Tantric Coconuts (16 page)

“On the floor, near the back, there is a bolt that sticks up slightly above the floor.”

“Yes, I’ve sat on it accidentally, and it is not comfortable.”

“Get a wrench and remove the bolt. When you do so, a piece of the floor will lift out. Under the floor, Aunt Lilly told me that she kept things she did not want to share with your uncle Harry. She said that he tried to take things from her. There may be nothing in this space but wolf shit. I do not know for sure, but perhaps you should look into it. If there are
weapons in it—unless you need them to protect you from the broken white man you are trying to help—you might want to throw them away.”

It made sense to Angel that her aunt would have had a secure place for important things. She had been reluctant to explore the dark recesses of Bertha and had not been interested in unlocking the small librarian’s desk. Besides, there was no key. Even though her aunt had gifted Bertha to her father, snooping still seemed like an invasion of Aunt Lilly’s privacy. Larsen had generally cleaned up the interior and Angel—not being a picky housekeeper—left the rest alone. “Do you think Aunt Lilly will mind if I open it?”

“I don’t think she would have told me about this space if she did not want you to look into it.”

Larsen did not want to meddle in his daughter’s life, but he felt it prudent to ask one more thing. “Tell me more about this man from Kansas.”

“
Age
, you need not worry. Ted is a smart and kind man. He has promised to help us look into Aunt Lilly’s case. To help if he can. He has a dog too. No Barks even likes Ted.”

“No Barks does not like men.”

“Well, he likes Ted.”

Larsen thought a moment and decided that this was a good sign, which gave him a sense of relief. “Angel, I’m proud of you. Many men have daughters, but only mine wants to heal men’s souls.” He felt the tears gather again. He wished his daughter would return, but he also knew that she had important work to do. “I will say a prayer for you to
Wakan Tanka
so that you walk along the right and red road.”

“
Age
, don’t worry. We may be heading home soon to help Aunt Lilly.”

“Good, I look forward to seeing you and this Ted.” Larsen hung up. To say good-bye would have been to acknowledge the end of a conversation that he prayed would continue for many years to come. He returned his attention to an old rusted Camry with over three hundred thousand miles on it, contemplating whether the transmission could be rebuilt for the $127 that Martha Walks Lightly had offered him from the jar she kept near her refrigerator. It was enough.

Larsen believed that whatever task
Wakan Tanka
assigned him was a good task. How much he was paid was an entirely separate issue. He raised the car on the lift and began to remove, one at a time, the bolts that secured the transmission to the engine block. Maybe Aunt Lilly was right. Perhaps, with his wife and children all absent, he needed a dog. There was a horrific dog problem on the reservation. Perhaps he could take in one of the hungry strays that wandered about abandoned. One dog, one car transmission, one soul, one planet: Larsen knew that in some ways it was all the same thing.

Even blistered and sore, coming down the mountain was easy for the two hikers. Six hours up was only three hours down. They met Angel in time for a late lunch of trout, two of which Ted could claim as his own. No Barks worked the edges of the Pecos River as it twisted and turned near their campsite.
Argo did not join her but instead rested in Bertha, exhausted from the hike.

Angel said very little while the two men ate, talked, and recounted their exploits. After wiping his mouth with a paper towel, Father Chuck said, “If I don’t get going, I’m going to be late for vespers.”

Chuck stood up and pulled his car key from his pocket. Angel leaned over and placed a warm kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Chuck.”

Ted felt very grateful for Father Chuck’s willingness to share his knowledge of religion and fly-fishing. Suddenly wishing he were one of those men who gave hugs, Ted said, “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, Father Chuck. You’ve inspired me.” He made the sideways peace sign and said, “Metanoia.”

Chuck smiled and realized that, like Angel, he found doing the Work with someone like Ted gratifying; it was what had called him to the priesthood in the first place. He glanced at Angel and said, “May a rich life rest ahead for you both. God bless.”

Ted wondered why he hadn’t met more people like Father Chuck in his life. The priest returned to his rusted car, pulled the creaky door shut, and drove away. As Ted watched the dust settle on the gravel road that led back down the mountain, he concluded that Father Chuck had helped to usher in a miracle of sorts—three excellent vacation days in a row.

Sitting cross-legged in the driver’s seat of Bertha, Angel quietly meditated. Ted did his best to get comfortable on the hard, metal floor, nestled between the two dogs. With very limited success, he was trying to read the Koran by flashlight.

The key to Angel’s mediation practice was not to cease all mental activity, a virtual impossibility, but simply to give no energy to the chatter of the critical mind—the knowing, right-and-wrong, labeling, time-bound activity of the left hemisphere—and to unfetter and engage the open light of the right-hemispherical awareness. Tonight this was proving difficult. Her mind wandered and she found herself making plans.

Tomorrow they would get up, drive down the mountain, and continue their discussion of the third realization and the six levels of spiritual growth. They would talk while traveling through Pecos and Santa Fe and then on to Taos to meet Mashid.

Angel felt a little surge of anxiety. Much as she respected her, she was not always comfortable around Mashid. She had been able to do what Angel had not: find a way
to wed spiritual teaching with real-world economic survival. Mashid was not a vagabond traversing America in a worn-out bookmobile trusting that she would find clients. Mashid was grounded. She had a following, an audience, and a career—people bought her books and attended her retreats.

