Читать книгу The Number 8 - Joel Arcanjo - Страница 16

Chapter 7

Dante was in no mood to fraternize that night. Neither was anyone else it seemed. There was barely any noise in the hall for the rest of that evening. A few doors squeaked open, the sound of low whispers and the odd pitter-patter of footsteps on the floor above, but nothing that disturbed him. And still no sign of Asmir.

Dante spent about ten minutes in the shower with the heat turned up high. The heat because he was cold, the length of time because sand had gotten everywhere. But once he had located and removed every troublesome grain, he got out, dried himself off and let out a long sigh. He was glad that he had the room to himself, even if it was only for one night. He threw on some boxers and leaped into the bed. The mattress softly cushioned his fall. He got under the covers and turned off the bedside lamp.

He lay there expecting to fall asleep within minutes. But it turned out he couldn’t turn off his brain. It was whirring at lightning speed. His home, his ex-girlfriend, his Uni course. All the things that he wasn’t happy with in his life. The things he wished he could change. He almost felt like a bit of a coward running away to New Zealand to escape his problems. It wasn’t really his style. But if the last few months had taught him anything it was that he wasn’t sure what his style really was. But he did know that he wasn’t this. He wasn’t someone that lay awake thinking about his problems and feeling sorry for himself. The more he thought about home the more guilty he felt about leaving his Mum to deal with everything alone. He had rushed off to deal with his own demons and hadn’t even thought about how his Mum may be feeling. She had been his rock the last few months. More accurately, they had been each other’s rock. Their house was the safety zone. He could go to her in the knowledge that there was no judgement being passed. He had bawled all night the night he had found out about his Uncle and she was there. He had been shitty to Asmir and she was there, telling him to forgive, to let it go. When his relationship fell apart she was there, being a mother, a father and a friend.

One solitary tear rolled down his face as he lay there. It rolled down his cheek and then curved towards his jaw. It held there for a second before falling to the pillow. That was it. The last tear of the trip. Dante was sure his Mum appreciated the time to grieve alone but everyone needs someone and he had to be her someone. A phrase that his Mum had always said kept replaying over and over in his mind. Each time he heard it it sounded more and more like her. Her calm soothing tone and her over-emphasis of the word “you”. “Just me and you, Dante, me and you against the world.” That was all he could think about until he drifted off into a deep sleep.

Asmir was lying in a hospital bed, waiting to be released. His gash had been a little worse than originally thought. Ten stitches the doctor had said. But there had been complications. As he had been about to leave, the stitches had begun to come loose. Once they were repaired, the doctor had urged him to stay overnight to ensure there wasn’t a repeat.

“You’re joking, right?” Asmir asked.

“Mr. Nankin, as I said, I think you should remain with us overnight. I am led to believe that you are on a tour of both islands. If you leave us and your stitches come out again, you will have to come back to us which would ruin your trip.”

“Yes, we understand, doctor. He will stay overnight,” Mel said without even glancing over at Asmir, who was giving her the stink eye.

The doctor bowed like a martial artist about to go into battle and left them standing in the hallway.

“So instead of staying in a comfortable hostel with an all-you-can-eat breakfast in the morning, we’re staying…here,” Asmir whinged and gesticulated to the harshly lit hall they were standing in that smelled like a mixture of disinfectant and freshly filled bedpans.

“Just for tonight. Now come on. Back to your room.”

Mel placed a palm in the middle of his back and led him towards the lumpy bed that he had been so glad to get out of earlier.

He perched on the side and gently swung his injured leg on first before lifting the other one and covering himself with the thin white sheet that would offer no protection from the cold whatsoever.

He lay back and hoped sleep would come easily. It did for Mel who was curled up on a nearby sofa with a blanket, but sadly not for him.

