Barcelona 03 - The Sound of One Hand Killing (12 page)

I felt slightly ridiculous dressed like that, surrounded by people in the same karate outfit, though, true enough, it was comfortable. On the other hand, only residents wore kimonos: Horaci was in a sky-blue kurta and Cecília, the yoga teacher, a very pretty pumpkin-coloured sari over a red silk T-shirt and trousers. The Bach flower remedies doctor was the only person in western dress, jeans and a short-sleeved apple-green shirt that reminded me of some Borja kept in his wardrobe. Everyone was wearing the same gym slippers, so as not to dirty the carpet, I imagine.

“Would you please sit round in a circle so we can begin introductions,” said Cecília with a smile, raising her voice so we could all hear.

Everyone quickly put their cups and glasses down and imitated Cecília, who sat on the floor in the lotus position. I tried, but couldn't, and finally adopted what was a painfully contorted posture. The journalism student left the room, shutting the door behind him. Horaci and Bernat also sat down next to each other.

“Ladies and gentlemen, a very big welcome to you all,” Horaci began. “It's a pleasure to have you here with us.”

After formally introducing Bernat and Cecília, who, according to him, were highly experienced and qualified, he
embarked on a little speech about the aims of these weekend stays at Zen Moments and how all participants thoroughly enjoyed them. As if revealing a deeply personal secret, he told us how he'd first taken an interest in meditation and homeopathy after studying in the faculty of medicine and discovering that the pharmaceutical industry was one big confidence trick. While some participants nodded their heads in approval, he asked us to introduce ourselves with first names only and any other information we thought relevant.

The elderly, silver-haired gentleman went first. He'd sat next to Horaci and, unlike me, had assumed the lotus position with no problems at all.

“I'm Sebastià, seventy-two years old and a sculptor,” he announced, raising his chin. “I've had a lifelong interest in philosophy from the Orient.”

“I'm Marta, and I'm twenty-nine,” continued the girl next to him. “I've just separated and feel quite devastated.”

“I'm Mònica, and Marta and I are childhood friends. I am an infant teacher and have been practising yoga for years, but I persuaded Marta to come here this weekend and experience for herself the benefits of meditation, and see whether it will help her over the bad time she's experiencing at the moment.”

Of all the women in the room, Mònica was the most made-up, with the smartest hairdo.

It was Borja's turn next.

“I'm Borja, I'm forty-five and a business consultant. I'm here because of work-induced stress, naturally,” he said smiling. Everyone laughed politely.

“I'm Eduard Martínez, and I am Borja's partner… And I'm also rather stressed out. And forty-five and married,” I added to avoid any misunderstandings.

“Very good,” said Horaci. “Next one, please.”

The woman next to me was the sourpuss with the big bag.

“I'm Alícia, and I have been a pupil at this centre for more than a year. This isn't the first time I've participated in these encounters, is it, Horaci? I am sure this weekend will be particularly fascinating,” she added in a tone that suggested a hidden agenda.

“Thank you, Alícia. It's fantastic to have you back,” commented Horaci with a condescending smile that reminded me of the Jesuits at the school Borja and I attended as kids.

“I'm Xavier and I'm here because of the wife,” scowled the man sitting next to Alícia.

“My husband is an entrepreneur,” said his wife, seated next to him, with a smile. “Hello, I am Carme. I've also been coming to Zen Moments for some time to meditate. I wanted my husband to see what it's like, as he's not really into this kind of—”

“Well, I have come, haven't I?” retorted her husband.

“I was only telling them…”

“You don't need to tell them anything.”

Cecília interjected subtly to stop what was threatening to turn into a marital squabble. Those two needed therapy for couples rather than meditation classes.

“We'd better continue,” suggested Cecília affably.

“I'm Ernest, and I'm forty-eight. I work for an NGO with several ongoing projects in India.”

“I'm Carles, and I'm an engineer,” said the man sitting on his right. “I'm fifty-seven and like sport and anything connected to nature.”

