Sally had been staring at the deck as she spoke, but now she looked up at me with eyes that were shadowed, dark. “Look, Doc, I know that lots of people make fun of religion. Us Born-Again types. We maybe scare them for some reason. But it’s changed my life. I think it saved my life.”
I smiled at her, as I said, “A person who makes fun of anyone’s religion lacks the brains to be taken seriously.”
“It doesn’t bother you that I’ve accepted Jesus as my savior? That I’ve changed?”
Yes, it bothered me that she’d changed, but only because her transformation exceeded any new passion for religion. There was pathology involved-to what degree, I didn’t yet know. But I told her, “We’re friends. So, no, it makes no difference. Right now, I’m more concerned with why you’re here. Something weird’s going on, or the insurance company wouldn’t have hired DeAntoni to follow you.”
Her eyes widened slightly. “My gosh, I’d already forgotten him. He’s going to be here soon, right?”
“If you want to talk to him, yes. If you don’t, no problem. I’ll send him away.”
She said, “That’s another symptom, by the way. More inappropriate behavior. A bad memory, a short attention span.”
She walked across the deck, retrieved her purse from a teak table and checked her watch. “No wonder,” she said. “I forgot to take my medication. The doctor’s been giving me Neurontin, plus some Valium. That’s how bad Shiva’s group screwed me up. Shiva. I even hate the sound of his name.”
Her smile seemed too theatrical, her laughter too loud, as she added, “But the pills can’t work if Miss Forgetful doesn’t remember to take her meds on schedule!”
chapter six
Izzy
Lying on a table in a steam room built of herbal wood and tile, Shiva opened his eyes, lifted his left arm toward his eyes and looked at a bare wrist.
He’d dozed during the massage, and now remembered: His watch was outside, on the vanity.
To the oldest of the three women attending to him, he said, “Sister Mary, please check. What time is it?”
The women were naked beneath white robes, but Mary still wore her rubber Timex.
“It’s a little after six, Teacher.”
Shiva closed his eyes again, relaxing. The office at his Ashram Center in downtown San Francisco closed at five on Fridays, and he had a conference call scheduled with the office manger and two advisors at four-fifteen Pacific time. The Sacramento Bee had just published the last of a scathing, three-part series on the International Church of Ashram Meditation Center, in which three former women disciples claimed they had been drugged with something, then raped by “one or more church leaders.”
There were quotes from the L.A. County District Attorney’s Office promising an investigation, and quotes from an IRS spokesman saying that the personal files of Bhagwan Shiva and the files of the San Francisco Ashram were already being subpoenaed.
Devastating.
But they hadn’t ruined him yet, The American legal system, Shiva knew, was a calculator of wile, not a scale of justice, and it could be manipulated-if you had enough money.
He needed cash. Lots of cash. He knew how to get it.
Shiva stretched, irked by yet another problem. He had about an hour before the conference call, then he had to meet with Izzy again, go over some details. So why not enjoy the little bit of free time? One of the maxims he required all initiates to learn was a favorite: Grasp the moment and you will capture eternity.
Something to relax him, that’s what he needed. Something beyond a massage.
To Mary, he said, “My sister, please tell me. This person, the pale blonde-” He used his finger to point at a girl who could have been sixteen, could have been twenty. “Is she new? I don’t remember seeing her in the compound. What’s her name?”
When the blonde began to answer, “I’m Kirsten Williams from Lauderdale-,” she was shouted down by the older woman, who yelled, “You may not address Shiva directly. Have you already forgotten? Until you finish Basic Auditing, you’re not even alive. ”
“Temper, my dear Mary,” Shiva said. “Learn patience. Be patient, and our cause will be stronger.”
The older woman bowed at the waist, touching both palms to her forehead-an ancient gesture of deference. “I know, Teacher. But I work so hard with these new ones. It’s like my words bounce off their idiotic heads.”
To the blonde, Shiva said, “You have not yet been given a name.”
Sister Mary said, “She is worthless, so she is nameless. It will be another three weeks before she has earned a name.”
“How did she come to us?”
“Another runaway. Tired of the imaginary world, no place else to go.”
“Have the parents tried to find her? Or friends?”
“The father came twice. We sent him away.”
Shiva addressed the girl. “I give you permission to speak to me. Are you happy here?”
“I… I think so.”
“Do you understand that I care more for you now, about your happiness and spiritual contentment, than your mother or your father ever cared?”
“Yes… I’d like to believe that.”
Shiva said, “Please remove your robe.”
He watched the girl hesitate, then pull the white robe over her head, willing but self-conscious. He looked at her for a few moments, smiling, before he said, “God has given you a beautiful body. It’s a gift to be shared. Your breasts-like white pears tipped with berries. My body desires my hands to touch them. Come closer, girl.”
Averting her eyes, the pale blonde moved uneasily from Bhagwan Shiva’s feet to his side, her breathing slightly more rapid as the man’s long fingers moved up the ridges of her ribs, and touched the underside of her right breast. Then he squeezed her left breast, fingers creating streaks of sweat on the swollen curvature of flesh.
His tone still conversational, he said to Mary, “What level are you now running in your search for enlightenment?”
“I’m at Level Three. I hope to soon advance.”
“Excellent, ” said the Bhagwan.
He looked at the older woman. She’d been his bed partner many times. Though she was never outwardly jealous of other disciples, having her so close was taking the pleasure out of touching the blonde.
“Sister Mary,” he said. “Please take your assistant and leave me with this nameless thing.”
Two hours later, showered, dressed in white linen, sitting at the desk in his bedroom office, Shiva listened to Izzy say,
“I’ve decided on two explosions, not three. Each one a chain of several smaller blasts. For effect, I’m saying. That’s why I came back, to let you know.”
Shiva said, “ You decided.”
“That’s right, me. I decided. Two’s risky enough. I’ve done the research. I can explain it if you want. Two blasts, seven days, maybe fourteen days apart-no longer. Then I’m out of here.”
Using great patience to emphasize his sarcasm, Shiva said, “Do you mind if I know the dates? I should probably know the dates-since I’m risking the future of my entire fucking organization. ”
Used to Shiva, his bullying, Izzy remained composed. “Just give me the word. Sunday, if you want. Day after tomorrow. The first will be small. A series of three or four minor blasts-we don’t want too much attention. The second will be the big boom. Earthquake in the Everglades.”
The reality of it-it was going to happen -startled Shiva. He’d been thinking about the illusion for three years; planning, doing the groundwork, seeding it in people’s minds for more than two years.
Now here it was. He said to Izzy, “You’re serious.”
“Yep. Serious as an undertaker. Did it all by my lonesome, no witnesses, no helpers, no baggage.”
Izzy had been busy during his month away, on the road.
Shiva said the word softly- Sunday -then louder, showing some enthusiasm. “Okay. Okay. Day after tomorrow. April thirteenth, that’s Palm Sunday, isn’t it? I like that. The sooner we do it, the sooner I see results.”