His face is inscrutable as he focuses on the massage.
I let go of all thinking and sink into pleasure.
Leaving the room, I grin even though there wasn’t a happy ending. Kim waits for me.
‘Why are you smiling like that?’
‘Like what?’
‘Like the way you’re smiling right now, Natalie. You look kind of creepy.’
‘Do I?’ I laugh nervously. ‘Why?’
‘Nat, you’re acting really weird.’
‘Was your massage good?’
‘Yeah, lovely.’
‘Was it sexy?’
‘What?’
‘Was it sexy?’
‘I had that old Peruvian woman down there. It was lovely. Not sexy. Jesus. No. It was relaxing.’
I say nothing.
‘Did you?’ Kim opens her mouth wide. ‘Oh my god, did you shag your masseur?’
‘No, no. I did not, god, no way. It was a bit – a bit full on though.’
I take eight dollars from my purse.
‘Are you tipping him much?’ Kim asks.
‘He tipped me.’
‘What?’
The masseur stands beside a window, and it’s the first time I clearly see his face. ‘You have knots in your back. I recommend you come back to me. I will release them. Come back tomorrow, the next day, the next day? It could take a week to rub them out.’
I giggle. ‘Maybe. Thank you.’
Outside I tell Kim everything.
She laughs. ‘Should we go for another beer before the train home?’
I nod, still reeling from the pleasure of being touched.
In the restaurant, some of the Dutch guys and Germans are there with the British guy. We all drink slowly and relax, wait for the time to pass.
‘What did you learn from the hike?’ I ask.
The British guy says, ‘You can only take one step at a time. Life seems insurmountable until you break it down. One step. Next step. Next step. How the hell did I make it for those eleven hours uphill with these knees? One step. Next step. Next step. It’s all you can take. You?’
‘How amazing toilets and water and electricity and a choice of food are. How people live different lives but it doesn’t mean they’re not happy lives. Mostly I learned my body is more powerful and capable than I thought.’
We get pretty merry and go to the train station. The next train to Cusco is at 6.20 p.m.
We sit on the station’s floor, or lie on it, and use our bags as pillows.
A man in full Inca head dress and costume dances into the centre of the tiles and whips out a panpipe. I fall asleep. Kim wakes me to board. We find our seats and settle. I’m surrounded by Japanese tourists.
The air of ‘El Condor Paso’ loops in my mind and I rest my head against the train window; the iridescent sun bows behind gnarly trees.
Laundry
My legs still twinge from the trek. I stay in bed on Saturday morning when Kim goes for breakfast. She returns and glumly hands me a roll with boiled egg and tomato squashed in it.
‘Here, take this. I can’t swallow.’
‘You need to eat, Kim.’
‘I’m too sad.’
We round up our clothes for washing. We’re putting it all together to save money on the laundry load. They charge by the five kilo. Kim has socks and a top she’s going to bin and isn’t too fussy about her stuff. I need my clothes cleaned though – the Peruvian women’s sizes are minuscule.
Kim says, ‘So what do we do next? What do you reckon about the ayahuasca?’
‘I don’t know. That tourist killed another tourist on it a few months ago. I don’t want to die high in the Amazon. Actually, maybe that would be a good end.’
‘We’re not going to die, Natalie. Why do you always have to jump headfirst into the worst possible outcome?’
‘Overactive imagination and shaky sense of self, Kim. We’ve been friends for over a decade. Have you not noticed these things about me before now?’
‘What about the cactus juice? I want to detox Pete from my emotional energy field. I want him gone.’
‘You want eternal sunshine in a spotless mind?’
‘Yes. Let’s research it. We have tomorrow to do something before the flight.’
‘Okay. But now, let’s get these clothes washed.’
Less than fifty metres from the hostel, there’s a laundry sign. The prices listed are competitive. We walk through an alley and another sandwich board says ‘LAUNDRY’ with an arrow towards a doorway in the courtyard. We step inside and press a bell. A little kid, around four or five, looks up at us from the desk. She is drawing in a colouring book.
‘Hola,’ I say gently. I lift my bag. ‘Laundry?’
‘Mama!’ she shouts into the hall. Another little kid ambles in, wearing a dirty red T-shirt and a cloth nappy. His face is crusty with dried food. He sucks a dummy and tugs at Kim’s dress. She ignores him.
‘Well hello there, Mr.’ I kneel down and rub his hair.
The mother rushes in, a baby on her boob. ‘Sí?’
‘Can we get laundry, señora?’ Kim asks.
We put our bags on the table. She gets out a scales and a receipt book. The bags weigh twelve kilos.
She punches it into a calculator and shows us the price for fifteen kilos.
‘A las cuatro,’ she says, her thumb hidden as she splays her fingers. ‘Hoy. A las cuatro. Sí? Claro?’
‘Four,’ Kim says. ‘Four p.m.?’
I tap at an imaginary watch on my wrist. ‘Four? Cuatro?’
‘Sí. Collect. Four. A las cuatro.’
She tears out the receipt. We try to pay but she waves us off. ‘No. A las cuatro.’
The little boy cries. She sighs and one handedly loads herself with the bags, still holding her suckling baby in the other arm.
‘Should we have a look for a shaman?’ Kim asks. ‘Spiritual tourism place? There’s loads of them. Eduardo told me on the hike.’
‘You’ve thought about this a lot?’
‘Yep. I want to purge. I’m bored of being heartbroken.’
We wander down the cobbled streets. Music booms from boutiques. Women and children in colourful knits beg for money. Some have decorated llamas with them and offer pictures with the animals.
A smell of incense leaks onto the street and we follow it to a shop called Soul Whisperers. It sells crystals, books on psychedelics, and a selection of drums, feathers and rattles.
‘Excuse me,’ Kim says. ‘Ayahuasca?’
A hippie-looking tourist admires some bongos beside her.
‘Ayahuasca ceremony? You know anything about it?’ the clerk asks.
‘You get sick? You release demons?’
He bites the side of his mouth. ‘It’s not that simple, ladies. It’s plant medicine. It’s not to be taken lightly. We run groups from here. You don’t eat. There’s preparation. I’ll give you a brochure.’
‘Have you done it yourself?’ I ask.
‘Many years ago. Just once.’
‘Good fun?’ I chance.
‘It’s not fun. It is hell. You will face and purge your ego. You will rise with the serpents and ride the waves of the primordial universe. You will be plunged into the unconscious world of imagery and nothing will be the same again. You will also vomit violently and probably shit yourself.’
‘And we pay a hundred and fifty dollars for this honour?’ I wince at Kim.
‘Does it get you past a break-up?’
‘It doesn’t do anything for you. You have to surrender to its power. You have to do that for it.’
Kim smiles. ‘We’ll think about it.’
In the hostel’s computer room, I check out other ceremonies.
‘What about the San Pedro, Kim? Wachuma. It doesn’t seem as brutal on the body. I’m scared of doing ayahuasca with randoms.’