Shambhala Page 9
During the following weeks, I saw Ian several times. Things seemed to be going well between us. On one hand, we were taking back the friendship we’d left behind years back, and on the other, we were getting to know our true concerns and desires for life, which turned out to be very similar.
“What are you doing this weekend?” he asked me when we got to my house.
“I think I’ll have lunch with my dad on Saturday,” while I made a gesture to look for my keys in my purse. I thought about how much my dad would enjoy seeing him.
“And after that?” he persisted.
“Frankly, I don’t know,” I said honestly. “Why? Do you have something in mind?” I asked curiously.
“Yes, I’d thought about taking you to...” he left the phrase hanging. “No, it’s silly. It was in case you wanted to do something together.”
I laughed as I looked at his disconsolate face.
“I thought you might like to join us for lunch. I’m sure my father would be delighted to see you.”
He looked at me for a moment, trying to decipher my invitation. Would it be something real? Did I really not care whether he came to eat with us? He seemed to convince himself quickly.
“Okay, it could be fun,” he confirmed animatedly. “I haven’t seen him for years and it would be a joy to see him.”
“I just hope my father doesn’t start with schoolboy jokes,” I thought.
He stopped the car engine, and it seemed he intended to come up to the house for awhile, but I didn’t feel like it. There were still times when I felt uncomfortable being alone with him. It was like he took advantage of certain moments to give me seductive looks that made me nervous. It reminded me of bird courtship dances, in which the male exhibits his large wattles, the ones below his beak, and emits strong bellows to demonstrate his masculinity and thus conquer the female...
Luckily, the most he had to work with was his flirtatious smile, and from time to time, his stealthy ocher and emerald eyes of apparent desire. Even so, there were times I didn’t feel strong enough to avoid him and act like nothing had happened, which led me to use a more refined technique, that of running away when things got very compromised.
“I’ll write or call tonight to let you know what time we’ll meet tomorrow,” I said, looking at my keys, while giving him time to interpret the clear subliminal message I was giving him to leave.
“Fine.” His voice sounded very normal, which gave me a deep peace of mind.
I looked at him and smiled as I leaned over to give him a good-bye kiss on the cheek. He returned it, giving him closer contact with my face. He liked to make me nervous...
I got out of the car and went into my house. Now for the other part: speaking with my father to let him know that Ian was coming to eat with us.
Chapter 11
Contacted
I called my father as soon as I got in the house. I had to give him what would be for him the ‘great’ news that Ian was going to join us for lunch on Saturday.
“Is that okay with you?” I asked him. And of course it was. How would it not be, when for the past month he’d been insisting that the three of us to go to lunch, dinner, or anything else together.
I was baffled by such insistence.
When I said Ian would be joining us, he was so happy that he even made a point of wanting to make a reservation at a nice restaurant to ‘celebrate’ it. After going through several possibilities, in the end he decided on one he’d just discovered. A simple and quiet place where at least I could choose a vegetarian option. After he booked the table, he sent me a text with the address and the time he would meet us there.
The next day, Ian came to the house to get me, but this time I didn’t give him time to come up. With the weather starting to turn nice, I decided to wait for him on the street. I wanted to bathe my skin with the faint heat that the rays of the sun were giving us this spring.
When he arrived, he double parked the car and got out. Standing up from my tranquil stone seat, I walked easily in his direction.
When I saw him, I was surprised at how charming he was. He had something special that I couldn’t figure out. I knew it wasn’t because of his clothes. He dressed elegantly but simply, a cream-colored shirt, a beige sweater and navy blue chinos, and I’d seen him dress similarly before. No, the charm was something he was emitting from his own being. His beauty this time wasn’t only physical, or his personality. All of him glowed with beauty.
As I walked in his direction, I saw him also watching me closely. His gaze was fixed on me and with some dissimulation, he was scrutinizing me from top to toe. Perhaps it was the dress I was wearing, a simple black one that fitted me elegantly and sensually across my hips, and opened in a slit lower down. I suppose that was the reason for his “wow!” as I got closer.
My father was already waiting when we got to the restaurant.
“Hi, have you been here long?” I asked as I approached to give him a kiss.
“No, I just got here,” he said with a smile, glancing briefly at Ian and me.
“Hello, Joaquín,” Ian said, reaching out to shake his hand.
“How are you, son? It’s been a long time,” my dad said. “Sit down! I’ve left you these two seats.” He motioned to the two seats in front of him. Apparently he wanted to be able to watch us.
As soon as we sat down, I could see Ian and my father exchanging glances in a way that made me uncomfortable. Despite the length of time since they’d seen each other, those looks denoted maintaining an unusual complicity. Or was it just me? Yes, maybe I was nervous about the situation, and seeing things that weren’t there.
The fact is that was like a wake up call telling me to calm down. There was nothing happening, we were just eating together, like we used to do.
In the midst of my thoughts, the waiter made a brief appearance to leave menus and left again. I decided to focus on looking at the menu.
