Missionary, he called himself.

By the gentle brook, I sat with my left hand playing with my hair, and my left resting on the grass. I was smiling. God knows why, but yes I was. I was smiling. Thinking about the past week, the week at holy Jerusalem.

‘Vence’ I heard mum call my name. ‘Vence, get into the car. Soon. The mass will begin. God will punish you, if you’re late.’

‘Yes mum.’ I said, seating myself in the back seat.

I was twenty, but never had I thought of visiting Jerusalem, but my mum had. Always. And so here I was with her, on a holy tour, in my twenties.

What’s being holy? Praying. Singing Hymns. Attending the Sunday service. Donating for the church. I don’t know. But for me I don’t know what this word meant. It was just another word, just another.

My thoughts broke. The car screeched and stopped with a jerk in front of the church. The church bell was just ringing. ‘We’re on time. Hurry.’ Mum said with a sense of relief.

Yes. Very much. Because you counter answered yourself. You made an irony. That is what I thought. But I said, nothing. I smiled.

I got out of the car, and marched behind my mum, as obedient and elegant as ever.

Near the church gate, I saw a man. Fair, tall, handsome. Surrounded by too many people. I tapped the shoulder of a lady in the crowd and asked her, softly, ‘Is he selling some good stuff?’

She nodded.

‘Yes.’

‘What?’

‘Knowledge.’

‘Excuse me. Uh...I didn’t get you?’

‘Never mind. Just listen to him.’

I made way through the crowd and tried to get hold of what he was saying.

‘“So I learnt this from God. He recreates inside each of us. He has got a new him in each of us. A new idea of everything. A new idea of good and bad. A new idea about religion. A new idea about himself. He recreates inside each of us. He gives us all the opportunity to redefine. Redefine Catholicism. Redefine life. Redefine motion. Redefine words. Redefine us. Redefine our beliefs. Redefine our thoughts. Redefine – everything.

‘“ But one thing that needs to remain same is, love. Love for all. He taught us that love for all is our universal religion. He gave us lessons that taught us to forgive. They told us not to sin. But they didn’t define either of them. God gave us bricks. We ought to design our own erection, the way we want: we.”’

I fell in love. I had gained so much in the five minutes I spent with him, actually we spent with him. It wasn’t just me and my instincts that had learnt to live but others’ too. I felt jealous and proud, I don’t know why.

‘“ Okay, friends rest after the service. Into the church, I go now.”’ He said, smiling.

Shit. I feel like I have known him so long. I want to talk to him, more. The entire evening. I want to learn all he knows. I want all of his to be mine. Shit. I just fell in love with a stranger.

I stopped thinking. At least I tried to.

During the entire mass, I was somewhere else, in my mind. It was only my physical body that was there, at the church. My hands joint, my eyes closed, but my mind wandering around. Beggig me to leave the place. My heart, beating faster than ever. My entire body felt lifeless. I wanted him so badly. I wanted to talk to him so badly.

The service ended within its normal time. I had somehow managed to sit through the service, with bated breath.

After the service had finally ended, I told mum to leave back to the hotel and that I had some work and would reach back soon. She agreed after a little argument and I kissed her good bye and left.

I don’t know why was I walking so fast. Why was I marching like this! Wait. Am I okay? No. I am not. Yes. I am. No.

Okay enough. I want him. I have to look for him. I just want him.

I began looking for him. Here, there and everywhere.

I saw relief engulfing me when I saw his face, partially from the corner of the lawn, just beside the grotto. Flooded with people around him, he was selling knowledge again. This time I thought of something different. I didn’t want to listen to him. I wanted to talk to time. Listening is very different form talking. Listening is when one speaks and others listen. Talking is when all speak, equally and with meaning.

After what seemed an hour to me, he ended his talk. I waited for the crowd to disperse and then finally saw his face, again. Fair as it was earlier. Handsome as it was earlier. The gleaming rays of the sun fell on his white skin, and his sweat was shone completely. How could a person not sweat in May? His sweat seemed to flow like water. He was tired, I could sense. How often would you judge a stranger’s mind?

I wanted to talk to him. My knees trembling, but I was walking. Slow. Fast. Slow. Fast. At every slow step my heart would beat coolly, but at every fast step my heart would pound and would want to get out of my chest and rest inside his.

