by Bergen, KC
Standing on a stool, the dwarf said: “S-Seven inches?”
“No, Tina. Holy cow, I am talking about the food. My rice and curry chicken.” Novak noticed that his grandfather all of a sudden spoke more fluidly but with a thick Indian accent. “How much time is left?”
Cowering, Tina glanced at the Asian woman, who timidly rubbed her apron and bowed her head in shame. “Sorry, Master Oleg. The food is not done.”
“I have eyes to see, Lamai.” Oleg opened his eyes wide and pointed at them. “You see? Big eyes.” He trained his forefinger on the uncooked vegetables on the cutting board. “Now, I asked how long?”
“T-Ten minutes?” Lamai said.
“Is that a question or an answer?” Oleg asked, tilting his head.
Novak was puzzled at the Indian mannerisms that his grandfather for some reason had adopted. But they did suit his Indian accent.
“Ten minutes,” she said. “It is an answer.”
Novak felt bad for the way the old man was intimidating the women. “I don’t think we’ve been formerly introduced,” Novak said.
“We are as hungry as elephants. Cook faster.” Oleg clapped his hands. “Faster!”
Tina continued to chop up vegetables, and Lamai quickly fetched a stir-fry pan. Shaking his head, Oleg strode into the dining room. Novak followed and sat down on the opposite side of the table.
“Do you think it’s wise to be so mean to them?” Novak asked. “I mean, they’re handling our food.”
“They are not going to do bad things to it. I have cameras in every room.” He pointed to the wall behind Novak, and sure enough, a camera was mounted high up in the corner.
“Okay. But who are those girls?”
“They are students.”
“You’re a teacher too?”
“Yes. I teach yoga, meditation, and many life skills. In return they must do what I say.”
“They’ll do anything you tell them to?”
“I make rules. They must follow or get out.”
Oleg had reverted to his regular Eastern European accent. “But why did you talk to them in a different accent? It sounded Indian.”
“Do you know gurus from Eastern Europe?”
“No.”
“Exactly. All great gurus come from Far East. Most come from India. Accent is simply business decision.”
“But when did you—”
“No more questions. You want to leave?”
“No. I didn’t mean to pry. It’s just that so many things have changed since I last saw you.”
“Yes. My wife cheats on me and leaves. You never listen to my warnings, and now look what happen. I don’t hear from you in long time, and here you are.”
“I’m sorry. I should have—”
“Please.” Oleg held up his hand. “What I say before your wedding was not good. Bad timing. My bad. You had to see wandering vagina for yourself. I was going through hell, but there is no excuse for spilling beans in another man’s trousers.”
“How did you get through it? Hell, I mean.”
“Lots of exercise, meditation, prostitutes, and then I start business. Oh look,” Oleg said, tilting his head toward Tina and Lamai and instantly changing his accent. “The food is ready. It smells very good. Yum, yum.”
7
At the Dikram Yoga Institute, Mary and Carol were carrying their mats from the locker room to the exercise room. Dozens of people were already gathered there, chattering, stretching, or just standing around waiting for the yoga instructor to arrive.
Mary and Carol put down their mats near the back of the room. Mary looked around at the fellow class participants. She recognized almost all of them, and yet she hardly knew any of them. She didn’t feel like talking to anyone, anyway. A skinny man in tights said hi, and she gave him a curt nod.
“What’s wrong?” Carol whispered to Mary. “You seem tense.”
“It’s nothing.”
“Come on, you can tell me.”
Mary sighed deeply. “Well, it’s Brian. He’s such a bad influence on my son.”
“What did he do now?”
“It’s not that. It’s just his behavior in general. I mean, you’ve seen Michael: the saggy pants, the rude language, the misogynistic attitude. I don’t know what to do.”
“Oh, he’s just going through a phase. He’ll grow out of it.”
“You think so?”
“Well, a good role model would probably help.”
“Yeah, where would I find one of those in these parts?”
“How about …?” Carol peeked at the skinny man in tights.
