Chapter Twenty-Two: Genesis
“To escape the tourists one must go to the mountains”
• • •
Chez Ato was like an earthly paradise. Descriptions of the mythical Shangri-la could easily be applied to the spacious gardens and beautiful location of this unique Bora Bora guest house. Situated at the end of a long, sandy track, some considerable distance from the circular island road and the seemingly ubiquitous sea, the residence is surrounded by lush vegetation, high up in the cool hills overlooking Viatape, in the shadow of the island’s tallest peak, the craggy, verdant-covered pinnacle, Mount Otemanu. Stuart lay on his back on a large bed in his own private room in the hostel’s unusual, hexagonal-shaped, main building, his arms folded behind his head to act as a cushion, and reflected upon his first day in his new accommodation. No sticky heat. No vehicle noises. No biting insects. No Mike.
Stuart had departed Chez Pauline the afternoon following his embarrassing encounter with Corrie. He could not stand the atmosphere around the place a moment longer. It was the waiting that was the most stressful aspect. Waiting for another communication from the cheese-thief. Waiting to see if their crime would be discovered. Waiting to see how Norbert and Corrie were behaving. All of his other companions had moved on - he was trying to banish from his mind his previous groundless anxieties that anything more sinister had befallen them. It was time for him to do the same. Closing the wooden door of the dormitory for the last time was like saying a final farewell to Stefan: rest in peace. He did not see the Swiss couple before his departure and, all-in-all, he felt happier that they were to be kept in ignorance of his proposed future whereabouts. Stuart imagined them returning from the glass-bottom boat trip they had been planning for today and finding him gone. Stuart could not picture them spilling many tears over his departure. No forwarding address, it was the best way. Mike had left at the crack of dawn that morning. He had a six hour head start on Stuart and Stuart hoped that the New Zealander would not mind being followed, most probably he would take it as a compliment that his own choice of accommodation and course of action were being copied. Stuart had grown to quite enjoy the company of the other man over the past few days; he might still display a modicum of the brash arrogance that Stuart had found so infuriating when they had first met, but since the accident he had also displayed a vulnerability that was more appealing. Pierce the macho veneer and there was a genuine good guy struggling to get out. Stuart was also able to acknowledge that not all the character faults that had stood in the way of a potential friendship between the two men were on Mike’s side: now that Jenny was no longer on the scene, Stuart had no reason to view the New Zealander with the jealousy and suspicion that he was now able to admit to having done previously.
But where was he now? Stuart had arrived at Chez Ato, his trusty green suitcase still in tow, shortly after lunch and the first question he had asked the hostel’s proprietor had been about his fellow traveller.
“Not here. Perhaps he has gone to a different house.”
“Are you sure?”
The man had spread his arms wide as if to encompass all that he owned. It was a gesture of welcome too, as if to say to Stuart, “Look around. Be my guest.”
Stuart had decided to stay, in any case. He did not doubt the truth of the friendly Polynesian’s words for one second, and would not have dreamed of mounting a search of the property for his companion, but he had fallen under the spell of the magical location of the hillside retreat as soon as he had entered the well tended grounds and wandered among the exotic blooms, and he had already mentally unpacked his belongings and settled himself in for an extended sojourn. Perhaps Mike would turn up later?
Someone who was resident at Chez Ato was Cedric. It looked as though he had been living there all his life. Stuart had discovered him lounging in a wide, comfortable chair, sitting beside the ornamental pond which dominated the central atrium of the hexagonal sleeping block. Looking beyond Cedric, through the open door of a room, Stuart had seen a guitar leaning up against a wooden chair, and the naked back of Yvette, who lay sprawled across a large bed, her lower body covered by a simple, white sheet. The shutters to the room had been thrown wide open to the central courtyard, and the lightweight cotton material which hung at the opening, serving as a makeshift curtain, had billowed as the cooling breeze circulated freely throughout the whole airy interior, the breath of wind exploring every possible point of entry and means of egress in the structure, inquisitive as a newborn puppy.
Cedric had smiled broadly upon seeing the new arrival, before calling out to Yvette, “We have a visitor.” The figure beneath the sheet had made no sign of having heard him.
Stuart, surprised to encounter the Frenchman, had found himself saying, “I have been looking for you,” before realising that he did not want to explain the reason for this particular search.
“Oh?”
“Oh, you know,” Stuart had said vaguely, “I saw you on the boat. I just wondered where the pair of you were staying.”
