The Last Laugh

by Arjuna Ardagh

  Her manner completely changed. It became subservient, almost devotional. “I need to talk to you, Joey. It’s very important.” She modified her brisk voice with a tone of pleading. “I must see you alone,” she went on, motioning to me with her eyes.

  I was ready to go to battle. There was no question now that this woman was electing herself as a foe.

  “We’re just going out, Cheryl. We’re going to see a teacher Matt’s found. We’re going to hear the voice of Divine Grace.” Joey looked triumphant.

  The woman turned on me. “You’re going to take Joey to see a teacher? Joey doesn’t need any teachers. Do you have any idea who you’re dealing with here?”

  I was staggered. This was a visitation from hell. “I, umm … ”

  “Joey,” she continued, turning back to her mentor, “please don’t let people waste your time like this. I must talk to you about something very important.”

  Joey just grinned. “No, no,” he said. “I’m all excited now to go hear the voice of Divine Grace. You’ll just have to come with us.”

  And so we set off, the three of us, back down the faded staircase and into the street. It was only a few short blocks to the meeting hall. Cheryl walked on the other side of Joey from me, ignoring me completely. She fed him reports of people I didn’t know, obviously students of his from some other city. Joey hardly responded, just grinned and nodded. Every now and then he asked about someone whom she hadn’t mentioned. I couldn’t help but notice that almost everything she said was critical. “John’s got totally identified again. He opened his heart for a few days after your last visit, but he just can’t seem to stay out of that ridiculous mind of his.”

  I wanted to jump in with a comment like “Well I’m sure that’s a predicament you can relate to,” but I kept quiet, and Joey just went on nodding and smiling.

  “And Miriam and David, they’re having a second baby.”

  “Hmm,” said Joey, in appreciation.

  “They just don’t seem to be able to recognize what’s real and important and what’s just distraction.”

  “Ahh,” said Joey.

  This woman was driving me completely crazy.

  We made it to the church hall. There were a hundred people already present. We found three seats together three-quarters of the way toward the back. Some people were sitting silently with their eyes closed. Others had bought books from the overflowing tables at the back of the hall and were now studying them. I looked around. Most of the gathered audience looked well-to-do. There was an atmosphere of heightened anticipation. The people sitting toward the front of the hall looked smug, betraying their pride in being the chosen few. Joey sat quite expressionless, without looking around the room. Cheryl was fuming on the other side. Without breathing a word, she left no question that she considered the entire expedition to be a complete waste of time and held me entirely responsible.

  A good 20 minutes after the event was scheduled to begin, there was a flurry of excitement from the doors at the back. A woman strode in with the confidence of a celebrity. She was relatively plump, wearing a flowing red outfit and very expensive-looking shoes, the kind that would make even Imelda Marcos want to go shopping. Her curly brown hair was streaked with gray. She was followed by two other women carrying clipboards and a man bringing up the rear. She walked straight up the middle of the hall, occasionally glancing with a smile at a few people. She ascended the podium, and sat down on a thronelike chair surrounded by flowers. One of the women stepped up onto the podium and, kneeling before her, fastened a lapel mike to her gown. A few people in the room were crying now, some were stretching their hands toward her in supplication. Joey continued to sit motionless, while Cheryl’s body movements suggested that she was close to violence. The room became quiet for 15 or 20 minutes, broken only by the occasional sounds of sobbing. A man behind me was chanting, “Dianama, Dianama, Dianama.” I was tempted to warn him that Cheryl was dangerous; he was putting his life in danger by continuing. But she managed to contain herself.

  “You think you want truth.” The Voice of Divine Grace had started to speak. “But you are fooling yourself. You come here to my feet saying that you want to surrender, but who is really ready to surrender? You have been wandering for lifetimes, chasing after this and that, saying you want God, saying you want love, saying you want freedom. Now I have come to free you, but who is willing to surrender to the will of God? Who is willing to give up your petty life?”