“I'm Valèria…” declared the woman sitting next to Carles, smiling broadly, “and there's no way I'm going to say how old I am!” There were titters all round. “No, seriously, I became a widow seven years ago, I went to India and my life changed. I've been practising meditation ever since.”

That left one person, a redhead around fifty, who looked sickly, and didn't seem quite all there.

“I'm Isabel, I'm fifty and suffering from cancer. But I don't want any medical treatment because I don't trust conventional medicine,” she added in a tone that suggested she considered herself a superior being.

Borja and I looked at each other askance as an uncomfortable silence fell over the room. Horaci immediately spoke.

“Thank you for that, Isabel. I am sure you will win through,” he said gently. “Now we all know each other, I suggest you look at the programme Cecília is about to hand out.”

Cecília dutifully got up and fetched sheets of paper that listed the activities we would be carrying out over the next three days. After giving them out she sat down next to Bernat again.

“As you can see,” continued Horaci, “we will start today with a lecture on the relationship between yoga and meditation. Then we will have dinner and you can get to know each other better. All the activities will take place in this room, or in the garden, if the weather is good. The Nirvana Room has been arranged in a way to help you to chat comfortably after dinner. But I will let Cecília take over at this point. She will be with you over the three days and will stay and sleep in the centre, and she will now go through the rest of the programme. If you have any doubts or problems, please refer them to her.”

The vaunted programme comprised lectures, meditation sessions, yoga classes, yet more lectures and tea breaks. Breakfast was at eight thirty, lunch at one and dinner at eight. No massages whatsoever.

“Before Cecília's interesting talk that will open our programme, I would like to invite you to drink a cup of red tea that will help clear the poison out of your system,” said the doctor. “We'll meet again at dinner.”

Horaci left the room, followed by Bernat, and Alex took the opportunity to come in and pour us the red beverage. Some participants had a second cup, and Borja rather overdid the praise. I left mine untouched in its white china.

We had to sit back in a circle in the same lotus positions. When Cecília saw I was in difficulties, she kindly came over to show me what to do. I didn't dare tell her I thought the posture was uncomfortable and tried to brave it out, but in the end my leg went to sleep and I had to shift it. Xavier, who was sitting next to me, smiled sympathetically.

The lecture was interesting enough, although on the long side for my taste. I became aware of a whole raft of things I never knew, for example, how dogs can practise yoga now, and how, thanks to yoga, you can make love for eight hours on end every day, as Sting claims he does. In my case, I couldn't imagine Montse devoting eight hours a day to a lot of what you fancy, and, from the looks of panic on the faces of the women there, I don't think they were exactly bowled over by the idea either.

At seven forty-five Cecília looked at her watch and asked if there were any questions, but there were none because we all wanted to rush to the loo to piss out that tea; we applauded politely and stood up. As dinner was at eight, we had just enough time to go to our rooms before going to the dining room. A mobile phone rang in a room that wasn't my brother's.

“We'd better spread ourselves around a bit and talk to the participants, and see if we can find any material for Teresa Solana's novel,” Borja whispered to me as we went upstairs.

The dining room was immediately opposite the meditation room, on the other side of the corridor, and was a rectangular room with one very long table with chairs on both sides. At the back, there were trays of food on a counter behind which one caught a glimpse of a small
kitchen. The menu was vegetarian and it was self-service, with a very limited range of cold and hot dishes that looked as if they had been brought in by a catering firm. There was organic rice with lentils, organic spaghetti, spinach and soya salad, boiled beans, tofu hamburgers and vegetable sausages. Desserts were a couple of trays of fruit and the usual non-fat yoghurts. All washed down with juices or water.

Everyone took a tray and helped themselves to what they liked. I decided to try the spinach salad and organic spaghetti; I didn't like it one bit. I sat down next to Alícia (or, more accurately, she decided to sit next to me), with the young schoolteacher on the other side; opposite were the married couple, Xavier and Carme. For his part, Borja chose to sit next to the young woman who had just separated, and Valèria sat next to him on the other side. Horaci arrived late and sat at one end of the table next to Isabel, and selected a salad of soya sprouts, beans and sausages.

