“Also very confusing. Every Tibetan is named some combination of a limited number of elements. Plus, they’re reversible. There are probably five thousand Wangdue Chodaks and another five thousand Chodak Wangdues.”
Eric laughed. “I never really thought about it that way. Like a world inhabited by John Does and Doe Johns.”
“Yup,” I said. “Talk about a nightmare if a Tibetan goes missing.”
Eric looked at me strangely. Our paths had gone in such different directions.
“Here comes one more,” Julie said.
“The ritual master for the tour,” Eric said. “Venerable Geshe Lharampa Sonam Chophel.”
I was startled. “Lama Sonam?” I caught Julie’s eye. “He was my personal tutor, back in the day. He was very kind to me.”
Sonam. Merit. Chophel. Flourishing of the Dharma. Lama Sonam was well named.
I squinted, troubled by his appearance. Sonam was only in his midfifties, but his posture was bent and he walked with a slight shuffle. His left hand trembled, fingers rubbing against thumb with the telltale palsy of a neurological disorder.
So he was mortal. I did not want to know that. I cleared my throat. “I had no idea he was coming. Though he speaks English fluently, so it makes sense.”
For a moment I felt light-headed, my past on a collision course with my present. Privately I kept both worlds alive. But publicly, the need for separation was strong. East and west. Inner and outer. Light and dark. Then and now.
My love life and my spiritual one.
Ahh. I had located the source of my resistance to the idea of Julie as their tour driver.
Welcome to the Divided States of Ten.
I circled and dodged bystanders, making my way to the head of the ramp. I arrived just as they reached the top.
“Tashi deley, Lama Tenzing!” Yeshe’s beam was contagious, and passengers all around him smiled through their fatigue.
“Tashi deley, tashi deley.” The Tibetan salutation reverberated between the three of us, more blessing than greeting. Tashi deley—I honor the greatness within you.
I hugged Lobsang first and then pulled Yeshe into a gruff embrace. They were so much more than ambassadors from my past. They were my brothers and the keepers of my soul.
“You are here, indeed,” I said to Yeshe after finally releasing him. “But next time, leave out the weird chanting, okay?”
Yeshe looked puzzled.
“Your phone call to me,” I said. “From customs.”
He shook his head. “I not call. Calling not allowed.”
“Then who . . . ?”
But Yeshe, eyes twinkling, gestured behind me. “Look,” he said.
My beaming fiancée had cornered Lobsang. This should be interesting.
“Lobsang? I’m Julie.” She paused, uncertain how to proceed.
Lobsang pulled a white khata from a small duffel bag. His motions formal, he draped the narrow scarf of white silk around Julie’s neck.
“Tashi deley.”
“Oh. It’s beautiful!” Julie moved as if to hug him. Lobsang stepped back, completely flustered.
“Sorry, is that . . .” Now Julie’s cheeks were flushed. “I’m just . . . I’m very happy to finally meet you, Lobsang.”
“Too je che,” he said stiffly. “Tank you.”
“I’m going to be your driver,” she added before moving on to Yeshe, leaving Lobsang mystified.
He’d get used to it.
As I turned to Geshe Sonam, my body started to vibrate, as if someone had struck a bell, deep in my chest. After so many years of spiritual practice, Geshe Sonam’s internal state had grown very pure. Just being near him activated a kind of delicious thrum in my veins. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the sweet sparks travel through my body. I reached for the Tibetan word.
Bde-ba. Bliss. As powerful as any chemically induced high, and for some, just as addictive. The Buddha warns us not to pay bde-ba too much mind, lest we get caught in its pleasurable, carbonated web. But for this instant, I let the current flow.
“Geshe Sonam,” I said. “I am so very honored that you are here. Welcome.” I bowed.
“No ceremony, Tenzing!” Sonam replied. “We are in America now, yes?”
“Yes,” I said. And with that, I finally knew it to be true.
The two younger monks stood to the side, guarding the carts. The first was built like a fire hydrant, strong and squat. His small ears jutted from his squarish head like little shutters.
