Authors: Cary Groner
Exiles (37 page)
What struck him then was how hard it was to love it all, but also how easy it was. The notion of Alex with a rifle, or other things he might have thought would shock him, when it came down to it, didn’t end up shocking him very much at all. Things he didn’t understand, and at the same time understood completely. He thought again of Tsering Wangmo, how he couldn’t comprehend what she’d done but had to acknowledge she’d done it, that she apparently altered whatever he took to be reality solely by the force of her chanting or even by her mind. The world was everything he thought it was and nothing he thought it was. Messiness and misery coexisted with perfection—were, paradoxically,
part of
perfection—and there was no way to reconcile these things except to accept them and live with them the way old lovers lived together, with understanding and humor, and with mercy.
He was sick of his own insufferable cleverness, too, which now struck him as a kind of golden idol, the antithesis of genuine wisdom. He wanted to be rid of it, but he wasn’t sure what to replace it with, for he still felt a long way from any sort of transcendent knowledge. Maybe it wasn’t necessary to replace it at all. One thing he felt increasingly convinced of, though, was that emotions were more than just the means by which DNA drove his behavior. They were, at least in the best case, how he understood in his heart what he was unable to comprehend with his mind, and they deepened his
intelligence in ways that were no less real for being difficult to articulate. He wondered what Lama Padma would think about all this.
Alex watched the mountains. “It’s beautiful up here. Even if we don’t buy hospital stuff, we should just come out sometimes.”
He was glad she suggested it. “Well, how’s your schedule?” he asked. “Should I call your secretary?”
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m worried about Edelstein, though.”
“Why?”
“He practically falls apart if he doesn’t see me.”
“Is that right?”
She nodded. “Oh, yeah. Sooner or later I guess we’ll just have to wean him, don’t you think?”
| | |
A week later they were surprised to get a letter from Devi.
Dear Alex & Peter,
I’ve been so upset since I heard what happened. Please keep me informed. When I learn about something like that I think maybe my mother was right after all, that no one can really be trusted. I’ve been thinking of that nun, Ani Dawa, because now I understand what she was feeling when she wanted to kill those Chinese soldiers.
I am at Lama Padma’s for a couple of weeks to receive teachings, though, so of course I must give up any such notions of revenge. He is very strict about this kind of thing—not just acting but thinking. I hope your minds are more at peace and less unruly than mine.
When they got to this, Peter and Alex just looked at each other and smiled.
The letter continued:
You should know that Lama Padma is quite ill, and we aren’t sure how long he will live. I guess Peter’s concerns
about heart failure were right. He was distressed to hear what happened to Alex, and he is praying for her, as you requested. He says that if he does not have an opportunity to see you both again, he very much appreciates meeting you, and that you wrote to him.
As for your last letter, he asked me to tell you that it is perfectly natural for you to be angry, but he hopes you will not cling to these emotions, thinking they will somehow give you the power you did not have when you needed it. They do not, and you will become their prisoner if you believe otherwise.
Soon I will return to Tsering Wangmo’s. I may stay there for some time. Ramesh came to visit and brought the goat. Tsering Wangmo is delighted to have her, and Wayne Lee is thriving there. She and the dog often sleep together for warmth, and they seem to have become friends.
Tsering Wangmo says I should plan to stay as long as she lives, and maybe even after she dies. So in fifty years you may find me still there, all wrinkly, as her replacement! But for now, she and Lama Padma think it is time I went into solitary retreat, in a small cave up behind her house, possibly for three years or more. Tsering Wangmo has agreed to bring me mail from time to time, though, and to take mine out, so I won’t be out of touch with you.
I miss you and think of you all the time. I don’t know when I’ll see you again, but I love you both. I am so glad to hear you have found your way home.
—Devi
Alex cried for her Devi, lost and found, and for Lama Padma. “I wish he’d let me operate,” Peter said. “He’d have a few good years left.”
Alex brushed her tears away. “It’s not who he is, you know? That’s the trouble with these people. They ignore all our terrific advice, and then they miss the chance to be as unbelievably happy as we are.”
THIRTY-SIXPeter accepted the night position at Marin General and bought an old clapboard house near the water in Sausalito. It wasn’t fancy but it was big, and they were going to be needing room.
In late September, almost a year to the day after they had flown into Kathmandu, Peter and Alex drove down to SFO to meet Mina and Usha. Mina walked down the ramp from the boarding gates and right into Peter’s arms, then Usha joined her, and finally Alex glommed on, and they all just stood there in a scrum, breathing one another in.
The next day, after Alex and Usha took off to see a movie, Peter and Mina went for a walk in the hills.
“I’d forgotten how much I like it here,” she said.
“We’ll get you back up to speed,” he said. “Most days I’m free.”
They sat in the shade under an oak. “Usha really does want to study medicine, you know,” Mina said. “She’s already into biology.”
“Well,” he said. “A chip off the old block.”
“We have to figure out how to get her visa extended.”
“That’s easy. We’ll just explain to the INS that I paid good money for her.”
She laughed. “I checked it out a little,” she said. “It seems like it’s important to have a stable couple.”
He considered this. “Any chance we could impersonate one?”
“We’ll have to practice,” she said. She kissed him on the cheek. “Sure you want to keep the night shift?”
| | |
Two months later, Alex and Usha loaded the car with potatoes and beans and pie, while Mina and Peter packed in the soda and the wine.
