FIVE STEP
Author
TIM I GURUNG
Author Bio
I am a writer based in HK, I write about global issues, and I have just published six novels. I was born in Nepal, I came to HK in 1980 as a Gurkha solider and retired in 1993. Then I got a job at an international company working in China. I have been living in HK since then with my family, established my own business and retired now. After turning fifty, I started my own charity foundation, ISSLCARE, all the proceeds from my books goes here and it helps finance the needy families in Nepal so they can send their children to school. I only write for my charity and I have plan to add 2 more books in 2015.
Description
John lost his family in a car accident, he had no reason to live again and closed himself up within the four walls of his home. Then one day, he garnered enough strength to visit the accident area where he found a memory chip that contained five telephone numbers and decided to find out if it had anything to do with the accident. It took him to Okinawa/Japan where he dealt with occupation issue of American soldiers, Tibet where he found way to stop poachers from killing Chiru, Kashmir where he become involved with the ongoing unrest, New York where he had to see those reeled with financial crisis, and eventually at Portland/UK, at where he had to deal with the unruly Yobs problem. This unique journey not only helped assuage his pain but also made him a better person and experience the good feelings we normally get from helping others. His final days end in a remote place in an exquisite place like the Himalaya in Nepal where he found his solitude.
Book excerpt
Prologue
It was 10 p.m. on a quiet mild night with a clear sky and a slight wind. It was mid September, and the traffic was surprisingly light for Hong Kong. Shops on both sides of the road were not very busy but still open as usual. All the streetlights and neon signs on the streets and corners were as bright as usual. Only a few people were walking on the street.
Rainy season was just over, but the new life and greenery the rain had brought to the trees was still refreshing the atmosphere. A white car was slowly making its way down the street. John, his wife Jenny and their seven-year-old son Matthew were returning home after visiting John’s friend in the city.
The car stopped for the traffic light on the totally empty street; it was eerily quiet and peaceful while John waited for the green light. Jenny looked out the window while she caressed Matthew, who was resting on her lap.
Suddenly, an enormous blast rent the air, and it felt like the ground was moving! A huge flame swept the area like a fireball, burning everything on the way. Before John could react, he saw the fireball surrounded by black clouds coming toward him. His first instinct was to shelter Jenny and Matthew with his body, but almost instantly the car was full of smoke and hot like a burning pan. He could hear Jenny’s voice and Matthew’s crying from somewhere nearby, then abruptly everything went blank.
A few seconds later, it was completely silent. Within the radius of 50 meters from the blast, there was nothing but the debris of destruction.
A small, terrified and stunned crowd formed instantly. No one seemed to realize what had happened and looked around in disbelief at the destruction, wondering if anyone had survived in the small burned car. The sky was already polluted by the smoke from the blast. Police cordoned off the area, and paramedics treated the injured before taking them away by ambulance.
In a hospital bed, the dark-haired young man named John dreamed a vision of a beautiful mild sunny day with a clear blue sky and fresh air surrounding a magical garden. Colorful flowers blossomed everywhere, attracting many varieties of bees, butterflies, and birds singing enchanting songs. Happy people strolled on the paths and it seemed like a paradise. Gradually, a mother and a boy angel appeared in the sky, their wings gently flapping. They were both smiling happily, waving at him as if saying goodbye as they slowly but firmly flew away and disappeared into the sky.
The desperate soul in the bed struggled hard to take off and join them, but he was not even able to put his feet firmly on the floor. Wet all over with sweat, John tried with all his heart out to give a shout to the angels to wait but could not even make a noise. His legs seemed to be stuck in a deep swamp, the harder he tried to get out of it, the deeper he sunk. He watched sadly as the angels flew higher and higher into the blue sky and disappeared once and for all.
His vision turned into a very dark, empty and deserted place where only tears, cries, sorrows and misery were left. All the aspects associated with happiness, joy and sense of life were all gone forever.
It was just a dream he was having before waking up from the long sleep in a hospital bed, and tears flowed like floodwater from his eyes. All the doctors, nurses and friends were very happy and relieved to discover John had finally woken up. It was the moment for which they had been waiting for the last ten days.
When he opened his eyes, he did not utter a word and even did not glance at anyone attending him in the room. His sad eyes, once dark and sparkling, looked washed out as he stared continuously toward the ceiling. Doctors tried to talk to him over and over, but to no avail. What amazed them most was that he did not even ask once for Jenny and Matthew, like he already knew about their deaths. His face showed the saddest and most painful look that anyone could ever remember. He was a shattered hopeless soul filled with sorrow and pain.
Days passed but John’s situation remained the same. He quietly took his medicine and food on time while he was in the hospital and always remained inside. Almost a month later, he was eventually discharged.
The police with the relevant authority for the area of the unfortunate accident concluded the cause of the blast was negligence. There had been a fire in a LPG gas depot nearby where a dozen of cylinders were stored. No evidence of any harmful or malicious intention or involvement of any terror group or organization was found, so the case was closed for good. The place was cleaned up and repaired and started to look the same as it was before, life, as always, has to move on.
