The Dalai Lama's Cat and the Art of Purring (22 page)

“What I’m thinking,” Sid said, “is that if he returns as manager and keeps to his usual menu, it wouldn’t be a conflict of interest for you to continue manufacturing spice packs.”

Her eyes widened. “But where?”

“There are many premises available around here.”

“I don’t know, Sid. As it is we’re starting to run into supply problems.”

“With the spices?”

“The Dharamsala markets are fine for medium-size quantities. But we need guaranteed continuity of the best-quality spices in larger amounts.”

“That,” Sid told her emphatically, “is something I can easily arrange.”

“How?”

“Through my business. We have access to producers across the region.”

“I thought you were in IT,” she said, her bewilderment deepening.

He nodded. “Among other things. Issues like fair trade in organic spices—these are very important to our community and important to me.”

During the postyoga conversations on Ludo’s balcony, Sid often referred to
our community.
This was something, Serena began to realize, that stemmed from a deeply held personal concern. But his mention of
organic
rang alarm bells. “What about pricing?”

“We would be buying direct. The cost would probably be less than what you pay in the market.”

He had said
we
, she noticed, sipping her coffee. She set down her cup and placed her hand on the table. “Even if I were to, you know, set up a separate business, the only reason spice packs have taken off is because of the Himalaya Book Café.”

Sid smiled, his eyes glowing with affection. He reached out and briefly rested his hand on hers. “Serena, the Himalaya Book Café was the reason you came up with the idea. But a successful business model doesn’t depend on it. The two are entirely separate.”

As Serena looked at him, the truth of what he was saying dawned on her. Of course the reason why people kept reordering spice packs wasn’t because of the Himalaya Book Café but rather because of taste, convenience, and price. But more important to her at this moment was the truth of
why
he was saying it. Sid had evidently given a great deal of thought to her and the challenges she faced—much more than she would have thought likely even a day ago.

As Serena considered this, other things were swiftly flashing through her mind. Like how often Sid sat next to her on the balcony after yoga class. How delighted he had been when she announced her intention to stay in McLeod Ganj instead of returning to Europe. How concerned he had been when she mentioned that Franc had lost his father. All of this was pointing in the same direction.

Just as Sam had remained oblivious to Bronnie until she was standing across the counter from him shaking his hand, for the first time Serena actually
noticed
Sid. He might have been there all along, but only now was she beginning to understand—and smiling at the realization.

“What about marketing?” she questioned, somewhat distracted. “The customer database belongs to the Himalaya Book Café.”

“Franc seems to be a reasonable man,” said Sid. “Even if
he
didn’t want to continue the spice-pack business, there would be no conflict if he referred business to you, perhaps for a royalty.”

She nodded. “That would be fine as supplementary income. But if I were to go out on my own …”

“You’d need much wider distribution, ideally overseas. And there is someone who can probably help you.”

“Oh?”

“You’ve already met him.”

That
line again. “Here?”

“I don’t remember his name, but you mentioned that he was one of the most successful businessmen in the fast-food industry.”

Gordon Finlay,
thought Serena. “Wow!” she said aloud. “If he opened the door to just one retail chain …” She was shaking her head. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of him.”

“Sometimes it’s easier to see these things from afar.”

For the longest time they held each other’s gaze.

“This is … amazing!” Serena said eventually. This time it was she who reached across the table, taking his hand between hers. “Thank you, Sid, for everything.”

He nodded deeply, smiling.

“Do you have a business card or something?” Serena asked. “In case we need to talk more?”

“You’ll find me at yoga,” he said.

“You’re always so conscientious,” she told him. “But I may not be there regularly this week.”

“I won’t be missing any classes.”

There was a curious pause before she persisted. “If I could just have a phone number or something?”

After a moment, and perhaps with some reluctance, Sid reached into his jacket pocket, took out a black leather wallet, and retrieved a card.

“It doesn’t have your name on it,” observed Serena as he handed it to her. “Just an address and phone number.”

“Ask for Sid.”

“They’ll know who you are?”

Sid chuckled. “Yes, they all know me.”

Serena was distracted for the rest of the day. There were moments when I looked up to see her behind the counter staring into the mid distance—something I’d never seen her do before. On one occasion she carried a bottle of chilled Sauvignon Blanc from the wine cellar to the kitchen instead of to the customer’s table. On another she waved good-bye to a customer without giving him his change. She was going through the motions of being maître d’, but her thoughts were evidently elsewhere.

Sid’s visit had been as much a shock as a joy. How could she have missed it? Her own feelings had been etched in the delight on her face as he had reached out to touch her. And she had been unusually self-conscious as she realized just how much careful thought he had devoted to her situation. But now that he was no longer there, her thoughts were clouded by doubt. The news of Franc’s imminent return, the revelation of Sid’s interest in her, his bold but scary business proposals—it was a lot to take in. Why did everything always have to happen at once?

Shortly after lunch, a succulent feast of tender sole meunière that I devoured gratefully, I heard her replaying some of Sid’s suggestions to Sam, but veiled in reservations. “I’m not sure Franc
would
be willing to let me use the mailing list,” she said, confiding her doubts. “Seems he doesn’t want the café to have those associations.”

Sam was silent.

“Even if Gordon Finlay
did
open doors for me,” she continued, “it’s a long way from that to a steady flow of retail orders. How would I pay the bills in the meantime?”

It was a strange afternoon. The Himalaya Book Café was usually such a convivial place to spend time, but today it was as though the familiar music of the café had been transposed into a minor key. Dark clouds rolled across the sky, and the breeze grew so chilly that by three o’clock, Kusali had to swing the glass doors shut.