Mary glanced over at the man, and her eyes met his. He parted his lips and briefly fluttered his tongue.
“God,” Mary said.
“What?” Carol asked.
“You didn’t see what he did?”
“No.”
“Never mind.” Mary didn’t want to cause a scene. She just wanted to stretch and relax and be left alone. So she grabbed her mat and moved to the other side of the room.
Carol followed. “What happened?”
“Never mind,” Mary repeated as she started stretching her thighs.
The yoga instructor, an exotic-looking elderly man sporting a receding mullet that—considering his advanced age—was definitely dyed black, strode into the room wearing nothing but a pair of charcoal briefs. He hopped up on a table in front of the class. “Are you ready to be transformed emotionally, physically, spiritually, financially, sexually?”
His accent wavered between sounding Indian and Spanish, Mary thought. It was peculiar, but he didn’t give you much time to think, never waiting for a response.
The instructor ceremoniously opened his arms. “Welcome! I am Master Yogi Dikram, and I am here to make you more sensuous than a camel wearing makeup!”
Some people giggled, others swooned over the master yogi’s presence. In their eyes, he apparently couldn’t say or do anything wrong.
Carol nudged Mary and whispered, “Maybe you can ask Dikram out? If you’re ready to be transformed.”
“Into a sensuous camel? No thanks.”
***
After class and a shower, Mary and Carol headed into the parking lot. They had parked right next to one another.
“Ted and I are going out this weekend,” Carol said, placing her mat into the trunk of her car. “Catch a movie, maybe check out that fancy new restaurant in town. Why don’t you come with us?”
“No, you guys go on out without me. You’ll have more fun.”
“Don’t say that. Ted wouldn’t mind. He thinks you’re a hoot.”
“Well, that’s nice. But I’ve got work and Michael to take care of, and—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’re sooo super busy.”
Mary chuckled. “Thanks for the offer, though. I appreciate it.”
“Have you given it a shot?”
“What’s that?”
“The online dating thing. Have you signed up yet?”
“No. No, I haven’t”
“Well, you’re not getting any younger.”
“They have Botox for that. And makeup.”
Carol snickered. “And men.”
“Yeah, right. The wrong man can add years to your life. Years.”
“I just want you to be happy, honey.”
“I am happy. I have you, a true friend. And Michael. And a good job.”
“And you also have the great opportunity to come hang out with Ted and me.”
“That’s right. See? Life is good.” Mary spotted the skinny man in tights walking toward them, so she said bye to Carol and got in her car. As she headed for the exit, the man blew Mary a kiss. She ignored him.
“Life is good,” she repeated to herself.
8
Novak was still awake deep into the middle of the night. Lying in a king-size bed in a huge guest bedroom that Oleg had put him up in, staring at the white ceiling, Novak tried to detach from the images of Franc porking his wife. But the images
were persistent and annoying, like a swarm of mosquitos. Agitated and sweating, Novak sat up in bed. He wanted to scream, to roar like a madman, but he held it in. He needed something: a distraction.
Novak whipped out his cellphone. He went on YouTube and searched for funny videos. He started with a best of-collection of pranks. Some of them were funny, but they still didn’t make him laugh.
He thought of Bigfoot. Where had that hairy creature come from? He’d seen it, though. There was no way he’d imagined the horrid thing and what it had done to his herd. The whole incident was a big hairy mess. A disaster. He didn’t want to think about it. It was just him and this bedroom, and all he wanted was to sleep. But he couldn’t do it. And the damn glare from the phone wasn’t helping. He needed music. But no sappy love songs. Something uplifting and purely instrumental.
Novak typed Vivaldi into YouTube. Clicked on the image of a tree in autumn, most of its yellowed leaves shed and scattered on the ground. He listened to Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. As winter arrived, Novak drifted off to sleep.
He woke up lying on his stomach. Someone was knocking on his door. “Novak! It is time.” Oleg’s voice.