“Explain this holiday?” Usha asked as they set out. Alex launched into an elaborate description of the origins of Thanksgiving in the English-Nepali patois that the girls had developed to communicate with each other.
“So these Indians gave food, and you killed them?” Usha said. “I do not understand.”
“No, you understand,” said Alex brightly. “China’s got nothing on us.”
They drove north and west toward Mendocino, following Connie’s scrawled map. After a couple of hours, Peter came to the turnoff, and the gravel drive took them up a little rise to a clearing. The house, two stories of blue clapboard, was built in a broad, open field of mown grass, with acres of apple orchard to the west. A stand of pine began where the orchard ended, and beyond the pines the Pacific glinted in the afternoon sun.
They carried the food to the sliding back patio doors, where Connie let them in and introduced everyone to Cody. He was a rangy fellow in his fifties, with a ponytail and an amiable grin.
Ben and the girls quickly bolted for the woods.
“Was that my nephew, headed to the great outdoors?” Peter said, incredulous.
“This is new,” Connie said. “This is just his second time here, but he loves it. Until now the only parts of his body he developed were his thumbs, for PlayStation.”
Cody got them drinks, and they stood around talking, getting
to know one another. He’d developed software for Adobe before retiring the previous year; he and Connie had met online. They’d been going out for only two or three months, but from their easy affection it looked to Peter like it was going well.
Ten or fifteen minutes later the kids came out of the tall grass onto the field. Ben held something green in his hand. They walked up the stairs to the deck.
“Look what I found,” Ben said, grinning and holding up his prize. It was a leaf from a healthy-looking marijuana plant. “There’s about a quarter-acre of this shit out there.”
“Language,” said Connie.
“This
stuff
,” said Ben. “This totally sinsemilla-type serious dope
stuff
, Mom.”
She rolled her eyes and took it from him. The kids, smirking, trotted into the house. Peter and Connie looked at Cody, who smiled and shrugged with the closest thing to a Nepali shrug Peter had seen in months. “It’s my neighbor Ed’s land,” he explained. “He mainly grows apples and pears, but he finally bowed to economic reality and set aside a little plot for this.”
“And it’s safe?” Peter asked.
“A few years ago the cops realized that if they kowtowed to the DEA, the local economy would tank,” Cody said. “So they bust the meth labs and take their tithing of the dope revenues, and everyone is happy.”
Connie, irritated, said she hoped the field wasn’t booby-trapped.
“Not really Ed’s style,” said Cody. “But sorry, I guess I should have told them to stay on this side of the fence.”
Peter was glad to see him apologize; he’d come to understand this as a good sign, an indicator of strength rather than weakness, and he hoped it boded well for the two of them.
Connie, evidently mollified, put a hand on Cody’s arm. “Kids are going to roam,” she said. “I guess you can’t shelter them from everything.”
Peter wondered, in fact, if you could shelter them from
anything
.
“Ed shares, at least,” Cody said, smiling. “Let me know if you guys want some later.”
“Maybe if the kids aren’t around,” Connie said.
Peter shook his head, though, feeling like a square but not minding all that much. “I need all the brain cells I can get at this point,” he said. “If I want to kill off a few I prefer a good cabernet, though I’ve learned it’s best to drink it at sea level.”
Cody smiled. “Well, we’re almost at sea level, and we’ve definitely got cabernet.” He put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and turned to go inside. Peter’s eyes met Connie’s. Cody seemed nice enough, but Peter felt protective of his sister, and he was unsure about so many things now. If the kind of awakening Lama Padma had described meant that everything you were used to relying on crumbled under your feet, he figured he was on his way. It wasn’t comfortable, particularly if it meant giving up the intoxicating acuity of his own capacity for judging others, but he suspected it was necessary. If Connie was happy with Cody, that would be good enough for him.
A few minutes later, as the kids set the table and laid out the food, Connie cornered Mina and Peter in the pantry. “So when’s the date?” she asked, her voice hushed with mischief.
Mina looked at Peter. “I thought this was a secret.”
Peter peered at his sister suspiciously. “I did too,” he said.
“For God’s sake, I know my own bro,” said Connie. “He’s been looking way too happy.”
Mina smiled. “Next month,” she said. “Then we can finish the paperwork for Usha.”
“You going to have one of your own?”
“Jesus, Con,” said Peter. “Give us a second or two, will you?”
Connie put up her hands. “Sorry, sorry, don’t even consider having any fun on my account, God forbid.”
Cody called to them from the dining room. “We’re all set,” he said. “Let’s rumble.”
At the table, Usha looked astounded at all the food.
Alex turned to her. “The rule is,” she said, “you have to eat till it hurts. Otherwise you’ve failed.”
“Alex,”
said Peter.
“True story,” said Ben. “You’ve got to totally want to hurl.”
“Ben,”
said Connie.
Cody asked Usha if she’d like to say grace, but Usha didn’t understand. Mina explained, briefly, in Nepali. Usha then interlaced her fingers and said a few words.
“She said thank you Peter and Mina for saving her life and giving her books and food,” said Alex. “She’s sorry to hear about the Indians, though.”
Peter, holding Mina’s hand on one side and Alex’s on the other, sent his own thanks out to the universe.