Miss Buddha (35 page)

Ruth didn’t answer.

“Am I right?” Ananda repeated.

“Is he right?” Melissa finally managed, fork
retrieved.

“It was the right thing to do,” said
Ruth.

Ananda’s first impulse was to tell her the
precise opposite, but he checked it, for something not so much in
Ruth’s external demeanor as in the Buddha Gotama’s internal air
seemed too certain, too resolved.

“What did you tell him?” asked Melissa. “How
much.”

“Name, rank, and serial number,” said Ruth.
“And mission objective.”

“You did not,” said Melissa, having
retrieved her dropped fork held on to it this time.

“She did,” said Ananda, though smiling
now.

“Julian is an amazing person,” said Ruth.
“And very perceptive. I could not have kept this from him for long,
and if a river has to be crossed, might as well cross it now rather
than later.”

“How did he take it?” said Ananda.

“Time will tell,” said Ruth.

“Did he believe you?” said Melissa.

“He will soon enough, if not already,” said
Ruth.

“Are you being flippant?” asked her mother,
and not kindly.

“No, I am not.”

But now, in the middle of the night, both
Ruth and Melissa asleep, Ananda did worry that it might not have
been the prudent thing for the Buddha to do. What did they know
about this Julian Lawson? Other than that he was a good friend of
Kristina Medina, Ruth’s teacher, who, from what Melissa was saying,
had her own suspicions. It was all too soon. Too soon, that was his
main worry.

He wondered what time it was, but decided he
did not want to know. Instead he turned over to face the wall, and
willed sleep to come.

:

He rang the doorbell shortly after eight. If
this was too early, well so be it. This could not wait. He had to
do two things: confirm, and warn.

The woman who opened the door was obviously
Ruth’s mother, she had the most startling blue eyes he had ever
seen, and not incongruously so either.

“Can I help you?” she asked him.

“You are Ruth’s mother,” she said.

“And you are?”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he said. “Julian
Lawson.”

“Ah,” she said. “Julian Lawson. Ruth’s
hi-tech friend.”

“Well,
Cal
Tech, anyway.” Which, a fraction
too late, struck him as an exquisitely lame thing to
say.

And unrewarded, since the woman did not
smile. “What can we do for you?” she said, a little more pointedly
this time, really wanting to know his business.

“Could I see Ruth?” he asked.

“It is a little bit early,” she said.

“Julian,” said Ruth, arriving at the door.
Her mother turned to look at her, and then seemed to make up her
mind. Stepping aside, she let him in. “Well, since she’s up,” she
said.

“Thanks,” said Julian. “I appreciate
it.”

“He’s here to see you,” she said.

“Actually, I’m here to see both of you.”

“You are Julian Lawson,” said an older man
with cropped hair, hardly longer than a whisper, who struck Julian
as friendly and pleasantly gaunt. He offered his hand. “Ananda,” he
said. “Wolf.”

Julian took it, shook it. “Julian.”

“And you’ve met Melissa, I see.”

“Ah, that’s your name,” said Julian, not
facetiously.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” said Melissa, now
friendlier. “Where are my manners?” Another offered hand, which he
took and shook. “Melissa Marten.”

“Julian,” he said again. Then, “Can we
talk?”

She nodded, as did Ruth. The old man said,
“This way,” and led him into a nicely furnished living room.
“Anywhere you want,” he said, meaning take a seat. Which he
did.

Ruth said, “I told them.”

Sitting by her mother, the likeness,
especially the eyes, was striking. As was the contrast, blonde and
black. “You told them?” he said.

“Yes.”

Then he caught on. “Oh, that you’ve told
me?”

“Yes.”

The old man, Ananda, was regarding him
intensely, looking for what?, Julian wondered. And soon found
out.

“Do you believe her?” he asked.

Straight to the point. And he really meant
the question, Julian could tell.

And that was the question, wasn’t it? The
one that had kept him up all night, and that had led him to visit
strangers at what might to them have appeared as first light.

“Yes,” he said. “Yes, I do.”

