The Biovantic Bear by George Thomson
Miz began seeking me out on every occasion possible, and a strong friendship developed between us. This was of huge benefit to me, both on a level of personal well-being and in the workplace. I don’t think she had any idea how much the whole establishment revolved around her. She is probably the most totally good person I know.
About six weeks had passed and I was sitting at what I now considered my table in the coffee room. I was making this day as special as possible. It was my father’s birthday. I had never celebrated it so far from home before. My work was spread out all around me and I was happily working from my laptop. Not only did I have my favourite coffee poured, I had an array of what I think of as naughty food within reach. There can never be anything better than naughty when it comes to food for a special occasion. All I needed was someone to share it with.
When Davo came into the room I did not hesitate. I assumed my best begging puppy pose and said, “Dharwad.” A momentary softness came over his face at the sound of the name his parents had given him. I continued, “I need a companion; Come, put your feet under my table.” His response amazed me. The softness in his face gave way to shock, almost anger.
He stood stunned for a while, almost as if he was in another place or another time. I love the mobility of Davo’s face. It is one of the things that makes him so special. In many ways I think he is the best friend I have ever had. I would trust him with my life.
I watched as he came back to the right place and time. I wanted to ask what had happened but felt that it was probably too personal, so I waited for him to settle. He waited while I re-programmed the coffee machine to his favourite blend.
When I sat down again I noticed that he still did not look quite comfortable. He was sitting with his elbow on the table and his feet almost under my chair. I wondered if there was some significance in this but did not feel comfortable to ask him yet. I realized that there was something very personal involved here and did not want to cause him embarrassment by asking him to talk about it before he was ready. So I began to tell him about my father and how we made birthdays special at home. As I talked the coffee machine gurgled away as if it was trying to decide just exactly how this man liked his brew.
For a moment I had some weird idea that it knew Dharwad was someone special and was trying to please me by doing extra well with his blend.
It must have succeeded because, when he retrieved his cup of now steaming coffee from its base and returned to the table, he sat comfortably, swinging his legs under the table. “Have I been acting weird?” He queried. I held my hand out flatly in front of me and made a little rocking motion with it that said quite clearly that I thought he had, perhaps just a little.
He began to explain that in his culture some words and phrases have special significance. “When you asked me to ‘put my feet under your table’ it immediately said two things to me which it almost certainly did not say to you. Cultural differences can be so weird. I have just acted deliberately on the first of those things. The second I have taken under consideration. I do not think that it is possible.” He looked as if he wished it was.
“Do you realize what I have done by so deliberately putting my feet under your table? I have created a bond between your family and mine. This is sacred in our culture; to put one’s feet under the table is a permanent pact of peace and support. The sharing of a meal is central to bonding relationships. My family is now entirely bound to yours in friendship and honour.”
I was touched by the deliberateness of the act and said so. I pledged my families support for him. I knew my family would love him in spite of his Islamic faith which contrasted so strongly with their own strong Christian beliefs. I was proud to have him for a friend. I wanted to ask him what the second thing was but before I could think how to phrase that question Miz and Scrivs came into the room and with an “Oh, a party,” joined us.
It wasn’t long before I had to leave my table and my party to take my work back to my own desk to get it finished. That is one task the coffee machine was not adequate to do and there were things that could not wait.
CONGRATULATIONS
You have grown with Bailey into adulthood. Now is a good time to pause one more time while life is good and reflect on what is past. I want you to think back through your adult life and identify three events that have given you pleasure. They do not have to have any great importance, except that they gave you pleasure. If any of the events that have come to mind are too personal or too significant to share comfortably with others, then replace them with something less significant. Small is good. Very briefly share these experiences with the other members of the group or, if you are alone write them down and share them with The Presence.
Now that you are grown to adulthood, I will leave you in peace to finish reading the book and conclude with one further opportunity of sharing when you are finished.
CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT- INVITATION
It must have been about two weeks after this that the next significant event happened. Between us, Scrivs and I were making good progress with correlating and writing our scripts for Davo’s mysterious computer. The assistance of Miz and the absence of Sir Humus made the work a breeze.
The only thing that concerned me was that things were going so well. If we kept this up our project here would be completed and we would all move on to a different place and different colleagues. I knew that this was just part of what working for the Beetle was like but the sudden intrusion of this thought was almost unbearable.
It was a Wednesday morning and I was wondering what, if anything, to plan for the weekend. Arriving at my desk, I found a surprise to brighten my day. An envelope had been placed there. That is not unusual. There are often papers waiting my attention but this one was not waiting with the other stuff in the basket. It was sitting in the middle of my desk.
There was a message on the front. It said – Miss Bailey - for Personal and Immediate Attention.
I opened it.
