The Centre(38)

I tried to explain the feeling to Shiba. She was glad to hear that I was imbibing the language more easily than the last time and especially delighted about the feelings that Anna had evoked.

“I told you she’d be good for you,” she said.

“It’s bizarre. I don’t have the words for it. I just feel … held.”

“She always had a maternal spirit, didn’t she?”

“She really does,” I said. I ran my fingers across Anna’s name, embossed into the purple band around my wrist, and remembered my head on her lap as I sobbed with homesickness.

“You know you’ve had it within you all along, don’t you? This warmth that you’re feeling. Anna’s just helping bring it out.”

“Do you think it’ll stay?” I asked. “Even when I leave? How can I make sure I keep it?”

“It’s something you’ll need to feed and nourish, but there’s no reason it shouldn’t stay.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “You know, sometimes, I think this is the real reason we’re here, for these other gifts that we receive in the process. You start to find the language learning becomes almost incidental.”

·

Things passed like this, easily and gently, for my first few days at the Centre. But then, despite the pleasure of spending time with Shiba and my gratitude for all that Anna was giving me, I felt the stirrings of a familiar cabin fever. I missed my home: my kitchen, my bed, my cat, and my friends, and yes, my phone. Maybe most of all my phone. I thought it would be easier this time around, having done it already and realized that I wouldn’t die without social media for ten days, but the truth is, once again, I was itching to check my WhatsApp and read my emails.

I felt that the garden, too, had turned against me, the wind blowing me in the direction of the exit when I walked by, the bark of the trees scraping against my skin when I leaned against them, the spiky leaves extending to poke me as I passed, even a chirping swallow pooping on my elbow once as I waited for Shiba beneath the willow tree. It felt like time to go home. I was perfectly fluent now, after all, and eager to return to the world, to find my next book to translate. And the new sense of groundedness that Anna provided only reaffirmed my desire to heed my gut instincts. So, on day six, I decided to ask Shiba whether I could leave early.

Lunch at the Centre took place at one o’clock every day in the dining hall, where we were served delicious and perfectly balanced three-course meals, each one individually tailored. I can’t remember what they served that day; it may have been a Sri Lankan curry, with tender morsels of meat, along with red chilis, baby corn, and mushrooms in a coconutty shorba. Probably with jasmine rice on the side. And cardamom chocolate mousse for dessert. Yes, I think that was it. Every meal there was like a song, each part perfectly in tune with the other. As always, we sat in silence as we ate. I had started to appreciate, by then, being able to savor my food without having to make small talk with strangers. Afterward, Shiba, having seen that I’d logged my nani’s name onto the screen, was waiting for me outside. We made our way to the speaking area, and I got straight to the point.

“Listen, I was thinking, since I’m completely fluent now, do you think I need to stay the whole ten days?”

“Of course you do. That’s the only way it really sinks in.”

“I hear you, but I feel like it’s sunk in already. I’d like to go, if I can.”

“Why, what’s wrong? Are you not happy here?”

Shiba had told me how much she’d loved having me there again, and I didn’t want her to think I didn’t feel the same.

“No, of course not. I’m enjoying myself, especially since we’re getting to spend so much time together. But it’s challenging sometimes, you know? The rules around no phones, no laptops. I feel so … cut off.”

“I understand, but it can’t be any other way. The process only works if you’re fully absorbed, and anyway, we have to be very careful, for privacy reasons. People could trace emails or access phone cameras. We just can’t take the risk.”

There it was again. Privacy, privacy, privacy. But it was only now, provoked by my irritation, my desire to go home, and, potentially, some kind of push from Anna, that I found myself thinking that this insistence the Centre placed on secrecy was actually pretty extreme. Maybe it sounds odd that I wasn’t suspicious earlier, with Adam’s talk of NDAs and those doctors who spoke in riddles, but I think I’d sort of just floated along with the mystery and enchantment of it all. Perhaps my pride at being granted access into this mega-exclusive club had blurred everything else. And anyway, I’d figured exclusivity and secrecy went hand in hand. The inner mechanics, I’d imagined, were probably too sophisticated for me to understand. But it was at this point that a real curiosity crept in and was soon to overtake me.

“What does it matter if people take photos?” I asked.

“The world just isn’t ready,” she said, adding after a pause, “I thought you understood.”

And with that, I became anxious that Shiba might flee at any hint of intrusion, so I didn’t probe further. Also, I think I sensed that my curiosity, which had only just begun to stir, needed to be guarded lest it be prematurely squished.

“I get it,” I said. “It’s just claustrophobic sometimes, being by yourself for so many days.”