  She had an intense presence to her. At least half the room was sobbing. Some were sitting bolt upright, perhaps hoping if they kept still enough she would not see them. Among those sitting on cushions in the first few rows, many had bowed their heads to the floor in supplication. Her talk continued in the same vein for what to me seemed like a very long time. Joey was in his waxwork mode, with which I was now familiar. Cheryl just kept breathing deeply and flexing her muscles. She would have thrown rotten fruit, I’m sure, if we’d had any. After 20 or 30 minutes a handheld microphone was produced, and questions were invited from the floor.

  “Diana,” began an earnest-looking man, balding, with glasses and well dressed. “I want to surrender to you so much. I want to give you my life, but I feel so weak.”

  The Voice of Divine Grace glared back at him. “The path of liberation is not for the faint-hearted,” she replied. “I’m interested in warriors, not weaklings.”

  The man looked crestfallen.

  “The path to God is the most rigorous of all,” she continued. “Stay with me and you will be splattered like an egg dropped from the roof, until nothing is left of you. Are you ready for that, or are you just a wimp?”

  “Oh, Ma, I want so much to be ready,” pleaded the man.

  “Then get serious,” she barked back at him. “And drop all this pathetic nonsense. I want men around me who are strong. I have no time for cowards.”

  The poor fellow sunk dejectedly back into his seat. I didn’t know what to make of all of this. She certainly had something. She had the self-assurance of a television evangelist, and I was just as repelled.

  The next question came from a woman who announced herself as Martha and held the mike with evangelical fervor.

  “We’ve been doing the home study course at Stephanie’s house, Ma,” she gushed. “It’s been so beautiful. And every week I’ve felt my surrender to you deepening. I gladly give you my life. Do what you will with me.”

  This little speech seemed to please Diana much more than the last.

  “Yes, sweet one,” she cooed. “The lamb must lay down with the shepherd and be comforted. You are home. Trust in the protection of divine grace and you live a blessed life. Come here, come here!”

  The lamb cavorted urgently to the podium, as though afraid someone might take the opportunity before her. She threw herself at Diana’s expensive shoes and began kissing them fervently. The Italian shoe manufacturer was missing the photo op of a lifetime. Finally she knelt at Diana’s feet. Now that they were close to each other, I noticed their similar hairdo. They were also wearing the same style of outfit, although something subtle betrayed the fact that Diana’s came from a shop on Fifth Avenue and her devotee’s from a retail chain. Tears streamed down the woman’s face. “I love you so much. I love you so much.”

  “Yes,” Diana said. “This is an open heart.” She glared disapprovingly at the man who hadn’t made the grade. “This is divine surrender. I gladly welcome you into my heart. Welcome home.”

  A good third of the audience was crying by now. This was obviously an evangelical moment for many of them. I glanced again to my left. Joey hadn’t moved a muscle. He was barely breathing, as if dead. Cheryl, on the other hand, left no doubt that she was alive and kicking. The jugular vein in her neck pulsed with life force. Each minute she was spending doing something other than she had intended seemed to add to her torture.

  The evening went on for at least another hour. Doubts and questions were treated with disdain. Expressions of surrender and devotion wer
e welcomed. Toward the end of the evening, Diana closed her eyes and opened her fingers wide, exposing her palms to her devotees. Strange gyrating music struck up from speakers all around the room and before too long she had turned into a wrathful deity, or at least an impersonation of one. Her eyes rolled up behind their slightly opened lids, exposing only the whites. She moaned and cried. Her upper body was writhing and gyrating. Most of the room was going nuts. People screamed, laughed hysterically. As the tempo and volume of the music increased, some were standing up, raising their hands to the ceiling. I think I even heard someone on the other side of the hall vomiting.

  As suddenly as it had started, it was all over. She stood up and raised her hands to the ceiling, obviously a cue for the faithful to follow suit, with a two-armed version of Hitler’s famous greeting. And with that, she swept back down the aisle, followed by her band of trusty servants. The whole room was left in wild chaos. Many people were crying hysterically, a few were screaming, others were just laughing. Joey turned to me, eyes twinkling. We joined the rest of the hall in shuffling back out again.