Of course I opened it. It was most unusual to get a personal, official looking, hand delivered letter on my desk. My first thought was that it must be from Sir Humus. I didn’t want to know but I had to. My curiosity was too great.
I opened it quite carefully and a little fearfully. It contained a single sheet of computer printed paper in the form of a card. Whoever had done it had gone to a lot of trouble to make it look attractive.
I started reading, from the wrong end. I read the signature first. It was signed ‘Dharwad’. My heart gave a leap, of course it would. He was my well-loved, strong-man friend, the big brother I never had.
If I had more experience in such matters I may have realised that the leap of my heart was not quite right for a big brother. As it was I just hugged the card to myself for a moment and then read the rest of it.
It was an invitation to join him for a mystery trip in the country on Saturday. Of course I would accept, but how weird to make a formal invitation, as if it was something important. After all we talked to each other at the Beetle. In the card he said we were going into the mountains and to wear hiking clothes and boots that were made for rough walking.
I pressed the intercom on the desk-phone and as soon as I heard the word, “Davo,” I said, “Of course I will come, you dope. Pick me up at six Saturday morning.”
I had work to do. Disappointingly, I never heard from Davo again until Saturday morning. The next two days passed slowly with a lot of time spent in anticipation of the coming adventure. My mind kept going back to memories of the times I had spent with my family at home camping and trekking in the bush, happy, happy memories. No wonder I was looking forward so much to Saturday.
CHAPTER THIRTY NINE- EMBARRASSING REALITY
Saturday did come and finally we were on our way. We travelled again in that nondescript little Suzuki. Dharwad seemed unusually quiet. I think he recognised this because he said, “Can we leave the talk until we get to the walk.
Now that he had so thoroughly aroused my interest, he remained silent. I had no problem with that except for my frustration. I loved him enough to give him the space he needed. If he had been a real brother I could not have loved him more.
We travelled for about two hours, heading north and east, away from Jerusalem. It soon became apparent why he had brought the little Suzuki. The latter part of the journey was way off the beaten track. As we headed through the mountains it became as rough as any off-road driving experience I had ever had. This kind of adventure was something I have loved from childhood, but I hoped we did not have an accident. I would not be able to find my own way back. I had no idea where we were but I trusted him entirely.
The place we stopped at was so peaceful that I wanted to stay there for ever. As I looked at the scene in front of me I could picture a tent beside the water that was pooling in the stream which came down from the mountains. The shade from the trees contrasted with the brilliance of the sunlight on the cliff. It was beautiful.
We sat in that spot for a while, had a cup of coffee and a chunk of what I am sure was highly nutritious cake. Well, we were going to walk. We would need the calories.
I am sure that Davo would not have brought me here if he had not known my love for walking and for the forest and its quietness. We had talked a lot about that. It is amazing how much we shared of things in common, having grown up in such different parts of the world.
When we had finished eating, we set off hiking up the stream and into the forest. We had not walked very far when Dharwad spoke. “I’m looking for a rock with a face drawn on it. Tell me if you spot it. It is our only mark for the path we will follow. We drew that face when we were boys.” It may not seem much of a revelation but it was the beginning of the story he would tell me about his boyhood and his special place.
I asked the simplest question, “Who is ‘we’?”
“Samir and I. I was eight when I first came here. Samir is my cousin. I often stayed with his family and we came to this place often.”
Apparently where we were now, was just the outskirts of their childhood kingdom. The pool we picnicked at was the royal bath or the army’s campground, whatever the day demanded. I could see that it had been a good place, a happy place.
He said that where we were going was not very much further. He called it his most secret place. “I will show you,” he said, “then you will understand. There I hope I will be able to tell you some of the things I have not spoken of for a long time. It is time I talked about them to someone. I want it to be you.”
I wondered what he had kept locked within himself for so long. He was not a secretive man. I was immensely flattered that he thought I could be trusted with what was obviously a very vulnerable part of him.
“I spy with my little eye something beginning with F,” I said. And there it was, a face drawn into the rock. It was primitive, but well done and did not look out of place.
Dharwad led the way. I could not. There was no track, just the rocks and hills to guide him. Then we came to the end. I was disappointed. What was so special about this? We were in a narrow blind alley with rock walls pressing in on us.
My strong-man guide was unperturbed. He just said, “Have you ever been caving?”
I gave him a hesitant “yes.” My experience was limited. Then I added, “Lead on. You’re looking at Superwoman; no task too difficult.”
We scrambled up onto a small ledge just above eyelevel. I saw no cave unless, no, it couldn’t be. There was one small opening that looked about big enough to allow a dog to crawl through. But I couldn’t back down from the Superwoman tag. I had to grin and take my medicine. Maybe after this I wouldn’t think my caving experience so limited.