John’s house was as clean and tidy as it used to be; everything in the house was in its original place, like time had just stopped! Nothing was moved. It was so quiet that even a few dead leaves falling from the trees in the backyard was heard. Winter was just around the corner, bringing some cold winds here and there. People were returning home after a day’s works as usual. Lights on the surrounding streets and neighborhood were switched on earlier; the darkness was gaining momentum and the night was slowly taking over, as always.
The main door of the house opened very slowly as a tall and lonely figure entered the house, switching on a rather dim light that matched his melancholy mood. He kept standing on the doorway for a long time, glancing around the room like waiting for someone to welcome him as usual, but there was no noise or movement. It was quiet, dead and cold as ice. He moved inside and sat down on the couch.
He lay down on the sofa, staring at the ceiling again; all the good memories of life before the accident returned one by one, like a flashback. His face changed with the thoughts and mood again and again. The pain he felt gradually got bigger and stronger, and the tears eventually started. He cried alone in the dark for the whole night and day, and then couldn’t stop. The days and nights became one and his situation did not improve. With time everything should heal, but John could not stop his sadness.
A month had passed since his return from the hospital, a month of doing almost nothing but locking himself inside the darkened house, and eating whatever there was in the house – just to keep alive. Nothing there was worth living for. One day, he suddenly got up from the couch and headed toward the main door, grabbing his overcoat on the way. He was still in his nightgown and wearing black rubber shoes without any socks. His dark brown hair had grown long and curly and he had an unkempt beard and mustache.
After about fifteen minutes, he had reached the scene of the accident where he had lost almost everything, including himself. He walked past the traffic lights to the exact spot the car was in on that black day. It looked almost new now, like nothing had happened there before, even the grass near the sidewalks were all green again. There were no signs of destruction. He walked around the scene slowly examining each and everything on the scene carefully. He stopped in front of the shop where the LPG gas cylinders were once stored; it had been changed to a car repair shop.
He stood staring for quite a long time, like he was looking for something, but nobody noticed the painfully thin young man. People were busy with their own affairs as usual on Hong Kong streets. As he turned to walk away, he saw something on the bottom of a small Acacia tree. Hidden behind the grass was a small black object, almost like a finger. It was a memory stick for a computer; he picked it up, put it into his overcoat pocket and walked away.
Curious about the stick, he rushed home, switched on the computer, and inserted the memory stick. At first he was disappointed because there was nothing special on the screen but five sets of telephone numbers. He wondered if it might have some connection with the actual blast. It was the first time since the accident that there was a gleam of hope in his eyes.
It was a reason to live again and he started to make plans immediately.
In a month’s time, he had sold all of his properties, shares, insurance, jewelry and even households items that could be sold. He closed all his bank accounts except one international account, which was related to the credit cards. He had gained back some weight and kept himself fit and busy with running and daily exercises. Eventually, he began acting like a normal person again and the look in his eyes was no longer haunted. He decided to keep his beard and mustache, which suited him, but he kept his clothing casual. Since he wasn’t planning to return to his promising career as a computer programmer for a multi-national firm, he had given away his sophisticated suits and bought some jeans, t-shirts and hiking shoes.
The night before his departure, he called all his friends and relatives one by one and thanked them for their help and support during those difficult days. Extremely polite and thankful, he chatted with each of them for longer than usual. He didn’t know if he’d see any of them again. Around 11 p.m. he came out of the house and walked slowly toward the cemetery where his most beloved rested. He had brought two bunches of fresh white roses in full blossom.
He slowly approached the new tombs of his wife and son and quietly put the flowers on top of them. He began to clean and tidy up both tombs and their surroundings, then knelt down on his knees and sat there quietly with both hands hugging the tombs. He sat there like a statue the whole night without moving or saying a word. In the early dawn, before getting up and slowly walking away he prayed for a while, kissed the ground first and then the face of both tombs several times, He may have said goodbye to his loved ones for the last time.
At 9:30 a.m. that morning when the doorbell rang, he picked up his backpack and opened the door to the new owners of the house. John handed the house keys over to the couple with a sad smile on his face and walked away toward the street.
A red taxi was waiting for him. Before he got into the taxi, he looked back to the house once again perhaps for the last time, before he jumped into the backseat of taxi. He was headed to the airport. It was the beginning of his new life, with a new reason, the one and only reason for his living. Without it, life would have been useless.
(Step 1)
When the plane from Tokyo landed at Naha airport on Okinawa Island, the terminal bustled with people. In the crowd on this day, a tall fit young man with a backpack jostled toward the automatic glass door. Within minutes, John was in the taxi line, and his turn came earlier than expected.
In about fifteen minutes, the taxi was traveling the road near the seashore, leaving behind the busy traffic of the city center. The weather was mild under a clear blue sky; a warm wind from the sea was blowing gently. John enjoyed looking out the windows at the greenery on both sides of the road and the sea beyond; it was peaceful, comforting for the eyes and soothing for the mind and soul.
