Neon Lotus by Marc Laidlaw Read Free Book Online

least
he’d had an hour away with her, sharing in the shopping. They hadn’t spoken
much, except when haggling with the grocers. Peter had no idea how expensive
food had become. It was good for him to see for himself where the Fellowship’s
money went, and why it went so quickly.
    As she
passed through the swinging doors into the kitchen, she felt a hand tugging at
her skirt. “Mommy!”
    “Hello,
Marianne.”
    She picked
up her daughter, leaving the carts by the door to be unloaded, and went through
the kitchen talking to the cooks. The utility co-op—a skeleton of the former
gas and electric company—had extended gas privileges to the church. Peter had
had to be talked out of refusing the preferential treatment, which he
considered unjust when practically everyone else in the city shivered and ate
cold food.
    Little
Marianne received treats from nearly every cook: a slice of fresh baked bread,
a sliver of roast chicken. She observed the kitchen with the wide green eyes
she had inherited from Kate. Her hair was blonde, like Peter’s, and she had his
way of fixing on vacant air with a look of intense absorption.
    “Where’s
Daddy?”
    “He’s
getting things ready for tonight.”
    “What’s
tonight?”
    “The
dedication ceremony.”
    “What’s
that?”
    “It’s where
we bless the church and open it up again.”
    “Why did it
close?”
    “Because of
the earthquakes, silly. The steeple fell down. Why do you think we’ve worked so
hard rebuilding it?”
    “I don’t know.
Why?”
    “I just told
you why.”
    “Can I get
down?”
    Marianne ran
from the kitchen into the crowded reception area. Kate followed, looking out
for any odd task that needed doing. It pleased her to keep busy. When all the
work was done, it would be time to move on. She had grown fond of San
Francisco, with its winters clear as crystal and its frigid summer weather.
    Two
strangers came through the front door as she entered the lobby. For a moment,
seeing them, she was transported to another time, another place.
    Memories of
India rushed back to her. The smell of dust and human waste, asafetida and
incense; the constant heat and the even more oppressive evidence of drought,
famine, and starvation. She never hoped to see so much death again, or walk
through such a living hell. It was no wonder the East had evolved the religions
it had, with their emphases on suffering, impermanence, and the mercy of
annihilation; with their vision of the human body as nothing more than a
stinking bag of guts.
    But there
had also been the cool highlands, the hill country—Dharamsala.
    Something in
the demeanor of the two newcomers reminded her more of that place than of the
baking plains.
    They wore
simple burgundy robes over vermilion shirts, and carried rosaries of dark beads
wrapped around their wrists. They were dark men with black hair, although the
older man’s hair and mustache were speckled with gray and he walked somewhat
slowly.
    As Kate
moved to greet them, she heard Peter calling out. “Chokyi! I’m glad you made
it.”
    Peter spotted
Kate as he pressed through the crowd. “Kate, these are friends from the Kagyu
temple. Tibetan Buddhists.”
    “I thought
so,” she replied.
    “They were
kind enough to come offer their blessings at the dedication ceremony. This is
Lama Nyinje Rinpoche. He’s visiting from Sikkim.”
    Kate bowed
to the elderly man, who gave her a beautiful if crooked smile.
    “And
Chokyi.”
    She held out
her hand to the younger Tibetan, who was full-faced, smiling, plump. “I am
charmed,” he said.
    As Kate
smiled at the elder Lama, searching for appropriate words, Marianne pushed her
way between her parents. When she saw the Lama, a cloud passed over her
expression and she grew very solemn. She pressed her hands together as if in
prayer, then put them to her forehead, lips, and breast, finally bowing as low
as she could before the old man.
    Peter winked
at Kate. “Very nice, Marianne,” he said.
    She