CHAPTER 13
Andre and Brother Francis emerged from the long overnight bus ride from Delhi a little bit achy, tired, and bedraggled, but all the same in good spirits. Their senses were immediately assaulted by a crowd of people—beggars and other folks busily going about the duties of their day.
“No money, milk, no money, milk,” a girl of about nine years of age with dirt marks on her face and matted dark hair kept chanting. She held out her right palm toward those disembarking from the bus as she clutched an infant of about six months of age to her left shoulder.
The travelers struggled with their feelings, knowing that the poor and not so poor would seek them out. They had agreed to wait until their last day in an area to give alms to the poor, and then to do so generously. If they started now, they would never be left alone and their money would soon be gone.
The Christian monk and his companion walked quickly along a mountain ridge, rolling their suitcases after them. After about a mile they came to what the local people called “The Dalai Lama’s temple.” Once there, they asked directions to the rooming house where they had made arrangements to lodge via the Internet. They pushed themselves up a hill about a quarter of a mile and the rooming house was there on their right.
Once inside the gate a warm and welcoming man showed them to the last room along a “U” shaped balcony of about a dozen rooms. The view was breathtaking. The rich green vibration of miles and miles of trees invited them to rest. In the background the sounds of Tibetan monks chanting wafted in the air.
Although it was only about nine in the morning, the two flopped on their twin beds, not even bothering to lock the door or draw the clean but slightly tattered blue drapes.
They awoke in the dark to sprays of water and howling winds. Most of the hinged windows would not shut tightly and banged against the window frames.
“I thought we were near the top of the world, not the end of the world,” said Andre as he got up to try once again to jam the windows into a closed position.
“Maybe just moving your bed away from the window is the more practical solution,” suggested his monk friend.
They drifted into semi-consciousness.
A crash and a slam louder and closer than the thunder startled Brother Francis out of his feeble sleep.
“I just saw the biggest spider I’ve ever seen in my life,” yelled Andre. “It’s in the bathroom so I just locked it in.”
“Are we talking big as in old Japanese movies where a large insect demolishes houses that look like they are on a Christmas train platform?”
“Not that big Bro, but much more real and very fuzzy!”
“Great! Now we can go spider hunting in the middle of the night. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do!”
“I’ll get the trash basket and you get that dinner plate we carried our food in here with during our momentary awakening earlier this evening,” the younger man said.
“Then what?”
“I’ll slide that big bolt on the bathroom door to the right and we can go in. I can’t imagine why they have a bolt on the outside of a bathroom door, but they do.”
“Maybe it’s used to lock spiders in,” joked the middle-aged and still very tired monk.
They unlocked the door and immediately observed the spider, about four inches wide, clinging to the wall next to the mirror over the sink.
“I’ll put this plastic trash basket under “Brother Spider” and you knock him—or her—into the basket, okay Brother?”
“Anything to get some more sleep.”
It all happened in a split second. They captured the spider in the blue plastic trash container and used the white plastic dinner plate as a lid.
Out they went into the storm and on to the balcony. In their struggle to extricate the spider from its new-found home, the spider, trash basket, and plate all went over the balcony into the darkness, crashing on the flagstones below them.
“Let’s get out of here before someone finds out who is causing all of the racket,” Andre yelled above the storm.
“Glaaaadly.”
Back into their room they ran and locked the door behind them, almost slipping in the puddle the rain made in their little dwelling through a slight opening at the bottom of the door.
Deep sleep, partially induced by the rhythm of the falling raindrops, followed.