“And I didn’t know. I said maybe I’d be here and he looked horrified.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad,” said Chandra, also horrified. “Anyway, it’s your choice. You can still go to university, or you can be a monk. It’s up to you.”
“Nun, Dad. I’d be a nun.”
“Oh,” he said, thinking how much worse this sounded. “Just as long as it makes you happy.”
“Dad, does your job make you happy?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I suppose it doesn’t make me happy or unhappy.”
“So maybe it doesn’t matter what we do, or whether we’re successful. Maybe it just doesn’t matter.”
“What is this?” he said, shaking his head and laughing. “Why do you all talk like this?”
After dinner Dolores brought out a sticky toffee pudding and Chandra ate a spoonful before looking at his watch and saying, to no one in particular, “I’m going to get Sunny.”
“Charles, let him be,” said Jean. “We’re having dessert.”
“How about we join you?” said Steve. “We finish our dessert and then we all go.”
“No,” said Chandra, standing. “I’m going to get Sunny.”
He could hear them all protesting—that mob of ex-wives, cuckolders, daughters, and monks—but he strode into the hall regardless and laced up his shoes before realizing he didn’t have a car. To his relief, Saul appeared, giving him his keys before he could ask. Chandra opened his mouth to thank him, then saw the dog approaching, a purple rind of tinsel wrapped around his tail, and fled.
It was black outside, and Professor Chandra drove on the left side of the road the entire way there, only realizing his mistake when he was turning into Sunny’s driveway.
When Sunny answered the door he had his phone fixed be-neath his chin.
“François,” he was saying, gesturing to Chandra to come in. “Talk to me, baby; what’s the drill? That’s bullshit and they know it. No, that’s not good enough. Don’t drop the ball on this number just ’cause it’s Christmas, okay? All right. Call me back. A bientôt.”
“Merry Christmas, Sunny,” said Chandra.
“You too, Dad. I got so caught up I almost forgot.”
Chandra could smell something cooking in the kitchen.
“Turkey,” said Sunny. “For tonight.”
“Right. But what about now? What about lunch?”
“Lunch is for wimps,” said Sunny, a line from Wall Street that Chandra knew only too well (twenty years ago Sunny used to speak almost exclusively in Wall Street dialogue).
“People are asking for you,” said Chandra.
Sunny tapped his phone. “Got a deal brewing.”
“You can bring your phone.”
“I don’t think it’s my scene, Dad.”
“Sunny, come on,” said Chandra, suddenly exhausted. “Of course it’s your scene. Radha is there, and Jasmine, and your mother. It’s Christmas.”
“But everyone’s coming here, aren’t they?”
“Yes, yes, they will. But if you come now we can all take our time.”
“I’ve got to keep an eye on the turkey, Dad.”
“It smells done to me.”
Chandra was fairly sure caterers had delivered it pre-cooked and Sunny was just keeping it warm. Probably he’d been expecting them earlier, hoping to lure them away from Saul’s house. He wondered if Sunny was afraid Chandra might upstage him at the party, or if he simply wasn’t interested.
He remembered a party he and Jean had hosted not long after moving to Cambridge. Jean had been nervous, practicing lines in front of the mirror like “Pleased to meet you,” and “What would you like to drink?” He had kept an eye on her throughout the party, making sure she was never alone or stuck with a Boho (Bore Of the Highest Order). She’d even been enjoying herself, he believed, until he had decided to pick a fight with a visiting professor from Calcutta (short, fat, and convinced free trade was equivalent to armed robbery). The two had argued until one in the morning, long after Jean had gone upstairs where she’d suffered a mild panic attack, worsened by the fight from downstairs that she couldn’t help but hear. Sometimes Chandra traced the initial breakdown of his marriage to that evening, thirty years ago.
“Dad, why don’t you sit down? I’ll get you a drink.”
“Sure,” said Chandra. “Why not?”
For a man who didn’t drink, Sunny had a lot of bottles. There they stood on the rosewood sideboard, twinkling like a line of chorus girls. Chandra sat on the sofa, leaning back into the cushions while his son mixed him a brandy and soda.
“Sunny,” said Chandra. “How are you? Seriously.”
“I’m great,” said Sunny, and grinned wide like a character from The Muppet Show.
“But in your email you said—”
“I’m thinking of leaving Hong Kong, that’s all.”
“Oh,” said Chandra, wondering if his business was in trouble. “What for?”
Sunny sighed. “You were right, Dad. I’m lonely. I’ve been there too long. I want to be in the U.K. or the U.S., somewhere I know people.”
“Sunny,” said Chandra, “I know this is none of my business, but—”
“No, Dad. I’m not seeing anybody. It’s just me.” Sunny had been looking past him all the while, but now made eye contact. “I’m not so good with relationships, Dad,” he said. “I don’t think they’re for me.”
“Don’t say that, Sunny.”
“Everyone has strengths and weaknesses. Relationships aren’t one of my strengths.”
“Heavens,” said Chandra. “I’m sure you’re better than I am.”
“I doubt that.”
