Paul laid the platter of chicken on the dining room table and sat down opposite Maggie. Jenn, still wobbly on her sore ankle, sat at her customary place on the long side of the table between them. This would be the earliest he’d eaten dinner in weeks.
After Hope Caldwell had left his office, he had wanted to talk to Irene about Stamford’s move, but she’d been on duty. So he’d taken an early train home, surprising Maggie at four forty-five. She had seemed annoyed, furrowing her brow and fussing about not having enough chicken. So he had gone to the supermarket. Returning with another bird and two bottles of wine, he’d hung around the kitchen, his shoulder wedged against the cool yellow tile, while she prepared the food. Such a silly, inefficient kitchen. No cabinets; the fridge out in the hall. Every time he went into the pantry to search for something that should be at hand, he’d rip the kitchen apart mentally and rearrange the fixtures. More than once he’d threatened to hire a handyman to install cabinets, but Maggie claimed that she liked the kitchen as it was. So crazy tiled it remained.
Leaning on the doorframe, he watched her practiced movements: cutting, chopping, sautéing, while pots hissed on the stove and a timer clamored for attention. Maggie glided from stove to counter to fridge, her forehead wrinkled in concentration, talking all the while about Jenn’s new interest in vegetables. He didn’t really listen, his mind spinning tasks for the research crew plus one. A gingery smell rose from a pot on the stove. You could always count on Maggie for a good meal. She spooned a lumpy brown concoction from the pot into a bowl and arranged chicken parts on a platter. He carried the platter to the table, just as he had done when Jenn was little and he came home at five from a less demanding job.
“How come so early, Dad?” Jenn asked as they passed the bowl of brown whatever.
“It was a different kind of day. Administrative stuff. I couldn’t make it into the wet lab, so I came home to see how you’re doing.”
“My ankle feels better every day.” She smiled a real smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Arun called from the city. He’s coming next weekend. Will you be home?”
“Count on it.” He wanted to say more, but Maggie looked daggers at him. As they ate curried potatoes—the brown goop—and chicken sauté, Jenn talked about learning to cook vegetarian at one of the ashrams she’d visited. She offered to prepare the meals when Arun came, promising they would like the flavors. Paul grilled her about getting enough protein. Jenn patted his arm and told him to have faith in her knowledge of nutrition. When they finished eating, Maggie cleared the plates and Paul gathered the bowl and platter, telling Jenn she was off KP until she stopped hobbling.
Paul followed Maggie into the kitchen and placed his load on the countertop. He waited as Maggie consolidated the leavings and scraped them into the trash. As the sink filled with water, she turned to face him. “Why are you standing there?”
Paul grunted. She had such a nose for trouble. He might as well lay it out. “Your buddy Stamford is interfering again.”
“Oh. I thought you were worried about Jenn’s guy.” She began loading the dishwasher, but he knew she was listening.
“He’s pushing me to hire the niece of one of his donors, and he’s threatening to hold back the overhead unless I do.” He could feel the adrenaline enter his bloodstream.
“Tell me more.”
“There’s nothing more. He’s an unethical SOB.”
Maggie wiped her hands on a dish towel. “Robert wouldn’t want to jeopardize the work. Maybe this person could do the job.”
Why, he thought, does she always take Stamford’s side? Irene would stick pins in his effigy. “Yeah, but it’s my team. The chemistry’s damn good, and I want it to stay that way.”
She turned back to the sink. “Do you have someone else in mind? You could convince Robert the hospital would be better off with your person.”
“No one yet. I just started to interview.”
“Surely he’ll wait while you search. Have you contacted all your colleagues? They’ll know someone good who needs a job.” She poured detergent into the cup and closed the lid.
He considered her suggestion. Perhaps he could steal someone from another lab, someone with enough experience of the right kind to justify the hire. But he would need to offer a bigger salary and word would spread like plague, pissing off the rest of his researchers. Then there was the question of Hope Caldwell herself. She could probably do most of the job if he supervised closely—and she could handle Alicia with one hand tied behind her back. Pushy broad. Hard muscles under soft cashmere. Attractive all right. But he didn’t need complications now that the definitive experiments lay just ahead.
