Hippie

The comment irked Karla, but she couldn’t start a fight or move places just five minutes into their journey. She took the book from her handbag and began to read.

“So, are you happy we’re going to the place you wanted? By the way, the guy back at the ‘agency’ pulled one over on us—there are still empty seats.”

“He didn’t pull one over on us—you heard the driver say other people will climb on along the way. And I’m not going to the place I wanted—I’m returning to it.”

Paulo couldn’t make sense of her response, and she didn’t provide any further explanation, so he decided to leave her in peace and began to concentrate on the broad flatlands around him, intersected by canals on all sides.

Why had God created the world and the Dutch, the Netherlands? Was there not much land on the planet waiting to be occupied?

Two hours later everyone had become friends—or had at least introduced themselves, since one group of Australians, though friendly and full of smiles, wasn’t very interested in talking. Nor was Karla; she pretended to read that book whose name she’d already forgotten, but she must have been thinking about nothing but their destination, their arrival in the Himalayas, even though they were still thousands of miles away. Paulo knew from experience how such things could generate anxiety, but he didn’t say a word; as long as she didn’t take her bad mood out on him, everything was fine. If she did, he would change places.

Behind them were two French people, a father and his daughter, who seemed neurotic but enthusiastic. Next to them, an Irish couple; the young man introduced himself right away and took the opportunity to tell them he’d made the trip once before. Now, he was going back with his girlfriend because Kathmandu—“if we manage to make it there, of course”—was a place where you ought to spend at least two years. He’d come back earlier the first time because of his job, but now he’d left it all behind, sold his collection of miniature cars, had made a good bit of money with this (how could a miniature car collection render so much money?), and left his apartment. He summoned his girlfriend to go with him, and had a smile that stretched from one side of his face to the other.

Karla listened to the part about it being “a place where you ought to spend at least two years” and, abandoning the pretense she was reading, asked why.

Rayan, as the Irishman was called, explained that in Nepal he’d felt as if he’d stepped outside time, stepped into a parallel reality where everything was possible. Mirthe, Rayan’s girlfriend, was neither friendly nor unfriendly, but she no doubt wasn’t convinced that Nepal was a place everyone should spend the coming years.

However, by the looks of it, her love had won out.

“What do you mean, ‘parallel reality’?”

“That spiritual state that takes over your body and soul when you feel happy, your heart filled with love. Suddenly, everything that’s part of your daily life takes on a new meaning; colors become more vibrant, what bothered you before—like cold, rain, solitude, study, work—everything seems new. Because, for at least a fraction of a second, you’ve entered the soul of the universe and tasted the nectar of the gods.”

The young Irishman seemed content to have to put into words something that could only be experienced. Mirthe looked as if she wasn’t much liking this conversation with the pretty Dutch girl—she was entering the opposite parallel reality, the one that makes everything all of a sudden seem ugly and overwhelming.

“There’s the other side, too, when the tiny details of our daily life transform into problems out of nothing,” Rayan continued, as though guessing at his girlfriend’s state of mind. “There is not one but many parallel realities. We’re on this bus because that’s what we’ve chosen; we have thousands of miles ahead of us and we can choose how we travel: in search of a dream that once seemed impossible or thinking about how the seats are uncomfortable and everyone’s unbearable. Everything we envision now will set the tone for the rest of the trip.”

Mirthe pretended not to understand that the comment was directed at her.

“When I was in Nepal for the first time, it seemed I had a sort of pact with Ireland, and this pact had not been broken. A voice in the back of my head kept repeating: ‘Live this moment, make the most of each second because you’re going to return to your country, don’t forget to take photographs to show your friends how you were fearless and courageous and had experiences they would like to have but lack the courage to chase.’

“Until one day, I went to visit a cave in the Himalayas with a few other people. To our surprise, in a place where practically nothing grows, there was a tiny flower, half the size of a finger. We thought it was a miracle, a sign, and to show our respect we decided to hold hands and chant a mantra. A few seconds later the cave seemed to tremble, the cold no longer bothered us, the mountains in the distance suddenly seemed closer. And why did this happen? Because those who had lived there before left behind a love vibration that you could almost touch, that was capable of holding sway over anyone and anything that came to that place. Just like that flower seed the wind had carried there, as though desire—the enormous desire we all had that the world outside could be a better place—were taking on physical form and affecting everything in its path.”

Mirthe must have heard that story several times, but Paulo and Karla were fascinated by Rayan’s words.

“I don’t know how long it lasted, but when we returned to the monastery where we were staying and recounted what had happened, one of the monks told us that someone who they referred to as a saint had lived there for decades. The monks also said that the world was changing and that all passions, absolutely all of them, would become more intense. Hate would grow stronger and more destructive, and love’s face would shine through.”

The driver interrupted the conversation, saying that, in theory, we ought to continue on to Luxembourg and spend the night but since he imagined that no one there had the goal of stopping in the principality, they would continue driving and sleep in the open air near a German city named Dortmund.

“I’m going to stop soon so we can grab something to eat and I’ll call the office, letting them know the next passengers ought to be ready for an early departure. If no one is going to Luxembourg, we’ll save precious miles.”

Applause. Mirthe and Rayan were about to return to their seats when Karla interrupted them.

“But I thought you could only leap into a parallel reality by meditating and surrendering your heart to the Divine One?”

“I do this every day. But I also think about that cave every day. About the Himalayas. About those monks. I think I’ve done my time in what they call Western civilization. I’m looking for a new life. Not to mention, now that the world is in fact changing, both positive and negative emotions are going to gain force, and I—we, actually—am not about to face the dark side of life.”

“There’s no need,” Mirthe said, taking part in the conversation for the first time and showing that she’d been able to overcome jealousy’s venom in just a few minutes.

In some sense, Paulo knew everything that Rayan had just told them. He’d already had similar experiences—in most situations where he’d had a choice between revenge and love, he’d chosen love. It hadn’t always been the right choice, at times he’d been called a coward, at times he himself was moved more by fear than by the sincere desire to make the world a better place. He was a human being, with all the fragility that entails; he didn’t understand everything that happened in his life, but he truly wished to believe he was traveling in search of the light.

For the first time since he’d climbed onto the bus, he understood that it had been written, he needed to make that journey, to meet those people, to do something that he often preached but hadn’t always had the courage to do: deliver himself up to the universe.

* * *

—

As time went on, people split off into groups, in some cases on account of language, in others because there was some nonverbal interest at play—sex, for example. For everyone but the two girls—most certainly minors, they kept a distance from everything and everybody precisely because they felt they were the center of attention, which they were not—the first five days had gone by quickly, because everyone was discovering themselves in the others and trading stories. Boredom was not a passenger, and the routine was broken only by stops at gas stations to fill up the gas tank and their water bottles, grab a sandwich and a drink, go to the bathroom. The rest was conversation, conversation, and more conversation.