  The deluge at the tables at the back made it difficult to leave. Eager hands grabbed up books entitled You Are Divine, the cover sporting a gloating picture of Diana. Photos were available in every pose imaginable, sitting, standing, lying down. Even pictures of her feet were available, now de-robed of those expensive shoes. Audio tapes, video tapes, little bottles of perfume—purported to be the same one she wore—were all being seized like there was no tomorrow. As we left the hall, I could feel that Cheryl had warmed to me a little bit. The evening had offered her a new enemy to focus on.

  At the exit a number of very determined-looking characters held out baskets. From each handheld basket hung a sign requesting a donation. To my amazement, Joey was the first of the three of us to comply. I followed suit, but Cheryl just glared menacingly at her basket carrier and marched right passed him. Mercifully, he offered her no resistance.

  We left the hall and descended the stairs back toward the exit onto the street. There was a flurry of activity outside a door in the corridor. As we got closer we could see that the Voice of Divine Grace herself was the cause of the commotion. She was talking to another look-alike, her clipboard-clutching band of assistants waiting at a respectful distance. It was not until we were almost level with her that her eyes met Joey’s. I have never seen someone’s composure and expression change so quickly. The blazing self-assurance evaporated in an instant, and she looked visibly shaken.

  “Um, Joey,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t know you were in town.”

  Joey just grinned at her.

  “Um, why don’t you, um, why don’t you step in here with me, Joey,” continued a clearly disoriented Diana. The two of them disappeared into a little room off the corridor. Glancing through the open door, I could see this was the minister’s office, obviously given over for her use that evening. She glared at her band of assistants, who responded like sheep barked at by the dog. They huddled together and looked down at their clipboards. For the first time in the evening, Cheryl initiated conversation with me. We had to stand right over to the side of the corridor so as to make way for the faithful to leave.

  “So what did you make of the whole thing?” she asked me.

  The question felt like a trick.

  “Quite a show.”

  “Do you go to a lot of things like this?” asked Cheryl.

  “No,” I replied. “Actually, no. I just found this flier in a café today. It was Joey who suggested we come.”

  Cheryl jutted her chin toward me a little; her eyes bulged slightly. They betrayed a seething distrust.

  Finally Joey emerged from his meeting with the great Voice. Her little herd of assistants scampered in through the door as he came over to join us. He motioned to us with his head, and soon we were all out of the building.

  “You didn’t tell me you knew her,” I exclaimed.

  “You didn’t ask,” he replied. “Diana spent time with me about ten years ago. She and her husband were on some kind of disability at the time; I think he’d just come out of a nut farm. Anyway, they were both down on their luck, but they took to me like ducks to water. They were very serious, you know, very sincere. The husband had a very good experience with me. He was a good boy. His mind got really quieted. Still as a mountain pool. And then she told me one day she’d had a dream. She said that in the dream she’d become the queen of the whole universe and everyone was sitting at her feet.” Joey chuckled; even Cheryl seemed tickled. “That’s what happens, see?” said Joey. “Everyone gets to live out their dream.”

  “So do you support what she’s doing now?” I asked Joey.

  “It doesn’t bother me,” he said. “Don’t suppose it hurts anybody too much.”

  “Yes, but something felt very wrong about it all.”

  “Ah,” he said. “Just leave it alone. You see, that’s what people have done with the truth for centuries now. It’s nothing new. Everyone would rather worship an idol or a semi-god or some fancy lady wearing expensive shoes. That’s the old way,” he said. “And if people want that, let them have it. They can get all worked up and all, nothing wrong with it. Just a little old fashioned, that’s all.”

  A random thought crossed my mind. Joey is a man, his teacher was a man, maybe he thinks women are not cut out for this.

  “Man or woman, makes no difference,” he said, seamlessly following my thought with his words. Every time he did that, it was unnerving. “In fact, over the years I’ve come to find that most gals are a whole lot more open.” He winked at Cheryl.

  “You come tomorrow,” Joey added, as we got to the corner, “and I’ll show you the true teacher. Either you worship name and form, or you discover that which was never born. Name and form, name and form. Diana’s a name and it goes along with a very dolled-up form. Come tomorrow, I’ll show you the real teacher. Come tomorrow at ten.” Then he muttered, “I think she might have had a face lift, too.”

  He grabbed Cheryl’s arm, and started walking away, back in the direction of West Broad Street.

