’t see the tuk tuk when I finally reached the main road.

      I didn’t care.

      In the main fishing town I found an email place, inside an electrical repair shop.

      I knew he couldn’t have written, he was on the plane. I needed to read what other men had written to me, so that I wouldn’t drown.

      I found many letters from men on the alternative lifestyle website: they gave me brutal commands without knowing me, they just wanted a fuck for the night, they felt all women were whores and they needed me to do all sorts of things for them while they themselves weren’t going to do anything for me. They weren’t really quite sure what they wanted. I wasn’t good enough for them anyway.

      I sat between the cut-off cable rolls and the conversion plugs and thought of my Nai without panic. Even if I never saw him again, my Nai had given me an experience that was in a different world from men like that. He had been himself. I had had a chance to become myself. More of myself than I ever dreamed of. I would probably never have a relationship again, considering what was usually on offer and expected, but I had been with him. For a whole three precious days. And five hours.

      I stopped the internet connection but bought the conversion plug.

      It would be nice to put on the fan AND the laptop at the same time when I returned to my hut on the other island.

      I remember waiting for a long time on the pier, under a thatch and between sweets stands, never quite sure when the ferry went and if I would be called for the right one and in time, surrounded by blood red dragon boats, and just looking out on the sea.

      It was completely calm.

       The other island

      I had always planned to go to the island, sit in a hut, and write.

      And that was what I did.

      The hut I ended up in was right on top of a hill, overlooking the South China Sea. It had a view of green, СКАЧАТЬ