I asked him his name, the Tibetan vowels a little stale on my tongue. “Khedrand ming gangyin?”
He answered in English. “My name Thoknay Jampa. But here in US I think I will be called TJ. Okay?”
“Sounds good, TJ.”
Julie stepped next to me, and TJ pointed to her scarf.
“Khata, very good!” He showed us a similar scarf, tucked inside his robe. “See? His Holiness bless this! Very special! Very special!” He was a little overeager, like a puppy.
The fifth member of the group stood quietly, the final unknown in this equation.
“Lama Wangdue,” I said. “Tashi deley.” I honor the greatness within you.
Wangdue appeared to be even younger than TJ, barely 20, with burnished walnut skin and deep-set eyes. His nose, like mine, was more aquiline than was typical with Tibetans, but he had our trademark high cheekbones.
He was studying me just as closely.
“You are Tenzing Norbu,” he said, his pronunciation thick, but understandable.
“Yes.”
“You are no longer monk.”
“No, I am no longer a monk.”
“Police?”
“No. No longer a policeman either. I’m a private investigator. A detective.”
TJ had been eavesdropping, and he broke in. “Yeshe tell us! Monk detective! Like TV show! I download on iPad! Very good!”
I nodded, clueless. I still didn’t own a flat screen, though Julie had been pushing for one.
“You keep people safe, Tenzing Norbu?” Wangdue asked.
Odd question.
I shrugged. “Safe enough, I guess.”
He seemed to relax at this. But his eyes remained unfocused, as if trying to make something out, past the words.
Together, we wheeled the heavy carts out into the harsh glare.
CHAPTER 6
The white Econoline with its Buddhist cargo, Eric at the wheel, zigzagged east onto the 105. We followed easily.
Once we’d connected onto the 110 North, Julie shot me a look. “Want to tell me about this convenient new job of yours?”
“Hardly convenient. More a matter of bad timing.” I explained the situation with Kim and her missing brother, leaving nothing out.
“You think two days will do it?” Julie’s voice was skeptical. “Absolutely,” I said, with more confidence than I felt.
We zipped through downtown and merged onto the Hollywood Freeway. The afternoon traffic was surprisingly light, and soon we were exiting onto Hollywood Boulevard, turning right on Bronson and right again on Franklin. A spectacular peach-streaked sky announced sunset. The hills served as a radiant backdrop to the iconic letters of the Hollywood sign.
Two quick lefts, and we finally landed on West Live Oak Drive and pulled into the driveway.
“Are you kidding me?” Julie asked.
“I know.”
The Leonard’s three-story Mediterranean house was exactly as breathtaking as I remembered, although the faded pinkish stucco was now terra cotta red. Built in the thirties and set high on a hillside, the site offered unobstructed views from downtown all the way to the ocean, depending on where you stood. Someone famous once lived here, but I could never remember his name.
Adina Leonard flew out of the front door, the dark hair of my memory transformed into a pure white mane that tumbled down her back. Her hair ignited in the setting sun.
She moved from monk to monk like a hummingbird, pausing in flight as if to sip each one’s nectar. I waited. Fina
lly she turned to Julie and me, a question in her eyes. Then recognition dawned.
“Ten!” She clasped my shoulders and planted a kiss on my forehead. “How’s that tender heart of yours doing?”
She switched her attention to Julie. Her eyes were like twin lasers. She nodded.
“Yes,” she said. “I can see this working.”
“Adina,” Eric called. “Can you show everyone where they’re going?”
Adina moved away, her hair a snowy cape.
“Whoa,” Julie said. “She’s intense.”
“We were all in love with her.”
We grabbed a couple of boxes and walked through the front door.
“Up or down?” Julie said.
“Down.”
She followed me down a flight of stairs.
“This is where you lived?” Julie sounded incredulous.
“Sort of,” I said. “They’ve made some changes.”
My tiny bedroom with a half bathroom had adjoined a storage area. Now we were looking at a graceful rotunda connecting to a wide-open, rectangular-shaped room. It was like entering a giant keyhole.
Two wrought-iron twin beds, a daybed, and two small air mattresses took up the right half.
