Holy Water (25 page)

“
I see,
”
Henry says, and when he looks up, Maya is glaring at him. He shrugs:
What?
She turns and stomps away, shaking her head.

“
Will that be all for today?
”
the minister asks.

Henry looks around.
“
Yes,
”
he says.
“
I think it will.
”

~ * ~

The next morning Henry
’
s first speech to the employees seated before him inside the call center is straightforward and measured, devoid of Giffler
’
s suggested threats and any hint of a malevolent empire. After thanking Maya, he tells them that on behalf of the founders of Happy Mountain Springs, he is excited about the opportunity to live in such a beautiful place and that he looks forward to working with them. He tells them that in a few days the
American conversational etiquette expert from Kashmir will arrive and they will begin training.
“
In the meantime,
”
he says,
“
after we view this short film about the Happy Mountain Springs way, we
’
ll hand out a folder with additional background as well as some sample call scenarios you can familiarize yourselves with. Okay?
”

No one answers until Maya steps forward and excitedly says something in Galadonian to the employees, who answer in unison,
“
Okay!
”

~ * ~

The film commences with a beautifully composed scene of a drop of water forming on the ice-glazed, leafless tip of a maple branch. The camera pulls back to reveal a snow-covered Vermont forest thawing on a golden early spring day. One drop becomes a thousand becomes a trickle down the face of glacial granite into a gently moving brook. A drumbeat mimics the building momentum of the dripping and trickling. Brooks converge as a string section joins the percussion, forming a tumbling and foaming river coursing through a narrowing gorge. Already bored, Henry turns to glimpse the others and is surprised to see that they are transfixed by the lavishly filmed hydro ballet, or, better yet, hydro porn.

The music all but vanishes as a cupped hand reaches into the blue-black current. The camera pulls back as it follows the hand
rising from the water, revealing two athletic
thirtysomething
women in dungarees and flannel shirts kneeling at river
’
s edge. One woman raises her cupped hand to the lips of the other, who drinks from it. Henry again turns to the others to see if there are objections to the homosexual overtones, but either they don
’
t care or they don
’
t get it.

For the next three minutes the two women, Audrey and Pat, walk through the Vermont countryside as they share the abridged, media-friendly story of how they came to found Happy Mountain Springs. A deep, abiding love of nature. A commitment to purity of mind and taste. And an unabashed shared desire to change the world for the better. With this they each lift a sixteen-ounce plastic bottle of Happy Mountain Springs water and the picture match dissolves to the image of two bottles in the plant. Then a dozen. Then thousands of bottles, flowing toward the viewers like an infinite, synthetic,
nonbiodegradable
river.

Which prompts a collective gasp from the small gathering.

Henry takes a closer look at the tidal flow of branded bottles on the screen to see what has prompted the gasps and now the whispers and head-shaking. Two women in the back of the room rise and walk out of the building. Several others begin to hiss and don
’
t stop until the scene switches back to
Audrey and Pat and two Irish setters in front of the crackling stone fireplace in their New England farmhouse.

Henry looks at Maya.
“
Did I miss something?
”

“
Plastic.
”

“
What, some kind of pagan plastic deity? A sex toy?
”

Maya smiles and looks down before forming an answer.
“
The plastic bottles. Seeing so many in one place shocked them.
”

“
Because of their water situation? Did they feel that seeing so much clean water was offensive, a taunt?
”

“
There is that,
”
Maya answers.
“
But it
’
s really what the water is inside of that offends them. Plastic bags and bottles are forbidden in the kingdom.
”

He looks back at the group. As the credits begin to roll, the whispering returns.
“
Didn
’
t they know that Happy Mountain Springs is a
bottled
water company?
”

“
That
’
s a good question. Even if they did, I think the seemingly endless quantity was a bit of a shock.
”

“
Well, it
’
s not as if we
’
re bringing all those bottles
into
the kingdom. So,
”
Henry continues, looking at the remaining members of the group,
“
do you think they
’
re okay with this—that they
’
re not so offended they won
’
t want to work for us?
”

Maya nods, then slowly tilts her head from side to side.
“
I think they
’
re okay with it. Poverty has a way of making people okay with all kinds of things.
”

~ * ~

Outside, the sunshine and mountain view have vanished, smothered in roof-high clumps of tangerine smog. Henry does a three-sixty, trying to get his bearings.

