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At the Bottom of Everything(40)

By:Ben Dolnick


“No.” I felt, suddenly, as if I were in danger of bursting into tears, and I was fairly sure that Guruji recognized it, and maybe even that he’d intended it.

“Day … please?”

“Today? Today’s Monday. The, um, third. August third.”

“Moon … please?”

“The moon? I don’t know. I don’t know what you mean.”

He shut his eyes again, and I only noticed after a few seconds that he was counting something on his fingertips against the bedspread. “Tuesday … four. Wednesday … five. Thursday … six. Friday … seven. Vesak moon coming Monday … ten. Right condition … for cave puja … The beginning August is … for you, for Thomas … very important, yes?”

If I’d been at full strength in that moment, there were a hundred things I would have asked, but I had to use all my energy not to faint. I could have been breathing through the straw in a juice box.

Now Sri Prabhakara let his head fall to the side, so he was facing me directly, and he reached out to touch the back of my hand, which was trembling on my knee.

“You know … I, Sri Prabhakara … I am … close. Three month … four month. Short time.”

“You’re sick, yes, I’ve heard. I’m sorry.”

He waved his hand. “Doctor try to give me … medicines. I do not. Pain … is OK. Dying … is OK. Your friend Thomas-ji. You must help him … purify. You understand?”

“No.”

“Is … pure. Nothing …” He made a gesture like wiping something off his hands.

“I just want to know where he is.”

“Bring me … candle. Two candle … there.”

His tone of requesting something was the same as his tone of explaining something, so it took me a second to realize what he wanted, but I stood up and grabbed the two white candles from the table behind me; they were the size of salt-shakers. He took them lightly in his crabbed hands and blew out the one on the right.

“You see?”

“I don’t think so.”

Now he relit the extinguished candle with the still-burning one in his left hand. There was a knocking at the door, and Raymond’s voice saying something, but neither of us looked up.

“Now … you see?”

“I’m sorry, no.”

“Is new candle … is same fire. Your friend … Thomas-ji … when you help … purify … when I am away … he is the new.

You see?”





From: <Thomas Pell>

To: <Adam Sanecki>

Date: Thu, Jun 25, 2009 at 5:01 AM

Subject: re: (no subject)

… Here’s something I don’t think you know, I kept her obituary in the locked drawer of my desk, I would look at it, alone at night, she smiled like someone had made an old joke, she wore glasses, someone outside the frame had his arm around her, I would imagine I knew her, it was my arm, sometimes I could hear her voice, I could feel her sweater against my cheek, I’d shake like a tuning fork. To my parents I must have looked like I was doing nothing, lying on the couch, turning to face away from the sun, I could have been paralyzed, I could have been a house-plant, inside I was screaming, the fear was worse, when your mind turns against you, the felt experience, I didn’t know, was that the world turns against you. I wanted to see her parents, wanted to ask were they all right, had they lived their lives, I wondered if I’d taken their suffering (matter is neither created nor destroyed). I knew I was evil, I’d been a mistake, if I lived as I was, continued to live, I was a spinning blade, a driverless car. Not sleeping for days, I would have conversations with Mira, see her sitting with me on the couch, whispering to me, the back of her head was missing, she didn’t know, I would sit up sobbing, tell R I didn’t know why, must have been a nightmare, he would hold my head in his lap, I’d never known my parents, something had gone cold, these people I’d loved were strangers, obstacles, I needed to stop feeling the way I felt, endless planning. I would try, sometimes, to test whether parts were still OK, I would take down a book from the shelf, the sentences would close up as I read them, I would forget the meaning by each period. I would turn on the TV, daytime movies, I couldn’t follow plots, what plots I could understand had to do with terror, death, exposure. Sometimes I needed a blanket, I became cold, much colder than the temperature. Other days the floor, the couch was too soft, I would need my face against wood, I would quietly moan, feel the buzz, I would ask the floor, Did I deserve to live, if I did, please tell me how, please tell me how Adam manages. This lasted months. I started to walk sometimes at night to their house, 3409 Ordway, leaving my front door like walking into a fire, such terror, I would stare at my feet, every step, fifteen minutes, a street just like yours, red brick, shingle roof, the lights were off, island in the ocean, I thought of her parents asleep in their beds, I thought of her childhood room untouched, I would lie on the lawn by their brick path, imagine she was buried underneath, flesh turned sod, I would think, How will I get home, will I be found here, will I be buried here. I saw myself, clear as a photograph, locked away somewhere, white walls, blue skin, life as a disease that must run its course, and I decided if I wasn’t going to end up there, I needed to be punished, killed or forgiven, otherwise the world would do it, otherwise nights of fear, worse than death. I started to sleep, sometimes, outside their house, praying for courage, imagining pressing the bell, moving closer each night to their front door. Grass is wet even when it doesn’t rain, I’d forgotten, one night, walking close to the window, I tripped, made a sound, I saw lights come on, my legs were burning, my moment had come, I heard doors unlocking, it was four in the morning. The man in the door was white, he wore a green robe, white beard, he said what the hell was I doing, I just stared, mind blank as paper, he said get away or he’d call the police, I said, Is this the Batras’ house? He stared, squinting, What? I said, The Batras, do the Batras live here? Who? he said, I said the name again, his face changed, the porch light was golden, there was a basket of soccer balls, he said, They moved, they moved away, now get out of here, and slammed the door, I walked home, wet socks, cold hands, I tried to run, couldn’t think, could hardly stand, cats crossed my path, it didn’t matter, my luck couldn’t get worse, I needed to find out where the Batras had gone, I couldn’t rest until I knew.