Longer

–TEN–

Gunjita stood on the banks of the Ganges, near Rishikesh. It was early morning. A light breeze carried the smell of burning wood, bone, and flesh, from an upstream ghat. A snapping turtle, grown thick-shelled on its diet of turtle food and supplemental calcium, was basking on a nearby rock. Downstream was a small sandy beach. Across the river a steep, forested hill gave an inkling of the vast heights beyond it.

The smell stirred a memory. Gunjita had not been an eater of flesh for many long years, not since coming of age, when she’d flexed the muscle of independence, commitment, and fierce belief. A hundred and fifty years a vegetarian. A century and a half grazing, crunching seeds, eating nuts and beans, sipping nectar.

The memory: her dashing, rose-scented father was roasting a goat on a spit. She must have been a girl. She could remember the smell, and the feeling in her mouth, the sudden, uncontrolled salivation, the thickness of her tongue, the aching in her throat. Roasted goat, crispy, savory, and rich. Two lifetimes ago, and she could still taste it.

Two lifetimes, and now she was looking at a third. She felt like a book that kept getting longer, with more chapters, more characters, more drama. The book meandered a bit, but overall stuck to a fairly predictable storyline. It was the book of Gunjita Gharia, thicker, weightier, heftier than ever, but after two lifetimes not much different than it was after one.

The world had changed; the woman only slightly. She hadn’t wanted to change. She liked who she was. More of the same suited her.

This was true of many juvers. Others saw juving as a perfect time to try something new and different.

This did not always go as planned. Newness was one thing to wish for, another to accomplish. The habits of a lifetime, much less two, were not easily broken. Juving was no guarantee.

What it did guarantee: a month of turmoil, upheaval, and chaos, as the body rearranged itself. For most people, a distinctly unpleasant experience. It was a shock to the system, and every part of the system, notably consciousness, unconsciousness, subconsciousness, superconsciousness, and the two other consciousnesses, yet to be announced. She was glad she wouldn’t be facing it again. She understood Cav’s reluctance. But if she could overcome hers, why couldn’t he overcome his? What was she missing?

He wasn’t weak-willed. On the contrary.

Something shiny and bright had robbed him of the big picture.

There was a lesson in this, maybe even intended: the big picture wasn’t the only picture. There were smaller ones. Small did not necessarily mean less valuable or fulfilling.

Parting advice from her ex.

Novelty wasn’t for everyone, but if she wanted to give it a shot, she could start small. Make a modest change.

Goat, strictly speaking, wasn’t new to her. But it was new enough. The prospect engaged and excited her. And why stop there? Humans were naturally omnivorous. Physically, it felt right. Morally, it would bridge the divide in her mind between sacrificing animals routinely in the name of progress and the greater good, and being opposed to their wholesale slaughter for food. Eating meat, if nothing else, would end the hypocrisy.

She could try chicken. Pork. Fish.

Cow meat? Even cow?

Maybe not cow.

She could see Cav raise his eyebrows at this. Not cow? Explain that to me. She could hear him questioning her logic. Not meanly. Never meanly, always in the spirit of clarity and understanding. She’d loved this about him. Maybe one day she’d love it again.

Right now she was furious.

She’d been back nearly a week. On returning, had immediately buried herself in work, where she felt most at home, but her mind wouldn’t stay on task, it kept drifting. After three days she gave up, and booked a flight to Delhi, then a train to Haridwar, then onward to Rishikesh.

The train was fast, solar-powered, and efficient. A new experience for her—not the India of her childhood. Pilgrims crowded it as they always did, as they had buses before trains, and the broad, beaten-earth path before motor vehicles. Rishikesh, holy city since ancient times, magnet for seekers of truth and enlightenment, was a point of departure for her. A launching pad. She’d left it for a life of research and academia, a life of science, which asked the questions she was interested in, the ones that seemed most important. She was a pilgrim, too, no less passionate, devout, and disciplined than other seekers of wisdom, other servants of the truth.

In the early days she returned home regularly. Then irregularly. Then hardly ever. The last time she’d set eyes on the Ganges, save from the space station, where it looked like the Snake of a Thousand Tongues, was what? Twenty years ago? Forty?

The sight of Earth from the space station never ceased to amaze her. She couldn’t get enough of her home planet. Cav, by contrast, couldn’t get enough of outer space. He seemed already to have cut his ties with Earth, even before they lifted off. She should have known. There were signs, but she had discounted them.

She shouldn’t have gone up. She’d been tricked. She hated him for not being honest with her. In their long life together, what other lies had he told?

A young woman, a villager by appearance, made her way to the small stretch of sand downriver. She was barefoot, with an anklet around one ankle and three dots on her chin. She faced the opposite shore, pressed her palms together in Anjali Mudra, and moments later, without prelude, was standing on her head.

Sirasana. The king of the asanas. Unorthodox to do it immediately, at the very beginning of a yoga session, without warming up.

She wore a saffron-colored sari, which didn’t hide her long legs, or rounded bottom, or the sculpted arch of her lower back, or her toenails, which were painted violet. She held the pose seemingly without effort, steady, statuesque.

He’d dumped her, essentially. Not what he said, or believed, but what it was. For some half-baked vision of his, a story he insisted on telling himself, as if dying were a sign of integrity and courage. For that he’d shown her the door, like a guest who’d overstayed her welcome. The message was painfully clear: an eternity without you is better than another lifetime with.

