It is time to take stock of these past months, to clarify matters and make decisions.
First: it is true that his recovery and rehabilitation are going well—very well. That is what people tell him when they see him: the physiotherapist, the orthopaedic surgeon, friends and family. And he has devoted energy and time to it.
It was essential.
It was fundamental.
It was a matter of life or death.
He could have let himself die. He thought about it, though he did not share that thought with anyone.
What would have been the point?
It was simply his old habit of having no taboos, no forbidden subjects, of examining every perspective. He could not set it aside.
It was a thought explored, not a decision.
Second: his relationship with family and friends.
The blog and his love of writing have allowed him to maintain—and even strengthen—friendships. Some go back fifty years; others have been reconnected after forty. Without forgetting those woven over the years and throughout his travels: friendships begun in India, in China, in Indonesia, in Australia… and now in Chile.
And yet his family—the closest ones, those who care for him every day, those taken for granted, the first-line caregivers—are the ones he must care for again, and better than he did before the accident, when he withdrew psychologically and lived observing without being able, or perhaps willing, to act.
A way of withdrawing, or perhaps of protecting himself from a situation he controlled little, and so he let things run.
Did they drift?
Third: it is time to look at the accounts. Since the accident—and because of it—he has had to assume unforeseen and unpredictable expenses. He has been helping his mother-in-law with her knee operations. Some investments have not turned out as he expected…
His expenses have soared, and he has stretched his savings to the limit.
He has known similar situations before—perhaps not as serious, nor with ten people under his direct responsibility—and he never reached the extreme decisions taken by people he met during his years of travel.
He saw people cross lines: forging visas, transporting drugs, risking their lives for quick money. Some succeeded; others did not.
He saw a man extend his visa. It took him five or six hours to carve the visa, in reverse, into a large potato cut in half. When he tested his masterpiece on a blank sheet of paper, the stamp—with colours and signature—was astonishingly similar.
It worked.
It was not yet the digital age.
A very flamboyant young man, always dressed in striking clothes, always smiling and extremely courteous, travelled back and forth from one Asian country to another carrying countless drugs…
He was never arrested.
A couple, eager to make a great deal of money in a short time, were less fortunate.
Asian prisons were not places where one wished to spend time.
One man did what he had already done several times: he swallowed a plastic bag containing drugs, passed through customs, went to the bathroom, took a laxative, recovered the bag… and that was that.
That journey was his last. The bag burst in his stomach during the flight.
He also saw travellers tear pages from their passports so they would not show too many entries and exits from certain countries. These men travelled with one-ounce gold bars “in their backsides”.
He watched that edge.
And he breathes.
Coming soon
Leave a Reply