One More Time by Damien Leith Page B

appear to be any danger. Finally the two men broke off their conversation and the Maoist representative turned to Akio and me.
    ‘My name is Raja. What are your names?’
    Akio was as forward as ever. ‘I am, eh, Akio.’
    ‘Yeah, and I’m Sean,’ I mumbled, painfully, silently reciting a prayer.
    ‘Sean and Akio, good.’ He reached into his trouser pocket and presented us with a pencilled document. ‘As you know, I am a representative of the Maoist,’ he explained. ‘We are fighting for the common man in Nepal and we look for donations from people like you two. That piece of paper that I give you is a letter from very high up in the Maoist organisation, please read.’
    Akio read aloud: ‘Dear Tourist, We are the Maoist communist party. We wish for one donation of R1000from every tourist to help our fight. We fight for the common Nepalese, the poor Nepalese. We need donation to help with medical, to help with food. We ask that you give donation and if you wish not to, we remind you that you still have long travels ahead of you. Thank you.’
    The message was clear—give money or there’d be trouble. My mind tripped over its attempts at prayer.
    ‘You both understand?’ Raja’s words were directed particularly towards me. He could see I was distracted, agitated.
    ‘Yes, we understand. But—’ I paused for a second. ‘One thousand rupees is a lot of money. We’ve come up the mountains with only enough for our trek. Is it okay if we give a little less?’ The words had left my mouth before I’d considered what I was saying. But clearly I’d struck the right thing. Raja looked at me questioningly for a short while and then asked how much I was willing to give. I felt fantastic, powerful—for that brief moment my mind was totally clear of any promises, of any prayers. Earlier I had decided that I would give the Maoists whatever they wished, no questions asked, but all that had suddenly changed, with one confident reply. I could name my price now—but I was still aware of how volatile the situationwas. Five hundred rupees seemed a fair sum. Raja stared at me again while he contemplated the offer.
    ‘Okay, five hundred rupees is not such a bad donation.’ He spoke slowly, considering. ‘If you get money for me now, I will write you receipt so you don’t have to pay Maoist if you meet them again.’
    Raja produced a receipt book and began writing while Akio and I rummaged through our wallets and I handed over my money. Raja gave me a receipt. But then the situation changed.
    ‘I will not-o pay!’ Akio was looking through his wallet as he spoke. Did he not have five hundred rupees? He put away the wallet and reiterated, ‘I will not-o pay.’
    Even Mani couldn’t believe his ears. ‘I think it is better that you give small donation,’ he said firmly.
    ‘I will not-o pay. I am sorry, I do not support the Maoist.’
    Raja rose from his chair and looked down at Akio. It was clear that he wasn’t sure how to proceed. He sat back down again. After some reflection, he spoke impatiently.
    ‘It is best that you give small donation as I think you have much travel left and you do not want to make enemies along the way.’
    Mani and I stared, intrigued, nervous.
    ‘You terrorist, you bandit,’ Akio continued coolly. ‘I not support you or your fight. Not my problem.’ He prodded a thumb against his chest. ‘Not my problem!’ The words had determination ringing all the way through them.
    Raja knew that too. With a massive lunge, he leapt from his chair towards Akio. Both men fell to the floor with a crash, Raja on top, gripping tightly around Akio’s neck. In uproar, Raja shouted as Akio struggled beneath him. Mani rushed to the panicking family in the kitchen.
    Instinctively I began pulling at Raja to break up the fight. Raja kept his tight hold around Akio’s neck, and as I tried to separate the two of them I glimpsed the fury on Raja’s face, the utter focus on harming this defiant