With the same slow, fast pace I went closer to him. With every inch I got closer to him, I felt my little heart dancing, singing a merry song, smiling and shooing all the melancholy away. Yet it would beast fast, fast and faster. So much that I would have to stop just to cool it down a little. After a few minutes of battle with my heart, I finally reached the place he was. Standing, leaning on the grotto stone, with his hand covering his face, and trying to fight with sun rays. I went and stood right in front of him, from where the sun rays were hitting him.

‘Hey’ I said with a smile and getting my right palm ahead.

‘Hello’ he said with the cutest smile ever and getting his soft and warm hand into mine.

I don’t want to leave his hand. No. I want to hold onto it. Now, tomorrow and forever. I want to hold ont it!

‘I am Vence. Vensha Pereira.’

‘Oh. I am …well…who am I? I am James. James…um just James.’

Was I trying to be too close? Was getting to pester him? No, I hardly had said anything. Okay, he is looking. No, don’t smile. Speak. I said speak!

‘I am here with my mother. For a…for a ...holiday?’ I said smiling and trying to sound real.

‘Oh. That’s nice. Out for a walk?’ he asked with his hand coming out again.

‘Sure, I would love to.’ I said, excited like a kid.

Throughout the walk he was speaking. I was listening. But this felt like talking, I don’t know why. When he told me about his love for Jesus, about his passion for Christianity, about his broken family, about his job, his tours, I felt I was responding. I was responding to him from my heart and I felt he heard me. He could feel what I felt. He was like my shadow, but a dark shadow.

Dark Shadow. I had come up with this term a couple of days back. For me it meant to refer to a person who comes with u just like your shadow and holds your hand tight even in the dark. The darkness is its strength. It is its love. It is its potential. It is its need. Every person has one dark shadow. Every being has one hand in the darkness. Every life has a shoulder to cling on to in the dark. It is we who need to recognize that hand that shoulder, that dark shadow.

I felt I had found mine. I had found my dark shadow.

He was still talking. I felt a feeling of awe and gentleness. Never had I been gentle to such a talkative person.

We had walked out of the church premises, to the local street.

‘The local streets always fascinate me everywhere.’ I said.

He wasn’t listening until I held his hand.

‘Shh…stop. We have a long way to go. You can tell me all this then.’ I said with a smile and clinging tighter onto his hand.

‘Okay.’ He said, smiling, as if he had been feeling the same.

We walked silently for a few minutes, with our fingers playing with each other, his finger drawing patterns on my palm and I smiling away. Okay, make that blushing.

After which seemed hours to us, we reached a bar’s entrance.

‘Want to grab a drink?’ he said.

‘Okay. In case I grab two, drop me back to the hotel.’

‘Sure.’ He said with an even brighter smile, than mine.

Was this happening? James and Vence. We hardly knew who we were and what and we were paying smiles like a couple.

He took me to the corner and told me to sit in that place. There were just two of us in the corner, so it was cosy and private.

I felt my stomach making odd noises!

He went to get a drink. I waited for him, staring at the bar.

I looked around. Young people, groups, couples, friends, all of them were enjoying. Hogging, clubbing, dancing like no one was watching and all that. My spirit longed to go out there. It wanted to join them partying. It wanted to join them eating. It wanted them to accompany them shouting. But all of this it longed to with its heart – him. James. He had stolen my heart, made it his, and been a little too selfish by mesmerizing my soul too. He had me his own thing. I was his possession now, it seemed so.

The sound of the glass landing on the table broke my thoughts. He came with one bottle of port wine and two pretty glasses.

He settled down on the table in front of me, smiling the same.

He began to talk. Yes finally after listening, speaking and again silent talking. We were talking.

‘Strange, Na?’

‘What?’

‘I, a crazy missionary and you a pretty chick out here, on a dinner date?’

What? Missionary! Chick! Date! Too much in one sentence.

‘Yes, maybe.’

He smiled, and looked away.

Then he began to speak.

Yes, again just speak, no talk.

‘I saw you at the church, today morning. I saw the way you were adoring me. I saw you, Vensha. I did.’ He said, his voice chocking.

I leaned ahead, and kept my hand over his palm. He smiled.

‘Are you okay? James?’ I spoke, with bated breath.

‘Yes. Don’t worry. I am okay.’

Before I could respond he continues to speak.

‘Let me finish.’ He said

I nodded, resting my hand over his palm, still.

‘You reminded me of her, Vensha. I could see her in you. When you spoke I could hear her speaking. The sparkle in your eyes and the warmth in your smile made me feel strong, again. Just the way I used to feel when I was with her, Vensha. Just the same. I felt safe, Vensha. When you held my hand, I felt she was touching me. I felt her love for me, again. I felt her, Vensha. In you, I felt her.’ He choked as he spoke and finally broke down.

