Miss Buddha

by Ulf Wolf

  Clare shook her head to see if she could make it understand. “You are the Buddha, and he is Ananda?”

  “That pretty much sums it up,” said Melissa.

  Julian Lawson said, “Wonders never cease.”

  “I’d say,” said Clare, looking from one to the other, as the panel came back from commercial.

  “I want to go back to the actual paper,” said Taft. “The experiment. How many of you have had a chance to read Doctor Lawson’s original paper?”

  No takers.

  “Well, if a bit on the dry side, I don’t think it leaves much room for doubt. The photon they traced disappeared when no one was looking. Does that not have metaphysical implications?” She addressed the question to Cindy Gilchrist.

  “Sure it does,” said Gilchrist. “In fact,” she added as if this thought had just struck her, “extrapolating that evidence makes us all gods.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “If subatomic particles only appear when we are looking at it or measuring it, would that not make us, whoever is looking, the creator of that particle?”

  “And you think the same holds true for everything?” Taft.

  “Well, everything is made from subatomic particles, isn’t it?”

  “That is my understanding, yes.”

  “I still say it’s all irrelevant,” said Brecht. “Does the tree falling in the forest make a sound if no one is there to hear it? Whether the answer is yes or the answer is no, who cares?”

  “What about you Abbot?” Taft turned to Abbot White.

  “This is all in the realm of the eighty-five percent of the iceberg we don’t, or choose not to, see.”

  “Interesting choice of word there, choose,” said Taft.

  “I think the experiment proves that there is a substantial portion of reality we know little or nothing about, especially the average man or woman. And I think that the purpose of any religion, mine included, is to encompass, if not explain, all of reality.”

  Cindy Gilchrist nodded. “That’s right.”

  Taft took a brief moment to consult her notes, then said to all three, “If either of you had the opportunity to ask Ruth Marten one question, which question would that be?”

  Doctor Brecht spoke first, “How did you rig the chair.” Laughing.

  “What else does she remember?” said Cindy Gilchrist. “If she remembered that nature cannot change an EPROM without access to ultraviolet light, what else does she remember? That would be my question.”

  “And you, Abbot,” said Taft.

  “I would ask her if she wouldn’t mind sitting down and have a talk with an old Abbot,” he said. Sincerely.

  “Well, that’s all we have time for,” said Taft. “I’d like to thank you all for coming.” Then to the camera, “Be sure to tune in for further reactions to the interview and other developments at the ten o’clock news.”

  And off to commercial.

  “I would like to sit down and have a talk with an old Abbot, said Ruth.”

  “So would I,” said Ananda.

  “Wish I could be there to film it,” said Clare.

  “Perhaps you can,” said Ruth.

  :

  The Clare Downes interview, and the subsequent panel discussion, did nothing to ease the media storm. Rather, as expected, they fueled it.

  A new report, interviewing three KCAA employees who went on record with sworn affidavits that the rising was no hoax, got ubiquitous coverage the following morning. Most stations, and papers, also covered the refusal of Federico Alvarez to comment, by now either seeing this as an admission of guilt (fearing the consequences) or as confirmation of a true miracle (for shame or other personal reasons).

  Abbot White was loudly criticized for virtually conceding that Ruth Marten was the Buddha returned, as was KCRI as a station for clearly holding, and broadcasting, the same view.

  One Arkansas radio station added everything up as it saw things: The rising was a miracle. Only our Savior Jesus Christ can perform such miracles. Ruth Marten, therefore, was our Savior returned. Many rural stations agreed but took serious issue with the fact that Ruth Marten was a girl, so while clearly a performer of miracles, could therefore not be Jesus, who we all know is a man.

  The most prevalent view, however, the one racing the fastest across the country, and indeed creating the most distress and havoc, was the view that Ruth Marten—whoever she was, whether Jesus or the Buddha—was a clear message from God that the end was near. Many a station exhorted their viewers and listeners to prepare for the day of Judgment, often citing the Nicene Creed: “Jesus shall come again in glory to judge the living and the dead; and His kingdom shall have no end.”

  Other stations (and pastors) quoted the similar message of the biblical Pauline Creed, in 1 Corinthians 15:23.

  This message was clear: “Get your house in order.” A message that soon took on a life of its own to spread across the Midwest and the South like a sinister weather system.

  Causing chaos in some places, a rush on food and supplies in others.

  So sinister a weather system, in fact, that someone in Washington DC—it was never established who, precisely, but most speculations came to veer toward the President himself—called the California Governor and urged him to “Straighten things out with KCAA. Now, before this thing gets out of hand.”

  :: 98 :: (Pasadena)

  This straightening out took place early afternoon on Thursday the 14th of May, when the Governor of the State of California placed a call to Gordon Fairweather, the KCAA station manager. The two men knew each other, but were not particularly friendly.

  “Gordon,” said the Governor.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The Marten thing.”

  “Yes.”

  “It was a hoax.”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “I’m telling you Gordon, it was a hoax.”

  “No, sir. With all due respect, it was not.”