  He stopped, turned and added, “And bring a car.”

  CHAPTER 13

  THE ARREST

  I woke with a start the next day. I didn’t have the faintest idea where I was going to get a car. Mine had been repossessed by the loan company, and I hadn’t paid my credit card bills for so long, I seriously doubted that I could rent one.

  I’d almost completely made up my mind to abandon the whole thing. Maybe I should call Rebecca and try one last attempt at reconciliation. Maybe the bridge was the best thing after all. I made my way down to Paul’s door, ready to admit my foolishness. I would start taking the psychiatrist’s pills on that very day.

  I let myself in to Paul’s with the key and called out to him. He was already up, watching video footage of Samurai mud wrestlers.

  “How’s it going?” he asked. His patience was definitely running out, I could tell from the way that his eyes didn’t move from his TV screen.

  “Listen, I’m sorry I’ve been a bit stupid. You’re right. I need to pull myself together. I’ve started taking the pills,” I lied. It was almost true. I was definitely going to have started taking the little pills by the time I saw him next, and the difference seemed to be a technicality.

  “You were out late last night,” I said.

  “Yeah, took my parents to the airport,” he replied. He warmed to me, yet again, and patted the sofa for me to sit down. Old friends can’t be cool for too long. “They’ve gone to Hawaii for Christmas. Not bad, huh? Left me their car, too.”

  Now a second pair of Samurai mud wrestlers leaped into violent combat—inside my skull. They made the wrestlers on his screen look benign in comparison. A mean and ruthless character, called Ask to Borrow the Car, was now in furious mortal combat with his gentler opponent, Don’t Be a Fool. Paul went on sipping his coffee, oblivious to the splattering of mud, blood, and vengeance between my ears.

  “So you’ve
got two cars, now? Way to go … coming up in the world.” I tried to make casual conversation, hoping that neither of my wrestlers would poke a fist or knee out through one of my eardrums and betray the furious battle going on inside.

  “Yup, my old Honda gets a rest for a few days. I’m now the proud driver of a Cadillac Seville. So what did you do?”

  “Oh,” I said, scrambling for something acceptable. “I just went out and, um, heard someone giving a talk.”

  “Any good?” asked Paul.

  “Nah,” I said. “Just boring stuff.” It was probably the first time that Diana, the Voice of Divine Grace, had ever been referred to as boring.

  “So Matt, it’s Christmas. The geese are getting fat. What are you going to do?” He looked awkward as soon as he had asked the question. He knew it was a painful topic for me, with my loved ones out of reach.

  “Could I borrow your Honda?” I blurted. I was shocked; my evil mud wrestler had somehow managed to bury his reasonable opponent, face in the mud, and had taken the opportunity to assume temporary control of my brain.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Oh,” I said, realizing I had no idea where I would be going. “Just a job thing,” I lied again. “No big deal, it can wait anyway.” At least the weaker but more reasonable of my assailants had managed to revive himself from the mud and restore temporary sanity.

  Paul looked back at his own mud wrestlers for a while. “I don’t have insurance on that car, Matt, you know,” he went on. “What sort of a job thing is it, anyway?”

  Once again, the wilder of my two opponents kicked his brother in the dirt and took the microphone. “Don’t worry about the insurance, bro, you know how careful a driver I am. It’s a good opportunity, I think.” And before any restorative action could be taken, Paul had handed me the keys, told me where the car was parked, and I was bounding up the stairs to get ready.

  Five minutes later I was behind the wheel of Paul’s Honda, heading back over to the man who was proving to be either my savior or my destroyer. I felt completely out of control, driven by a manic force to be free of the mess I had created in my life. I had lied to my best friend. I was making no real attempt to rebuild my life and take care of my family. Instead, I was following the whims of an old man I hardly knew. I parked right outside the café. It was one minute before 10. I climbed the stairs again and knocked on Joey’s door. I could smell the now familiar aroma of chai brewing. Joey opened the door to me. He was wearing a heavy coat that came down to his knees, a scarf, and a cap of the kind that English sportsmen wear when they go hunting. His beard and mustache were combed and washed.