Yeshe trotted over to relieve Julie of her box.
“Oh look! A dormitory!” I motioned to the beds. “You should feel right at home.”
I followed Yeshe to the far wall, and we added our cartons to the growing stack.
“What did you bring, half of India?” I teased. “What happened to austerity?”
Yeshe laughed, and for a moment we both enjoyed the ease that comes with lifelong friendship. It seemed like the right time to ask.
“Neg chareng tansong,” I said, plucking the words from my memory bank.
“English, please,” Yeshe said. “I need learn better.”
“I missed you.”
“Ah. But now no need, yes?”
“Come stay with me,” I said. “You and Lobsang both. My place is small, but I have a couch and I’m sure I can borrow Eric’s air mattress.”
Yeshe’s eyes softened even more. “Tenzing, is not . . .” He gestured to the group. “We come here, but we not stop being monks in monastery. We make our practice, like always.” He patted my arm. “Lobsang and I with you every day. We with you in India, and we with you right now.”
“All right, well, will you at least come see my house? How about dinner tomorrow?”
“Yes. We come,” Yeshe said. His eyes twinkled. “All of us.”
Lobsang was standing with Sonam and Eric in a sitting area that seemed to double as a breakfast nook. In the morning, I knew, light would pour through the round leadglass windows, portholes into a sea of sunshine. I headed over, as Yeshe joined Julie in the well-stocked kitchenette. They opened and closed drawers until they had uncovered a large copper pot and a ladle. A bowl of fresh fruit and avocados sat to one side of a granite counter. Adina had added a blue pitcher bursting with sunflowers.
The Leonards were such good people. Why had I let life create such distance between us? I took a seat at the round kitchen table, enjoying the bustle.
Yeshe soon had a big pot of water boiling. He unearthed a plastic baggie of loose black tea from his duffel.
“You made it through customs with that?” Julie said. “I’m surprised you didn’t land in jail.”
“Nobody look. Nobody ask.” Yeshe dumped a handful of loose tea in the pot, and soon the downstairs filled with its smoky fragrance. “Good to be monk sometimes.”
“I go unpack,” Lobsang announced. He nodded to me. “You come.”
I claimed the edge of the daybed. Lobsang quickly organized clothing: a few pairs of socks and shoes, boxers, and three sets each of the Tibetan monk’s daily uniform—burgundy, wraparound, cap sleeve dhonka; matching cotton underskirt; and the large rectangular zhen robe used as a top layer of draping.
“You still use zhen, Tenzing?” Lobsang asked, his hands busy.
I pictured the red cloth over my home altar. “Every day,” I said.
“Hanh.” Lobsang narrowed his eyes, but I held his gaze with the innocence of the somewhat truthful.
TJ and Wangdue sat cross-legged on the twin beds in front of matching iPads.
“Dr. Eric, you have password?” TJ called out.
Eric came over and tapped onto TJ’s screen. Stamp-size images bloomed.
I elbowed Lobsang. “Excuse me, iPads? What kind of crazy libertarian monastery are you running over there?”
Lobsang grunted, his favorite mode of deflection.
“Chreng thini hachang gaposong,” I said. Your presence brings me happiness.
“Brothers, it is late,” Sonam announced to the room, stifling a yawn. “Tea, bread, and then I am thinking sleep, yes? Come, come to the kitchen, everyone!”
Yeshe and Julie doled out mugs of sweet tea. Julie caught my eye. I shook my head. With or without yak butter, Yeshe’s tea had always been strong enough to stop a freight train.
The mass of memories was starting to close in on me. I needed a moment alone.
I climbed the two flights of stairs to the Leonards’ living room but there was no escaping the past—the room was exactly as it had been when I lived here. The furniture was a blend of Balinese and midcentury modern. Persian miniatures and Japanese prints took up most of the wall space. A circular standing gong occupied the far corner of the room, its leather-topped mallet hanging to one side. My hand itched to raise the mallet and let loose a reverberating summons.
Though to what, I no longer knew.
