Читать книгу Not for Publication - William John Stapleton - Страница 4

A month after his escape from Bangkok Michael found himself one evening by Fewa Lake, a world famously picturesque stretch of water curtained during the day by a backdrop of blue-hazed mountains and the permanently snow capped crags of Nepal’s Annapurna Range. Beyond the tourist area known as Lakeside spread Nepal’s second largest city, Pokhara.

The tranquility of the lake and the quietness of the overshadowing peaks accentuated their movements. Amidst the frantic buckling and unbuckling it was impossible to tell if anyone had achieved anything.

There was a clap of laughter from one of the more up-market restaurants on the main street several hundred meters from where he and one of the local waiters were rearranging their clothes.

Nothing stood still.

“Call that a date?” came the guffaw from the restaurant. So far away, from so far away; and yet they were already here.

Michael had promised to stay sober for his assignation with the waiter.

They arranged to meet at 10 pm at the corner restaurant where the man worked. The arrangement, or so Michael thought, was for him to be shown around the late night spots in Pokhara, to have unveiled a world few if any of the city’s unending stream of international tourists ever saw.

The only late night spot turned out to be a dark nook by “Lakeside”.

No, he hadn’t stayed sober for the waiter. Instead he had gotten drunk in, amongst other places, the Busy Bee, a large, well appointed establishment popular with the glam packers since it was praised by Lonely Planet.

Michael had convinced the bar tender to make an exception and include Baileys Blue, a mixture of Baileys and Vodka, in Busy Bee’s menu of Happy Hour drinks.

If only they really had been happy hours.

Four Blues in rapid succession stopped chattering in his head for the first time that day. He could barely wait to get them down his throat.

The waiter roused on Michael for being inebriated.

The simpering little man had no idea what he was talking about.

With events in Thailand still coursing through his brain, he couldn’t have cared less what anyone thought. There was better looking eye candy inside the militarised zone. And much to be disturbed about – such as the simple question: ”How could anyone have survived that?”