Waking Anastasia (30 page)

@TheTaoOfJerr: “After silence, that which comes nearest to expressing the inexpressible is music.”

~Aldous Huxley

DANVEER’S DIMINUTIVE, SIXTYISH
Uncle Palak couldn’t take his eyes off of Ana. Although he was speaking with Jerry, his eyes kept darting to Ana’s shy smile. “Jerry, young sir, Mika has explained to you about auras and energy, yes?”

“Somewhat. She showed me that she could push me without touching me, which was kinda freaky, but pretty cool. I also did some surfing on the Net to learn a bit more.”

“Excellent. What I would like to do—” He closed his eyes and shook his head, then looked straight at Ana. “You should not be here, young lady.”

Ana stood, her smile slipping away. “I apologize. I will go for a walk if you wish.” She picked up the book and started for the coat tree.

Palak waved his hands dismissively and shook his head again, his voice softer than his words. “No, no, no. Not here, in this room or apartment, but not in this
world
. You should have moved on. What is it that you desire so strongly that you have kept rebirth at bay?”

Danveer chuckled nervously. “Uncle, what are you yabbering about? What did I say on the way over about not insulting our hosts?”

“Miss Ana, have I insulted you in any way?” He placed his palms together in front of his face and made a small bow. “If so, please forgive me. I’m only speaking of what I see.”

Ana looked to Jerry for guidance but he could only shrug. He had no idea what they should say, what to admit to. He patted the couch next to him and Ana joined him, placing the book in the pouch of the hoodie she was wearing. “No insult, Mr. Palak, sir. What is it that you see, exactly?”

“Would you take my hand, please? And call me
Uncle
.” He reached out to Ana, his hand open and palm up. Ana placed her hand on his and the old man gasped. He released Ana’s hand slowly. “Thank you. I would love to hear your story while I work with Jeremy. Would you mind?”

Ana shrugged, unsure. “If Jerry does not mind.”

“It’s your story, Shvibzik. I just ask one thing of everyone, though.” He glanced at each of them in turn. “Whether you believe Ana or not when she’s done, none of this is spoken of outside this loft, to
anyone
. Please. Mika? Danveer? Uncle Palak?”

“Of course, Boss.”

“No problem, Jerr.”

“Certainly not. I mean, I agree. I will certainly not discuss it.”

It was Jerry’s turn to shrug. “Okay, Shvibzik, go for it.”

“
Every
thing, Jerry?”

“You might as well. In for a penny . . .”

“. . . in for a pound, my Sweet.” She settled in beside Jerry, bringing her feet up under her and taking his hand in both of hers. “My full name is Anastasia Nicholaevna Romanova. My proper title is Grand Duchess. I was born on June 18, 1901. I died on July 17, 1918.”

Danveer laughed. “Yeah. Nice try. Do we look stupid?” His uncle cuffed him on his thigh with the back of his hand and Mika flashed him a disappointed look.

“Shvibzik, you might as well show them, right off the start. It’ll get rid of the doubt so that the rest will all make sense. Go slowly, though, so they can be sure.” He flashed a sad half-smile and nodded at Ana. A moment later she began to fade. The sweatshirt and pants collapsed onto the couch. Mika and Danveer gasped in shock, Uncle Palak in delight. Eventually Ana returned to the book, which Jerry carefully picked up and placed on his lap. “She’ll tell you all about it, but this book belonged to Ana. My great-grandfather picked it up in Russia, in July, 1918.” He caressed the cover and Ana faded back in to join them. Their guests were silent.

“I died when I was seventeen,” Ana continued. “This is how I appeared.” She morphed to her younger self. “This is me if I was twenty-two.” She returned to the age they knew her at, getting a bit taller, her curves filling out, and her hair returning to her preferred length, thick braid included.

Danveer whispered to Jerry, “Holy shit! Do you have anything stronger to drink than tea, Jerr? This is totally messed up.”

“You bet. The cabinet above the sink. Help yourself to whatever you like. Anyone else? Mika? Uncle Palak?”