“Nonsense, Sunny. You just haven’t met the right person yet. It’s all about…”
Chandra was about to say “compatibility,” interlocking his fingers to illustrate his point, when he realized Sunny was telling him his strings. Strings weren’t something one could contradict. They had to be undone patiently, with love. He took a swallow of brandy.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Sunny. “We all have a purpose. Winners fulfill their purpose. Losers don’t.”
“I don’t want you to win, Sunny. I want you to be happy.”
Sunny smiled. His face looked watery and weak, as if a swipe of a hand could wipe him away.
“I’d be so happy if you moved to London,” said Chandra. “I wish we weren’t all on opposite ends of the earth.”
“Maybe Rad will come back too,” said Sunny. “She said she’s thinking about it.”
“Sunny,” said Chandra. “I know everything has been about the other two recently, but you’re my son; you’re so important to me. Don’t forget that, please.”
Sunny smiled. “So how about you, Dad? You seeing anybody?”
“Oh, God,” said Chandra, wanting to add “of course not” before realizing it was a legitimate question. “No, no, I’m not.”
“Gotta get back on that horse, Dad.”
“Horse?”
“Back in the saddle. You know, the game.”
“I don’t know,” said Chandra. “I suppose you’re right. Anyway, have you heard about Jasmine?”
“Mum told me.”
“I think it was my fault.”
“How could it be your fault?”
“It happened after I fought with Radha. I think it stressed her out.”
“Stress is something she’s got to learn to deal with,” said Sunny. “Anyway, it was only a joint.”
“But Dolores says they’re suspending her.”
“She’ll be back. It’s okay.”
Chandra closed his eyes. “I just think sending her to Boulder’s the worst punishment anyone could think of. Boulder’s where it all happened, where her drugs friends are, her old haunts, her pimps.”
“Pimps?” said Sunny.
“Isn’t that the right word?”
“I don’t think so.”
Chandra put down his drink. “I should be getting back,” he said. “They’ll all be here soon. I’ve just got to pick up my presents from the monastery first. You sure you don’t want to come with me?”
Sunny nodded.
“All right,” said Chandra. “See you soon.”
They walked to the door where they hugged in a way they hadn’t in years. Chandra wondered if it could always be like this, whether if Sunny moved to London they could have a different relationship, one where they were loving and open and didn’t need to speak in code. He decided it didn’t matter. The important thing was this moment.
In the car he ran his hands through his hair and took several deep breaths. The dark ice on the road was treacherous and invisible, but at least he remembered to drive on the right. It took only a few minutes to reach the house, but when he looked at his reflection he saw the face of a man who’d been driving for hours.
The party had livened in his absence. New guests had arrived, residents from other centers. Music was playing, a song by Fleetwood Mac that Chandra remembered from when the children were little. Dolores and Radha were dancing with a group of teenagers, and two middle-aged white women were sitting on the sofa with Saul. They introduced themselves as “Parvati” and “Meenakshi” from the Hindu temple. To his annoyance, neither of them seemed impressed by the appearance of a bona fide Indian.
Jasmine was sitting with two of the other monks, drinking hot apple cider and laughing. She looked better now, a carefree young woman. Chandra poured himself some mulled wine and Dolores caught his eye, beckoning him to follow her to Saul’s study, as before.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“I think so,” said Chandra. “How about you?”
“Oh, I’m doing fine. I had a good talk with your ex, you know.”
“Oh, God,” said Chandra.
“I think she does the angry thing to cover up how much she blames herself.”
“I doubt that,” said Chandra. “She blames me.”
“Maybe she blames herself too.”
“Hey,” said Chandra. “Where are they?”
“Oh, they just went to lie down for a while back at the monastery. They’re all right.”
Chandra stared at the floor, trying to dispel the image of Jean and Steve lying down. Dolores had beautiful feet, he noticed, perfectly proportioned, a silver ring on her little toe. He liked the way she was wearing her hair tonight. He could see her neck this way. Her hair was silver like her dress, a curvaceous Joan of Arc in figure-hugging armor.
“Sunny wouldn’t come,” said Chandra, and told him about their talk. “I can’t help him. I wish I could.”
“Hey,” said Dolores, putting her hands on his shoulders. “You’re doing great. You made all this happen. So what if there’s been a few hiccoughs. You seized your moment. If you miss those moments they’re gone forever.”
Professor Chandra leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. To his horror and delight, Dolores kissed him back. It lasted about ten seconds before she pulled away and said, “Well, not bad, Professor C.”
“I am sorry,” he said. “Truly, Dolores, I should not have done that. You are a married woman.”
“Yes, you should and you know it. Now get back to your family and forget about it, honey.”
“Yes,” said Chandra. “Yes, of course.”
“Come on, you naughty fella.”
They returned to the living room where Chandra found Radha who had stopped dancing and was talking to Saul. To his surprise, he did not feel guilty at all, standing there between his prodigal daughter and the man he had cuckolded, not even when Saul smiled warmly at him and asked how his evening was going.
Chandra hoped no lipstick had rubbed off on his lips.
“We should be getting to Sunny’s soon,” he told Radha.
“You’re the boss, applesauce,” she said, a little drunk.