“Time for what?” Novak said, checking his watch. It was 6:20 a.m.
“Time to get up!”
He rolled over on his back. “Why?”
Oleg opened the door, sporting a pair of golden spandex pants. “Because life is short and exercise makes it longer.”
“What are you wearing? Is it Halloween already?”
“That is very, very hilarious,” Oleg said in his Indian accent. “No, these are my yoga pants.”
“You want me to join a yoga class? Now?”
“Yes! It will be very good for you. I also brought you appropriate garments to wear.” He clapped his hands and the dwarf, Tina, came in carrying a stack of clothes.
“I’m not wearing spandex.”
“Only the Yoga Master is allowed to wear gold. Get dressed and come outside. Class starts in ten minutes. Oh, I almost forgot.” Oleg walked to the dresser and opened the bottom drawer. Pulled out an elongated … thing.
“What’s that?” Novak asked, hoping that it was not what he suspected.
“It is an artificial penis,” Oleg answered. “Referred to in the West as a dildo.”
That was exactly what Novak suspected. He wondered what a dildo was doing in his dresser. And it appeared to be made out of an unusual material. “It’s made out of wood, huh?”
“That is correct. I made it myself many years ago. As a birthday present for my mother.” Tilting his head and sighing with nostalgia, Oleg slowly twirled the remarkably well-sculpted object in his hand. “She named him George, after her late husband. I simply did not want her to feel so lonely. She was so lonely, my mother.”
Lost in old memories, Oleg fell quiet. Novak glanced at Tina, who solemnly observed Master Oleg with a tight frown.
Oleg cleared his throat and then brandished George on his way out. “Well, I shall find a more suitable storage space for old George.” Oleg checked his watch. “See you in seven minutes!”
After freshening up and getting dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, Novak headed downstairs and out. The sun was rising on the blue horizon, and about thirty women were lined up in three rows on the finely trimmed grass. Every single one of them was wearing tight yoga pants. Feeling out of place, Novak went to the back of the class. Formed a line of one. He didn’t feel like talking to anyone, and if the class was advanced he feared that he wouldn’t be able to keep up. No need for drawing unwanted attention to himself.
The women were chatting amicably. He recognized Tina and Lamai. Were all of them living here, or did they come from Kamnik or Kranj or elsewhere? Well, Oleg had made it clear that he wanted no further questions about his business. But where was the old man?
The chatter suddenly died and the women stood to attention. Oleg had emerged through the sliding back doors. Having added a fluttering cape to his outfit, he looked more like a superhero than a yoga instructor. Novak almost started laughing, but the women were all serious, to the point of seeming anxious, so he stymied his reaction.
Master OIeg positioned himself front and center. He bowed slightly and greeted his students in his thick Indian accent. Then he pulled at a red string around his neck, and the cape fell to his feet.
“Sit,” Oleg said.
The students sat down on the grass and crossed their legs. Novak struggled to cross his legs while sitting up straight. He wasn’t flexible enough, just couldn’t do it. So he simply put his arms around his knees and sat like a normal person. His grandfather remained standing. He appeared to be holding in his stomach and pushing out his chest. “Welcome to the first session of the day. I am Master Oleg, as you all know, the founder and creator of Olegolas Yoga.”
The students sat watching their master. Novak couldn’t tell whether he was squinting in the sun or closing his eyes in concentration. Nobody said a word.
“Who are we truly, when all is said and done?” Oleg asked, adjusting the crotch of his yoga pants. “Like all other animals, we are the end result of our parents humping. That is the basic purpose of all animals: to hump. To make babies. But we are born as babies and die as babies, if we do not train our minds to reach a higher consciousness. I have been teaching for over fifty years, and every year I am the best at everything. The best. It is true. I have proven it. And you are idiots. Idiots!”
Novak’s eyes widened as he anticipated an outraged reaction from the students. After all, their guru had just called them idiots. But they simply listened to his words, nodding and smiling.