For their part, they started talking without noticing my nervousness. They seemed so comfortable, it made you doubt whether in fact it could have been so long since they’d seen each other.
I took advantage of that juncture to stay out of the conversation, relax and watch them carefully. In truth, the picture seemed like a poem to me. On one side, my father—it was obvious that he was full of happiness. Ever since he’d seen us come in the restaurant, his face was painted with a smile that didn’t leave his face. On the other side, you had Ian. Although it was true I didn’t want to look at him very overtly, I could see his mischievous smile that looked like he’d gotten away with something. Perhaps having him there with my father was leading him to think we were strengthening the bond of our relationship.
So, I felt that they’d both made conjectures about what that meal together might mean. I hoped that neither of them made false or hasty illusions.
A strangled sigh escaped me because of my apparently inability to decide what kind of relationship I wanted to have with Ian. I felt helpless and frustrated. It had never been so hard for me to decide on something, especially with love. At the same time, I felt pressured by both of them, even with the subtle hints. They didn’t seem to be able to believe that this date, if you could call it that, was just a simple meeting, one like we’d had in the past, to enjoy a pleasant moment with loved ones.
That all reinforced my desire to clear up once and for all my feelings and intentions about Ian.
“Do you know what you want to drink?” the waiter asked, coming out of nowhere.
“I’ll have a beer,” answered my father.
“Make that two,” said Ian.
“I’ll have one, too, but non-alcoholic.”
“Very good,” said the young man, writing in his notebook. “I’ll bring them right out.” He turned around and left.
Then they resumed their conversation and I, meanwhile, tried to keep relaxing.
Luckily, the affinity and empathy between them made me feel comfortable and helped me forget everything for a long time.
“Let’s toast!” my father exclaimed, raising his beer over his head. “To the reunion!”
Ian and I took our corresponding drinks and brought them closer to my father’s.
“To the reunion!” we said in unison, clinking the glasses. Then we took a long drink to complete the toast.
I couldn’t avoid observing their faces of happiness once again. Without a doubt, they were enjoying themselves.
Little by little, the waiter made brief appearances, first to take notes and later to bring our delicious meal. I was starving.
Almost forgetting that I was there, Ian and my father started chatting about their work, soccer, cars—about anything that popped into their heads, it seemed like. And I felt good not being the center of attention for a few minutes.
While I listened to both their voices like a distant echo and hardly joining in the conversation, I took the opportunity to savor my plate of pumpkin gnocchi and lose myself in my own thoughts, which fluttered from one place to another incessantly. And so it was, until my father caught my attention and brusquely pulled me out of my musings.
“Aurora, you’re being very quiet.”
“Yes, I was lost in my own thoughts,” I said honestly.
“I can see that.”
“Is everything okay?” Ian asked, worried.
“Yes, everything’s fine,” I said with a smile to reassure him. “I’ve taken the opportunity while you talked about soccer to...”
My father interrupted me in the middle of my sentence.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you something, Aurora,” he said, sounding mysterious.
I looked at him, and without realizing it, frowned slightly. I laughed when I saw he was trying to be interesting.
“Come on, shoot!” I encouraged him, entertained.
“Remember what we were talking about the other day?” he said, as if we had only talked about only one thing.
“Yes, I remember,” I ventured.
“I’ve found something that might interest you,” he said, without giving any details.
“What?” I had to ask since he didn’t say anything more.
“Next weekend a guy will be here in Madrid who’s been investigating UFOs for many years. He’s giving a lecture,” he finally said.
“Oh!” I exclaimed with surprise.
It felt like there was a silence for a moment. Could he read my mind or guess that I was just thinking about the talk we had a little over a month ago at his house?
Then I thought of Ian. Did he believe in those things or would he think my father and I were crazy? His silence at the new conversation that had opened up made me suspect the worst. He might think that only fools or ignorant people believed in it. However, something inside of us made us think that there could be intelligent life on other planets, and why not? They might be trying to contact us. And even more, be in contact with some people.
“How interesting!” Ian finally said.
That really got my attention. Was it a sincere exclamation or was he being sarcastic?
My eyes were glued to his, hoping he’d say something more to help clarify so I’d know what his thoughts were on the subject.
“Are you interested in UFOs, too? Do you believe in them?” My father asked him, as if he’d read my unconscious thoughts and was saying out loud what I wanted to know.
“Yes, I always have, since I was a kid,” said Ian.
Although I would continue to believe in it anyway, knowing that he felt the same and accepted certain hypotheses, gave me a palpable tranquility. “He’s one of us,” I thought.
“I had no idea,” my father said.
“It’s true, we’ve known each other for years and haven’t ever talked about it,” Ian said, looking my father in the eyes.
“Yeah, I suppose it isn’t common subject matter, like what people usually talk about at the dinner table, or with the first person you meet on the street,” he said, laughing.