“I’ll look into it.” Paul headed for the hallway and the door to his basement office. A solution to the Hope Caldwell problem might lie among his contacts. He’d deal with Jenn’s boyfriend later.
SEVEN
The man who stepped off the train on Saturday afternoon looked more like a banker than a guru: medium height, stocky build, wearing a navy blue blazer over golf shirt and Dockers, indeterminate age. He gave Jenn a chaste kiss, then reached out to shake Paul’s hand. Another surprise: a corporate handshake, strong and almost too long. Untidy black hair, skin a few shades darker than Paul’s, large brown eyes looking steadily into his. Not a great physical specimen, Paul thought, but Jenn had never cared about looks.
Paul hefted Arun’s suitcase and pointed toward his car parked in the station lot. As they walked, Arun tucked Jenn’s arm into the crook of his elbow. Paul thought the gesture far too possessive. He hadn’t coddled Maggie when they were courting. Then again, Jenn still limped a bit. She seemed to like hanging onto Arun’s arm. And his every word.
They made the drive back to the house in ten minutes, Jenn asking about Arun’s week in New York, Arun replying in a soft voice, rolling his r’s. Paul couldn’t quite follow the conversation. It seemed they were speaking in code, like a long-married couple. He stopped listening. Too painful.
Maggie stood on the front steps, waiting to greet them. Paul lifted Arun’s bag from the trunk and followed the others into the living room. Maggie bustled: seating them on the sofa, asking about drinks, mumbling about Arun’s not having an overcoat should the weekend turn cold. Arun said that living in India had acclimated him to all kinds of weather, and he assured Maggie that he would be comfortable. Paul’s hackles rose; he didn’t trust any man who made small talk. He sat silently while Jenn laid out plans for the weekend and Maggie went to get drinks.
It was warm for November. A few dry leaves drifted in through the open porch doors. Paul had wanted to enclose the porch years earlier, but Maggie liked the way the breeze flowed through in summer. The house was her turf; she picked the furniture, she bought the groceries, she entertained his colleagues and his brother the few times he’d come east. She could do whatever she wanted with the house, Paul thought, but she shouldn’t coddle this oily guy leaning on their daughter. He hoped the weather would turn nasty and show Arun up.
As Maggie finished serving coffee and tea, the phone rang and she left the room. Paul leaped into the conversation.
“Where are you from?”
Arun placed his teacup on the table and folded hands in his lap. “My parents are both physicians in India.”
“No, I mean where are you from?”
Arun smiled, his round, brown cheeks bunching into balls. “Ah, the better question. I was born in Bangalore and went to school in California. I am a naturalized American citizen, but I’ve spent the last nine years in India and Nepal, and something of the culture there has transfused me.”
Oh lord, Paul thought. He talks like Robert Stamford.
“I studied economics in college, but I minored in Eastern philosophy, to learn more about the stories from Hindu mythology my mother used to tell us. I confess that I found Kabir far more alluring than Keynes.” He paused, glancing at Jenn. “I’ve been lucky to find my calling. And to be able to share it.”
“What’s your calling
exactly?” Paul saw Jenn reach for Arun’s hand. She settled back into the couch, an expectant look on her face. He noticed how unusually still she had become. Maggie emerged in the doorway, laid a plate of cheese and crackers on the coffee table, and slipped into the chair opposite his.
“At the basic level, I translate the wisdom of the ancient Hindu into concepts accessible to everyone. Many others have done this, but my system seems to work for young people. I take a technical approach.”
“So you only use a hundred forty characters at a time,” Paul said.
Arun and Jenn laughed together. Jenn said, “Not technological, Dad, technical. Arun turns philosophy into science.”
“That’s not possible.”
Maggie interjected, “Can you give an example? We’ll understand better.” She leaned forward, picked up the cheese plate, and offered it to Arun, who shook his head no. She replaced the plate. Paul knew she wouldn’t touch the food herself, never did between meals. Queen of willpower. He helped himself to a chunk of cheddar.