  “Perhaps I’m not making myself clear. It has to be a hoax, and you will make an announcement to that effect by the end of the day.”

  Finally, Gordon Fairweather’s light went on. “Are you telling me?”

  “Yes, Gordon. I am. We don’t have a choice.”

  “But that would be suicide.”

  “I know.”

  “I cannot do it. I’d rather resign.”

  “You’ll have to resign in any event.”

  Gordon Fairweather leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. On some hard-to-put-your-finger-on level he had seen this coming.

  He replied, looking at but not seeing the blue sky outside his tenth floor window, “I cannot afford to.”

  “I will make it worth your while.”

  “Sorry, sir, but I don’t know you well enough to take your word for that.”

  “You’ll have a signed letter of guarantee within the hour.”

  “Why?”

  “Why the letter?”

  “No, why the admission of guilt.”

  “Civil unrest,” said the Governor.

  Gordon Fairweather nodded, yes, that was part of seeing it coming. “In the South, you mean.”

  “And other places. It is spreading.”

  “And Washington has called you to defuse.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “What does making it worth my while mean, in actual numbers?”

  The Governor told him, and Fairweather saw the wisdom of shouldering the fall guy mantle.

  “Okay.”

  “By the end of the day.”

  “By the end of the day.”

  Gordon Fairweather hung up the phone.

  :

  KCAA’s flagship broadcast was the 8PM news. It was, in fact, the most watched news program in Los Angeles, something Gordon Fairweather was extremely proud of. So it was with severely mixed feelings that he slotted himself in at the top of the hour for an “Important Announcement.”

  He made a somber figure as the camera closed in on him. Looking do
wn at his notes for most of the zoom, he looked up as if on cue once the zoom arrived.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said.

  Melissa, Ruth, Ananda and Kristina Medina (now up to speed on events) were watching at Melissa’s house. This Important Announcement had been advertised not only on television throughout the afternoon, but on most radio stations as well. It was never specifically stated what this announcement would concern, but speculation ran high that it had something to do with the Alvarez show and the rising.

  None of them spoke. They were all very still, not knowing what to expect.

  The KCAA Station Manager continued:

  “I wish to apologize to our viewers. And also to my colleagues and employees. It was never intended to create such a profound and widespread effect. It was meant as nothing but practical joke.

  “The chair rising during the Federico Alvarez show was staged. It was, in a word, a hoax. It was a practical joke played by the station—with my approval—on Federico. He had no idea about it, neither did Miss Marten. It was in fact a tit for a past tat that Federico had pulled on some of his crew.

  “This joke has had repercussions far wider and deeper than any of us could have imagined, and that is why I see it as my duty to make the truth known and to apologize for any turmoil caused by this on-air stunt.

  “Again, I apologize.”

  With that, the program went to commercial.

  “Wow,” said Melissa. “But I must confess that I’m relieved. It was getting out of hand.”

  “Yes,” said Ananda. “That it was.”

  Ruth said nothing, feeling not a little responsible for the whole spectacle.

  “If they swallow this, you should be off the hook,” said Ananda, turning to Ruth.

  “Let’s hope so,” said Melissa.

  “Yes, let’s hope so,” said Kristina.

  Ruth still said nothing.

  “Surely, you agree?” Melissa turned Ruth’s way as well.

  “Yes, I do,” she said. “It is for the best.” Then, after an unequivocal sigh, she added, “One of my goals, one of the things I’ve always seen as a must in order to do what I have to do, is to become a household name. I’ve achieved that now. For all the wrong reasons.”

  Neither of the others challenged that. Ruth was all too right.

  Ruth closed her eyes and leaned back into silence. Many angels crossed the room. Then she opened her eyes again and said, “No one will remember the experiment. It has been lost in all this frenzy. Whether I’m now off the hook or not, I’ve done more damage to my mission than I could possibly have done had I planned to sabotage it.”

  “Aren’t you a little too hard on yourself,” said Kristina.

  “Do you think so?” said Ruth, and not very kindly.

  “I didn’t see this coming,” said Ananda.

  “That’s comforting,” said Ruth, still with an edge.

  “Ruth,” said Melissa, suddenly all mother.

  “Sorry,” said Ruth, including them all. “For everything.”

  :: 99 :: (Pasadena)

  I should have been wiser. Much wiser. I should never, never have raised the chair. I should have listened to Ananda.

  The truth is that I reacted to Federico Alvarez’s terribly unfair barb at Melissa and I just wanted to shut him up. Not very compassionate, not very Buddha-like, I know.

  The truth is that miracles—for that is how they see these things—upset people. They upset people, if less so, when I walked northern India so long ago, and man has not grown more receptive to the unexplainable since then. Quite the opposite. I see now that miracles are likely to drive him crazy, and if there was any way, any way at all I could undo this stupid, stupid thing I did, I would undo it in a heartbeat.

  But there is no way to undo it, and I simply have to live with that.

  I feel very sorry for Alvarez, who must be wondering which way to turn now that his boss has been fired for ostensibly pulling this stunt. I wonder what he’s thinking. Untrue to form—he should have at least made a comment by now—there has been nothing but silence form the man. I must have shocked him terribly to seal his tongue so thoroughly. No, that is not funny, and I realize that. I’ve scarred the man, deeply, I fear.