Everyone said it was very good and some even went back for seconds. The moment one of the two girlfriends got up to get a dessert, I hurried behind her to grab a banana, apple or yoghurt before they ran out. The bananas and yoghurts soon disappeared, but the rice and lentil salad had no takers. The fact is they looked most unappetizing.

Alícia, my table companion, also seemed very half-hearted. She seemed anxious and miles away, and barely nibbled the minuscule rations they doled out. Though she was talkative at first – she told me she worked at the town hall in Sarrià, and was a civil servant and divorced – the moment I said I was happily married with three children, she lost interest in me and spent what was left of supper chattering to Ernest, who worked for an NGO, and to the engineer. The
married couple opposite were so busy quarrelling that it was impossible to have a conversation with them.

Shortly after nine o'clock we left our trays on the counter and Iolanda, the girl who saw to cleaning and supplies, started tidying the dining room as we headed towards the Nirvana Room.

Cecília and Horaci accompanied us, but Horaci immediately excused himself, saying he had to leave and that he'd be back in the morning. Bernat, who looked more like a rich boy whose worries were financial rather than spiritual, hadn't even stayed for supper.

“I reckon poor Cecília is the only worker here,” commented Borja quietly.

“I'll try to get her to come and talk to me while you try to talk to Alícia. I get the feeling she knows how this place is run.”

“Thank you very much, but I talked to her during dinner. And she lost interest as soon I mentioned I was married. If you like, I'll give the married couple a spin; the wife's also been a customer here for a long time. Let's see what she has to say.”

The Nirvana Room lived up to its name, because, like the Samsara, it was simply an empty room. Cushions were scattered over the floor and everybody sat down on a cushion and soon made a little group. However, no one seemed interested in talking to Isabel, the woman with cancer, but Cecília sat next to her and did start talking to her.

It was all very strained, and, without the necessary protein to digest, or alcohol to help us lose our inhibitions, the conversations soon began to founder. Indeed, that was really what it was all about; as Cecília had explained, one meaning of “nirvana” is “to be extinguished”. Only Borja and elderly, silver-haired Sebastià seemed to have anything to say to each other. At eleven thirty, most decided to call it
a day and go to their bedrooms. The only ones who stayed on were the young women who were friends and Ernest and Carles, who turned out to be an item.

Borja and Sebastià came over to me and announced they were going into the garden for a smoke. I was still rather hungover and tired, particularly of listening and talking, and I decided to do what Borja had done: I would open a bedroom window and have a quiet smoke by myself. I really felt like a spot of TV, but had to make do with making a start on Teresa Solana's novel that Montse had stuffed in my bag. However, the bed wasn't designed for reading, and I developed backache after half an hour and decided to switch off the light and try to sleep. It wasn't easy: my hungry stomach kept rumbling, I was missing Montse and couldn't get the sensual lips of that mysterious young woman who had accosted us in the street with her strange foreign accent out of my mind. When I did finally drift into a deep sleep, the light of dawn was shining through the window and the skylarks were singing.

It was a struggle to get up in the morning after such a bad night's sleep. I didn't make an appearance in the dining room until a quarter to nine, the last to arrive and afraid I had missed the first meal of the day. However, the table where breakfast was theoretically served wasn't set, and some participants, who said they'd been up since seven, were complaining about being hungry. Borja was standing by the window talking to Valèria, Xavier and Carme. I went over.

“What's up? Where's breakfast?” I asked.

“There's a problem with the front door,” Borja explained, “Iolanda, who's in charge of getting breakfast ready, couldn't get in and Cecília had to ring a locksmith.”

“You mean we can't get out?” I reacted, suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

“They'll sort it out straight away, don't worry,” he said with a smile.

Xavier, Carme's husband, kept grumbling and not exactly quietly. He said it was all one big con, and he and his wife could have gone on a luxury cruise for what the weekend in the meditation centre was costing.