When I lived with Adina and Eric, they’d hosted fund-raising events in this room. Microfinance, reproductive justice, clean water, endangered species—no need was too small, no plight too distant. Adina had never had a career but she was a passionate connector of people and causes, always with the goal of raising the world’s consciousness.
I slid the plate glass door sideways and stepped outside. Their deck overlooked a dark expanse of rugged terrain. In fact, I’d gotten the idea to build my own deck from theirs.
I leaned against the railing. Griffith Park seemed to stretch for miles, untamed space in the midst of civilized sprawl.
An owl hooted, somewhere to my left. A second answered, a higher-pitched response. The air was fresh, although my lungs couldn’t seem to take much in.
“That’s Bronson Canyon.” Eric moved to my side. “A pair of owls built a nest there recently. I hear them every night now.” He leaned against the railing. “I love standing out here. It helps remind me that I am part of the natural world. A mammal, first and foremost.”
The blade of moon was barely visible.
“June moon,” I said.
“Five days down, twenty-five to go,” Eric said.
“What do you mean?”
Eric’s eyes widened. “You really have pulled away, haven’t you? I’m talking about Saka Dawa.”
“Oh. Right.” Named for the Saka star, Saka Dawa was a monthlong celebration commemorating the Buddha’s birth, enlightenment, and death. Kind of like Christmas, Easter, and a dash of Halloween, all rolled into one. The full moon that fell during this month, Saka Dawa Duchen, was the most potent day of an already potent month.
And I had forgotten about all of it, completely.
“I hope you’re coming to the temple, at least. For the puja this Thursday, I mean,” Eric said.
“Yes. Of course.” Yeshe and Lobsang had already wrangled a promise out of me to attend their initial event—a temple fund-raiser organized, of course, by Adina. Fine by me, as long as I was there to observe, not participate. Not my world, not anymore.
The thought saddened me.
A coyote cackled, the sound both gleeful and ominous.
“This is nice. Just like the old days,” Eric said.
“I know. I was remembering all the fund-raisers Adina used to host here.”
“Still does,” he said. “Though she spends a lot of her time online now. Virtual outreach—
the future of global connectivity. Adina’s a big believer in using whatever works. She’s off to a gathering later tonight, the sacred feminine. I think. I can’t keep up. Her practice puts everyone else’s to shame.” He laughed. “Sorry, that didn’t come out right.”
“No, I get it. I’ve always admired Adina’s commitment.”
“Amazing woman. When we found out we couldn’t conceive, she barely skipped a beat. She says she thinks of all the people she helps as her children.”
What if that happened to Julie and me? The evening suddenly seemed stale and close. Was there no fresh air anywhere in this city?
“Ten? You seem . . .” Eric changed course. “Listen, I’m here. If you ever need anything.”
“I know that. Thank you.”
I turned away from the dark canyon.
“It’s getting late,” I said. “I should get Julie.”
Heading home, the traffic was light. I pictured the scene back at the house. Tank would play hard to get. He often stayed out of sight when Julie and I returned after being gone for a while, long enough, say, to miss a meal. He liked to make sure we both understood that Tank, and only Tank, chose when and how to forgo his food. Homer, in contrast, would be flattened on the floor by the kitchen door, morose and desperate to go out.
“Homer’ll be fine,” Julie said, reading my mind. “He’s got a cast-iron bladder.”
I was ready for the day to be done. As much as I loved the idea of Yeshe and Lobsang staying with me, the reality would have been daunting. I don’t do well when tugged in too many directions. And Julie was right about my needing more personal space.
“I invited everyone for dinner tomorrow night,” I said.
“How funny. So did I.”
I touched the back of Julie’s hand. She turned it over and we interlaced fingers as I steered one-handed through the darkness.
This is what family feels like.
Out of nowhere the image of the soldier embracing his wife and child at the airport popped into my head. How they held on to each other. The way he placed his military hat on his daughter’s head. The way it fell over her eyes.
An insight streaked across my mind, a comet trailing truth.
Of course.
Green Tara had come through after all. I knew how to find Kim’s brother, Bobby. The answer traced back to their childhood.
The Fifth Rule of Ten Page 3