“You do,” said Melissa Marten.
Confirming.

“Yes, I believe her. I believe that what she
told me is in fact the case. That’s why I’ve come.”

“How could that possibly be?” said the old
man. Which sounded to Julian more like “Why on earth would you
believe a child’s fantasies?” Again, that was one aspect of what he
had pondered all night.

“I’m not a religious person,” he said,
addressing Ananda, then looking over to Melissa and Ruth to
indicate that his answer was meant for them, too.

All three waited for him to go on.

“Or a particularly spiritual one,” he
continued. “I am more of a logical person. I like things to make
sense.”

Ananda was nodding slowly, “According to
reason,” he said.

“Yes, according to reason.” He looked at all
three taking him in, one after the other. Then he continued:

“I don’t care how precocious the child, no
ten-year old understands particle physics as well as Ruth does. I’m
sorry. That’s just not happening. No way. But here she is, and I
know—don’t ask me how, not just yet anyway—but I know that she has
a firmer grasp on the subject than I have myself. Which flies
straight in the face of making sense.”

Melissa Marten sat stiffly upright, as if
listening with her entire body. Ruth, smiling a little, now seemed
to enjoy this.

“Where would such knowledge come from?
That’s what I’ve been asking myself all night. How could she
possibly? Unless. Unless, indeed.”

“But she would not have to be the Buddha to
know that. Why not Einstein or someone like that?” suggested
Ananda.

“Why would she lie?” said Julian.

No takers.

Then he said, “Once you open the door to
having lived as someone else before. I mean, once you credit that
with being possible, then I’d take her word for it. One’s as
impossible as the next.”

Ruth nodded. Well put, is what she nodded.
Melissa Marten didn’t move a muscle. The old man shifted in his
chair, crossed his legs, and drew breath. But before he had a
chance to voice whatever else he had in mind, Julian said:

“So it’s true, isn’t it?”

Mother and old man—uncle, grandfather,
what?—exchanged a brief glance. Ruth still nodding. Good going.

Seemed like mother drew the shorter of the
straws. “Yes, Julian,” she said. “That’s who she is.”

Ruth
still
nodding.

“The Buddha?”

“Well, I’m Ruth now,” she said. “I was the
Buddha once.”

“That’s what I mean,” said Julian.

“How are you at keeping secrets?” asked
Ananda.

“She already asked me that,” he
answered.

“And the answer was?” he wanted to know.

“I
can
keep a secret,” said Julian. “And
that’s partially why I’m here. I know many who can’t. And I know
many who would not believe anything Ruth has told me. I’m not even
sure why I believe her, but I do. I really do.”

“We’re all good at keeping secrets,” said
Melissa. “Except, this one,” she said, looking down at her
daughter. Who, again—without looking back up at her mother—nodded.
Yes, she’s right. Terrible secret-keeper.

“I don’t know if you took a chance with me,”
looking straight at Ruth now. “Or, perhaps you knew I could deal
with it. But you can’t go telling people about this. That’s what I
came here to tell you.”

“I know,” said Ruth.

“So why did you tell me?”

“You’re right,” she said. “I knew that you
could deal with it, as you put it. And, I also felt that you had a
right to know. “

“You do know what gravity is, don’t you?”
said Julian.

“You’re right, Julian. It’s longing.”

“You see?” he said, addressing Melissa now.
“That’s why I had to believe her. Only one other person, ever, that
I know,” then a thought struck him, a memory. “Well, two, actually.
My father did, too. But no one else has ever equated gravity with
longing, and none with such certainty—she really does know, you
know. No one with such certainty as your daughter.”

“Longing?” said Melissa.

“Long story,” said Ruth.

“Try me,” said her mother.

Before any attempts were made, Julian asked,
“Does Kristina Medina know?”

“Not really,” said Ruth.

“Not really?”

“She’s asked me the very same question you
did,” said Ruth.

“Which question?”

“She wondered who I was, really.”

“She would,” said Julian. Then, “But you
didn’t tell her?”

“No. Someday I would, is what I told
her.”

“You should tell her.”

“I know.”

