“I couldn’t stand you telling me I was living my life wrong, or that I’d grow out of it, or that I was an idiot.”
He wanted to say, “I never said anything of the sort,” but instead he watched while Radha lit a cigarette and blew a cloud of smoke out in front of her, a cow’s breath on a Cambridgeshire paddock.
“Give me one,” he said.
“No.”
Chandra stopped, picked up a small flat stone, and threw it into the trees. He hadn’t thrown in a long time. It hurt his shoulder. Radha picked up one too and threw it. When she was little they would go down to the lake and have competitions. Sometimes they’d pretend there was a monster in the water, “the Loch Ness Tyrannosaurus,” and the game would be to hit its head. Jasmine had never liked games like that, and Sunny was always too competitive. He’d had more fun with Radha.
The road began to rise up the mountainside.
“Take it easy, Dad,” said Radha. “You’re really not supposed to walk on the first day here. The altitude.”
“Now you tell me.”
He put his hand on her shoulder, breathing hard. The sky looked transparent.
“So,” he said, coughing. “What does he do, this Marco?”
“We’re breaking up. I thought you got that.” She tossed her cigarette and stepped on it. “He’s a lawyer.”
“What kind of lawyer?”
“The rich kind.”
“How about you? You working?”
“Not much these days. Activism still.”
“Oh,” he said, wondering if she was a part of the “Antifa” that he had read so much about. “That sounds interesting.”
“It was, kind of, but I got fed up with it all. That’s why I came here early, to have a think about it.”
“Oh,” he said. “You decide anything?”
“Only that there’s no point preaching to the converted. But also no point trying to change people who don’t want to change.”
“Yes,” said Chandra, wondering if she was talking about him.
“I decided self-care’s the most important thing. Everything else flows from that. But I still want to make a contribution. If we all do nothing…”
Chandra was desperate to suggest going back to university, a decent master’s degree at a good institution, which he would happily finance. He tried to focus on walking.
When they were halfway up the hill they got a glimpse of what could only have been Sunny’s rental home. It was built from stone, no bigger than any suburban house, but with spiral towers on both sides and mock battlements at the top. A small creek ran through the front yard, a miniature drawbridge over it.
“For fuck’s sake,” said Radha.
Radha and Sunny had stopped fighting after Sunny moved to Hong Kong, but they often spoke to each other with cold contempt. They still shared a mutual concern for one another’s well-being, but the sort one had for a terminally ill prisoner released on compassionate grounds.
Jean met them at the door, holding a cup of tea. She kissed Radha on the cheek and made as if to shake Chandra’s hand before hugging him. They entered a cavernous living room with a bare Christmas tree in one corner and two leather sofas in the middle facing a TV that covered most of one wall. A Jack Lemmon film was playing.
“Hey,” said Sunny, coming down the stairs wearing jogging pants and a crisply ironed white shirt (a look Chandra had all but patented over the last forty years).
“Hi,” said Chandra, hugging him and asking, sotto voce, “Where’s Steve?”
“Out walking,” said Sunny, his voice reassuringly cold.
Jean sat on the sofa holding a cup of tea on her lap. “So how have you been, Charles?” she asked.
Chandra was about to answer when he noticed the look of wariness on Sunny’s face. This was the first time he had seen his parents in the same room for a very long time.
“Sunny,” said Chandra, “this place is incredible.”
“My assistant found it,” said Sunny. “I thought we’d need a space just for us.”
This was their original family, he realized, the four of them from before Jasmine was born, sitting together in a room. For all the sadness and discomfort, this was something. But now Chandra could hear Steve singing in the hallway, his voice deep and loud. “Lo, lo, lo, la, la.” The alpha back from the hunt.
“Hello, all,” said Steve, lolling a final bar. “Hello, Chandrasekhar.”
Chandra stood and shook Steve’s hand, aware that Radha and Sunny were watching him.
“Nice to see you, Steve,” said Chandra.
Steve wasn’t wearing his Californian attire today, just a gray sweater and jeans, an average white guy on an average day.
“This place is almost like Rishikesh,” said Steve. “Well, I suppose it’s nothing like Rishikesh at all, but you know what I mean. To think I never knew Cove existed.”
“I’m thinking of reserving a plot for the IMB,” said Sunny. “We’d fit in here.”
“No, you wouldn’t,” said Radha. “These are spiritual centers.”
“As are we—”
“You run a business school.”
“The whole world’s about business,” said Sunny. “We can’t change that. But we can change the way we do business.”
Radha raised her eyes to the heavens. Chandra wondered if she knew how fragile Sunny was these days. It didn’t look like it.
“Does it remind you of Esalen, Chandrasekhar?” said Steve, sitting on the arm of the sofa beside Jean. “The vibe?”
“My god!” said Jean, “I forgot to ask you. How was it?”
“Actually, I know all about it already,” said Steve, tapping his nose. “Got my sources. Heard you kicked up quite a storm.”
“Well, hardly.”
“It’s wonderful, Chandrasekhar,” said Steve. “You’ve taken your first steps into a wider world.”
Chandra dug his nails into his palm.
