by David Guy
The place was dead quiet at that hour, dew still on the grass. Twice we startled deer, and once Jake stopped and motioned for us to stop behind him. A deer stood in the woods not twenty feet away, staring at us. Finally it bounded away.
Jake didn’t say a word after he showed us the gears. He didn’t even say anything about the deer. He apparently thought the place spoke for itself. A couple of times when we were climbing steep hills he slowed down for us while we shifted; otherwise he set a wicked pace, didn’t stop until we were back at the shop.
“You really know those paths,” I said.
“I ride every day.”
“Always at this hour?” Josh asked.
“Earlier. I was being easy on you guys.” “Earlier?” Josh would take a two-hour nap that afternoon.
“I get up at four,” Jake said. “I like the morning.”
Josh stood there with his mouth hanging open.
We didn’t get up at four, but for the rest of that vacation took an early bike ride (and an afternoon nap). It became as much a fixture as the evening movie. We never did run into Jake. Must not have been early enough.
A couple of days later, while we were walking in town, Josh said another thing that improved the vacation.
“Do we always have to, you know, hang around together?”
“Meaning what?”
“I’m on vacation. I don’t want to be with my father every minute. No offense.”
I was slightly startled. He’d wanted to be with me in the past.
“At the beach I could go to the pier myself. Or take a walk.”
“You want to be alone?”
“I just don’t want to be with my father all the time. Every minute.”
It was starting to sink in. It just hadn’t occurred to me.
“You go that way,” I said. “I’ll go this. I’ll meet you at the bike shop at five.”
“Make it five thirty,” Josh said. “And one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t just walk around here with no money in my pocket.”
I went to the bike shop right away. I’d been wanting to do that since that first afternoon. I wanted to go without Josh.
Jake sat behind the counter working on some gear. He always seemed to do a job casually, never puzzled over it. He never seemed to be working.
“I wanted to thank you for what you did for us,” I said. “I don’t know how you managed that.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he said.
“That’s why it worked out. Anyone else would have.”
He nodded, smiling. “It’s easier when it’s not your own son.”
“This is you, isn’t it?” I pointed to a flyer for a meditation group.
“It is.”
“Where’d you learn?”
“Japan, mostly. I was there for years.”
“I’m wondering if that could help me.”
“It’s been a great help to me. That’s why I have the group.”
“You just sit there? Chant something?”
“Come on Thursday. Come early, so I can show you.”
“Josh and I go to the movie.”
“Bring him along. Or let him go alone. He’d probably like some time by himself.” Apparently the man was a mind reader.
Josh wanted to come, as it turned out. He liked being around Jake, even tried sitting, though his knobby legs were all over the place, twelve-year-old energy rumbling. He drew the line at staying for the group. Ten minutes were plenty for him. We actually made the second showing at the theater.
I could hardly believe something so simple—sitting cross-legged with a straight posture, gazing at the wall—was the secret to who Jake was. He showed us in a matter-of-fact way, the same way he’d explained shifting gears on the bikes. But I started to do it every morning, mostly because he inspired confidence, also because I was desperate, my life was so out of whack. Everything had come to a head when I took that vacation.
Though I wasn’t having night fears anymore. They ended the night after Josh threw his fit.
I attended the group the next week; Josh went to the movie alone. That was my first glimpse of Madeleine, though I don’t actually remember.
The last day of vacation, we stopped by the bike shop to say good-bye. Jake had turned our whole summer around.
“I don’t know that we’ll ever be back,” I said.
“Not to that hell hole.” Josh had come to hate the house.
“There’s a cheap motel at the end of the next street,” Jake said. “Down by the water. Not fancy enough for the average tourist. No kitchenettes. But it does have cable, which might please some people.”
“Now you’re talking,” Josh said.
“And you can take your breakfasts at the diner.” That down-home place we’d gone the first day we rode bikes. “Calzone and pizza for lunch. The best part is that you don’t have to drive. Rent bikes for the week. Freelance. You can hang around and read, the way you like.” He nodded to me. “Josh can be out stalking girls.”
“They stalk me, Jake.” It was the first time I’d heard that. “I think it’s the red hair. Drives them wild.”
“Anyway,” Jake said. “It might be better than a cottage. Think about it.”
I could tell it appealed to Josh.
“This other thing,” I said. “The sitting. I’m not sure I’m doing it right.”
“Jesus Christ, Dad. You say that about everything. How can you do it wrong?”
“You can always call me,” Jake said. “The real thing is just to do it. Don’t make a big deal out of it.”
“He already has,” Josh said. “Believe me.”
“Have confidence in the sitting. It takes you where you need to go.”
7
THE PLAN WAS FOR ME and Jake to rendezvous in the evening, so I went for an afternoon swim. I’m actually a strong Y supporter, belong to them wherever I live, but the Cambridge Y was the exception. The locker rooms were ancient, shower rooms dank and moldy, fixtures crumbling, and the pool a twenty-yard wonder that took me back to my youth.
The great way is not difficult for those who have no preferences, as the saying goes. Unfortunately, I got’em.