“What about longing?” said Melissa.

:

Julian did not leave the Marten house until
after lunch, which Melissa had cooked for the four of them. By the
time he left, Melissa knew more about gravity than she’d bargained
for, and that, at heart, it was all about longing.

But more importantly, Julian had been put
fully in the picture, as Ananda put it, and now knew that he had a
very important part to play in waking up planet Earth.

Also—and they had all agreed—he had their
blessings: he wanted to be the one to tell Kristina.

::
78 :: (Pasadena)

Melissa stood by the nearly closed door and
watched Julian Lawson cross the street and get into his car.

“He’s spoken for,” said Ruth from behind
her.

Melissa swirled around. “What?”

“He’s spoken for,” said her daughter.

“Listen you. You had better stay out of my
head.”

“I’m nowhere near it. I’m just telling you,
his heart is given, never to be given again.”

::
79 :: (Pasadena)

Julian called her at school. It was a number
he knew by heart.

After a short while she came on the
line.

“Kristina.”

“Yes, Julian.”

“We need to talk.”

When she did not respond, he added, “About
Ruth.”

“What about Ruth?”

“Not on the phone,” he said. “Here, any
time. Come here. To my office.”

:

Kristina Medina arrived shortly after the
school day was over, and did in fact wake him up when she entered
his office without knocking.

“Julian!”

For the briefest of moments he was back in
Brooklyn and his mother—and none too happy about it—was back in his
room for the third or something time, making sure he got up, or
he’d be late for school.

But it wasn’t his mom at all.
“Kristina.”

“You were sleeping, Julian.”

“Sorry. I don’t think I slept at all last
night.”

She cleared a spot for herself and sat down.
“What kept you up?”

“Ruth.”

As if that would explain everything—which,
in fact, it did.

“I see.”

“I know who she is.”

Kristina turned very still. Possibly holding
her breath.

“Kristina. She is the Buddha.”

“The Buddha?”

“That’s what she told me yesterday, and they
confirmed it this morning.”

“They?”

“I went to her house this morning. I met her
mother, Melissa, and her—what is he, Ananda? Her uncle?
Grandfather?”

“I don’t know,” said Kristina. “I’ve been
wondering the same thing.”

“Well, Ananda Wolf was there as well, and
they, all three, confirmed it: Ruth Marten is a
reincarnation—though they didn’t use that word—of the Buddha. The
actual Buddha, as in the founder of Buddhism.”

“Why did you go to her house?”

“To warn her, more than anything.”

Kristina waited for him to continue.

“For if that’s really
true…” Another thought occurred to him, “Did you know that she,
just like you, sees gravity as longing. In fact I think she
knows
that gravity is
longing.”

Kristina smiled in recognition, or
recollection.

Julian said, “If Ruth Marten really is the
Buddha, and I believe that she is, she could do worse than keeping
it to herself.”

“What do you mean?”

“No one would believe her.”

Kristina nodded. This was true. Though, “You
believe her.”

“And you,” said Julian, quite certain about
it.

“I don’t know, Julian. That’s a tall
order.”

“Well, you do, don’t you?”

“It would explain things.”

“It does explain things.”

“What else did she say?”

“She said that she is here, she has
returned, to wake us up, the planet. The population. And that she
now sees the best way to do it: to wed science and religion—her
words.”

“She said that? To wed science and
religion?”

“Verbatim.”

“Wow.”

“I know.”

“Is that why she’s studying quantum
physics?”

“That is precisely why she is studying
quantum physics. To gain the right vocabulary, she said.”

Kristina was shaking her head, not so much
in disbelief as in wonder.

“But she understands it? It’s not just the
words.”

“Oh, she understands it, all right. Better
than I do, I think.”

“And you believe her? About the Buddha, I
mean.”

Did he? Really? “Yes,” he said after a brief
introspection. “I find that quite believable. Not that I know
anything about the Buddha, but if that is who this girl—who is no
more a young girl inside than you or I—if that is who she says she
is, then I see no reason not to believe her.”

“But that’s not the same thing.”