Valley of Flowers (10 page)

Nicolas
hoped there was more trouble to consider.
He
had the feeling to
stand up straighter. He went from focusing on his grip to where
there was a warring battle of nerves being played out. This had him
shaking like
a
proverbial leaf.

Once, twice, again, he moved the 3-wood back
and forth while staring at his rotund little nemesis. He fought to
get back his groove. Nicolas looked to the one hovering as an alien
craft behind the ball.

In a whisper that came in a quivering tone
he said, "Still I do not relish this."

He
next
looked to the Valley of Flowers sparkling
bright. All appeared fresh and alive. Trust showed and attempted to
writ large on his face. He gripped the club tighter
then
let go some.
He
adjusted his posture from loose
pillar to post.
Nicolas
continued perform
ing
this bit of bad theater for the paying-for-it flower crowd. He
wondered how he
can
ever
reconcile hitting into this
colorful
flowered
valley.

He settled in again within himself. He went
further into the idea of hitting
the
ball.
He
opened
then
closed his hands over the 3-wood.
Nicolas
discovered it was not
at all
easy to grip the
club with his nervous digit nerves. It m
ight
have appeared he was holding a red-hot
pipe.

Nicolas endured twelve seconds of
perspiration. Inside his head he forced an
Okay!
message. He
signaled his reflexes to get in
there
and do the dirty work. He wished not to think
but allow muscle memory to take over.

But
then, as if ringing the doorbell twice, Nicolas
held the
club firmer but not too.
He
told himself he could take the swing at any
time
, and so
he
turned away from his troubles.
His mind left off the effort at getting his body to stand more
correctly.

Again
Nicolas
backed off the shot.
He
stepped back to look at one area over
the
flower
valley.
He
looked to the
scaling, seven snow-clad mountain idols and sought resolve.
He might
have had harsh
feelings for the one holding up his play t
o
now, but
Nicolas
readily forgave himself for this.

He noted in the next instant one more thing.
He believed it was not always an easy ask to give the grand okay a
nudge and to
just
say
Yes!
to it.

With a reluctant heart
he
went back in
but
s
talled more.
He
hoped
to get a sense the flowers were going to be okay with this. He
prayed for some sign from the Upstairs. Receiving no answer he
aimed to just trust.

12

Nicolas stood with his plan to send a
no-hoper into the lake. His mind
,
though
,
created excuses for not being able. As to how to go about
hitting
,
Nicolas had no
real idea. To him it seemed the body of someone else stood over
it.

He felt ill thinking he would be striking
out into this world soon.
He
tried coming up with last-minute answers to a few
unending questions. He argued in his head for more time
.

Nicolas remained at the spot as an observer
might, taking serious note but outwardly doing nothing. He
believed
this act of
hitting might lay heavily on his conscience forever.

He
felt
Arjuna
m
ight
take this chance to
ask
if everything was
okay
with him
, or would
he be needing to take mental tests.

He
looked
at what lies ahead for him. His sad sight went to all locations.
Images collected in his mind and he saw only horror.
He
felt his talent could seep out
of his toes over this.
Nicolas
feared his game might forever be thrown off kilter, if indeed he
went ahead with this plan to attack.

He
peered
at
the ball resting atop
the tee.
Nicolas
looked
at the clubhead
hovering behind it. At first the club and ball
appeared
hopeful. They
seemed
to stare back. He wondered if these
two were poking fun or if this situation was
even
real. He saw the ball and club give
each a curious look. He heard in his head the ball say to the
3-wood, Who is this one
with
the special needs
and what is he waiting for?

Another
comment came to like kick him in the rear. N
ext
he
imagined the flight of the one
he would
sometime
hit.
Nicolas
held the club
that appeared to want nothing more than to get going.
He
drew his well known
inner-perception lines.
He
repeated
this
until the actual hitting of the ball was likely
to get lost in all the line-sailing.

He put away his sketchbook mind
. Nicolas
focused on his fourth,
fifth, sixth address over the ball, which proved also to be just
teasing.

"Come on, baby doll," he said, forcing in
some lightness.

Nicolas joked but took serious note of his
inordinate delay in getting started
here
.
He made
out he was like any Indian cinema star. He pretended to be waiting
for the right script to come along before acting on the
song-and-dance picture project. He
told himself, Either
resign, retire altogether
,
or get on with it, sweetness.

Normally he had his school chums along for
the ride as his strongest supporters
,
however
Nicolas
was no longer in any mood for the glad-happy
chatter from the attaboys.

He chanced becoming more miffed with himself
if he did not take the shot soon. He told himself to be more alone
inside. Nicolas spoke again and again to The Protector of the
Masses Lake.
He
wanted
some assurances. He shifted his weight to be more on his right
foot. The difference can be measured in minute grams.
Nicolas
thought
things were about to get going.
Opposition to this mounted.

More challenge came when he released his
grip to shake off a stiff hand. The gross hold up in his play
seemed all set to continue. He gazed at the ball. Nicolas looked
hell-bent on discovering its beginning and end. He turned to peer
at the days-are-numbered crowd. He looked for what he thought might
be the last time at the spoken-to, spoken-to cushion of wet that
was the small lake.