She was glad to be rid of him.

The woman came out of her headstand and stood with her arms at her sides. Her face was flushed. Strands of hair had come loose from her braid, and clung to her high-boned cheeks.

She’d heard from Dash. Twice since returning. He was being unnecessarily kind and solicitous. It seemed genuine enough, but she couldn’t help being suspicious.

She’d also heard from Laura Gleem, who wanted her to continue her H82W8 work, and offered a deal anyone would be a fool to refuse, save for the part of being locked into Gleem—and Gleem’s agenda, whatever that happened to be at any given time—for the foreseeable future. She’d have a free hand, except when she didn’t. Such was the life of a researcher. Was there a better one?

The breeze shifted, and Gunjita caught a whiff of cloves. It seemed to be coming from the direction of the beach, where the woman was in motion again.

She had bent at the waist, and now extended a leg behind her. She spread her arms to the sides, like wings, as though she were embracing the air, then swept them backward, taking her upturned foot in both hands, and arching her back like a bow, face and chest thrust upward. Natarajasana, Lord of the Dance. A combination of grace and power, she seemed about to launch herself. Or levitate.

Without breaking the pose, she tilted her head to the side to see who was watching. Gunjita felt like a Peeping Tom. She smiled, then found something else to look at.

Cav was a man of principle. She had to admit she respected him for this. He stood by his beliefs.

Starry-eyed when she met him, starry-eyed to the end. Tolerant. Curious. A lover of all things.

A singular human being. An admirable person.

She stole a glance at the woman. Had an urge to say something to her, compliment her, or simply thank her for the beautiful performance. Beauty had been absent from her life. The woman had opened her eyes. Thank her for that.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a call.

It was Dash. He’d just returned from a delicate bit of surgery on a rare albino walrus, whose club-sized baculum had somehow gotten tangled in a bed of kelp. He went on at some length, then continued without pause, as though afraid that if he didn’t talk, there’d be no conversation.

He was staying outside of Reykjavik. It was raining, as it often did. He had an appointment the next day with a farmer near Vik, whose sheepdog couldn’t walk in a straight line, and kept falling down. A growth in its ear, the man had been told by a local vet, who’d referred him. Another appointment the following week with the company that manufactured Pakkiflex, looking for an endorsement for their new line of undergarments.

And more. Mr. Chatterbox.

Eventually, he ran out of steam.

“And you? How are you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m kidding. I’m fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Really.”

“You should come to Iceland.”

“Why is that?”

“Before the ice is gone, and we have to change its name.”

“Is Ruby there?”

“Yes. Most definitely. In all her glory.”

“How is she?”

“Alive. Cranky. Forgetful. Forgiving. You should visit.”

“And make her crankier?”

“You won’t.”

“Why not? Is she no longer your mother?”

“She’s old. She’s frail. She doesn’t have much left in the tank.”

It would be hello, good-bye. Another separation. How many more could she take? She, in the prime of life. The bud of youth. The time for looking ahead, not behind.

Not to mention who this was. Not many could nurse a grudge like Ruby Kincaid. No one more loyal, loving, or quicker to judge. Then again, Gunjita had given her cause.

Amazingly, the woman had yet to move from her pose, except for one arm, which now stretched forward and upward, skyward, as though in exultation. She looked lighter than air, heroic, angelic.

“I’d like to see her. Let me think about it. I’ll be in touch. Thanks for calling.”

“Wait.”

“I’ve got to go.”

“About Cav.”

She was afraid of this. “Not interested.”

“You heard?”

“I don’t want to hear. Please. I don’t want to know.”

“It’s not what you think.”

He flashed before her eyes, Cav did. True to himself. Undimmed.

“I’m sure it isn’t.”

“You won’t believe it.”

“Good-bye, Dash. Be well. Take care.”

She ended the call. Moments later, the woman came out of her pose. She glanced at Gunjita, smiled, and beckoned her over.

She had coppery skin, thick black eyebrows, dancing eyes. She smelled of cloves and ginger. Her hands were calloused. She looked to be in her midtwenties, and everything about her said first time.

“Want to try?” she asked.

“Are you a cook?”

“I’m a baker. Why?”

“You smell spicy.”

The woman laughed. “So? Yes?”

“Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

“You can do it.”

“Unlikely.”

“Just bend.” Lightly, she pressed the small of Gunjita’s back. “Now lift your leg. From here.” She placed her hand on Gunjita’s thigh, gently encouraging it upward. The touch was electric.

“Breathe,” she said.

Gunjita had stopped. “Good advice.”

“Lift your head. Imagine a state of weightlessness.”

“I can do that.”

“If you want to stretch your mind, first you stretch your body. The body leads, the mind follows.”

“I thought it was the other way around.”

“You mustn’t argue. You must behave.” Her voice was stern, except for the giggle at the end. “You’re a student now. You’re here to learn. Broaden your experience. Expand your awareness.”

“Okay.”

“Am I right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

Gunjita could only hold the pose for a few seconds. She didn’t have her Earth legs yet.

“I’ve been in space.” She felt mildly embarrassed.

The woman nodded, as if she understood perfectly. “Even better.”