The taxi soon stopped in front of a medium size country house near the beach. The front part of the house was a convenience store cum kiosk for beachgoers, and a small eatery with a few plastic tables and chairs. The small, flat-roofed main house, made of concrete, was behind the store along with and a garage used as a warehouse. Surrounding the house was a plot of cultivated land where domestic fruits and vegetables were grown in abundance. A group of chickens, black and white dappled pigs, and a few cats and some dogs roamed happily around the backyard.
When John got out of the taxi, he walked straight to the main door, rang the bell and waited. A man in his late forties with a crew-cut and a short mustache opened the door; he was wearing a loose Hawaiian-style shirt and sandals. With a broad smile, he looked at John for a while as he noted that his handsome guest was dressed very informally, quite appropriate for this area. “John-san! Welcome! Come in, please!” he said enthusiastically. The two men both hugged like old friends meeting after a very long time.
“Hirokazu-san! Nice to meet you! Thank you!” John replied warmly as they walked inside the house of Hirokazu Okinawa, the sole owner of the house and business. Hirokazu was the only person John knew in all of Japan and he was pleased at his host’s friendly, sincere manner since the two men were seeing each other for the first time. This Japanese man was the only reason John came to Okinawa.
Hirokazu-san walked John to the room where he would be staying for his time in Japan and left him alone to rest and arrange his belongings for his long stay. During dinner, they were cordial but did not talk much. After the dinner they settled in the living room with a large antique-looking pot of Awamori, a famous distilled spirit/wine of the Okinawan people, made mainly from imported Thai rice. They talked until midnight like lost friends meeting after a very long time.
The next morning by 8 a.m., the two were already on the road in Hirokazu’s old Suzuki sedan to see all of the island of Okinawa. The beaches on the perimeter of the islands were beautiful. They stopped to visit the coral rock caves, which the Japanese used for their defense during the battle of Okinawa. They also visited the Gusuku ruins and Shuri castle in Naha, originally built in the 14th century from wood and stone, and used as the palace of the Ryukyuan Kingdom. Nearly completely destroyed during the battle of Okinawa in 1945, they had been rebuilt and restored almost to the original condition through photographs, historical records and memories. In this area traditional pottery, textiles, roofs, and glass were still made.
John saw that tropical fruits, sugar cane, pineapple, and papaya fields were almost everywhere. Most of the houses on Okinawa were made of wood, but there were also many typical modern houses made of concrete. Almost all of the houses had an image of a lion head or dragon on the roof. “These figures are called Shisa, and they will protect the house from any kind of danger or evil spirits. It is the tradition and belief here.” Hirokazu explained to John.
When John asked about all the karate school signs, Hirokazu replied proudly, “Karate is the most famous export from Okinawa to the world. It is the birthplace of Karate, so having a lot of schools here is no surprise at all.”
“We will also be able to see the Eisa dance very soon and I’m sure you will definitely like it,” John’s guide and new friend said enthusiastically. “It is our traditional drumming dance with a variety of colorful dancers!” John nodded with a smile.
During the tour, Hirokazu was eager to show John the many US military bases; it seemed as if they were everywhere in the small islands. At each base, Hirokazu would stop about a hundred meters from the main gate and give a short description of the camp, which included the size of the base, the number of US personnel, and the general activities of each base. Showing a child-like enthusiasm, he was very familiar with each base and his facts were well documented.
John noticed his new friend’s eyes would light up and his face get much brighter as he passionately talked at length about the American facilities. John couldn’t help but admire Hirokazu’s knowledge on the subject.
On the way home, they stopped in a small restaurant just outside the main city center, where they had a typical Okinawan meal of low fat, low-salt fish, tofu and seaweed with some rice wine. By the time they went to sleep at Hirokazu’s home, it was well past midnight. The next day, the work would begin.
The next morning at the breakfast table, Hirokazu outlined his daily routine and politely asked John to join him. “It will help you pass the time during your stay,” he said.
“Of course, I’ll be glad to work with you, and I’ll do my best,” John answered cordially. After all, he was here just to help, explore and experience this new way of life. He did not expect to be paid. He wanted, if possible, to investigate any connections between Hirokazu and his business with the memory stick he’d found at the scene of his family’s fatal accident.
Hirokazu knew the most important action was to begin with the formal introductions to all those who lived and worked in the house, the shop and outside in the fields.
“Mama-san, this is John-san!” Hirokazu said to a lady in her late sixties who was standing in the kitchen with a big grin on her face. “She does all the cooking in the house from breakfast, lunch, and afternoon tea, to dinner and late night snacks for all who work here.”
“Mama-san!” John repeated and nodded his head in response; there was no better word than Mama.
“She is like my real mama and takes care of all of us as her own,” Hirokazu said with affection in his voice as well as in his eyes.
John had a strong and immediate feeling Hirokazu thought of her as his own mother even though they were not related.
Working in the shop was Sugeru, the caretaker, also in his early thirties, who was slim and tall and took care of the whole beach shop: receiving the goods, placing them on the shelves, stocking the refrigerators, the ice cream vending machine, the fast food ovens, and keeping the entire shop clean. He seemed to always be busy doing something. He was known for his style: blue jeans and a t-shirt with some statement printed on the front and back. On the right side of his forehead, he had colored his hair blue.