Dharwad could see my hesitation and took time to explain what our procedure would be. Then he went first, pushing his backpack ahead of him, with his light strapped to his forehead. He said that pushing the backpack ahead of him would help to clear the path of any nasty animal surprises, cheerful thought. I followed with my own light, pushing my backpack ahead of me.
It seemed like for ever but was probably only about thirty metres of tight but smooth, easy pushing. It should have been easy but I don’t think I am built like a worm. All my muscles and joints are in the wrong places.
I could see nothing except my backpack in front of me, but I heard the change in movement as Dharwad reached the end of the tunnel, then felt my backpack stop as it hit an obstruction. He told me to let it go. He would take it from me now. He was the obstruction that I had come up against. What I could now see was the knees of his jeans lit by my very adequate little light. I was relieved to see that those jeans were now in a standing position.
Once I was standing I could see, with the aid of our caving lights, that we were in a kind of natural passageway in the limestone. It proved to be an easy walk from here to a point where we could see natural light penetrating from an opening ahead of us. All this was having a strange effect on me. I felt as if the light was drawing me toward it and welcoming me into Dharwad’s world.
If it was in some way welcoming me I am glad it approved of my presence, because this was the most amazing transition in time or space that I had ever experienced. For a moment I felt slightly disorientated as we emerged from darkness into light and from restriction into open space.
Unlike my dreamtime experiences, this was a totally natural transition but it was more amazing than anything that had come before it. I had a feeling of total freedom and total security while, all the time being wrapped in a sense of adventure and endless possibility. I grabbed my strong-man friend in a tight embrace and said the most stupid thing, “Davo, can we live here for ever?”
As I uttered those words a new doorway of awareness opened in my mind. My strong-man brother walked out through that doorway and the strong man, whom I wanted as my partner for life walked in. I pulled back, confused. This could not be happening. I needed space. I sat down on a sandy spot and leaned against the smoothness of the rock.
CHAPTER FORTY- IN DHARWAD'S SECRET PLACE
Not yet realizing the sudden change of identity that I had just put upon him, Dharwad sat nearby and said, “You know I actually lived here for a time. I spent an uninterrupted six weeks here, at a time when I needed peace and healing.”
I waited with what I hoped was an inviting silence and he continued. “I grew up in Syria, always close to Damascus. We were a happy family and able to ignore the periodic conflicts around us. They had nothing to do with us.
I discovered this place when I was eight, visiting my aunt and her son Samir. Samir and I spent many hours here in this cave and its surrounds. For my twelfth birthday celebration I was allowed to camp here with him overnight. It was a huge adventure and a symbol of trust from my parents. I don’t think anybody else knows that this place exists.”
Where we were was a rock balcony, high above the valley below and equally far below the crest above. The only access was through the tunnel by which we had entered, and by an obscure animal path which angled up the cliff from below. He pointed to a hill in the valley below and said, “My aunt and Samir lived just behind that rise. I do not know where they are now.”
He continued with his narrative. “As happens with most boys, I grew up and became a man. I married.” He paused, obviously affected by deep emotion. “Her name was Shuroos. It means sunrise. She was a sunrise in my life.” The pause was longer this time. I could see that he was a man who had loved deeply. I waited for him to continue.
“We had two daughters, Zarin and Ula. They were aged two and four when I lost them.” There was no silence this time. He was sobbing. All my resolve to keep my d
After a while he lifted his head and regained control but still kept contact with me shoulder to shoulder. He continued. “There had been conflict in the city for some time but the region we lived in seemed safe.
I was in England finishing my university degree when it happened. Another two days and I would have been home. The memory of that knock on the door will never fade. Two police officers were waiting to speak with me. I could see that it was not about something good. They were very kind but nothing they did or said could alter the fact that my entire family had been wiped out.”
Listening to what he had been telling me, I realised that there was nothing I could do or say. I just gave his shoulder a little squeeze to let him know I was still with him.
He continued to explain, “It was a bomb. As it turned out, it was an American bomb. I had welcomed the Americans into the war when they first came. I thought their entry into the conflict would bring peace. It did not. The whole process was like trying to calm an adder by poking it with a stick. For a time, I hated them.”
The silence was longer this time. Then he spoke more slowly and deliberately. “I am going to tell you something that I have never spoken of before and never will again. I am not asking you to take my secret to your grave. You must do what you think best with the information. I need to share it with someone so it doesn’t keep worrying away inside me.”
He continued. “With my anger burning inside me I went into the mountains further to the north and sought out a group that I knew were camped there. They were a part of a terrorist organisation. I had decided that I would give them whatever I had to offer. I would help in their cause. I desperately wanted to punish those who had taken everything from me. My life was worth nothing. My grief and anger were so intense that I could no longer face living in a world gone mad.