Neon Lotus by Marc Laidlaw Read Free Book Online Page A

felt
curiously relieved to know that he must have taught Marianne the formal
gestures, which seemed to make their guests feel welcome.
    Lama Nyinje put
out his hand so that Marianne could take hold of it. She led him toward the
chapel.
    “I wonder if
I should go with them,” Kate said.
    “Don’t
worry,” said Peter. “She’ll give him the grand tour. Could you show Chokyi the
order of the ceremony, so he can translate for Lama Nyinje? I have to supervise
a work crew.”
    Kate nodded.
As Peter walked away, she turned to Chokyi. “Do you want to come with me?”
    “Peter tells
me that you two met in India,” Chokyi said as they worked their way down the
crowded hall toward the rooms at the back of the building.
    “That’s
right. Nearly four years ago. He came back to California with me and we got
married.”
    “And your
daughter?”
    “She’s three
now.” Kate smiled, thinking of their nights in Dharamsala. Marianne had been
conceived in the hill town, although they hadn’t known it at the time. Those
memories were a melange of pleasure and strange fears. She had felt so lost
then, cut loose from everything familiar to her as she set foot on a new path
that she would share with Peter. In addition, there had been the murder in the
hotel, the man with three eyes, the strangeness of the funeral procession.
    She had not
thought of these things in ages. The appearance of the Tibetans had stirred up
a flurry of memories.
    “Have you
been to Dharamsala?” she asked.
    He nodded.
“Most exiled Tibetans make a pilgrimage at least once in their lives, now that
Tibet itself is closed. I grew up in India, but times were hard, especially for
Tibetans. After more than a century and a half, we are still refugees. Things
change so slowly there; the culture is huge, stubborn, and very discriminatory.
I stayed in school as long as I could bear it, then ran away to the mountains.”
    Kate nodded.
“India exasperated me, too. But Dharamsala was a very special place. My life
changed there.”
    He smiled
sweetly. “Mine, too. I went to Dharamsala as an activist. The Tibetan Youth
Congress attracted me. For months I kept busy agitating and arguing politics
with new friends. But then something happened. It was gradual. I think it was
the town—some presence there, the ghost of the Fourteenth Dalai Lama, the power
of Chenrezi. I fell out with my companions and began frequenting the temples,
praying as I had not prayed since I was a child, searching for some
understanding that my political sophistication could not give me. I found an
old monk willing to miss a few pujas in order to argue with me. Not long after
that, I took my vows.” He shrugged. “I am still an activist, but I have found
different ways of working with my mind and heart. Fighting China is like
beating one’s head against a mountain. I’m convinced that suicidal campaigns
will never liberate Tibet.”
    Kate could
not find the list she sought, so they had to turn back in search of someone who
might have a copy. On their way to the reception room, they met Lama Nyinje. He
was carrying Marianne in his arms and regarding her with a delighted
expression.
    “Let me take
her,” Kate said. “She’s getting too heavy to carry around.”
    As the Lama
handed her over, he said a few words to Chokyi. A brief, incomprehensible
conversation ensued.
    “She wasn’t
any trouble, I hope,” said Kate.
    Chokyi
looked puzzled. “Lama Nyinje asks where she learned to speak Tibetan.”
    Kate didn’t
answer for a moment. The hall was full of noise and she thought she had heard
him incorrectly.
    “I’m sorry?”
she said.
    Lama Nyinje
spoke another, slower string of musical syllables to Chokyi, whose eyes widened
steadily.
    “He says
that Marianne has been speaking to him in Tibetan, asking some very pointed
questions.”
    “I don’t
understand.” She looked at Marianne and for a moment she found herself looking
at someone unfamiliar, someone utterly strange and remote. It