  I also feel very sorry for Fairweather, jobless now (though, from what I understand, well compensated) for my antics.

  Ananda is a walking “told you so” and Melissa not much better—or perhaps that’s just how I perceive them with my clouded heart. Julian and Kristina are being as supportive and forgiving as any human beings can be, and I appreciate them both more than I can say.

  I am rarely despondent, but this is as close to hopelessly as I’ve seen things in a while.

  :

  “It’s for you,” said Melissa offering me the phone.

  “I don’t take calls,” I said, for that was the long standing agreement.

  “This one you will,” said Melissa.

  “Who is it?”

  “Federico Alvarez.”

  I could see that Melissa would not take no for an answer and she was right. I owed Alvarez this.

  “This is Ruth.”

  I could hear the man breathe at the other end of the line, and a little erratically, but he said nothing. So I told him again, “This is Ruth.” I tried to sound friendly.

  “This is Federico Alvarez,” he said finally. He sounded tired, as if the confidence that seemed to constitute the man had all but evaporated.

  “Yes, Federico,” I said.

  “Is this Ruth?”

  “Yes it is.”

  Then he said nothing. And then nothing. Gathering strength, is what it felt like. Then he said:

  “I have to ask you this. I have to know. Did you do it?”

  What could I say? I had to be truthful. “Yes, I did.”

  He took a deep breath, as if to steady himself. Then surprised me, to say the least by what he said next. “I’m sorry,” is what he said.

  “Whatever for?” I asked, though it was suddenly clear to me.

  “For doubting you,” he said. “And for,” then seemed to changed his mind, “well, for doubting you.”

  “Are you?” is all I said before he answered, for he knew the question to come.

  “No,” he said. “Let them believe Gordon.”

  Then I began another question with “Are you?” I paused, but he said nothing.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  “No,” he answered. “Well, yes and no.” Then he asked a question. “Am I to believe everything you said.”

  “All,” I answered, “but my denial.” I meant my morning-after denial of causing the rising, and I knew he understood that.

  “I see,” he said. Then again, “I see.”

  Then I said, “I am sorry too.”

  “For what?”

  “I reacted.”

  “With a reason to,” he answered.

  “Be that as it may.”

  “I was out of line,” he said.

  “Yes you were,” I agreed.

  After a brief silence, he asked, “What will you do now?”

  Strangely, the question seemed born from solicitude, true concern.

  “I don’t know,” I answered.

  “I would, if I were you, lie low for a while,” he offered.

  “We’ve been considering that,” I replied.

  Then another short silence as he formed the question. “Can I call some other time?” is what he finally asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “That would be fine.”

  Again, he said, “I’m sorry. So many things got in the way.”

  I knew when he meant, and confirmed it, “I know.”

  Then, without a goodbye, He hung up.

  I handed the phone to Melissa who stood nearby looking at me. She took it, but didn’t ask the question. Ananda did.

  “What did he want?”

  “To apologize,” I said.

  :

  Whoever in Washington—or was it someone in
Sacramento had who put the final touches to the Fairweather resignation strategy?—had estimated the situation and its resolution correctly. The official hoax announcement gained almost immediate, and universal, traction and things around the country soon began to simmer down.

  The Savior had not returned, after all. Judgment Day still some ways off.

  The major urban stations and papers ran self-congratulatory we-told-you-so stories, making Fairweather the villain of this unforgivable deception of the public. Stories served up with indignation wholly out of proportion to the many times they themselves had deceived the public, and its God-given right to know the truth and nothing but.

  Reporters and journalists continued to call for interviews, but Melissa and Ananda fielded them all and turned them down, and as one overcast Pasadena day after the other crawled by, the story of Ruth Marten and the rising chair, of the coming of saviors and the ending of worlds, began to fade into the background, overtaken and overshadowed by other, more urgent events in the world.

  One aspect of the story did, however, linger. That of Federico Alvarez’s silence. Nobody could explain it. Several papers and stations even tried to goad him into a response, alternately ridiculing and accusing him of complicity, but from the Alvarez camp there came only silence.

  Eventually, even this angle of things died a silent, natural death.

  Kristina Medina and Julian Lawson arrived together one afternoon to see how Ruth was holding up under all this.

  “I’m doing okay,” she told them over tea. Then turned to Julian, “How are they taking things at Cal Tech?”

  “They are as happy as can be expected,” he said. “Not all that, in other words. But they’re not vilifying you or anything. As far as they’re concerned, you did nothing wrong.”

  Ruth nodded. “I’m glad,” she said, and looked it.

  “They’ve defended you, and your paper, against a few skeptics. Successfully, I think.”

  “I’m glad,” she said again.

  Ruth then took them all in when she said, “I’m really, really sorry about all this.”

  “Shit happens,” said Julian. Which earned him a few quick, rather startled glances. “I’m sorry,” he said when he noticed. “That just slipped out.”