Worst of all, the toothless woman at the front desk, a sour look on her face, made me pay ten bucks to swim.
“I’m staying at this Y,” I said.
“You’re a guest resident. Not a membah.”
“I have an away membership. I can use any facility.”
“Not heah. We have our own policy. Pay up.”
I asked to speak with the supervisor, but she was the supervisor. Probably pocketed the money.
Still, miraculously, the water was clear and cold. It was rather choppy, with six guys in three lanes, and took me eighty-eight lengths to make a mile. But I love swimming, the most meditative of all exercise, just you and the water, sounds drowned out, energy flowing. It always makes me feel better.
I had a scare when Jake didn’t answer my knock; I used the extra key but he wasn’t there. He could have been anywhere, and I was ready to call out the National Guard when, unbelievably, I found him still at the bookstore, behind the counter talking to Morrie, the old guy who ran it. Morrie was thin and gray, had the worst posture on earth, but he loved Jake.
“You wouldn’t believe this guy’s stories about Japan,” Morrie said.
“I might not believe them,” I said, “but I’ve heard them. Dozens of times.”
“You haven’t heard his stuff,” Jake said. “Peyote in Mexico. Some old blind guy who was a seer. A cowboy sitting full lotus.”
“I think he was a real person,” Morrie said.
Both men roared.
It was happy hour at the New Age rest home.
“What’d you do for lunch?” I said.
“Sent out for Chinese. Ate right here.”
Jake had spent five and a half hours in that bookstore.
“Didn’t you want a nap?” I said.
“Wh
o can sleep, with this conversation?” Morrie said.
Who can keep from sleeping?
“Anyhow, old friend,” Morrie said. The two men slowly stood. “You’re our most cherished customer. Mazel tov.” The two men embraced. There was something sad about it, though they were grinning like fools.
“My favorite bookstore on earth,” Jake said.
“Maybe someday you’ll buy something.”
“Why buy, when you can read for free?”
That was the problem. It was more like a Christian Science Reading Room. Everybody just stood around. Some sat on the floor. Spiritual deadbeats.
We headed out.
“I’ll turn you into a vegetarian yet,” Morrie said. “Moo shu pork. Mein Gott.”
“Vegetables are sentient beings too. They scream when you slaughter them.”
“Not like pigs.”
These guys should have been on vaudeville.
“Someday I’ll get you down to Mazatlán. The beautiful beaches. Magic mushrooms.”
I sincerely hoped Morrie wasn’t still doing that.
“Drugs cloud the mind.”
“Clarify, clarify.”
Jake slapped me on the back. “I’m ready for a beer.”
Another roar from Morrie.
We stepped out onto Mass. Ave. The sun had gone down behind the buildings, just the slightest chill in the air.
Jake started to motor. He was making a beeline for someplace, not the Y.
“How was the afternoon?” I asked.
“Marvelous. Passed by in an instant. Like my life.”
“Find anything to read?”
“Nothing you’d take home.”
Jake had read everything at that point. He sometimes went back, like visiting old friends, but wasn’t looking for anything.
“You’re not tired? Don’t want a rest before dinner?”
“I want a beer. I’ll rest on a barstool.”
This pre-dinner drink was an innovation. We never did that on Mount Desert.
I had to grab him, he was so intent on crossing Mass. Ave. His energy level seemed fine.
I wondered if he’d had any lapses at the bookstore. I doubted Morrie would have noticed.
We caused quite a commotion entering the bar. “Father Jake!” someone shouted, and there was a rumble of acclamation, guys turning with their best Japanese bows, hands pressed together. Jake, for his part, made the sign of the cross. “Greetings, my children.” They made way for us at the center, where we’d sat before. Jake took off his beret for Jess to kiss his head.
“I’m surprised she doesn’t try to take it in her mouth,” somebody said.
The middle finger flashed up.
“Don’t listen to them, Padre. Guinness and a something. Can’t remember.”
“We know who she likes,” somebody said.
“Just as well,” I said. “I’m switching to Sam Adams.”
“That I can remember.”
I wondered if Jake had come here in the past. He’d never mentioned it.
Jess brought back our beers. She still had the black theme going big time, though her top was striped with gray. The streak in her hair and her nail polish seemed to have changed—was this possible?—to turquoise. My major impression about her wardrobe was that it was tight. She had the big boobs, a major butt. Her clothes emphasized those assets.
“How are you tonight, sweetheart?” Jake asked.
“Pretty good, Padre. A little foggy. Tuesday’s rock and roll night. You guys should have stayed. There was a band.”
“I’d have been lost. I don’t go much past the Beatles.”
“There’s a special menu, smaller platters and cheap prices. It’s a good night to eat.”
“Wish I’d known.”
“I was going to say, but you put down your beers and took off. I figured you’d hang more.”
“We will tonight.”
“Chill a little.”
“We got in town yesterday. Had to get settled.”
Jake had a way of looking past all the flaws in someone to see the real person. It was how he’d looked at Josh that first day, seeing the wild energy behind the awkwardness. He could talk to anyone, literally. I was surprised he’d picked out the bar maid.