Arun crossed his legs, the khaki cloth pulling tight over his thick thighs. “Certainly. For millennia the sages defined human character as having two components, the physiology with which one is born, and the accumulation of one’s actions in the external world, karma. Nature and nurture, one would say today. The sages had methods for balancing the two that predate modern psychology. Some would say they improve upon it.”
“That’s not science,” Paul said. “Science makes predictions and tests them. All that I Ching stuff looks backwards, not forwards.”
Arun tipped his head in acknowledgment. “Indeed, Dr. Adler. I hope to see the day when biology can predict the details of human character. But in the meantime, the sages have something to offer.”
Jenn said, “Just because science hasn’t caught up with them doesn’t mean the sages are wrong.”
Maggie spoke up, “So it’s like acupuncture? It works even if we don’t know why?”
“You can measure the results of acupuncture,” Paul said. “It’s testable.”
Arun said, “We measure the results of our work in terms of the improvement our clients make in the conduct of their lives.”
Maggie said, “What do you tell them to do?”
Arun said, “We don’t tell them to do. We help them to be. When I first began to study the sages, I could not imagine how their wisdom could translate into practice, especially for young people, some leading very harsh lives indeed. But I discovered that I could formulate a series of questions that can be applied to most forms of human experience. I was equally astounded and delighted when children began begging to talk with me.”
Jenn said, “You’d be amazed at how much happier they get.”
Paul replied, “I’d be amazed if it made a lasting difference.”
Maggie cut in, “How is what you do different from psychotherapy?”
“It is not based on the concept of the ego asserted by Western thinkers. We see the human spirit in rounder terms.” He sat straighter, as if preparing to teach. “We believe that people must respect themselves as embodiments of the divine, or the laws of nature, if you prefer, in order to respect others, and nature itself. That respect is the source of all morality and also of happiness, in the highest sense. We help people appreciate the simple, wonderful fact of existence, and that liberates them.”
Maggie rose abruptly. “You must want to unpack and settle in. We can talk more at dinner. I’ll show you your room.” The men stood. Maggie picked her way around the coffee table and Arun followed, retrieving his suitcase from the foyer where Paul had left it. Jenn beckoned to Paul to take Arun’s place next to her on the sofa.
“Arun’s very subtle, Dad. It’ll take you a while to understand his thinking. Believe me, he makes wonderful sense. People who follow him live good lives. Including me.” When Paul did not sit, she stood to face him. “Please give him a chance.”
“He’s your guy. I’ll get to know him.” He laid his arm across her shoulders and gave a reassuring squeeze. “But science is my bailiwick.”
“I’m the one who said ‘science,’ not Arun. It’s one of the ways I explain his ideas to people. Don’t hold my wording against him.” Jenn’s voice pleaded, but her eyes were steady.
“Okay, kiddo. I’ll keep an open mind.” He suspected he wouldn’t though. Couldn’t, in the face of the mumbo jumbo–rhubarb rhubarb bound to come. Jenn’s adolescent fascination with punky kids and nerdy kids had amused him. This was different.
“Arun graduated at the top of his class at Cal Tech. He could have taken one of the cushy jobs he was offered, but he’s too much of a humanist. He followed his heart to India. He’s one of the few people I’ve ever met who’s going to change the world.”
“Fine. You can tell me about it later. I’m gonna do some work. Call me for dinner.” He headed for the basement, grabbing his sweater from the rack by the door to fend off the underground chill. No one was scheduled to work in the lab that night. Too bad. He would have enjoyed sparring with Tim on the phone. In the lab, with the crew, he felt at his best, did the best. He could use a dose of lab right now. This guy was poison. He needed to make Jenn see.
They played tennis for a couple of hours Sunday morning while Maggie took Jenn to church. Arun returned serves hard, with surprising strength. The guy appeared to be enjoying himself, bouncing around the court in Bermuda shorts, admiring the weather and the surroundings. Paul won most of the games on finesse—that is, if Arun hadn’t let him win. To his chagrin, Paul tired first. When Arun declined a beer, Paul suggested lunch at the club. He wanted time alone with him to scope him out.