“And now you know.” Cedric had risen from his seat, holding his arms out to his side, palms facing up, slightly reminiscent of a mime performer. He had held the stance for several seconds, before relaxing, and taking Stuart’s arm, “Come, I will get you something to drink.”
Stuart had started to protest, “First, I had better...” He had pointed down to the suitcase at his side.
“Oh! You are staying too?”
“Room four. I was told that it was in here.”
Cedric had pointed to an open door, immediately beside the room where Yvette was sleeping, “We shall be neighbours.”
Stuart could hear the two of them now, the sound of their love-making was only too obvious through the thin partition wall. He tried to block out the noise, first mentally, and then with the physical aid of his pillow. It would not last for long was how he had comforted himself - two hours ago. Mike had not turned up. Although Stuart had kept an eager eye out for his fellow traveller all day long, in his heart of hearts he had not really expected him, not once he had discovered that he had not materialised first thing that morning. He had probably just changed his mind. Gone to a different hostel. Or a different island. Changed his mind. Like Ian. Like Jenny.
• • •
“So where is your friend?” It was the question that Stuart had been dreading. He was under no delusion that Cedric was referring to Stefan and not to Mike, although the same question would have applied equally in either case. To misplace one companion could be viewed as an accident, to lose two would appear to be rather careless. There was the question of just how much did Cedric know. Stuart still did not know if the enigmatic Frenchman really was the cheese-thief, as he had previously claimed. He rather doubted it, but if it was the case, he obviously knew the precise location of Stefan’s whereabouts, although there was always the possibility that he did not know of Stuart’s involvement in the incident - none of the blackmail messages so far received had been specifically targetted at the young Englishman. In any case, Stuart thought it best not to give too much away.
“Who?”
It was breakfast time at Chez Ato. Cedric and Stuart were sitting outside, enjoying an alfresco repast of fresh fruit, all of which had been picked directly from trees in the hostel’s grounds that morning. “A Garden of Eden”, Cedric had said. Stuart had asked, jokingly, “So where is Eve this morning?” to which Cedric had replied, understanding his allusion, “She is still asleep. We did not go to bed until late.”
“He was German, I think. Your companion on Tahiti.”
“Oh, he was not my companion,” Stuart corrected, “We just met up along the way.”
“So you are travelling alone?”
“That’s right.”
“You have no friends to travel with?”
Stuart felt a need to defend his solitary status. It annoyed him. He was only too conscious of the all too frequently perceived image of the single
male as a sad loner, and this always by people in comfortable twosomes. Loner was actually one of the most flattering of perceptions: young women would more commonly think ‘loser’; old women would give the tag ‘dangerous psychopath’; and anyone with children would imagine ‘potential paedophile’. Stuart could not remember the number of conversations he had had where he had had to explain the benefits of being an ‘independent individual’. He did not think that Cedric would understand the definition, either in terms of its language or its distinction. Instead, and now annoyed with himself, Stuart decided that it was simpler to sell out the single cause and try to align himself to the world of the couple.
“I was meant to be travelling with someone...” Stuart’s thoughts went back to a conversation he had had with Tessa several months earlier - on one of the few occasions when he had been able to circumvent the defensive barrier of her answering machine. He had outlined his ‘grand plan’; he had told her how much his ‘big trip’ meant to him; how he was so looking forward to them travelling together; how he thought that it would bring them closer together. It had been one of the last conversations they had had with each other. She had said that she had “different life priorities”. There had not been much else to say after that. He recalled his last-minute attempts to draft a replacement in to fill the place left by Tessa. He was not really surprised that no one had been that interested, it was his dream after all - Tessa had told him that much - no one else’s. Duncan had just purchased a new computer and did not have any money; Stephen was already going to Korea - he had said “perhaps we could meet up” but had not sounded like he really meant it; and Geoff had just bought a season ticket to watch ‘The Golden Boys’ and didn’t want to miss the start of the season - as excuses went that was probably the lamest.
“Who?” Cedric persisted.
“Just a friend. It fell through.”
Cedric drew his stool closer to Stuart, the thin legs sinking into the soft ground lopsidedly, and leaned towards the other man, speaking conspiratorially, “You are very wise, my friend. Between you and me...” he glanced about him, back towards the hexagonal dormitory, “Yvette and I. We will not be travelling together for very much longer.”
“Oh?” Stuart sounded surprised. He had always assumed that the couple had travelled out from France together.