On our touching palms he kept his head and wept. I could feel tears on my palm, hot and filled with pain. It scared me. The entire thing he had said, had scared me. I felt as if I was going to lose him.

What do you lose? You lose everything. But the things that are close to you, or the people you love, are the ones you realize when you have lost them. They make your heart pain. Badly.

‘James. Look at me. Who is she James? Who am I, James?’

‘You are her. You are her, Vensha. I know she has come back.’

‘Who James?’

I clinged tighter on to his palm.

‘She, Vensha.’

He showed me a picture. It was a beautiful girl. Her hair reminded me of soft puppy fur, her eyes were cattish and her smile, aww, so perfect. I fell in love with the girl.

Wait who was she?

‘Who is she?’

‘Alen, mine she was. My every breath, every move was for her, just her. And she left me alone and went Vensha. She went.’

‘James. Can you tell me, everything? Properly.’

I tightened my grip over his hand.

‘She died.’

His voice was nearly inaudible.

I felt a pinch in my spine. A cool breeze blew, even though it was summer.

Death. What was death? End of everything. Beginning of something. I don’t know. No one knows. Death, can’t be tasted again and again. It is once, and forever. It is love that can be tasted again and again but felt once, and forever.

I felt I was losing him. My hand, the one resting on my lap began to get cold. I felt an uneasy itch in my neck. My stomach felt empty, even though I had just gulped down one glass of wine. I felt different, and certainly bad.

He continued.

‘She died in an accident. Last year. She loved me and Christianity equally. Her faith in god, she believed kept our love alive, through all bad. Back then I never prayed. I rarely attended the Sunday service or even received communion. I never visited the church, except waiting for Alen at the entrance. Every Sunday she would come out and say, ‘God said he love you too. You will understand him soon.’ And I would just smile, thinking it to be her innocence. I never realized what she truly meant. Till, till that day. She was talking on me to the phone, I still remember. Her voice, her words. And that bang.’

He stopped. Sniffed. Choked. Broke down.

I couldn’t help but sit and watch. I didn’t know what to do. My head was spinning. My second glass was over. I felt high. I felt drunk. I felt drugged. I didn’t know what to do. My hand, the one on his hand still soaked in the hot tear drops as he shed them painfully. I sat and watched and bared the pain with him, as if it were my duty. I felt so, I don’t know why!

Should I tell him? My feelings, should I bring them out: now. I need to think. No I can’t think. I need to act. I have to act. I need to calm him down.

‘James’ I said. Leaning over the table as much I could. ‘Come out. I want to talk to you’ and suddenly I was acting as if I knew him since ages.

It was 12:00 Noon. James and I came were now out. We sat on the parapet by the street. Our hands holding each other tightly, still. As if, if that bond broke, we would die.

‘I love you James.’ Yes! I said it. I was happy but I felt scared. I needed shelter, in his heart.

‘I really do, James.’

He said nothing. He just hugged me, softly.

I felt his chest so close. His aroma, his breath – him. I loved him, more – now.

‘You know the Virgin Mary, Vensha?’

‘Yes. Who doesn’t?’

‘Many, don’t, Vensha.’

‘Huh?’

‘The Virgin Mary. She accepted a lot. She suffered a lot. But she did it all for her son. She saw her son being killed, yet forgave them, because he told her. She understood him, Vensha. She loved him and therefore understood. I wish we could be like her, Vensha. I wish.’

‘If I were her, I would let go Alen’s memories and grab your arm. But I am not her, Vensha. I am not.’

He became week again. The sun rays illuminated his face from above, hot yet glowing like gold. When the rays fell upon his sweat, I felt pearls had grown out on his face. So pretty. So perfect.

I understood him. Just like Mary understood her son. She did it for him. I did for James. I will be with him, never leave him but will never want a right over him. I will love him, in words, in dreams but will never expect me to love him back. I will love him like a dream. A farther dream, and a close friend. I will hold his hand and hug him, but never let his lips touch mine, neither will I let him feel my body, nor will I feel his. I will make love to him, the holy way.

‘I understand, James.’

‘So best friends?’ And I let out my hand from his and put it right in between us.

‘Yes, forever.’ He said as he held my hand again and softly pressed it. I remembered my oath, to make love to him, the holy way and smiled, with piousness.

“Holy Love,

I make love to him this way, daily.

I don’t care, if I marry someone else,

Because I know I have him still, daily.”