“It’s a beautiful place, isn’t it?” said Steve. “I miss it. When I lived there the therapies were even more confrontational, brutal, you could say, like having a mirror pressed right up into your face. Can’t say I always liked what I saw.”
“Yes,” said Radha. “I can imagine.”
He felt the edge of Radha’s hand against his, remembered shouting her name into the sea.
“It was very beneficial,” said Chandra.
They ate lunch in the open-plan kitchen with its view of the valley through patio doors. Chandra could not talk. All his words seemed to have descended into his heart. He found himself alternating between annoyance and relief that Steve was there.
“She seems to be settling in splendidly,” said Chandra, a from-the-rough nonsequitur that everyone understood.
“She’s doing very well,” said Jean.
“And she can re-sit,” said Sunny. “If she wants to.”
“In a way it’s a good thing this happened,” said Steve. “It means she won’t go off the rails later in life.”
“There’s a Christmas party tomorrow, Charles,” said Jean. “Outside the monastery. At Saul’s house.”
“Then dinner here,” said Sunny. “Just the family.”
Radha wandered onto the patio and lit a cigarette while Jean dished up shortbread with ice cream. Chandra put on his coat and scarf and joined his daughter.
“I went through hell when I gave up smoking,” he said.
“I’ve told myself I’ll stop when I’m thirty-five, or when I have a baby.”
Radha looked the same to Chandra, except for the hair. He couldn’t imagine her being thirty-five, or pregnant, let alone his age.
“So things are really over with this—”
“Marco. Yes.”
He wanted to hug her as he had hugged Pam, to tell her that he couldn’t assure her that everything
was going to be all right, but that he loved her and always would.
“Did you think about a PhD?” he said. “It might be a good time to…”
Radha tossed her cigarette into the snow, and stared at the valley. He knew he shouldn’t have said anything, that she was angry now, but he couldn’t help it. This was the way it would go, the way it always went. When she turned to leave he had no choice but to follow her back into the house.
Sunny was doing the dishes and Steve and Jean were upstairs, Skyping with Steve’s relatives. Chandra sat in the living room by himself, changing channels on the television while Radha helped her brother in the kitchen. Sometimes it seemed that the two of them could only get on well when there were no adults around, as if their bickering was only a performance for the older generation. They were flicking water at one another now, doing impressions of characters from The Muppet Show. If only he could have kept them like this.
Chandra found an old Cary Grant movie, and lay down on the sofa. To his surprise, he awoke an hour later with a duvet over his body, remembering nothing of the film. It was charcoal gray outside, that early winter evening treachery.
Sunny was sitting on the other sofa, looking at his iPad.
“Where is everyone?” said Chandra.
“They’re all back at the mon,” said Sunny, not looking up. “Want me to drop you?”
“Sure.”
Chandra did not move. He was too exhausted. Sunny put his iPad down, seeming more relaxed now that they were alone.
“Are you all right, Dad?”
“Overwhelmed,” said Chandra.
“At seeing Rad?”
“At everything.”
They sat in silence for several minutes, the only sound coming from an owl somewhere outside. It pleased Chandra that Sunny could be himself when the two of them were together, but he worried for his son. It must be exhausting to have to wear such heavy armor in public.
“He’s pompous, isn’t he?” said Sunny. “Steve, I mean.”
“Yes, he is,” said Chandra. “But he means well.”
“It’s weird, seeing him with Mum.”
“I’m sorry, Sunny,” said Chandra. “This must be hard.”
“I’m more worried for you.”
“And I’m worried about Radha,” said Chandra. “I don’t know how to talk to her.”
“Well, now is your chance.”
They put on their coats and scarves and drove back to the monastery, past the Hindu ashram and Saul and Dolores’s house. Chandra still had no idea what to say to Radha. They had spent so many years arguing about politics that it felt as if they had no other way of communicating.
When he knocked on Radha’s door he found her meditating on the floor, an Indian shawl over her shoulders.
“Oh,” he said. “Sorry.”
“Come in, Dad,” said Radha.
They sat opposite one another again, Chandra fidgeting, playing with the spot where his wedding ring used to be. Radha was doing exactly the same although, so far as he knew, she had never worn a ring. It was probably a gesture she’d learned from him. She’d even held her cigarette the way he used to. They had the same scowl too, the same laugh.
“Why are you so angry with me?” said Chandra.
She looked away. “I’m not. I was. I’m not now.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“Because you believe in Marxism and I believe in trade. So what? I am not a fascist. Could you imagine me sending people to their deaths?”
“No,” said Radha softly. “I could imagine Prakash Uncle doing that.”
“Oh,” he said. “Oh, well, that’s different.”
“I thought I was rebelling against you, but I just went from one big man to another.”
“I’m not like that now. I know what you’re talking about, but I am not like that now.”
“It was never about politics, Dad.”
“What then? Tell me.”
“Dad, I can’t deal with this at the moment. Later, all right?”
“You can’t deal with anyone, Radha. Instead of dealing, you just disappear.”
“Dad, stop it, please. We’ll talk about this later.”
“Look what happened to Jasmine, Radha. Think what I’ve been through. And all you want to do is torment me.”
“No, Dad, that’s not it at all. But can we just talk about this later?”