His mind drifted to Dante and the difficult summer he’d been having. Asmir would never admit it, but Dante was his Yin. Yang needed a Yin. Complete opposites but ultimately dependent on each other. He knew who he was. He was the guy that liked to party, to have fun and create memories. Dante was the sensible one. Reliable and determined. Together they made up for each other’s flaws. Like most best friends they would rather take a Mike Tyson right hook to the eye socket before admitting they needed each other, but it was a fact. In reality, he needed this trip too. His University grades had not been good either. He wasn’t too concerned with that, but his Dad was. His Dad was a Russian lawyer from a line of lawyers. It was expected. His Dad had always clung to the hope that Asmir would follow in his footsteps. He held that misguided vision until a couple of months ago when Asmir’s grades came through. Asmir hadn’t heard anything from his Dad about “the proud Nankin name” since, which in some ways pleased him. His Dad was off his case and he could do what he wanted. But he also hated seeing the disappointment in his Dad’s eyes as he read the grades. Asmir actually thought he saw the moment that his Dad’s dream for him died. It was right around the second sentence of Asmir’s grade report.

Asmir knew what he wanted. He hadn’t even told Dante. In fact, he hadn’t even verbalized it. He was scared to say it out loud because that would make it real. His Dad would never back him and he wasn’t even sure if his Mum would, but he knew Dante would. Dante was all about chasing your dreams. Creating plans and going for it.

Blah Blah Blah.

Easy for him to say. His Mum wasn’t nearly as tightly wound. Asmir’s parents expected excellence and there were only two things he was excellent at. The first was drinking ridiculous amounts and retaining his sober reflexes. This was only useful when you arrived home with two bottles of vodka in you and could still socialize with your parents’ guests. The second was more useful and was unquestionably his passion: photography.

It had not been a lifelong passion. He had stumbled upon it by chance. In University, he had gone around all the societies trying them out for himself, one by one. He had enjoyed a few but only repeatedly frequented two, the poker society and the photography society. Poker because he liked to hone his deception skills there. Most people in that society didn’t like him very much because he talked continuously. To make it worse, he was actually quite good so he ended up winning a few of the games. He wasn’t typically competitive, but poker brought it out in him. Every time he lost, even if it was one hand, he’d bite his tongue and only unclench when he won the next one. Then, of course, he would start talking again.

The photography society had happened by accident. He had heard through the grapevine that they were going to be taking photographs of a nude model. There would be a male and a female posing. So naturally, he turned up. He wasn’t the only one with the same idea. It seemed like half the male population of the University had turned up too. Most were turned away but he managed to get in by feigning knowledge. He had mentioned something about shutter speed and macro photography which he had luckily picked up from a show on cameras that his Dad had been watching while Asmir had been making breakfast. He didn’t even know if he was using the terms correctly but it got him in, so either he got lucky or the guy on the door had no idea either and was here for exactly the same reason he was.

That day had surprised him. Initially, he had marveled at the girl’s body but then his mind began to change what he was seeing. He wasn’t just seeing her curves. He was seeing her elegance and the patterns that her body was creating. He was seeing how the bright lights accentuated the features on her face and how the shadows hid her extremities perfectly. How taking a picture from different angles entirely changed the meaning of the picture. From the front she looked powerful and warrior-like. But from the back she looked vulnerable and possessed a strange mystical beauty.

The next week his picture was chosen to be displayed in the society’s studio. Throughout the semester, that society had been his retreat. A place to express himself. He had learned the true meanings of shutter speed and what macro photography was and much more. He truly loved it and it showed in his work.

As he lay there in his hospital bed it dawned on him that loving photography really made a lot of sense. He loved to create memories. Memories are just moments captured and framed by the mind for a purpose. A photograph is really just a paused moment. Something had happened right before and right after, but that moment will forever be immortalized in that picture. It meant enough to the person taking it that they chose to capture it forever. It made perfect sense that he loved photography.

But he didn’t wish to capture this moment, because he had no intention to remember it. He wished for morning but the only thing that would grant that wish, sleep. eluded him. Instead he tried a technique Dante had taught him. He closed his eyes again and listened to the clock on the wall.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.