There was another woman with her that night, and the waitresses hung around. Not much business in the restaurant. It was as if Jake created an island in the middle of the room where the two of them talked. People gravitated to him. I don’t know how they knew.
“Why are you guys in town?” she asked.
“Leading a retreat, starting on Friday. A Zen retreat, seven days. Meditation all day.”
“Sounds intense.”
“It can be.”
“My mother used to meditate. Did it every morning.”
At that moment, as she said those words, Jake lost it. He looked bewildered, not there at all.
Jess hadn’t noticed, talking over his head at the wall. “I always wanted to get into it. Never had the discipline. I’d like to now. But working at this place. Fuck. Pardon my French. This ain’t exactly a monastery.”
“Except that they brewed beer in monasteries, did you know that? In the Middle Ages?” It was the little guy from the other night, with the slippery glasses.
“I did not,” Jess said.
“That’s how they made their money. Monks also put a fair amount away.”
“Maybe that’s why they were fat,” Jess said.
“And you,” Jake said. “What do you do?”
I looked at him. Couldn’t tell where his mind was. I’d put my hand on his back, to comfort him.
“How do you mean, Padre? I pump beer for these knuckle-heads. Not you guys.” She nodded to the little intellectual.
“But when you’re not here.” I thought he might be all right. He seemed to be back. He’d taken a long pull at the Guinness. “When you’re not doing this. What do you do?”
“She gives blow jobs, Father.”
It was a guy two stools down on the other side, big guy, big face, all florid.
You don’t often see Jake angry. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, nor an angry one. He knew it was just the beer talking, the guy joining in the banter. Not too subtle. But Jake also felt the meanness of the remark, putting Jess down. She had to be just a slutty barmaid.
Jess herself had blushed crimson.
“This is my conversation,” Jake said, turning to the man. “We’re having a conversation here.”
I didn’t see how Jake looked, but the guy got, if that was possible, even redder.
“Oh, right. I’m sorry. Sorry, Father.”
He probably thought Jake was the parish priest. Just trying to be helpful.
“You were saying,” Jake said.
“I don’t really do much,” Jess said. “This place keeps me busy. But I’m trying to go to art school. I want to go to art school.”
“And do what?”
“Make jewelry. I like jewelry. You might have noticed.”
I’d seen the nose ring, the multiple earrings. She also had three rings on each hand, a spangly necklace around her neck. God knows where else she may have been wearing metal.
“I did,” Jake said.
“I’d like to make my own jewelry. Not just for me. Design jewelry. Have a line. I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“It’s what you’re interested in.”
“What I’d like to do. I just think that’s what I’d like. But I haven’t done anything. Taken a class. I’m all over the place.”
“Maybe next fall.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“Classes start in the fall. You could take one. See if you like it.”
“Yes.” Jess smiled at the thought.
“I was in art school,” Jake said.
“Really?”
“Before I did this. Then I went to Japan. Met some people. This took me over.”
“I want to get into medita
tion too. Really like to. Come to that retreat. But I’ve got to work here. Shit.”
“You can come to part of it.”
“Part of the day?”
“Sure. Talk to Hank here. He can arrange it.”
That was a unique aspect of Jake’s retreats. In that way he was like his Japanese teacher. Many teachers said it was all or nothing—drop-ins were annoying—and of course in Japan it was often just monks. But Uchiyama let anyone come, with any time they had. He had a five-day sesshin once a month and sometimes people sat three deep; other times it was just one line. He said zazen was for everyone. Jake did too.
It made for some scheduling nightmares. And arranging for food? I didn’t want to think about it.
“That’s great,” Jess said.
“Thanks, Hank.”
Think nothing of it.
“Right now I got to go. These guys need their beer.”
“That’s debatable,” Jake said. “But we’ll be back. You two can figure it out.”
“Thanks, Padre. You’re a doll.”
Yet another lost cause for Jake. If I’d had to give my considered opinion, I’d have said that Jess wouldn’t show up, wouldn’t be able to sit still if she did. She wouldn’t take that art class, wouldn’t go to school, and would never start a line of jewelry. I wasn’t at all sure the guy two stools down wasn’t telling a simple truth. But Jake saw the person you deeply wanted to be. He treated you like that. Never failed to. Another trait I hoped to emulate.
He often got taken for a ride. That didn’t stop him. And if he hadn’t seen people that way—like that first day he saw me—I didn’t know where I’d be.
Jake was down to his last swallow, finished it off.
“Korean okay tonight?”
“You lead the way.” He knew the good places.
The crowd repeated their bows. Jake blessed them as if he were the Pope. The guy two stools down turned and apologized again; Jake shook his hand and patted his face. At this rate, the whole crowd would be showing up on Friday evening. The zendo would stink of beer.
The Korean place was up on Prospect Street, delicious noodle dishes, but so hot that my eyes watered. I had two beers, which made four for the day. Good grief. Jake made me have green tea ice cream for dessert. He had mango. We got back to the rooms and I sat zazen in a beery stupor.