“And you smoke, and you swear at me, and you think it’s fine. ‘The old bastard, just say anything. He has no feelings.’ ”
This was the way he always used to talk to her, and he was slipping back into it. They were too close, Radha and he, too similar; it made him less guarded, as if it didn’t matter what he said.
“I know you have feelings, Dad, and I won’t smoke or swear in front of you if it bothers you so much. I just have a headache now and I’m tired and I think I’m getting a cold and this is too much. I do want to talk to you, but not like this, not now.”
“You said in your email that you were sorry.”
“I am. But only for not being in touch. That was wrong of me.”
“You’ve been so pampered. It’s my fault. I brought you up to be like this. If I talked to this Marco of yours he would say the same thing, I’m sure.”
“I have to get out of here.”
Radha moved toward the door, slowly, but with all the finality of an ocean liner heading out to sea.
“No, Radha,” he said. “Come on. Let’s talk this over.”
“Dad,” said Radha. “It’s fine. I’m just going to dinner. We can talk later.”
“No, Radha. Come on.”
“Dad,” she said, her hand on the doorknob. “I’m just going to have fucking dinner. Jesus Christ, I can’t believe you brought Marco into it!”
“Yes, yes, I am not allowed to say anything.”
“It’s because of you, Dad. If I hadn’t had this giant patriarch for a father I wouldn’t have gone from one fucking abusive man to another. You get it now?”
“What do you mean, ‘abusive’? You are calling me an abuser?”
“Yes.”
He stood up. “How dare you.”
Radha left. The burst of night air was sharp and cold. Chandra pressed his hands to his face, wanting to pull out his hair. Instead he sat on the bed and punched the pillow several times before standing, smoothing out the creases in his blazer and trousers, and heading for the main building.
It was much colder now, and just as dark as last night. Without the storage lamps he would have been quite lost. Reaching the main building he kicked off his shoes and squinted through the glass door until he caught sight of Radha. She was pointing at the painting of the Japanese demon and laughing. Her eyes were still so huge. He’d had a song about them when she was little. “Big eyes, big eyes, they’re better than the TV/ Big eyes, big eyes, you’re getting very sleepy.”
Professor Chandra wanted to leave but he couldn’t find his shoes anymore. It was too dark, and though there were several pairs there, none seemed to belong to him. He started kicking them in frustration before giving up and shoving a pair of boots onto his feet, not bothering with the laces, not caring who they belonged to. He stumbled through the darkness to his cabin and, once outside, took the boots off and threw them as far as he could into the trees.
Inside, he bolted the door and climbed down the stepladder before throwing himself onto the bed and closing his eyes.
PROFESSOR CHANDRA AWOKE ON Christmas morning. The snowcapped mountains were clearer today, leaning over the monastery like inquisitive old men. Chandra walked to the zendō in his tennis shoes, finding his calfskin brogues in the lobby of the main building and remembering how he had hurled some poor unfortunate’s boots into the snow. He would look for them later, assuming they weren’t a
lready submerged. It had snowed afresh in the night.
Jasmine was in the kitchen unloading the dishwasher. She was wearing jeans and a cotton shirt, but with her inch-long hair she still looked monkish to Chandra’s eyes.
“Merry Christmas, Dad,” she said.
“Merry Christmas, Jasmine.”
“Dad,” said Jasmine. “There’s something you should know. Radha’s gone. She left before zazen. I mean, her suitcase is still in the room, but her phone’s off, and she’s not at Sunny’s.”
“Oh, my God,” he said.
“Dad, it’s all right. Look, here’s Mum.”
Jean was striding into the room, taking off her woolly hat and stuffing it into her pocket, blowing on her fingers. Steve followed behind her in a yellow jumpsuit, which made Chandra think of Goldfinger.
“Morning, Charles. Morning, Jaz. Merry Christmas.”
“Radha’s gone,” said Chandra. “We had a fight.”
“Oh, Charles,” said Jean. “Not again.”
“It isn’t like that, Mum,” said Jasmine. “She’ll be back.”
Chandra thought of Pam, of how when she walked out of the workshop the others had assured him she would return, and how when she did he had been glad he hadn’t suppressed his feelings. But this was Radha. When Radha stormed out of a room it could take years for her to return.
“It is like that,” said Chandra. “I’m sorry, Jean.”
“Oh, Charles,” said Jean, and pressed his arm although, he noticed, she wouldn’t look him in the eye. “You mustn’t push it.”
“I know,” he said. “I know that now.”
“She’s too strong-willed, that one,” said Jean. “She’s just as dramatic as you are, Charles.”
“So let’s go look for her,” said Steve. “Come on, Chandrasekhar, what do you say? Here comes the cavalry?”
“If she’s hitchhiked she could be anywhere,” said Jean, who used to hitchhike herself, a habit that, in Professor Chandra’s opinion, was about as sensible as taking meth.
“Nonsense,” said Steve. “She’ll be out walking somewhere and we’ll bring her back, won’t we, Chandrasekhar?”
“Yes,” said Chandra, looking at the ground. “Yes, we will.”
Professor Chandra Follows His Bliss Page 25