The Paler Shade of Autumn (6 page)

The woman in the wide-brimmed hat is the same lady Autumn saw in Jet’s thoughts earlier that morning, Jennifer. Jet introduces them and explains the circumstances under which Autumn and Jet met and the current sleeping arrangements, thanks to David’s gastro.

“Poor guy,” says Jennifer. “Quite common, unfortunately. But I’m sure your boyfriend will be fine. Sometimes the body just needs to get it all out and then it can recover.”

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” Autumn says, ending softly.

Jennifer looks to Jet, a silent communication, a subtle narrowing of her eyes, one Autumn cannot decipher.

“I’m going to introduce Autumn to Darshan and the others,” says Jet.

Jennifer nods slowly.

“Are they back at the house?”

“Master Shen is reading to them in the hall. Nice to meet you, Autumn.”

“Yeah. You too.”

Autumn knows who Darshan is immediately. As soon as Jet walks into the large room, one boy from a group of thirty, seated on the floor listening attentively with intrigued little faces, peers up at him, a smile extending from one side of his cheek to the other, eyes widening with affection. Jet smiles and waves at the boy, but straight after brings his finger to his lips, telling the boy to stay quiet for just a little longer, until the monk, dressed in a long, yellow robe, finishes the book. He reads in Hindi, a language of which Autumn can’t understand a single word.

“So you stick to the local language when teaching the children?” whispers Autumn.

Jet nods. “That assures the best possible chance to find employment and break the cycle of poverty.”

“Makes sense.”

“I had to learn it very fast. Thankfully, the language is phonetic. How you spell the word is how it is pronounced and vice versa.”

Autumn turns her attention to the monk. “Do a lot of the monks help here?”

“Mostly with lessons and meal times. They’re Buddhist, so the children learn many of the principles of the religion. At the end of the day it promotes peace and compassion, so it certainly makes for calmer kids.” He smiles briefly. “Most of the time. There have been moments, like with all kids, I guess.”

“What about you? Do you abide by the principles?”

He grins. “Um, yeah, I suppose I do. At least I try to, when I remember to. I do lead a more moral life, especially now that I’ve seen Karma in action. It’s also a little easier over here, so distant from Western temptations.”

Autumn lowers her eyes, feeling oddly guilty.
Am I one of those temptations?

Jet laughs. “I also feel I’m more responsible for what happens in my life and more willing to take responsibility for having caused them. Buddhism has beautiful concepts and I can see that if they’re followed, they would lead to happiness. But,” he lowers his eyes and smiles before looking back up at Autumn, “like all religions, down the line the teachings are bastardised, so it’s difficult to know if what I learn here is what Siddhartha Gautama intended I learn.”

“Would you call yourself a Buddhist?”

He laughs quietly. “No. Far from.”

Master Shen closes his book and places it back in the long bookshelf that lines a quarter of the right side wall. The children stand and bow to the monk and when the polite amount of time passes, Darshan runs to Jet and throws himself into his arms.

They exchange affectionate greetings in Hindi, accompanied by smiles and cuddles. He places Darshan back on his feet and he stares up at Autumn. He is a gorgeous little fellow, darkest brown hair, the same colour as his eyes that are adorned by the longest eyelashes possible on a small boy.

Autumn smiles. “Namaste, Darshan,” she says.

“Namaste,” he says, a shy grin peeking through.

“This is my friend, Autumn,” says Jet in Hindi.

By this stage, other children have begun to crowd them; smiling and curious faces.

“Why don’t we show Autumn our song we’ve learnt?”

The children cheer and jump up and down on the spot. Jet leads the kids over to the back of the hall where there is a selection of well-used guitars, drums, triangles, symbols, wooden flutes and recorders, each appearing as though they have lived a hundred reincarnations. Jet picks up a guitar and starts to strum a familiar melody—
Twinkle Twinkle Little Star
. The children grab their instruments and join in singing the song in unfamiliar, foreign lyrics, but the tune is still the same. Most of the sounds coming from the instruments hold no melody; a cacophony of noise, despite the intense looks of concentration on the children’s faces. Some of the smaller girls raise their hands to the air and make a star and wriggle their fingers like they are glimmering stars in a night sky.

