She of the Mountains (12 page)

It was at that moment that I recognized her as myself.

Kali
, I whispered.

She winked and said, without moving her lips:

The beauty of life is the will to live.

How could I have missed that? I had been caught by the wrong questions. The
who
s or
how
s didn't matter. The
why
, however, the
why
was crucial.
Why
was Mahishasura replicating? Because that is precisely what life was engineered to do—it fights to sustain itself, to survive, despite its limitations. He was simply acting in accordance with his very nature, under my law.

Once I remembered this, I was able to kill him.

How did you get inside your body?

How did I get inside my body?
she repeated, checking to see if she had heard him correctly, running her fingers through his hair, his head on her lap.

Yes …

He could never escape the jarring feeling that he and his body were still two separate entities with two separate operating systems. Maneuvering his body felt like driving with the emergency brake on, the low and constant growl of dragging a frame embedded with an unforgotten history of hate. He wished that he believed he would be better suited for a different body, but another body represented only another confinement, another set of parameters. What he craved was the kind of repair that would unite driver and car as one, make them synchronous. He wondered if this was even possible, or if everyone silently struggled with this duality.

What do you mean?

The only time I feel inside my body is when it is next to yours. Like right now.

Next to her body, he had grown into his own body in ways he hadn't thought possible after high school, revelling in its colour and even deriving pleasure from it. Next to her body, he felt a seamless, integrated connection to his own. Next to her body, he felt hope.

But in her absence, when she travelled to Montreal for work or to Edmonton to visit her family, the weight of his body would always reappear. Over the years, and the longer she was gone, the more the weight would grow, like a monstrous exaggeration of itself.

The changes were small at first. He was procrastinating doing the day's errands, lounging on the couch, the first time he imagined his right hand had grown another finger. He tried to shake it off.

I don't like myself when I am not with her,
he mumbled to the finger, thinking aloud.

He spent the weekend trying his best to ignore it, but whenever he used his hand to reach for a glass or put on his jacket, and he was forced to look at it, he felt a nauseating disappointment with himself, as though the finger was a manifestation of all his flaws and inadequacies.

I shouldn't have slept in. I should have gone for a run this morning. I should have worked harder at the office this week. I should have bought groceries. I don't read enough. I don't call my parents enough. I am a bad son. I am a bad friend. I am not good enough. I am not good enough. I am not good enough. I am not good enough.

As soon as she was home again, the new finger vanished before he could even show it to her and he forgot about it altogether.

During her subsequent travels, his body grew a third arm, and a fourth, and a second tongue and even a tail. He could never predict where a new growth might spring out. He would turn off all the lights in their apartment to avoid seeing himself and wait for her in darkness. Sometimes he would whisper to himself:
Take a knife to it
. The thought wasn't rooted in a desire to inflict pain, but rather in the reasoning that if he cut off the part, perhaps he could study it inside out and understand it and himself better.

Just like the finger, these extra limbs would all fade when she returned, when she merely smiled at him or caressed his face with the back of her hand.

How did you do that?
he asked each time.

Do what?

He didn't respond because he didn't know how to ask:
How did you make me myself again? How did you make the beast disappear?

He began to sleep at the edge of their bed, resentful of her presence, of her body that seemed to know his body better than he did, and his new growths took longer to shed. He had more and more difficulty knowing which body was real, and some days, he even believed his imagined body was his true body, forcing him to bail out of social commitments and repeatedly call in sick at work.

I am a bad worker. I am a bad friend. I disappoint everyone. I can't be what they want. Everyone is better off without me. I am not good enough. I am not good enough. I am not good enough. I am not good enough. I am not enough. I am not enough. I am not enough. I am not enough.

After we killed him, I lost her.

Kali had lapped up every drop of his blood, preventing new Mahishasuras from sprouting, and I steadfastly slaughtered the remaining Mahishasuras. Together we were a terrifying and magnificent team. But then, high on the taste of life, she began feeding on any human in sight, dancing feverishly as she drank their innocent bodies dry, her eyes rolling in circles. She wanted more.

Kali!
I said, over and over again, trying to awaken her from her madness. She was beyond my reach. For a moment, I wanted her to have everything. Why must we always prioritize harmony and consider consequence? What lessons do we miss by suppressing rage and chaos? Why did Shiv alone have domain over destruction?

These thoughts only heightened Kali's delirium, and she nodded violently in agreement. I could taste the blood in her mouth. It was sour and cold, like rotting plants, foretelling the extinction ahead.
No
, I whispered, shifting my attention to the humans, moving as many as I could to safety.

Into the trees! Hurry!
I yelled.

Suddenly, Shiv appeared. He looked at me, then at her, and then at me again. Although he had never seen Kali before, he recognized her as part of me. He approached her from behind, waited for her to be mid-air, and stealthily laid himself down beneath her feet.

Shiv! What are you doing? She will crush you!
I cried.

Kali danced on his body, oblivious to him, her feet pounding on his chest and her arms flailing in every direction. Shiv's eyes were closed. I knew that I had to push her off of him somehow, even if this meant incurring her wrath. Before I had the chance, she wobbled and look down, startled.

Blue, I remember you
, she said. She disappeared back into my brow, leaving a smell of smoke, of fires quenched.

I rushed to Shiv's side.

Shiv, I am so sorry. She was insatiable. I should have …

He opened his eyes and smiled.

You should have everything
, he said, echoing my earlier thought.

But I do!

Perhaps the only way to steady her—and me—was for him to rest his body under hers.

Can't you see what is happening to me?
he said, massaging his temples with vigour, trying to pacify the throbbing under his forehead.

She had not mentioned anything about his new body, but he assumed she was being kind, the way she would pretend not to see the bulbous zit on his face, even when he pointed it out.

Yes, you seem different,
she said.

So you can see my new leg?

A new leg? No … you seem restless. And unhapp—

What about my tail?
he interrupted and pointed behind him.

She examined him closely.

I still don't see anything, love. You are as beautiful as ever.