he said. “But that is not unusual. I express my
physical love for all my disciples and they express it for me. I
believe you must empty your prostate every day. That is healthy. It
does not matter who the receptacle is. The male essence or the
female essence or those who express both essences in their
nature.”
“What kind of lover was Alicia?” I asked.
“That was her problem. You know, each person
has give and take within. Alicia would give but she would not take.
A woman must always take, but Alicia would not take.”
I was beginning to see a vague outline of
what he was getting at.
“Was Alicia a good disciple?”
“She was one of my best, except that she
would not take. She threw herself into metaphysics as if it were an
obsession. She was obviously seeking a yang for her yin.”
“You mean a man?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly, almost sadly, and
wagged his finger the way you would at a kid who wet his pants.
“Don’t be so literal. A yang is not necessarily a man. It is a
complement to what is lacking in her being.”
“And tell me what was lacking in her being.”
I was starting to feel like an untutored jackass.
“This we are not privileged to know. One can
never know the inner soul of another person. One only sees the
superficial exterior which may often be misleading.”
He paused and put his hands over his eyes.
“Kundelini…searching for Kundelini.”
“What?”
“Kundelini,” he repeated.
What in the pluperfect hell was he talking
about?
Just about this time, with the incense and
the bayberry and the music and the pot smoke and that goddam root
beer, I was starting to develop a major headache. A really serious
headache. I had an intense craving for a very tall, very cold glass
of beer—any beer from any brewery in Northern Europe or the United
States.
“Tell me,” I tried again. “Would you have any
idea why someone would want to kill Alicia?”
The professor knitted up his brows so that
twin furrows ran up his forehead. He concentrated his gaze on the
flame. “Alicia was not contented. She had not reached spiritual
peace.”
I thought of the people I knew. Neurotic New
Yorkers and people trying to become neurotic New Yorkers. “Many
people haven’t reached spiritual peace,” I said. “What does that
have to do with her death?”
“This unfortunately I cannot tell you.” He
looked at me intently. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be
sincere or if he was just having me on.
I tried again. “Do you know who supplied her
with cocaine?”
“No.” He shook his head. “We do not use
cocaine. The only narcotic we use is hashish, in keeping with our
beliefs.”
This guy was the master of blue smoke and
mirrors. In a whole lifetime of years, I’d seen few his equal.
“Tell me, who was Alicia’s best friend?”
For the first time, he seemed to come awake.
He smiled to himself and rubbed his beard. “Her best friend and
closest confidant was this person.” He motioned to the girl on the
chest.
“Rachel,” he yelled so loud I almost
jumped.
The girl uncoiled herself from her meditation
and came over to us. The professor craned his neck to look up at
her and gestured vigorously for her to sit down. She lowered
herself gracefully into the lotus position and stared into our
faces. There was the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.
“Rachel,” the professor said, “this man is
looking into the circumstances surrounding the death of Alicia. I
am sure he would appreciate any information you can give him. I,
for my part, have given him as much as I could and I am sure it has
been helpful.”
I tried to give her a reassuring look. I
hoped she had something more concrete than the professor’s sack of
wind. She had finely-etched features and what looked like flawless
skin in the dim light. She was slight and couldn’t have been more
than five-two. An elfin creature. Her hair was dark and straight
and cut short. Her eyes were large and her pupils
physical love for all my disciples and they express it for me. I
believe you must empty your prostate every day. That is healthy. It
does not matter who the receptacle is. The male essence or the
female essence or those who express both essences in their
nature.”
“What kind of lover was Alicia?” I asked.
“That was her problem. You know, each person
has give and take within. Alicia would give but she would not take.
A woman must always take, but Alicia would not take.”
I was beginning to see a vague outline of
what he was getting at.
“Was Alicia a good disciple?”
“She was one of my best, except that she
would not take. She threw herself into metaphysics as if it were an
obsession. She was obviously seeking a yang for her yin.”
“You mean a man?” I asked.
He shook his head slowly, almost sadly, and
wagged his finger the way you would at a kid who wet his pants.
“Don’t be so literal. A yang is not necessarily a man. It is a
complement to what is lacking in her being.”
“And tell me what was lacking in her being.”
I was starting to feel like an untutored jackass.
“This we are not privileged to know. One can
never know the inner soul of another person. One only sees the
superficial exterior which may often be misleading.”
He paused and put his hands over his eyes.
“Kundelini…searching for Kundelini.”
“What?”
“Kundelini,” he repeated.
What in the pluperfect hell was he talking
about?
Just about this time, with the incense and
the bayberry and the music and the pot smoke and that goddam root
beer, I was starting to develop a major headache. A really serious
headache. I had an intense craving for a very tall, very cold glass
of beer—any beer from any brewery in Northern Europe or the United
States.
“Tell me,” I tried again. “Would you have any
idea why someone would want to kill Alicia?”
The professor knitted up his brows so that
twin furrows ran up his forehead. He concentrated his gaze on the
flame. “Alicia was not contented. She had not reached spiritual
peace.”
I thought of the people I knew. Neurotic New
Yorkers and people trying to become neurotic New Yorkers. “Many
people haven’t reached spiritual peace,” I said. “What does that
have to do with her death?”
“This unfortunately I cannot tell you.” He
looked at me intently. I couldn’t tell if he was trying to be
sincere or if he was just having me on.
I tried again. “Do you know who supplied her
with cocaine?”
“No.” He shook his head. “We do not use
cocaine. The only narcotic we use is hashish, in keeping with our
beliefs.”
This guy was the master of blue smoke and
mirrors. In a whole lifetime of years, I’d seen few his equal.
“Tell me, who was Alicia’s best friend?”
For the first time, he seemed to come awake.
He smiled to himself and rubbed his beard. “Her best friend and
closest confidant was this person.” He motioned to the girl on the
chest.
“Rachel,” he yelled so loud I almost
jumped.
The girl uncoiled herself from her meditation
and came over to us. The professor craned his neck to look up at
her and gestured vigorously for her to sit down. She lowered
herself gracefully into the lotus position and stared into our
faces. There was the faintest hint of a smile on her lips.
“Rachel,” the professor said, “this man is
looking into the circumstances surrounding the death of Alicia. I
am sure he would appreciate any information you can give him. I,
for my part, have given him as much as I could and I am sure it has
been helpful.”
I tried to give her a reassuring look. I
hoped she had something more concrete than the professor’s sack of
wind. She had finely-etched features and what looked like flawless
skin in the dim light. She was slight and couldn’t have been more
than five-two. An elfin creature. Her hair was dark and straight
and cut short. Her eyes were large and her pupils
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