Subtle bundles of meridian sunlight penetrated the foliage and reached the forest floor. Enormous conifers and thick clusters of hazelnut trees seemed to rejoice in the warmth. Delicate smoke wisps ascended idly from the forgotten campfire towards the forest canopy, and ash danced in the air. A charred teapot lay on top of the embers. The quiet would have been absolute if the group of us werenāt hard at work with the preparations.
Hammers banged, and saws rattled. Rushed footfalls scurried noisily all over the place. Urgent voices merged with each other into an incoherent jumble.
We were, at the time, some ten people living permanently in that makeshift camp. We maintained a few improvised shacks, made of branches, palettes, and tarpaulin; a broad and neat communal area around the fire in the middle of the clearing; and a messy but functional outdoor kitchen.
Now, we had some ten more people helping with the additions. We were almost ready. A bar and a stage had been given shape. The bar was basically a plank nailed between two tree trunks, roofed with canvas and complemented by shelves, and was equipped with a few bin bags full of cheap, smuggled Polish beer. The stage featured fairy lights and an impromptu sound system, powered by car batteries, mounted on an off-road-tired pull cart. As the long summer day neared its nightfall, people began to thicken. The party would start soon.
Dusk did at last befall at around midnight. Creaking bass and jolly melodies were released in the ambiance. The earth pulsated, and the air throbbed. Deep darkness gradually prevailed. Bizarre things began to happen within the attendantsā minds.
A good old forest psytrance party was ongoing. Many members of Osloās psy-hippies community had shown up. And so had a bunch of Czech guys, who were camping on a tiny island out in the fjord while summer-working in Norway. Two of the groupās individuals came to cause a little trouble for the event.
Firstly, there was that Czech girl who went missing. Nobody had noticed that until she called from the police station. She got arrested while roaming naked on the provincial road, a mile or two of somber forest away from the party.
Then, there was that dudeā¦
He was huge, rough, rancorous, and imbecilic, but innately gentle. In his presence, you were reminded of a frisky Great Dane puppy kept in a living room. Carrying his towering body around, he caused havoc upon his passage. Even the trees could get a headache when he opened his mouth, and he hardly ever closed it. He was, in fact, the only person we ever had to reject moving in our forest camp when one day he showed up and started building a shelter for himself, without asking anyone. But now he was there for the party. And on top of his chaotic mind, he was also trippingā¦ tripping hard.
Heād been downing the mushrooms like candy and the acid drops like a bloody coke. It was to be expected. Weād braced ourselves up for the disturbance. We tried to appease him for some time, but eventually, he went completely out of control, outright berserk. He was screaming stuff that I couldnāt understand, and I doubt whether the Czech guys could either. He was plodding around the place manically, crushing everything and everyone on his way; injured a couple of people. Peremptory action had to be taken.
A couple of us did eventually leap at him and got him on the ground. At first, he screamed and fought. People were suggesting to tie him on a tree and gag him. But others, we advocated against that; he could come out with severe mental trauma.
At an unexpected moment, his flattened body stopped writhing. It stopped moving altogether. His limbs didnāt budge an inch. His eyes, wide-open, didnāt blink but were fixed abysmally into the infinity of the night sky between the fir tops far overheads. His only muscles still in use were the ones along the way from his diaphragm to his lips, driving air out of his mouth, lots of it. He screamed two intelligible words interchangeably: svetlo and zivot, meaning light and life in Czech.
We tried to bring him around for a bit, but he was as unresponsive as a computer would be to a living mouse. We decided to let him be. He was undoubtedly tranquilized; wouldnāt cause more issues. His screams, though audible even when standing beside the speaker, couldnāt quite outshout the music. And he seemed reasonably sound and safe, tooā¦ I mean, if he shouted darkness and death instead, I would be more concerned.
The party went on. His cries, though persistent in frequency, did gradually diminish in volume. Other wondrous things taking place in their minds, everybody forgot about him. The batteries ran empty and the speaker quiet at around sunrise. People began to slowly disperse.
Hours later, only a handful of us were present and awake, sitting in the bar and sipping coffee. The sun was soaring invisibly behind the bleak cloud veil that hid the sky, yet it was steadily dissolving the mist in the forest. Only a fine haze mantle remained, carpeting the moist soil. It was just low enough to discern the top layer of a thick pile of blankets weād covered the Czech dude with, who still lay in the exact same position. His face was no more ruddy than the mist. His eyes, bloodshot, stared as abysmally through the humid whiteness. His lips twitched imperceptibly, and if you put your ear on them, you could still hear svetlo and zivot being pronounced effortfully.
We hadnāt checked on him in a while, when leaves rustled. A bunch of mouths shut, and necks swiveled in unison. Twice as many eyes focused on him curiously. He had cast the blankets aside and was laboriously trying to get up. His hulking body towered over the vapors. He stretched and looked around him bewilderedly before shuffling towards us. He stepped under the kitchen roof and came to a halt. He sighed. Everyone stared at everyone for some quiet seconds; he in confusion, the rest in interested amusement.
āHow is it going?ā I then broke the silence, addressing the revived man.
His face brightened. āI was happy!ā he exclaimed.
The story you've just read is a part of my "Real Stories of Real People" collection, wherein I narrate my encounters with various remarkable characters I've run into while traveling around the world. The entire collection is published on my blog and may be read here. But if you'd like to get them with you to the beach in your ebook reader or as a physical book, and very appreciatedly support my creative activity, go ahead and grab your copy from Amazon for the cost of a cup of coffee.