“
The wind shifted from the south,
”
Maya explains.
“
When it
’
s this color, it
’
s coming from the coal furnaces. When it
’
s from the concrete and steel mills, at sunset the particulate becomes a shade of violet that, despite the source, is almost beautiful.
”

“
According to outside reports, Galado didn
’
t have any heavy industry.
”

Maya glances at her feet. Almost smiles. She
’
s in on the maudlin joke about the ubiquitous industrial complexes they
’
re not permitted to discuss, but she won
’
t allow him that.
“
Yes,
”
she says,
“
that is what I have heard too.
”

At the rough piled-stone wall on the edge of the property, two small girls and a boy no older than three stare at them. The girls are shoeless. The boy
’
s left arm ends in a stump just above the elbow. Henry gives them a quick wave, then looks away.

“
You don
’
t want to be here, do you?
”

“
In a tiny village in the middle of nowhere teaching workers from a drought-plagued region how to talk about crystal-clear water that comes in a container that, incidentally, is forbidden here? What makes you think that?
”

Maya narrows her eyes and looks past him, into the smog.
“
I think that the way you are feeling right now, wherever you happen to be is the middle of nowhere.
”

~ * ~

Double Blind

Maya leads the way, walking along the edge of the muddy street and through the stone archway of a restaurant that has no sign. After four days of no progress, of blank stares from the operators in training, of gruff responses and eye rolls from Maya, and after four nights of self-doubt and loathing back in his room in the eco-lodge, he told her that they had to talk. To clear the air, to make a plan or to bail.

Henry had suggested dining back at the lodge, but she said no; she was not a fan of the eco-lodge.

“
This is my favorite place in all of Galado,
”
Maya explains as they pass through a narrow alley lined with empty cedar food crates and into an outdoor courtyard. She is in a lavender dress, and her hair, usually pulled back at work, falls in a graceful sweep of black across her forehead to her shoulders.
“
And this is not only because it is owned by my cousin and has been in his family for more than six hundred years.
”
At the end of the courtyard they pass under
another, smaller arch and emerge on a small stone patio cantilevered over the side of a sheer ledge.

Henry asks,
“
Why does everything beautiful in this country seem to be clinging to the side of a cliff?
”

“
That
’
s how it is here. On the precipice of sublime beauty and total catastrophe. Spiritually, physically . . .
”

Henry stares over the cliff edge, waiting for Maya to finish. In
the valley, black coal smoke seeps from riverside stacks into the gray dusk sky. From above he can hear the voices of monks reciting a sutra.

“
. . . and of course,
”
Maya adds,
“
politically.
”
She joins him at the stone railing and considers the view.
“
Did you get everything that you needed done back at the lodge?
”
She pronounces
lodge
as if it is the name of a nemesis, a pimp—as if it is cursed.

He nods. After leaving the call center this afternoon, he had Shug drive him back to the lodge, where he changed clothes and checked his messages. Corporate spam from Giffler. A long-winded note from the American manners expert from India, whose arrival is still a few days off. And then there was the e-mail from Rachel telling him that their house is worth $150,000 less today than it was the day they bought it, and that the Realtor says they should be happy if they get that, because the market is completely dead. Then she said he might want to know that before he left she took a lock of his hair while he was sleeping and she has now given it to a witch to create another, more damaging spell, which they will invoke under the light of the next full moon. It ended with a passage written in a language he
’
s never seen; however, after two of the words she provided the English translation,
death
and
penis,
in parentheses.

He turns to Maya.
“
So you
’
re obviously not a fan of the lodge. Any reason?
”

“
Truth without consequences?
”

He nods.

“
Well, first I should clarify. Because I am from this,
”
she says, waving her hand over the valley, the mountainside,
“
going to such a place would be inappropriate, and, honestly, for the same reason, because I know so many people who work there, it would make me uncomfortable. The pampering. The excess.
”

“
But for me,
”
he responds,
“
it
’
s okay? The excess and pamper-
ing
?

“
For you it
’
s a different social and philosophical dynamic. I shouldn
’
t judge and didn
’
t intend to. It
’
s up to the individual to decide what is ultimately best, and for some the lodge is the pinnacle.
”

She turns and looks at Henry
’
s face, his eyes. Something about her smile makes him wonder if her pals already told her about his
botched massage experience. If she thinks he
’
s a whoremonger. Or gay.
“
You know, originally I was scheduled to stay somewhere else—more modest, I imagine. But without telling me, the prince had me moved.
”