FROM: EVAN MCALLISTER
TO: ELLA PARIS
DATE: FRI, 24 SEP 2004 13:03:42 (PDT)
SUBJECT: ON A PLAIN
my dear ella,
it's 1:00pm, and in just four hours, i'll be on a plane to
calcutta ... and to YOU! jesus, why have i waited so long?? i
don't know. but it doesn't matter now, because i'm on my way at
last. and i'm sure i'll survive india. for one thing, i have
jacob's ladder on my side; and besides that, i've got you, even
if you seem to have momentarily forgotten that fact. my plane
arrives at 5:15pm tomorrow evening, indian time (i think). will
you meet me at the airport?
see you soon ...
love,
evan
FROM: ELLA PARIS
TO: EVAN
MCALLISTER
DATE: SAT, 25 SEP 2004 00:22:04 (EDT)
SUBJECT: ON A TRAIN
I'm sorry to spring this on you Evan but I won't be at the
airport. I'm leaving Calcutta this morning. I don't expect you
to understand really. Everything has just been getting worse and
worse here, and I'm freaking out. I literally don't
know why I'm doing what I'm doing anymore and to put it bluntly,
I've been miserable for months. A couple days ago I heard about
a meditation teacher named Percy Musgrove--he runs these
retreats in Bodhgaya every year, that small town in Northern
India I was telling you about where the Buddha was enlightened
2,500 years ago. The retreat is ten days long--in silence except
for group and private meetings with Musgrove and supposedly
they, or so the brochure I got claims, “include teachings
on awakening and comprehensive instructions on vipassana
meditation.” (You probably know this stuff already but
it's the kind of meditation the Buddha supposedly practiced.) If
this isn't what the doctor ordered then it's hopeless. Maybe
it's already hopeless. It's hard to believe that some aging
hippie meditation teacher could help me now, but I don't know
what else to do really. Take care of yourself Evan, I really
hope India treats you well. Ella
p.s. I'm sorry for being such a bitch in my last email. Four
people died on me that day at Mother Teresa's and it was just
getting to be too much.
p.p.s. Some survival advice:
-
Watch out for hustlers who have a million ways
to rip you
off.
- Don't eat the lettuce.
- Brush your teeth with bottled water.
- No surfing in the Bay of Bengal.
FROM: EVAN MCALLISTER
TO: ELLA PARIS
DATE: WED, 29 SEP 2004 10:31:09 (PDT)
SUBJECT: ANOTHER RUDE AWAKENING
hello ella,
i'm writing to you from the american consulate in calcutta,
waiting to see if i can get some money from my parents. my
wallet was stolen last night--and my packet of handy wipes,
too--which completely sucks. at least they've got a box of
kleenex here.
i arrived in calcutta four days ago. when i didn't see you
anywhere at the airport, i made my way to the missionaries of
charity to find you. but, of course, you weren't there. i was
so exhausted they let me stay the night on an empty cot, but i
couldn't sleep because i knew there'd probably been a dying
person on it before me. the next morning one of the nuns helped
me find a cheap hotel around the corner, and that's where i've
been ever since. mostly.
i woke up before dawn this morning with a killer hangover on
the riverbank beneath the howrah bridge, about half a mile from
my hotel room. i didn't know who i was, where
i was, or why i had no shirt on. i felt like puking and did so,
right into the holy ganges ... then i heard a noise and turned
to see this old indian guy squatting down a few feet away,
taking a dump on the beach while smoking one of those fruity
little indian cigarettes you like. he just stared at me with
this totally blank look on his face. i staggered backward a few
steps and tripped over a rock. i couldn't figure out how i got
there, but after a few minutes i suddenly remembered some of
what had happened last night ...
at about 10pm i'd been sitting in the hotel lobby, reading
“the stranger” by camus, when a grungy italian dude
with jet-black hair in a ponytail came up and asked if i'd like
to go have some fun. i'd seen him in the hotel before and he
seemed alright, so i said “sure.” well, we got into
this rickshaw cart outside, and the old driver dude pulled us
along for over a mile, huffing and coughing and spitting the
whole time as his bare feet smacked against the wet pavement in
the dark. i felt really uncomfortable and didn't know what to
say when we finally stopped, but the italian dude gave him a
pile of rupees and then led me inside this cheap hotel, where
loud reggae music was blaring from the basement. we walked down
some stairs and entered this big, noisy, dimly lit room packed
with dancing westerners. we sat down at a table in the corner
and, after he ordered us beers, he began telling me this whole
story about how he ended up in calcutta after receiving some
divine inspiration to do missionary work or something. i asked
him how it was going, and he said that he'd recently met the
girl of his dreams. then i said that i came here to meet up
with my dream girl, but that she'd disappeared on me.
he said the same thing happened to him, and then he just started
crying. really loudly. it was weird, but i knew this was a
moment of catharsis and said, “let it all out, bro. i'm
here to listen.” (the whole time this bizarre-looking
little indian boy with a torn yankees t-shirt and no front teeth
kept refilling our glasses.) so he took a deep breath and
proceeded to tell me that he'd been with this girl for a few
months and was madly in love with her, but recently he started
suspecting that she was seeing another guy, some dude from
switzerland. but she denied it, saying how could he think such
a thing of her? after all, she insisted, she worked with mother
teresa's nuns! he said that when he woke up the next morning,
she was gone. i finally asked him what her name was. wiping
away tears, he said, over and over again, “ella ... ella
...ella.”
i hope you have a nice “meditation retreat.”
meeting your “friend” donatello was devastating
enough--if i didn't feel so sorry for the poor guy, i would
punch his face in--and now it sounds like there might even be
another guy? how many more victims are you going to
leave in your wake, ella paris??
FROM: ELLA PARIS
TO: EVAN MCALLISTER
DATE: SUN, 03 OCT 2004 23:34:09 (EDT)
SUBJECT: RE: ANOTHER RUDE AWAKENING
Dear Evan,
“Victims in my wake”? Please don't be so
dramatic. I won't deny what happened between Donatello and I,
and you couldn't possibly understand how guilty I feel about it.
But I didn't leave him and Calcutta for some other guy--I left
him because he was becoming so emotional and jealous that he
wouldn't have understood why things were over between us. It
didn't have anything to do with Mikael, the Swedish aid
worker visiting from Doctors Without Borders, it was me--I was
so depressed. The best thing for me to do was to get
out of there before I simply ruined everybody's life. Including
yours, Evan McAllister. I knew I couldn't involve you in the
mess I had created, even if it meant leaving you to fend for
yourself in Calcutta. But it hardly seems to matter what I
did--my worst nightmare came true and you met Donatello anyway.
I'm so sorry that you are upset. Believe me though, it would
have been even worse had I stayed. I only just arrived in
Bodhgaya and got your email--the retreat starts in a little
while so I have to go. Wish me luck! Ella
FROM: EVAN MCALLISTER
TO: ELLA PARIS
DATE: WED, 06 OCT 2004 10:55:17 (PDT)
SUBJECT: RETURNING TO SILENCE
hi ella,
i'm sorry to hear how depressed you were, but i'm still upset
that you ditched me in calcutta (and your seeing all those other
guys hasn't helped make me feel any better). i've been
discussing it on the phone with jacob, though, and he's helping
me see things clearer. anyway, it's good to hear that after all
your months in india, you're finally turning your attention to
higher matters.
evan