The hard critic within leveled accusations of Angel’s unworthiness. She breathed deeply and invited the critic to roost elsewhere. She whispered,
Leave. No one asked you for your opinion
, and tried to return stillness to her mind.

Ted turned off the flashlight, pulled Argo closer, closed his eyes, and ran his fingers through his dog’s scruffy fur. Argo had a bottomless reservoir of affection for Ted.

As tired as he was, Ted suspected that he would have a difficult time falling asleep on the hard floor of the bookmobile. He again found himself situated on that pesky bolt that protruded from the floor, and he shifted away from it. Ted’s mind was electric and energized. Angel and Chuck had introduced to him more new thoughts and experiences in the last twenty-four hours than he had experienced in the previous thirty years. He felt like a young boy marveling at the number of packages beneath the Christmas tree—each with a carefully written label:
To: Ted, From: Angel and Chuck
.

Fly-fishing, new friendships, profound teachings, bears, and backpacking: it was all almost overwhelming. Even more remarkable, it had happened while on vacation.

Even hours later, with the lights long off and the night half over, though exhausted, he was simply too stimulated to sleep. Staring at the long, curved shape beneath the covers,
Ted wondered what kind of woman dwelled in the marrow of Angel Two Sparrow. She was intriguing, but was she kind, loyal, and supportive? Would she be a good life companion, a nurturing mother? Was she the kind of woman who could survive in Crossing Trails, Kansas? Or, like the last one, would she grow bored and yearn for her own Thor?

It might be unsafe to let Angel into his life, smarter to draw a boundary: student and teacher. Soon enough, like all vacations, this one would end and he would return to Crossing Trails. Infatuation and one-sided admiration were a dangerous foundation for a relationship.

Good partnerships are built with equals. Helping Aunt Lilly was the only thing Angel was asking of him. It was the logical place for him to shine in her eyes and find some balance in their relationship.

Though it was late, Ted could not hear the measured breathing of sleep and wondered if Angel was still awake. Perhaps he should try to mention Lilly now. But listening more intently, he realized that Angel was making little puffing sounds. She was asleep. It could wait.

That wolf, No Barks, was nestled in beside her—a position he would prefer to occupy himself. He wanted to maneuver his way around the wolf and get slightly closer to Angel, hoping that somehow in the night she might
accidentally
wake up in his arms. He didn’t want to make it obvious, but if fate had that in store for him, he would help it along. With each repositioning, he simply found himself closer to No Barks. He reached out and placed his hand on her paw. The wolf gently
turned and licked his hand. Ted took her paw and rubbed it gently. He felt surprisingly content lying on the floor of an old bookmobile with insomnia.

Soon Ted’s breathing synchronized with the wolf’s and he fell into a thick, deep sleep and began to dream. The stark colors were absent, but the shapes and forms were better defined and the perspective seemed more accurate than in his normal dreaming state, as if the lens of his dream had moved from close-up to wide angle. No Barks and Argo were sitting on top of a grave—guardians on a lonely vigil. It was dark. Life and death were coming and going with peaceful indifference, like the movement of clock hands. Then something upsetting happened in the dream and Ted woke in a fright, startling both dogs. Argo scooted closer to Ted so they could comfort each other. Lying there on the floor, Ted felt an extraordinary sadness. He shuddered as a cold chill came over him.

It was not the action of the dream that had frightened him. There was no bogeyman chasing him across a dark cemetery. The terrifying moment had been a sensation, premature but plausible. He had experienced just for an instant the feeling that comes right before death—when there is no turning back, no second chances; when one knows this will be the last breath drawn. It was Ted Day in the deeply dug grave. And the feeling in the dream had been that his life was over.

The wolf had also situated herself closer to Ted. He wanted to thank the two dogs for their graveside vigil. He reached over and draped his arm on No Barks’s shoulder and tried to fall back asleep, wondering what the dream might mean.

For breakfast Angel and Ted ate some of the granola bars and fruit she had purchased the day before. Ted casually mentioned a preference for pancakes, bacon, orange juice, and coffee. “Ted,” Angel responded, “Bertha is no diner, but I know a great place in Santa Fe. Eat the fruit now, clog your arteries later.”

Once they had broken camp and were heading down the mountain toward Pecos, Ted tried to call his office to check for messages—not that he expected any of importance. Each time, the service was poor and he was not able to complete the call.

When they got within a few miles of Pecos, two bars magically appeared on his cell phone and a little bell indicated that messages were waiting to be retrieved. Ted apologetically justified returning the calls. “Even Mr. Digit has to eat and pay his rent.”

After Ted set the phone down, Angel asked, “Any new cases?”

“A crowded school bus full of darling kindergartners was hit by a carload of drunk neurosurgeons on vacation from New York City. Should be a ten-million-dollar fee. Another normal day in Crossing Trails.”

“You are kidding, right?”

“Yes, I was kidding. Not much going on.”

“So you can enjoy your vacation?”

“I can and will.”

“With this little slowdown, maybe you’ll have time to check into Aunt Lilly’s case.”

Ted nodded slightly but said nothing. He was still feeling a bit gloomy from a poor night’s sleep and a disturbing dream.

Angel glanced at him and asked, “Is there a problem?”

“I will do what I can for Lilly, but you need to know that the criminal justice system is a bit like a freight train.”