Jack had few professional prospects, and the only one that interested him was to return to Cape Town to do academic research at a local university. Since he had no titles and all of his considerable knowledge about anthropology and natural science had been diligently self-taught, his talent failed to be recognized outside of a small circle of professors at the institution. So, common sense dictated that he would return to his hometown unless new circumstances brought Andreas and Marie back to Namibia.
David, on the other hand, was lost without any options or brimming with a set of faulty possibilities, depending on how he looked at it. The first of the ill-fated choices would be to do absolutely nothing and remain in Namibia ad infinitum, waiting for news from Marie, or better yet, waiting to hold her in his arms. This non-option, if ever considered, had no assurance of being rewarded. A second possibility would be to accompany Jack back to his roots. Even though the invitation had been honest and enthusiastic, David could not see how he could be of any use to the young researcher. There would indeed be no room at his new place of work for an additional self-taught man. He knew the academic world to be far less tolerant and generous than the world of practical experimentation. This rather feeble option did, at least, assure him of the continued company of Jack.
There was, naturally, one single and reasonable option: returning home to Ireland. Out of the three, this was the most painful. He did not feel ready to face his old life, nor had he figured out the extent of the damage to his convictions. He was a gestating new being.
The next morning, David was the first to get up, not because he felt rested and renewed, but because of the exact opposite. His bed was the playing field of a maelstrom of uncomfortable thoughts. It was the same bed he had slept in the night before, but without the alcohol, it offered no comfort. So he decided to grab the day’s first hour by surprise in an act of dignity and self-love.
Sitting again by the porch, the fresh morning air and the intense sunlight were not enough to bring his mind back from the darkness. Something would have to happen, and that something happened right after he joined Jack in the dining room.
“You’re up early, David...”
“I’d have to have slept in order to wake up, but I feel better here than sitting in my bed.”
Not long after, Brigitte and her five brothers started laying the tables for breakfast. They arranged the cutlery and crockery to perfection, and even the baguettes were cut and placed in baskets as if for a storefront display. As Brigitte approached with a pot of freshly brewed coffee, David noted the contours and movements of her hands, graceful and qualified. Manual labor, he thought, would be the best response to his existential crisis. Immersed in it, the mind would not stray, and perhaps the soul would sooth itself.
“I’m leaving this afternoon, my friend. They’re already expecting me,” Jack said, aching to see David’s reaction.
Father Callaghan, however, did not react, at least not on the outside. Perhaps he had expected the news, or maybe he had grown accustomed to departures.
“Do you know what you’re going to do, David?” Jack asked.
With no satisfactory answer to give, the young priest simply smiled enigmatically. At that moment, David understood that there was a philosophical distance between the two of them. Jack was a well-adjusted holistic being, capable of recognizing an improbable linearity and making argumentative bridges between subjects as different as the certainties of anthropology, religious dogma, and the animism of the San people. David, on the other hand, was divided into different selves, each now with their own convictions and doubts.
“I think I’ll follow the grumpy option of returning to Ireland,” David said after a long pause.
“So, you’ve decided to face your own demons...”
“I’d have to know them first… No, Jack, I’m afraid I’m at an earlier stage.”
“Are you still considering if there is a way out for mankind?” asked Jack, certain that his friend needed a rescue floater. “The problem with pessimism, Father, is that it is born of the presumption that one knows reality, which is very unlikely.”
David did not say a word, silently wrapped in reflection about his own experience within a Christian community. He could see people growing distant from social interaction while morphing into increasingly eloquent avatars and alter egos in virtual circles. His own mother had been a frequent user of social media, posting messages and photos on a daily basis that omitted all signs of her terminal illness. In a world of denial, David thought, maybe spiritual leaders are no longer necessary… Vanity would fuel any truth.
Morning said goodbye as the two friends exchanged a long and tight hug, with promises of regular visits. Father Callaghan thanked Elliot for all his services, from his first contact at the diocese in Cape Town to his rescue in the Kalahari Desert. The most important part, however, the long hours of stimulating discussion on life and spirituality, remained unmentioned.
David recognized the omission in real time, but only reflected on the matter hours later. “Why do we have the habit of thanking people for external favors, but never for the inner changes they bring to us? Not once in the twelve years we knew each other did I thank Father Duane, except when he accompanied my mother to an operating table.”
After Jack’s departure, Father Callaghan remained in the company of Gretha and Brigitte for one more night, enjoying a candlelit dinner by the fireplace. It was an unusually cold night, even for that time of year. The two ladies warmed his heart with gentle looks and soft words. But somehow their conversation was no longer witty, reaching a point that David found quite uninspiring and flat. It certainly did nothing to alleviate the lack of news from Marie in his upset gut. He finally made his escape to the bedroom after the three conveyed a consensual yawn. Sunken in his pillow, he painfully pried his hopes from his thoughts, creating space for reason to settle in and clear the way for his decision to return to Ireland.
The next morning, with steady and dignified steps, he made his way through a sea of unfamiliar faces in the dining room, all gesticulating and flashing out their recent safari experience. He then left a two-page letter of gratitude signed by his heart at the reception. In a day born out of no expectation, David wished to at least retain in his memory the warmth of the two welcoming ladies upon his first arrival in Windhoek. Back in his hometown, life ought to be colorless and rotten. Karen’s ghost was still to be seen everywhere. In addition, another female figure promised to haunt him.
It must be said that next to the long farewell note on the counter, there was a newspaper whose cover story was of much interest to David. Quite a story! Having won his freedom with his bare hands, Benjamin had been found in reasonable health not among the Chinese poachers, but amidst his own people in a far-north village. Considered as a traitor by some of his fellows for dragging the villains to his homeland, however, the man was turned to the police, which still insisted on the charge of murdering Dr. Freeman.
Father Callaghan’s empathy for the driver’s misfortune was sincere, but it was soon abducted by a more significant amount of bitterness for the role the Herero man still played in Marie’s heart. By the time the plane was in the air and above the clouds, David was a shipwreck.
The disturbing anticipation of his life in Ireland and the enduring jealousy had overloaded his mind. He then remembered the meditation exercise that Jack had taught him. Inhaling and exhaling slowly, he tried to focus his mind on the flow of air from his nostrils to his lungs. It worked. When his thoughts returned to autopilot, they no longer consisted of images of an unpleasant future, but instead of a remote past.