For my own part, I remained only because I was so afraid of what I might encounter if I returned to Jokhang during working hours. The very idea of the giant monk setting finger on me sent a shudder through my fluffy, gray boots. Though His Holiness’s arrival was only days away, the threat of the giant monk dampened my excitement.

For Serena, it seemed that whatever excitement she might be feeling after Sid’s visit was more than tempered by her worries about Franc’s imminent return.

And that evening’s hot-chocolate session seemed to confirm how dangerously unsteady things had become. After the usual exchange of signals between Serena and Sam, she had made her way to their spot, followed soon afterward by Kusali. On his tray were three mugs of hot chocolate—Bronnie had also become a regular—along with the dog biscuits and my milk.

Marcel and Kyi Kyi were soon attacking their biscuits ravenously, as though it was the first food they had seen all day. I attended to my milk with somewhat more decorum. Sam came over from the bookstore and sat down heavily opposite Serena.

“Bronnie coming down?” Serena asked, nodded at the third mug of chocolate on the tray.

“Not this evening,” Sam said wearily. Then, after a pause, “Maybe never.”

“Oh, Sam!” Serena’s face filled with concern.

He took a long sip of chocolate before glancing at her only briefly. “Big argument,” he said.

“Lovers tiff?”

He was shaking his head sadly. “More.”

Serena remained silent before he told her, “Says she’s always wanted to go to K-K-Kathmandu. A volunteering job has come up there. She doesn’t seem to understand that I can’t just walk away from the bookstore to go with her.”

Serena pursed her lips. “Difficult.”

Sam sighed deeply. “The job or my girlfriend. Great choice.”

There was no one in the bookstore by now, and only one table of diners remained in the café—four regulars idling over the remnants of their crème brûlée and coffee. With Kusali still on duty, neither Serena nor Sam was paying much attention to what was happening beyond their table, which was why they were caught completely off guard by the arrival of a visitor who seemed to materialize out of nowhere. As Franc’s teacher and self-appointed adviser to Sam, he was no stranger to the café, but he hadn’t been seen here in quite a while. This visitor only came here for a specific purpose.

Sensing a movement on the stairs to the bookstore, Sam looked up to see him standing at the end of their table. “Geshe Wangpo!” he exclaimed, wide-eyed.

Sam and Serena both started to get to their feet.

“Stay!” Geshe Wangpo commanded, palms facing toward them both. “I am here only for a short time, yes?” He perched on the armrest of Sam’s sofa.

Geshe Wangpo was powerfully commanding, and his mere presence was enough to subdue everyone present into a state of meek compliance. As Serena made eye contact with Sam, Geshe Wangpo told them, “It is necessary to practice equanimity. When the mind is too much up and down there can be no happiness, no peace. This is not useful for self and”—he glanced pointedly at Serena—“not useful for others.”

After Serena glanced down, I felt the force of Geshe Wangpo’s gaze turn toward me, and it was as though I was an open book to him. He seemed to know exactly how I had felt about Venerable Monkey Face and the Cat Strangler. How I’d taken refuge in the café, frightened to return to Jokhang. How my usually boundless self-confidence had deserted me. As I gazed up at him, I sensed that he knew me as well as I knew myself.

Then Sam seemed to feel exposed and nodded ruefully. There could be no hiding from the self-evident truth.

After a moment, Serena spoke. “The problem is how.”

“How?”

“It’s so hard to stay level, to practice equanimity,” Serena said, “when there’s so much … stuff happening.”

“Four tools,” Geshe Wangpo said, looking at us each in turn. “First: impermanence. Never forget:
this, too, will pass.
The only thing you know for sure is that however things are now, they will change. If you feel bad now, no problem. Later you will feel better. You know this is true. It has always been true, correct? And it is still true now.”

They were nodding.

“Second: what is the point of worrying? If you can do something about it, fix it. If not, what is the point of worrying about it? Let go! Every minute you spend worrying, you lose sixty seconds of happiness. Don’t allow your thoughts to be like thieves, stealing your own contentment.

“Third: don’t judge. When you say ‘This is a bad thing that’s happening,’ how often are you wrong? Losing a job may be exactly what you need to start a more fulfilling career. The end of a relationship may open more possibilities than you even know exist. When it happens you think
bad.
Later you may think
the best thing that ever happened.
So don’t judge, no matter how bad it seems at the time. You may be completely wrong.”

Serena, Sam, and I stared at Geshe Wangpo, transfixed. In that moment he seemed like the Buddha himself, appearing directly in our midst to tell us exactly what we most needed to hear.

“Fourth: no swamp, no lotus. The most transcendent of flowers grows out of the filth of the swamp. Suffering is like the swamp. If it makes us more humble, more able to sympathize with others and more open to them, then we become capable of transformation and of becoming truly beautiful, like the lotus.

“Of course”—Geshe Wangpo rose from the armrest, having delivered his message—“I speak only of things on the surface of the ocean, the winds and storms that we all endure. But never forget”—he leaned across the table, touching his heart with his right hand—“deep down, under the surface, all is well. Mind is always pristine, boundless, radiant. The more you dwell in that place, the easier it will be to deal with temporary, surface things.”

Geshe Wangpo was communicating with more than words. He was also showing us their meaning. In that moment the deep-down, all-is-well-ness of which he spoke had a palpable reality. Then he left, as noiselessly and unnoticed as when he had arrived.

For a while Serena and Sam sat back in the sofas, stunned by what had just happened.

Sam was the first to speak. “That was … pretty amazing. The way he just appeared.”

Serena nodded with a smile.

“Seems he knows exactly what’s going on in your mind,” Sam continued.

“And not only when you’re with him,” Serena added.