When they are finished they all bow or curtsey and Autumn claps her hands fervently, grinning uncontrollably. Jet speaks, in Hindi, to the children and they say in unison, “Namaste, Autumn,” and trample out of the hall.

“They need to clean up for dinner,” he says, deciphering Autumn’s questioning glance.

“They’re absolutely adorable.”

“Well,” he says, rubbing his palms together. “How about we eat here tonight?”

Autumn nods. “I’d love to.”

“It’s vegetarian of course, but Master Sonam is a great cook.” Jet laughs. “What this man can do with lentils!”

“So no pizza?”

Jet laughs. “No. Totally traditional tonight. And then after dinner, I can take you out on the town?”

Autumn narrows her eyes. “There’s a night life here?”

This time Jet’s laugh is boisterously loud. “No. I just wanted to see your response.”

She pushes him lightly in the chest and grins. What is it about this man that makes her heart stutter so? A simple smile, a light-hearted torment, the most glorious kiss she has ever had. She wonders what she has done, what actions she has undertaken that have led her to this moment with him, a moment filled with good Karma.

The mess hall is a long, narrow room filled with multiple tables joined together in a line, accompanied on either side by benches, at which the children sit to eat. Jet explains, with so many children at the orphanage, they do dinner in multiple seatings: the younger kids first, as their bed-times are earlier, and progressively up to the older children. At the time they arrive, two sittings have already taken place, the residue of spices still lingers in the air, but the tables have been completely cleared.

“We have to rely on the goodness of the locals, pilgrims and visitors to the region to donate the food or money. When we are really short, I will dip into my bank account, just to make sure the kids have something to eat.

“You get paid for working here?”

He smiles and shakes his head. “I keep money in a bank account for the harder times we encounter. When I first arrived I went crazy, shelling out for much needed renovations, supplies and books until I learnt that it’s a never-ending need that one person alone can’t fill.”

Autumn follows Jet into the kitchen where he grabs a freshly, hand-washed tray of cutlery and carries it back out into the hall. He starts laying out mismatched cutlery, Autumn helping him. “I’m always torn,” he continues, “whether it is more beneficial to give my time to help these children, or to give my money. Unfortunately in this world, it’s hard to do both in commensurate value. Money doesn’t last long when you’re not helping it grow and always taking from the pool.”

“How do you know what’s right?”

He stops, fork in hand, and shrugs. “I don’t, and depending on what kind of donations we’re receiving, I swing from one to the other. But then I hear a kind word from one of the kids, or see them laughing and smiling when we’re playing cricket on the back field and then I’m convinced that I’m doing the right thing donating my time.”

“And it makes you happy as well.”

“Exactly.”

Autumn smiles, her own body overtaken by the contentedness emanating from Jet. “I have a question,” she says, when the tables are all set.

He raises his eyes to her.

“What was that look I saw between you and Jennifer earlier?”

He smiles. “You saw that, huh?”

She nods.

“It’s ridiculous really,” he says, then breathes in deeply. “Jenny had heard about this woman on the outskirts of Gaya who is a fortune teller. A couple of months ago she made me go with her to meet this lady and have our fortunes read.”

“What did she say?”

He lowers his eyes, bashful. “She said that I was going to meet a beautiful girl from my homeland, who will make me question my work here at the orphanage and make me want to go home.”

Autumn gasps. “You think I’m that girl?”

Jet laughs. “Jenny thinks you’re that girl.”

“I would never want you to give up what you’re doing here for me. I mean, honestly, we kissed, but I’m going home tomorrow.”

“I know,” he says, nodding. “Believe me, I don’t give the fortune teller much credence, as much as I’d give that decrepit woman today who said you’re cursed credence. Jenny’s just superstitious because a few things that were told to her actually eventuated. And if you ask me, the things that did come true were by pure pot-luck.”

Autumn’s stomach tenses. “I should see about eating and staying somewhere else tonight.”

“Autumn,” he says sternly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

She welcomes his rebuke, even as she was saying the words, leaving is the last thing she wants to do, despite her feelings of unease. If Jet finds her mesmerising, then Autumn can admit that she finds him magnetic. He draws her in to him, if not physically, mentally; if not mentally, spiritually. She lethargically nods and her shoulders slump on a long exhale. “You’re right. Besides, I don’t think I could have left you.”