“No.” Cedric shook his head, slowly, but did not elaborate upon his statement. He took a bite out of a long, crusty baguette. “Good, no? It is French.”
Not wishing to be classified as a friendless outsider, Stuart returned to the previous topic of discussion, “I think travelling alone means you meet far more people. You know, when you are in a couple you tend to stick together. You don’t need to go looking for company. I’ve been really lucky. I’ve met so many...” Stuart stopped in mid-sentence. Unwittingly, he was bringing the conversation back towards the taboo subject of Stefan.
Cedric was only too happy to assist him. “Like your German friend.”
“Yes, but, I’ve met so many other people too.” Stuart was anxious to play down the significance of his friendship with Stefan, and reeled off a roll-call of his erstwhile companions in the hope of losing his Teutonic albatross among the crowd, “There was Mike from New Zealand, a Swiss couple Corrie and Norbert, a fellow Brit Ian, plus this lovely...” he stopped again. He would have been hopeless under interrogation. He had successfully managed to name all his co-conspirators without the slightest hint of pressure being brought to bear. Guilty by association. Stuart glanced at Cedric. The Frenchman’s expression did not indicate that any of the names held any special significance to him; he was continuing to eat his breakfast, seemingly unaware that Stuart was even talking. The silence continued for several seconds, the only sound the rhythmic macerations of Cedric’s jaw upon the dry, unmalleable bread. Stuart grasped the opportunity to change the subject.
“So? Yvette?” It was a big moment. His first shrug. And to a Frenchman at that. Might as well set yourself a challenge. Stuart felt that it went quite well, all things considered.
Cedric took a big gulp to swallow the remaining food in his mouth and stroked his chin, thoughtfully, rubbing his finger back and forth across the dark stubble. Finally he said, “Let me tell you something about love.”
Stuart groaned inwardly, but he was relieved that the conversation was heading towards a subject on which the Frenchman evidently considered himself something of an expert.
“First you are in love and it is good. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Then you are in love and it is bad. Yes?”
“Yes.”
Cedric glanced around at the dormitory again, as though expecting to see the slender figure of Yvette making her way towards the twosome. He lowered his voice, “Then you are not in love and it is bad. Right?”
“Right.”
“Finally. You are not in love and it is good. Yes?”
Stuart nodded, “So what stage are you at with Yvette?”
“We are not in love and it is...” he wavered his hand back and forth, “so-so.”
Stuart looked confused, “Was that one of the options?”
Cedric smiled, sympathetically, “That is the great thing about love. It does not follow any rules.”
“So where will you go next?” asked Stuart.
“That depends,” answered Cedric. “At the moment, I like it here.”
There was much to like. The grounds at Chez Ato, rather bizarrely, reminded Stuart of a well-tended English country house garden. There was something deliciously decadent about taking your morning meal outside, sitting beside an immaculately maintained lawn of green, well-watered grass, a perfect, clear blue sky above; feeling pleasantly warm, whilst being protected from the worst hazards of the sun’s rays by a floral-patterned parasol. It was only at the fringes of the cleared grounds that parallels with stately home living began to fall down: nowhere back home did such exotic plants flower so effortlessly, forming an impenetrable border of dense trees and shrubs: ragged-leaf banana trees, sturdy mango and guava plants, vanilla pods hanging low like runner beans, and colourful blooms of frangipani and camellias. Shades of green, progressively darker in the distance; from the vibrancy of the short grass, to the dark, mossy covering on the high slopes of the mountain. The undergrowth acted as a protective wall around this small enclave, surrounding it on all sides, never threateningly, the plants never - triffid-like - appearing to want to claim back the modest space that had been taken from them; a place of harmony and calm. Under any other circumstances, Stuart knew that here he would have felt secure from the troubles of the outside world for the first time since Stefan’s accident; this was somewhere where the past could be truly forgotten, not erased, but put on hold for a brief period; like a personal time machine paused on a favourite moment of your own choice. The only shadow over Stuart’s paradise was cast by Cedric. As if to illustrate the point, the Frenchman rose to his feet at that moment, moving the sunshade slightly towards him, at the same time standing over Stuart so that the sun was temporarily blocked from his view. Stuart watched, silently, as he returned to his seated position. The man was a mystery. If he was not the cheese-thief Stuart had nothing to worry about. But if he was... The Garden of Eden would not have been complete without its resident serpent.