“No, thank you.” Mika’s sad eyes followed Danveer into the kitchen but she said nothing.

“Thank you, no, Jerry. And if you will lean back into the cushions, I would like to explore your illness, if I may.”

“Okay.” He relaxed while the swami got up and moved around behind him on the couch. Danveer went to the kitchen, poured himself a couple ounces of rye, and returned to his seat. Jerry nodded to Ana. “Sorry to interrupt, Shvibzik. Please go on.”

WHILE ANA RECOUNTED
her adventures in Victoria and tried vainly to answer Mika’s questions about where she went and what it felt like when she was in the book, Uncle Palak’s hands moved slowly around Jerry’s head, never quite touching him, but never straying too far. Jerry closed his eyes and let both the gentle touch on his energy fields and the sound of Ana’s voice soothe him.

As the swami worked his “magic”, Jerry felt a fog clear from his head. Or maybe it was like washing a day’s worth of cycling road dust off in a shower. But it also felt like a lawn might, when freshly raked of fallen leaves and once again able to reach up and feel the sunshine on the individual blades of grass. The leadenness of his limbs was brushed away and every now and then he felt a little push to one side or the other as pressure was applied to his aura or energy field or whatever was being manipulated during the strange process.

It went on and on and Jerry let himself drift, not hearing the actual words spoken, nor seeing the expressions on their guests’ faces as Ana’s fantastic tale enthralled them. He remembered the limestone buildings lining the steep hill of St. Marys’ main street, Isis’ smile when he gave her the sweater she wanted so badly, the tangy smell of the Pacific Ocean when he stood on the upper deck of the ferry, and the radiant look on Ana’s face when she was dancing at the Empress Hotel. There were no headaches, no seizures, and no mental confusion. His world was all clarity and sunlight. Just when he didn’t think his world could get any brighter, or clearer, he simply opened his eyes at some subtle signal from Uncle Palak.

“How do you feel, Jeremy?”

“Um,
wow
?” He couldn’t stop himself from smiling and once he started smiling he couldn’t do anything
but
smile. He looked to each of them in turn, Uncle Palak last, as the swami came around and once again sat opposite Jerry in the chair. Ana settled herself gently on the couch and took Jerry's hand again. He squeezed back, lovingly. “I haven’t felt this clear-headed in what seems like years. Have you just cured me?”

“Sadly, Jeremy, no. What ails you,
I
cannot heal. It has spread far and wide throughout your brain. I was able to improve your blood flow, clear up much clutter, get rid of some very old clumps of emotional mud, and realign your energy fields so that you are receptive to the healing energy of the nearby ocean, but healing your tumour is beyond me, I am afraid. I certainly hope that isn’t what you expected from my visit. Is that what Mika led you to believe?” He looked at Mika with confusion.

Jerry shook his head. “Not at all. She just said not to expect anything spectacular, but that you might be able to bring me a little peace. At least I
think
that’s what she said. Sometimes I can’t even remember Ana’s name, let alone where I work or who with.”

“I understand. Maybe what I have done will help with that somewhat. Maybe. I think what is most important is that you keep positive, which will understandably be very difficult in the coming weeks and months. I cannot give you the entire Hindu philosophy lecture in the short time I am here, but I will have Mika email you some links and give you some books and audio discs which will be a start.”

“I’m not exactly the religious type, Uncle.”

“That is, as they say, ‘okay’, Jeremy. You are very ill, and although the medical doctors will do all they can to extend your life, I just want to help you prepare a little for what comes next. Whether it comes in months, or years, it is a beautiful thing and thinking about it should bring you peace and joy, not stress and heartache.” He smiled at Ana. “Of course, this is what I believed until I met this absolutely charming young lady. Maybe the materials will help you
both
to find peace so that when the time comes, it will be serene and blissful. In truth, that is all any of us can really ask for in this life.” Checking his watch, he stood abruptly. “Please excuse my rudeness, but I have to be in court first thing tomorrow and am meeting my client at his home in Oak Bay in an hour.”