He steps forwards, his mouth drawn in a serious line and strokes his finger gently along the flesh of her cheek. “There are worse things that can question my being here.” He kisses her once, twice on the lips. “Plenty worse. In fact I’ve encountered a lot of those things already.” He takes her face between his tender hands and kisses her again, more slowly, lingering at her lips. “Believe me, I welcome your presence now and any subsequent mental turmoil that I experience.”

Autumn smiles, her face is flushed, body burning. She stands on her tiptoes and leans into him. She catches his bottom lip between hers and sighs as he opens his mouth to receive her tongue. Jet’s urgency grows with each moment their tongues, lips, hands discover each other until he snaps his face and body away from her.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking around the room to ensure there are no spying eyes of children or monks. “I shouldn’t have got carried away like that. It’s highly inappropriate to do that here.”

Autumn draws in an equalising lungful of air and smooths her hair with her hands. “I’m as much to blame.”

He stares at her for a moment, his eyes slightly narrowed. “What is this between us?”

Autumn shrugs, shakes her head. “I don’t know. I don’t think we need to know.” She lowers her eyes and doesn’t understand where this courage comes from to be so honest with Jet, and says, “All I know is that I like it so much.”

Jet takes a hurried step towards her, then stops. “Me too. Too much.”

Footsteps along the timber floors echo towards them. It’s Jenny. Jet turns to greet her and is met by an accusative expression. Jenny glances at Autumn and glares back at Jet. “I thought you’d moved on from all this sort of carrying-on, Jet.”

Autumn cannot see Jet’s expression from behind, but doesn’t miss his body stiffen. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t voice your unfounded evaluations about my life,” voice calm, yet stern. “You know me better than that.”

Jenny’s posture deflates and a frown overcomes her. “I know.” Again she looks to Autumn, back to Jet. “I’m sorry.”

Jet nods. “And I’m sorry for worrying you.”

Jenny smiles, although only a fraction. “Come on, let’s get this dinner served. The kids are on their way.”

Soon, the hall is filled with the bustle of excited children, tables abound with dishes of spiced lentils and potato curry. Autumn sits with Jenny and Jet at a separate table lining the back wall of the hall.

Jenny tells Autumn how she came to work at the orphanage on a full-time basis. Much like Jet, Jenny was at a melting point in her own life in Melbourne—exhausted from all the hours she was demanded to work, apathetic about her inability to choose what to do with her time; trapped by the monotony of life. She was married to a man who worked just as hard, which barely allowed for a quality moment to spend with each other. Though she earned plenty of money as a lawyer, she was unfulfilled.

One day she was approached by her co-worker, who had recently begun practising Buddhist principles, inviting her to go on a pilgrimage. So Jenny went to India with her friend and her friend was the only one to go home.

While Jenny was in Bodh Gaya she met Master Shen. He told her, in broken English, about the orphanage he ran and showed her the hundreds of children that were, like Jenny, bound by an earthly trap—theirs poverty. She realised that this is what she needed to be doing with her time, her life, her future. So she divorced her husband and quit her job. Jenny had now been in India for nearly four years and has only, on the most difficult of days, regretted her decision.

Autumn is in awe of the selflessness that both Jenny and Jet possess. Though she has her own passions and sympathies, giving up your entire life for the benefit of others seems an impossible feat.

“You’re a young woman, Jenny, and I hope you don’t mind me asking, but do you ever think about having children or getting married again?”

Jenny flushes as she smiles. She flickers a glance to Jet, then back to Autumn. “I won’t lie that I don’t get the biological urges to have my own children and to be with a man, but my work here is so much more important. To bring a child into this world, when so many others need me to be their mother, is something that wouldn’t sit well with me. I don’t begrudge anyone else for doing so; we all have our paths to follow. Mine just happens to be here in India.”

Autumn listens to Jenny with her ears, but she also listens to the silent communication Jenny sends across the table to Jet: a subtle glance from the corner of her eye that meets Jet’s knowing gaze.