Chandra thought of his wife, those parties they used to have that would go on until midnight, that wonderful smell of perfume and cigarette smoke and university-grade wine. Those were the days, he thought, before recalling the night of the Bengali Boho which returned him to reality.
“I’ve got to go back to the monastery,” said Chandra. “I have presents.”
“Jaz and I can walk to Sunny’s,” said Radha. “Maybe smoke a doobie on the way.”
Saul laughed and they all looked at Jasmine who was swaying to the music in the corner, her eyes mostly closed.
Saul held out his car keys with what Chandra believed was a knowing glance, and Chandra returned to the hallway and outside, relieved not to encounter Dolores on the way. Night had truly arrived now, and as he drove up the hill to the monastery he kept imagining that the shadows to his right and left were giant, skulking bears. He parked beside Steve’s Lincoln and realized he had no flashlight, and no idea how to turn his phone into one.
Getting out of the car, Chandra began to thread his way through the darkness like Theseus in the labyrinth. He wondered if Steve was the Minotaur, or Jean, but came to the conclusion that it was probably all of them, himself included.
When he reached his hut he felt as if he had not been there in weeks. He shimmied down the stepladder to fetch his bag of gifts and staggered back through the monastery, an aging Santa in reverse. As he passed the zendō he heard a voice call out to him.
“Charles.”
She was standing between two fir trees near the main building. All he could see was the glowing stamp of a cigarette.
“Jean,” he said, heading toward her. He couldn’t remember the last time he had seen her smoke. “Can I drive you to Sunny’s place?”
He could see her so clearly now, this woman with whom he had shared his life. She looked small out here in the woods, with the impenetrable black valley behind her. She turned toward the parking lot. He could smell her perfume.
“Okay, Charles,” said Jean, and it sounded like her old voice, the one before Cambridge. “Steve’s going to join us later anyway.”
They walked toward the parking lot in silence. He took the keys from his pocket.
“I miss you,” he said.
“Let’s get going,” said Jean. “It’s freezing.”
“Yes,” said Chandra. “Yes, of course.”
He unlocked the door to Saul’s Ford and started the engine. Jean did not get inside. He couldn’t see her face, only her back. He wondered if she was lighting another cigarette. When he got out of the car Jean was looking down toward the valley. She seemed fragile and confused, her face yellow in the car’s headlights.
“I’m sorry,” she said, still not looking at him.
“It’s okay.”
“I mean, I’m sorry for it all, Charles. This has been hardest on you.”
“But I’m glad you’re here,” he said.
“I don’t mean that. I mean everything. Steve. Everything. I’m sorry, Charles.”
“I’m such an ass,” said Chandra. “I’ve ruined our lives. I ruined your life.”
“No, you didn’t. I’ve hurt you horribly. You didn’t deserve this. Everybody knows it. I’ll be sorry forever. You don’t believe me, but it’s true.”
He was shivering and so was Jean. He could actually hear her teeth clanging together.
“Are you happy with Steve?”
“Sometimes. Often. I don’t know him as well as I know you, that’s all. But he has more time for me. His life isn’t so outward.”
“I’m trying,” he said. “I’m trying to be different.”
“I’ve noticed.”
Jean reached into her jacket and took out a packet of Salem’s before changing her mind.
“You don’
t have to be different for me, you know, Charles.”
“I know. I think I’m doing it for me.”
“Good,” said Jean. “Good for you.”
“I wouldn’t have, if you hadn’t left.”
“So maybe I did you a favor.”
Jean got into the car and Chandra joined her, putting it into gear. They did not speak until he’d turned onto the main road.
“So you’ll stay with Steve?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“And you’d never come back to me?”
“Is that what you want?”
He slowed to a crawl, the huge December moon filling the windscreen. The question felt hollow. He’d been asking out of habit, he realized.
“Have a think,” said Jean. “You might be surprised.”
“I will,” he said, and he meant it. It was a question he had never asked himself before.
* * *
—
When they arrived at Sunny’s place, Radha and Jasmine were already there. Sunny was standing in the doorway, wearing a Santa hat.
Chandra set down his bag of gifts. “We’re here,” he said, somewhat superfluously.
“I’m glad,” said Sunny. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” said Jean.
In the living room, Radha and Jasmine were lying on the sofa with their arms linked. E.T. was on the television and the fire was burning with perfect yellow flames that suggested Sunny had bought some special designer wood. Jean sat on the sofa beside her daughters eating a minced pie with a thimbleful of brandy brought by Sunny.
Professor Chandra sat opposite while Sunny gave him a glass of the champagne he seemed to have in abundance, and some smoked salmon on toast. The Christmas tree, he noticed, had been trimmed with tinsel and baubles and lights. There were presents beneath it too, and now Sunny was adding Chandra’s gifts to the pile, humming Nat King Cole’s “The Christmas Song” under his breath.
“We should have opened the presents this morning,” said Jean, who was sitting next to Jasmine.
“We would have,” said Sunny, refilling Radha’s glass, “if somebody hadn’t gone AWOL.”
“Sunny,” said Radha, “you didn’t even turn up for your own birthday party.”
Professor Chandra Follows His Bliss Page 28