Yeah,
I know! he yelled in his head. Hitting into
the lake is not my usual intention
,
I got that!

Peripherally he saw Arjuna shift some. He
envisioned the old man kick a pebble or two out of impatience.
Nicolas heard him clear his throat as to speak more. It occurred to
him
then
to hurry. He
feared
Arjuna
m
ight
take advantage of
his stalled situation. He
thought
the old man m
ay
accept
this chance to offer up more of his wisdom, or perceived bit of
vague talk.

Nicolas
Kumar
explored this idea
more
and his fears rose. Thought
-
patterns as these gathered. They
leapt onto this one reality.

"Now if you are to swing sometime today,"
said Arjuna, "and the ball strikes that tree there and bounces
back, the ball coming to rest a step or two behind you, is this not
a progress? The shot is not forgiven, yes? No, I do not think it
is, and it should not be
.
A
nd I hope they never change the rule. It is a progress.
It's a progress in disguise. I did not see it myself for
quite
a while
,
but I wholeheartedly believe it
is. Maybe along your way you will encounter a retracing step. Is
this not a progress? Do your duty then, to the best of your
abilities, for others and for yourself. Do so without selfish
motive. Remember, before starting work or at the completion of some
task, or even now while standing so inactive, do not think of God
as one and you another, as God is in All, performing joyfully.
Begin by understanding this. You can learn to respect this truth by
repeated prayer. Practice looking upon all creatures as if they are
you, in thought, word and deed. In recognition of this truth, of
you as an equal, forgive yourself for any transgressions or blue
mountains of error. The light that shines so bright that you before
could hardly see, shines
well
within you
now
and will do so always. Your tears too, at any
time
that
may flow as a
mountain stream
,
are in
reality unnecessary, and the sadness you feel then only lacks
true
understanding.
Again, forgive me. Please. Continue with what you were doing."

Nicolas took in the old man’s words as cruel
punishment. He told himself, I probably had that coming.

It
next
occurred to him to make use of this
interruption. He
felt
he
could excuse himself and back off the shot. Nicolas reversed that
decision, though. He said quietly, "I can’t do that." Another
thought came. Here too
he
readily scotched it. He told himself also, I
can't do that either.

Now he felt as fragile as any bud.
He
looked at the valley
that had been giving him such a torrid time. He rehearsed the scene
that was already an epic by taking forever. He tried hard to
procure the green light.

Nicolas blocked out all audience stares.
You're stalling! he shouted in
side
his head. Now he felt as nervous as any
first-timer at a major.

He had
the idea to let all caution lie with the unpredictable wind.
He
heard himself say a strong
Yes!
to it. This seemed
to be the thing he had been awaiting. It provided him true
spark.

Put up a decent performance, he advised
himself.
Nicolas
added a
soft-spoken though choice set of words. After the swearing-in
ceremony he felt about ready.

13

Down from the high hills the wind
occasionally blew in. It arrived
as if
out of nowhere and then went away. The wind
blowing in seemed to support the theory that now was the time for
this much-awaited event.

Nicolas sped through more preoccupations in
his mind. He wished to receive an
Okay!
message
from the Approver. It felt good
knowing someone was up there thinking of him.

He peered down at the one teed up. Fear set
in. Hands, he sensed, had been laid on his. Nicolas underwent
last-minute checks. This included repeated glances down the
fairway.

He was next caught dead aplomb over the
ball. He looked poor as a fakir while possessing not one mind
possession.

Nicolas
Kumar
felt not ready to swing into action
. He
was surprised
then
to see
that
the club was mobile. The club he had held for
so long was indeed moving
,
and in earnest this time. It drew a faint line
over the grass where dew had been.

The 3-wood went with extended care
rearward
. It
rose
.
The club
then
looked to be
scrambling up a fire ladder to
save some
helpless victim. It reached
a
peak.
It
was roughly at parallel. In perfect
peace the 3-wood appeared to relax by reclining.

Nicolas added more stretch and the club
dipped below its zenith. As if that was the last straw, the club
sharply rose from its lie-there position. It went around
and
then down with a
to-heck-with-all fast motion. The unbearable coil
had
reacted to the terrible tension
his body made.
It sent the
3-wood crashing.
The iron club, curiously referred to as a
type of wood
,
was
fast
called back to
Earth. It returned to its starting point as a
ny
metal-worker's hammer. All could hear
the ball and
3-
wood
connect,
Ting!
The two sounded as if they
’d
been involved in
an u
nfortunate roadside melee.

His many-armed swing had swung the 3-wood
down and through. His hands swept beyond the area where the ball
had been and turned over. His
little
grippers arrived behind his left ear. They
looked to have found a safe spot to hide.

The ball shot out as a medium-pacer. Nicolas
had put in the brakes at the bottom before hitting. Sorely missing
in the attack then was his usual tremendous firepower.