Oleg drew a deep breath through his nose and pushed out his chest. “But you are here, which is very good. It means that you are better than everybody who is not here. And how many are not here? Many people. Millions of people. Billions. Now, let us return to basics. To the animals. To babies. More specifically, the baby gorilla. It is always better than a human because it lives in harmony with its skills and environment. It is a baby, yes, and a gorilla, so it is hairy. Does it want to shave its body? No. Does it want money? No. Is it depressed, sick, and tired, out of touch with reality? No.” Oleg raised his eyebrows and voice. “No! People want to shave their bodies. People want money. And people get depressed and sick and tired, especially when they do not get what they want!”
Standing in front of his seated audience, Oleg surveyed the students, taking his sweet time, letting the words sink in. “The point is, I will help you become flexible and strong, and I will also guide you toward becoming your natural selves, so that you may embrace your inner gorilla.”
Tina raised her arm.
“Yes?” Oleg said.
“What if there is no gorilla within us?”
“Then I will place you in a cage.”
The women glanced anxiously at each other, then at my grandfather, who started stretching his arms. “Don’t be fools, I am just kidding. Or am I? Yes, I am. It is not about the gorilla. All nonhuman animals are superior to people that are not me when it comes to the experience of life. As a supreme person, I will help you discover your inner animal. Even if I have to reach in—deep within—and pull it out of you. What goes up must come down, just like what goes in must come out. And oftentimes what goes up then goes in, and it doesn’t go down until it comes out.”
The women tittered, and Novak wondered what his grandfather was referring to. It seemed like he was referring to erections, but Novak wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.
Oleg began to march in place, flapping his arms. “I want you all to pick an animal—the first one that comes to mind—and act like it. Bring out your inner animal!” He made a high-pitched caw, the call of an eagle. Flapping his arms, he ran around the pool area, pretending to fly.
Lamai let out a shrill cry as she jumped into the pool. She’d apparently turned into a dolphin. Tina started jumping around with her fingers pointing up from the sides of her head. Definitely a rabbit. A blonde got down on all fours.
She hissed at Novak like a big cat. No—she hissed at a black woman behind Novak who was also walking on all fours, howling like a wolf and then growling at the pussycat.
Novak got out of their way. Everyone had gone mad. Oleg zoomed past Novak and attacked the hopping bunny. He landed on top of Tina, and she seemed terrified as he buried his face between her breasts. Novak was about to pull the old pervert off of her, but then she started giggling and embraced the motor-boating eagle.
Oleg pulled his head back to get some air. Still lying on top of his student, he glanced at Novak. “Why are you not doing the exercise?”
“I am,” Novak said. “I’m an American.”
“That is not an animal.”
“Is a pervert an animal?”
“I am not pervert—I am eagle. She is rabbit. Eagles attack rabbits.”
“Well, if you’re supposed to be killing her, then I don’t see what’s so great about being an animal. What’s so great about this stupid exercise?”
The animal sounds died down as the students broke their animal character. They scowled at Novak. So did his grandfather. Oleg got up—didn’t even adjust his briefs to hide his boner—and alternated between shaking and tilting his head at his grandson. “Novak Novak, you are clearly not cut out to be an instructor. You are not even cut out to be a student. The lack of respect is perhaps what is most disturbing. You are an idiot!”
“At least I’m not a charlatan taking advantage of people.”
“Neither am I! I am the supreme Yogi, Master Oleg!”
“Would a wise man call himself supreme?”
Squatting down and pointing her fingers up, Tina the rabbit scoffed at Novak’s disrespect. He wanted to comment on a lot of disrespectful aspects of the course curriculum, but Oleg’s business reputation was on the line and the students apparently found the activities to be more than acceptable. So Novak kept quiet and walked back inside.
In a way, Oleg was right about Novak being unfit to be an instructor or a student. As a matter of fact, he wanted no part in this whole charade. He just wanted to leave. He went into the kitchen, made himself a big ham-and-cheese sandwich, and dreamed of America.