They took a table by the window in the dining room. Maggie had joined the club when Jenn was small for the swimming; she kept the membership current to please her book club, or so she said. Paul no longer knew anyone there. He sat running hands idly across the white tablecloth while Arun read the menu. When the waitress appeared, Paul ordered a cheeseburger, rare. Arun ordered a salad and folded his hands in his lap, looking relaxed. Only a few other tables were occupied and the room was quiet.
“Why are you a vegetarian?” Paul asked. “Plants and animals are made of the same stuff. In fact, plant DNA is heftier than ours.”
“It’s a habit. I grew up omnivorous like my parents, but when I started traveling across India, I discovered that the vegetarian food was better. Tastier and less likely to be spoiled. Now I simply enjoy it.”
“Do you play tennis in India?” Paul asked.
“No, I don’t feel the need. There is so much else to do. I played in college. I’m very glad I could still give you a game.”
“That’s not what I mean. If you took my daughter to India, what would she do besides cook vegetarian?”
“I was not aware that Jenn wishes to play tennis. She told me she didn’t care for sport.”
Annoyance mounting, Paul concentrated on the creases in his napkin. “I’m asking a bigger question. What’s there for her?”
Arun sat straighter. “Ah. Yes. Dr. Adler, I appreciate the opportunity to tell you about my dreams and my dreams for your daughter.” He leaned forward and spread fingers wide on the tablecloth. “I plan to set up a system of instruction for teachers in the schools. They will learn through guided practice to bring light into burdened young hearts. And we will celebrate, one heart at a time.”
Paul rolled his eyes. “You’re gonna have to be more specific with me. Where will you live?” He had never challenged Jenn’s boyfriends before because there was no need. “What’s Jenn supposed to do while you’re instructing teachers?”
Arun unfolded his hands and leaned toward Paul. “Jenn has told me that she wants to work with me. As you know, she has a generous nature. She sees how my system helps so many young people. She is learning how to guide them. In time, she will be able to assist them herself.”
An image of Jenn in a noisy, crowded Indian tenement, shooing flies off the faces of dirty, malnourished children overtook Paul. “I don�
�t want her spending her time wiping up filth and exposed to disease.”
“Rest assured, our work is sanitary. We don’t practice medicine, although we are healers. Metaphor and music and meditation are our tools. I would be honored to share our literature with you.”
The waitress approached with laden arms. Paul took the cheeseburger platter from her, and she lowered Arun’s salad to the table. She pulled a ketchup bottle from her apron pocket, and Paul grunted approval. Dousing his burger, Paul picked it up in both hands. He bit in, dripping juice and ketchup onto his plate. He tried to imagine what attracted Jenn to this guy. Not his looks or his prissy style. Must be the sex, something exotic he picked up in an ashram. A knot developed in Paul’s chest; he didn’t want to think about Jenn twisting and sweating beneath Arun’s thick brown body.
When she was little, Jenn had been his buddy, always game to try new stuff. She used to go to the lab with him on weekends and play scientist with his tools. When he started publishing in high-impact journals and got noticed at the hospital, he stopped bringing Jenn along. As he got busier, he pretty much left Jenn to Maggie’s care. He had always assumed that Maggie, so conscientious, would do a good job. She must have screwed up about sex. Maybe she had avoided talking about it. Maggie could be a prude.
Arun said, “Jenn assures me that helping has always been her philosophy. She wants to work with me.” He looked at Paul, who kept chewing. “I must respect her decision.” Arun picked up his knife and fork and cut into his salad, carving the vegetables into bite-sized portions. He lifted the fork to his mouth, then slowly lowered it. “I understand that it is difficult to accept one’s daughter’s living half a world away. But we have work to do in the U.S., too, and we will visit often. Jenn cares so deeply about you.” Arun smiled and raised the fork.
Of course she does, Paul thought, glad to hear the words even if he was being played. What would they do in the U.S.? Wheedle donations from the gullible? Did he expect Jenn to raise money? Paul chomped his burger, waiting for Arun to say something that would confirm his suspicion. Arun ate steadily, working his way from right to left across the plate. He kept his eyes on his food, stopping every few minutes to wipe his mouth with the edge of his napkin.
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