The Number 8 (4 page)

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.

Chapter 8

It was 7:00am and Dante was wide awake. He had had a sleepless night. But his body must have wanted him up at 6:40am badly, because he woke up coughing and spluttering. By chance it was just in time for sunrise which he took in from the comfort and warmth of his bed: the red, yellow and orange coalescing to form a breathtaking pink color that made him sit up in his bed. The sun was low on the horizon but large like something he would expect to see on the African Plains.

By 7:00am he was showered and changed. He had thrown on some dark blue swimming shorts and a black V-neck T-shirt with a black and white graphic of the Eiffel Tower on the front. He loved Paris. It was his favorite city in the world. In general Dante took a while over his appearance. He combed his painfully straight hair to one side. He liked to keep the sides short but left it longer on top. He shaved every other day even though his facial hair grew through in patches, unlike Asmir who could grow a fairly substantial beard in just a few days. He had thick eyebrows which got him compliments but were a nightmare to deal with, like two caterpillars that lived above his eyes with minds of their own. He was proud of his teeth as it had taken him three years of braces and two more years of wearing a retainer to get them the way they were. He wasn’t entirely unhappy with his appearance. Although, after the last few weeks, he wasn’t exactly looking his best. He was a few pounds heavier than he wished to be. A few months previously he had been in the best shape of his life, athletically and psychologically. At the moment, not so much.

He packed up all his things and left the room looking presentable. He rolled his suitcase along the corridor as quietly as possible but one wheel refused to co-operate and squeaked all the way back down the blood-red corridor. No noise came from any of the rooms. He was sure no one was awake. There was no way in hell the bus would leave at 8:00am. It was the first day of the tour. It would be a miracle if everyone was up and out by 9:00am. But he was and he liked his privacy in the mornings. He wasn’t exactly a morning person. But he liked people who were because they could energize him and get him into a good frame of mind for the day. The receptionist, Fiona, was one of these people.

“Good morning Mr. Darion, how did you sleep?”

Dante gave her a tired smile and replied, “Mr. Darion? I am a couple of years away from that. But I slept very well, thank you. How are you this morning?”

“Excellent,” she beamed. “Did you see the wonderful sunrise?”

“I’ve never seen colors like that. It’s like something you see on a postcard.”

She chuckled. “Too true. Are you going to see the caves today?”

“Yeah, but I am going to do the black water rafting. Both have glowworms in so I figured that I may as well try that.”

She tilted her head to one side and gave Dante a once-over. “Most people don’t know that when they come here. You have family from around here?”

“No, I just like to know the whole story, so I research a place first. You can get more out of a place if you know its secrets.”

“Very true. So what do you think about your fellow passengers?”

“I don’t yet. I haven’t even spoken to everybody yet. But most seem nice. Here to drink a lot, I think.”

She straightened her head. “And you’re not?”

“Probably. But not just that. This trip is about a lot of things but being hungover is not one. What is the point in flying halfway round the world to do the same thing you could do at your local bar?”

“True, but here you can do it with a view.”

They both laughed.

It turned out Fiona was the daughter of the hostel’s owner. They stood and talked for a little while longer. She had been on the same tour and knew all of the best things to do. She told him that the Maori night in Rotorua was a once in a lifetime experience and urged him to go on the glacier tour in Franz-Joseph. She also said that Queenstown was the greatest city in the world, but he took her words with a pinch of salt because she also liked Auckland and he was not a fan. After a few more minutes she told him that Asmir had booked them breakfast and walked him to the table in person. As expected, no one else was there at this time, but he was beginning to hear rumblings from inside rooms and the creaking of doors. The reception desk was visible from the table so he invited Fiona to sit and continue their conversation. He found her interesting and well educated on matters involving New Zealand or Australia but shockingly ignorant about any current international issues. After a few minutes the phone started to ring and she excused herself.

He sat there eating his pancakes and bacon. Not his usual diet but he needed to pack himself full of calories for what Fiona had described as “a pretty tough day”. In the next thirty minutes people began to filter out of their rooms. Those who hadn’t booked breakfast were either in the kitchen next to the reception making some or out on the front lawn eating something they had already picked up. By 8:00am only half the bus were out of their rooms. This led to Ben charging angrily down the corridors shouting through the loudspeaker for everybody to get up. But that was only after uttering an obscene amount of cuss words, some of which Dante was sure he had made up on the spot. But by 8:30am everyone was on the bus. Not all were ready, some barely looked human, but at least they were on and the day could begin.

Chapter 9

“What’s your deal?” avoice asked from the seat in front.

“Excuse me?” Dante said.

Annie popped up and knelt on the seat. She kept snatching a look towards Ben who would tell her to sit down if he saw.

“Oh, hey,” Dante said, realizing that his tone had been a little confrontational.

“What’s your deal?” she asked again.

“I didn’t even know people outside the USA asked questions like that,” Dante smirked.

“You know what I mean.”

He did. “An ambitious Uni student who’s had a pretty crappy couple of months. That just about sums me up right now. Ask me again at the end of this trip.”

“I will,” she said, sneaking another look at Ben.

“What’s your story?” Dante fired back.

This made her visibly uncomfortable but Dante pretended he didn’t see. She was about to reply to his question when Ben shouted, “We’re here! Everybody off!”

She shrugged and sat back down.

As the bus pulled in to the Karangahake Scenic Reserve car park it became apparent they weren’t the only group there. Four other buses were lined up neatly next to each other in the spots closest to the reserve’s entrance. It was only 9:00am. If it was this busy now he dreaded to think what it would be like at lunch time. All four buses were smaller than theirs. Different colors and sizes but most with a common clientele: young people on tours similar to theirs. The smallest of the buses held a very different group. The bus was a dirty shade of blue and had the words “NZ YMCA” printed in capitals on the side. But it was not young people that disembarked. It was a jovial group of elderly women dressed in sportswear. Comfortable running shoes, tracksuit pants and jacket with the letters “RPEC” printed on them. They began to warm up out of view as the Pleasant Pheasant passengers wearily evacuated the warmth of their coach. Barely anyone had noticed these spritely ladies lunging and jogging on the spot just outside. Dante felt a strange mixture of admiration, self-loathing and crippling fear that at any moment one of these ancient women would keel over and die right there next to their stolen YMCA bus.