‘She’s nearly the same age as you, Mum,’ Yao told her. ‘And I don’t work like a dog for her.’
‘More like a puppy,’ Delilah told him. ‘You have a crush on her.’ They were in bed at the time. Delilah was beautiful and sexually very skilled and he liked her very much, but their hook-ups always felt kind of transactional, even though no money changed hands.
‘I’m grateful to her,’ Yao said, his hands behind his head as he looked at the ceiling, considering this. ‘She saved my life.’
‘She didn’t save your life. You saved her life.’
‘My supervisor saved her life,’ said Yao. ‘I didn’t know what the hell I was doing.’
‘And now you loooooove her,’ said Delilah, putting her bra back on.
‘Like a sister,’ said Yao.
‘Yeah, right,’ said Delilah.
‘Like a cousin.’
Delilah snorted.
He did care very deeply for Masha. Was that so strange? To love your boss? Surely not so strange when you lived and worked together, and when your boss looked like Masha. She was interesting and stimulating. He found her exotic accent as attractive as her body. He would admit he had a significant crush on her. Perhaps his crush was strange and indicated some flaw in his personality or dysfunctional consequence of his childhood, even though it was just the ordinary, happy childhood of a shy, earnest boy who could get a little too intense about things but mostly slipped under the radar. His parents were softly spoken, humble people who never pushed him. Yao’s parents believed in keeping expectations low to avoid disappointment. His father had said that out loud once, without irony: ‘Expect to fail, Yao, then you will never be disappointed.’ That’s why Yao found Masha’s egotism so refreshing. She was bigger than life. Self-deprecation was something she had never practised and did not understand in other people.
And Masha had saved his life.
After her heart attack, she had written letters to both Finn and Yao, thanking them and talking about how her ‘near-death experience’ had changed her forever. She said that while she floated above them, she had seen the tiny red birthmark on Yao’s scalp. She had described it perfectly: strawberry-shaped.
Finn never answered Masha’s letter. ‘She’s a nutter. She didn’t need to float above our bloody heads to see your birthmark. She probably saw it when she was sitting at her desk, before she collapsed.’
But Yao was intrigued by her near-death experience. He emailed her, and over the years they kept up a sporadic correspondence. She told him that after she recovered from her heart surgery, she’d given up her ‘highly successful’ (her words) corporate career and cashed in her company shares to buy a famous historic house in the countryside. She was going to put in a swimming pool and restore the house. Her initial plan had been to start an exclusive bed and breakfast, but as her interest in health had developed, she changed her mind.
She wrote, Yao, I have transformed my body, my mind, my soul and I want to do the same for others.
There was an element of grandiosity to her emails he found amusing and endearing, but really she was not especially important to him. Just a grateful ex-patient with a funny turn of phrase.
And then, just after his twenty-fifth birthday, all his dominos toppled: bam, bam, bam. First, his parents announced they were divorcing. They sold the family home and moved into separate apartments. It was confusing and distressing. Then, in the midst of all that drama, his fiancée, Bernadette, broke off their engagement. It came without warning. He thought they were deeply in love. The wedding, reception and honeymoon were booked. How was it possible? It felt like the foundations of his life were collapsing beneath his feet. A break-up wasn’t a tragedy and yet, to his shame, it felt cataclysmic.
His car got stolen.
He began to suffer from stress-related dermatitis.
Finn moved interstate and the ambulance service transferred Yao to a regional area where he knew no-one, where the call-outs mostly involved violence and drugs. One night a man held a knife to his throat and said, ‘If you don’t save her I’ll slit your throat.’ The woman was already dead. When the police came, the man lunged at them with the knife and he was shot. Yao ended up saving his life.
He went back to work. Then two days later he woke up just a few minutes before his alarm, as usual, but the moment it went off something catastrophic happened to his brain. He felt it implode. It felt physical. He thought it was a bleed on the brain. He ended up in a psychiatric ward.
‘It sounds like you’ve been under a lot of pressure,’ said a doctor with dark shadows under his eyes.
‘Nobody died,’ said Yao.
‘But it feels like they did, doesn’t it?’
That was exactly how it felt: like death after death after death. Finn was gone. His fiancée was gone. His family home was gone. Even his car was gone.
‘We used to call this a nervous breakdown,’ said the doctor. ‘Now we’d call it a major depressive episode.’
He gave Yao a referral for a psychiatrist and a prescription for antidepressants. ‘A well-managed breakdown can turn out to be a good thing,’ he told Yao. ‘Try to see it as an opportunity. An opportunity to grow and learn about yourself.’
The day after he got home from the hospital he received an email from Masha in which she said that if he ever needed to escape ‘the rat race’, he was very welcome to visit and try out her new guestrooms.
It felt like a sign.
Your timing is good, I haven’t been well, he wrote to her. I might just come for a few days for a rest.
He hadn’t recognised Masha when he arrived at the house and a goddess in white walked out onto the veranda; a goddess who took him into her arms and said into his ear, ‘I will make you well.’
Each time he walked out of Tranquillum House to greet new guests he wanted to create that same experience for them: like the sight of land when you’ve been lost at sea.
Masha nurtured Yao like a sick bird. She cooked for him and taught him meditation and yoga. They learned tai chi together. They were alone in that house for three months. They didn’t have sex but they shared something. A journey of some kind. A rejuvenation. During that time his body changed; it hardened and strengthened as his mind healed. He became someone else entirely as he experienced a kind of peace and certainty he’d never known in his life. He shed the old Yao like dead skin.
The old Yao only exercised sporadically and ate too much processed food. The old Yao was a worrier and an insomniac who often woke up in the middle of the night thinking of all the things that could have gone wrong in his working day.
The new Yao slept through the night and woke up in the morning refreshed. The new Yao no longer thought obsessively about his fiancée in bed with another man. The new Yao rarely thought of Bernadette at all, and eventually completely eradicated her from his thoughts. The new Yao lived in the moment and was passionate about ‘wellness’, inspired by Masha’s vision for Tranquillum House. Instead of just patching people up, like Yao had done as a paramedic, the plan was to transform people, in the same way that he himself had been transformed. It felt like religion, except everything they did was based on science and evidence-based research.
His parents visited separately and told him it was time to return to Sydney and get his life back on track, but within six months of his arrival Masha and Yao opened the doors of Tranquillum House for their first guests. It was a success. And fun. A lot more fun than being a paramedic.
A few days had become five years. Delilah joined the staff four years ago, and together the three of them had all learned so much, constantly refining and improving their retreats. Masha paid generously. It was a dream career.
‘Tomorrow, I begin one-on-one counselling sessions,’ said Masha. ‘I will share my notes with you.’
‘Good, because the more we know about each guest, the better,’ said Yao.