Everyone else stood, Danveer and Mika going for their coats. Jerry extended his hand to Uncle Palak. “Thank you very much for your time, sir. I do feel better, and whether it’s psychological or whatever, I appreciate it.”

“It is my pleasure. I would be pleased to come again in a week or two, if you wish.” Danveer helped his uncle into his wool trench coat.

“Of course. I’d like that a lot. Maybe on an evening when we can relax and talk more about, well, about what I have to look forward to.”

“Yes, yes. I was going to suggest the same thing. Also, if time permits, I would love to hear all about this truly unique young lady’s experiences in the Imperial Court. Only the joyous times, of course.” He winked at Ana and she giggled.

“We would love to welcome you back, Uncle Palak, and it would bring me great joy to answer any questions you may have.” She hugged the swami, much to his delight.

FAREWELLS WERE DISTRIBUTED
evenly and soon Ana and Jerry were once again alone in the loft, the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the bubbling air pump in Sushi’s tank the only sounds. Ana kissed Jerry on the cheek and went to the laptop where she logged onto iTunes. “I do so hope that I can find that musician Uncle Palak recommended.” She was still amazed by how much information was simply at her fingertips.

“Ravi Shankar? Shouldn’t be a problem. He was pretty popular, especially with George Harrison.” She looked over and saw him pick up his phone, look at the screen, and then toss it on the coffee table. His other hand went to his temple.

She spun the chair around to face him. “What is wrong?”

“I wanted to call my sister but it’s too late.” He stomped into the kitchen and started rifling through the refrigerator.

“It is only half-past-eight.”

“Here, it’s eight-thirty, but she’s three hours ahead of us, in Toronto.”

“Three hours? Then it is certainly too late. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

“Dammit! I want to talk to her before I call my—
our
—mother. Shit.” He grabbed a bag of chewy chocolate chip cookies from the bottom shelf of the fridge and took them back to the couch.

“What if you sent her a text and asked her to go to your mother’s home tomorrow evening in order to speak with them both at the same time? I believe that your news will be best heard if they can share it.” She turned back to the computer.

“Like it was with Isis? Yeah, that went so well that I want to do it all over again.”

Not certain how to handle Jerry’s sudden anger, she let him munch his cookies, while she searched for Ravi Shankar. With a few clicks she found what she was looking for and Shankar’s distinct “Mishra Gara” filled the near silence of the loft. She closed her eyes and concentrated on the peaceful sitar music. “I have heard this before. A visiting British diplomat had an Indian musician with him, I believe. Or maybe it was one of my mother’s cousins. My memory of the event is foggy, at best. A beautiful sound, nonetheless. Uncle Palak was so right. Do you not think so?” She turned back to Jerry but he wasn’t listening, he was finishing a text.

“There. Sent. Tomorrow at five, our time. Remind me.” He pushed the heel of his hand against his temple. “
Please
, Ana.”

“Of course.” She took the cookies from him and kissed his forehead. She was worried. “If you are still hungry, then might I suggest something healthier than baked goods? Some fruit salad, perhaps?”

Jerry grumbled. “Fine, but make it quick, please. I’m hungry now.” He jammed his hands into his temples, but after a moment he relaxed, as if the pain suddenly vanished. “Oh, thank
God
.” He swung his feet around and up onto the couch. Before Ana could even ask him if he wanted fruit juice or green tea, he was snoring.

JERRY WOKE UP
frustrated. “Let’s go for a walk. I’m feeling cooped up in this one room prison.” There was no answer. He was alone, which suited him fine. He grabbed his keys and coat and started for the door. At the last second he had a minor crisis of conscience, scribbled a note that he was walking down to the Inner Harbour, and left it on the coffee table next to the book.

HE STILL DIDN’T
know a lot of the landmarks in downtown Victoria, but he knew how to get from the loft to the Inner Harbour and did so without much awareness of the world around him. He stopped at traffic lights, walked around fellow pedestrians, avoided the larger of the puddles, and eventually found himself sitting on a bench with his back to the Empress Hotel, staring at the private sailboats and cruisers strung with bright, twinkling Christmas lights, from “stem to stern” as his sailor father used to say.