“No, at first it isn’t common,” said my father. “I suppose some of us keep quiet for fear of being laughed at or being thought of as crazy.”
“Yes, I suppose so...”
“So, what do you think about him coming to do a conference?” I asked my father. I was intrigued, although I instantly realized that this question and its corresponding response was not going to serve me any time soon. I had never set out to investigate the phenomenon in question, so whatever name he told me, I’d be in the same position as before—I wouldn’t know who the researcher and lecturer was.
“It’s a Peruvian guy—his name is Enrique Paz. He claims to have had contact with beings from other worlds since he was a child. He’s spent twenty years sharing his story through conferences, interviews, as a guest on TV shows.” He paused to a take a drink of his beer. “It looks like he’s got a dozen books detailing his experiences.”
“How interesting!” Ian went ahead, taking the words out of my mouth. “And when did you say he’s coming?” he asked, anticipating my words again.
I felt slow, like they were a step ahead of everything I wanted to say. It was if my reflexes and senses were slowed down.
“Next week,” my father said euphorically. “I wrote down the telephone number in the advertisement because I thought you might be interested,” he explained, this time addressing me. “I was going to reserve a couple of seats, but, I’m not sure why, but I thought I’d tell you about it first.”
I looked at him thoughtfully. I didn’t know what he meant by reserving two seats. For him and me? For me and Ian?
“At first I thought I’d take you as a surprise but then I had doubts. I didn’t know if you had other plans or if you’d think it was silly. Besides,” he continued, “now that Ian’s here, I didn’t know if, in case you wanted to go, you’d rather go with him...”
I finally reacted.
“Right now we don’t have any plans, and by the little you’ve told me, you’ve got my interest. I want to go.”
I looked at Ian, trying to figure out if he’d like to go to a conference like that, too.
“You trust this guy, then?” I asked my father. I wanted to be sure to not fall into the hands of a charlatan crossing the line.
“If I didn’t have a good feeling about it, I wouldn’t have told you about, don’t you think?”
“I suppose not,” I said thoughtfully. Truthfully it was kind of a stupid question. Knowing him, before telling me anything he would have made sure to find out as much as possible about the subject to convince himself he was confident about it.
“Of course not!” he affirmed. “Besides, I saw some YouTube videos he did of conferences during the year in other cities and countries. It looks like he travels all over the world telling his story. And yes, I’m pretty confident.”
“Okay, if you believe in him, I do, too. You usually have a pretty good intuition about people. Okay, so we just need to call to reserve seats, right?”
“Yes, I’ll do it this afternoon.”
“But today is Saturday, I don’t think they’ll answer today.”
“Maybe they will. It seems like a private number with a contact person.”
“Ian, you’re coming, right?” I asked him, animated.
“It would be great to go with you two.”
“Of course, son, if I’d known you were interested in these things, too, I’d have made the reservations yesterday.”
“I guess that’s why you told Aurora today, with me here.”
“That’s true,” responded my father, laughing. “Well, it’s done, then! When we leave here I’ll set up for the three of us to go.”
“Great,” I said, smiling.
Suddenly, I felt good. Something told me that the time had come to get some answers.
Chapter 12
The Waited-For Weekend
Since my father told us about the conference wi
th that renowned ufologist, my head was filled with the possibilities that could be opened to find answers. Over the course of the week, I felt a great excitement and a growing desire to begin to know what the true meaning of that discrete “parallel reality” of contactism was. It promised to be a long six days of patience and nerves, in which I also sensed that maybe I’d find something or something special would happen.
Without realizing, the hunger for knowledge had completely taken over my thoughts. Even at work, it was called to my attention a couple of times that I was unusually distracted.
I couldn’t concentrate on the things I usually did during the day. Even the sounds around me and the strident sound of the telephone on my desk seemed distant and muted.
“Are you okay?” my co-worker Maria asked. “You seem distracted.”
“Yes, I’m okay,” I answered forcing myself to speak, since I didn’t feel like talking. “I suppose I’m tired. I didn’t sleep much last night,” I apologized.
But at last it was Friday, and fortunately the last minutes of my workday were already running down. Minutes that little by little would be consumed, like a candle exhaling before its last luminous breath, and after which I would be free, at least for two and a half days, to be absorbed in my own thoughts as much as I wanted. Then I could forget about work, about the noises of the environment, about having to answer people...I would not have to explain my reflective and self-absorbed state, either.
“Aurora,” my boss called me as I was clearing my desk.
“Yes?”
“Can you come in here for a minute?” he asked kindly, a little more seriously than usual.
“Sure,” I answered calmly, getting up from my chair.
Victor was my boss. We’d been working together since I started my first job, as a graphic designer, more than ten years ago. We’d had some good moments: laughs, jokes, and we’d also supported and worked well together in joint projects. More than a boss, he became a good friend, especially when the accident happened.
“Aurora,” he said, pausing and closing the door of his office behind me. I paid close attention, but he stayed quiet.