Tantric Coconuts

by Greg Kincaid

  “Are you excited, old boy?”

  Argo pawed at his leg.

  “Isn’t vacation great?” Ted got up from the table and dug through the kitchen drawer looking for a leash. “Hope you enjoyed it. In another five or ten years, we might try it again.”

  Once outside, Ted removed his lawn chair from the external storage space and set up camp beside the green plastic picnic table so generously provided by the owners of the RV park. By flipping a toggle switch just inside the door, Ted extended the motorized awning to protect him and Argo from the last glaring rays of the setting sun.

  Ted and Argo practically had the entire campground to themselves. Bertha the Bookmobile was parked at the other end, more than sixty yards away, so Ted let Argo sniff around without his leash. The dog was very good about not wandering off.

  Settled into his lawn chair, Ted closed his eyes and made himself comfortable in the raw outdoors. He glanced at the cover of one of the books he’d brought along, Religion for Dummies. Shortly after Grandpa Raines had died, Ted had been stumped by a form that asked about his grandfather’s religious preferences. He didn’t know about them, and he wasn’t sure about his own, either. He laid the book on the ground. Later he might have the energy for salvation, but for now he just wanted to relax and consider his carefully crafted options for this ruined vacation.

  He had not been resting for more than five minutes when the other paw fell. He was startled by the appearance of an enormous dog trotting uninvited toward his campsite. Argo was nowhere to be seen. As the beast came into better view, Ted stared at it in utter disbelief. When it was close enough for him to really get some sense of its size, Ted realized that it wasn’t so much a dog as a wolf. A big-ass wolf.

  He opened and shut his eyes twice, thinking the hulking gray and white apparition might disappear. Surely he must be experiencing a problem with his contact lens. A smudge, maybe, like the Virgin Mary appearing in an ordinary caffe mocha, or just a strange play of shadows. When it didn’t disappear, Ted gripped the sides of the lawn chair, wondering how this could be possible. A wolf?

  Within a few short hours, he’d had his first automobile accident and met a very strange woman, and now a wolf was stalking him. He wondered if management knew that they had an indigenous wolf population wandering about their campsite. The wolf was still closing in on him. Ted looked at the door of the Chieftain and shifted his weight to the edge of the lawn chair, ready to bolt for the door.

  The wolf stopped about twenty yards away and stared at Ted. Her green eyes were haunting. As the wolf assessed the metabolic value of one human male, her ears perked. Suddenly, she turned to her right and all hell broke loose.

  From the periphery of Ted’s field of vision, Argo came running around the corner full speed, teeth bared and the yellow hair on his back bristling with courage. He approached the wolf with a menacing and very toothy growl.

  While Argo distracted the beast, Ted moved up and out of the lawn chair and slunk closer to the door of the RV. He found a long-handled broom, a dustpan, and a mop in the narrow galley closet by the front door.

  It wasn’t much as weapons go, but it’d have to do. He deftly grabbed the mop handle and walked back outside. The two dogs appeared to be circling each other, sizing up their adversaries. Screaming at the top of his lungs, Ted closed in on his prey.

  The scary white man charging at her with a mop and the yellow dog circling about her were a formidable combination, so the wise she-wolf took off running with Argo chasing right behind her.

  The dogs disappeared behind the Chieftain, and by the time they made their way back around all that aluminum, the deadly battle had deteriorated into a rowdy doggy version of “Sniff, you’re it.” Ted collapsed back into the lawn chair, relieved to be alive but still clutching his mop-lance … just in case.

  Vacation is hell.

  Before Ted could catch his breath, Angel, on her own evening stroll, appeared out of nowhere, sat down uninvited at his picnic table, stared at the knight errant, and asked, “Did you really just charge my wolf with your mop?”

  Under ordinary circumstances, Ted would have been humiliated by the question. Surely real men did not attack wolves with mops. That’s why they owned assault rifles, hollow-point bullets, and Apache helicopters. But there was something in Angel’s lighthearted smile and dancing, sparkling brown eyes that suggested she was somehow rather pleased with the Man from La Mancha, Kansas, impressed by a man who would risk life and limb for an old yellow dog.

  Ted looked at the long, wood-handled lance with its dangling Raggedy Ann hair and a grin crossed his face. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll lay down my weapon. Is that your wolf?”

  “No Barks is her name. She won’t hurt you.” She pointed to Ted’s beer. “You have another ale in that tin castle of yours?”

  5

  Ted returned, beer in hand, and found Angel lolling in his lawn chair flipping through Religion for Dummies. This was a rather personal reading selection and he had no desire to share it with Angel. The sun was getting low, so Ted walked to the front door and flicked on the outside lights to the Chieftain. Ted returned and offered the beer to Angel.

  She accepted the beer from Ted’s outstretched hand. “Are you interested in religion?” When Ted failed to respond, she added, “If so, you should probably take this one back. You think you don’t understand it, but I doubt that’s your real problem.” Ted was still trying to get over an auto accident, a ruined vacation, and a wolf encounter, so he was a little slow to respond. He finally asked, “What do you mean?”

  “Have you ever tried to hike up a mountain with a boat strapped to your back?” Angel asked, waving her hands in the air and grinning at the very notion.

  “No,” Ted answered, suspecting that this woman had been en route to a mental institution before she and her wolf ran into him.

  “There you go. That’s why you don’t need the book.”

  Ted began to look about the campsite nervously, wondering if armed security was a feature of the Perfect Prairie RV Park. He forced himself to make eye contact with Angel and realized that, however unusual she might be, this young woman was very attractive. “I’m sorry, but I have no idea what you’re talking about. Hiking with a boat on my back?”

  Angel had changed into a loose-fitting flowered dress in muted and faded tea colors, but she had not abandoned her muddy black combat boots. Her long, dark hair was pulled back away from her pretty face, which was graced with a wide smile and slightly crooked but strong white teeth. Her olive skin showed a little blemish on her right cheek, just below her eye, that was either a small scar or a birthmark.

  Ted got up from his lawn chair and sat down across from Angel at the picnic table, grinned nervously, and asked again, “I’m sorry. I don’t get it. Why would anyone hike with a boat on their back?”

  “Well, I’m not one to give advice, at least not for free, but it’s like this: oftentimes religious doctrine is the boat that gets us across the lake. Very helpful, essential really, in the beginning stages of our spiritual development, but when we get to the shore and we’re ready for the next stage, the boat can become a real pain in the ass if you’re not willing to leave it behind.”

  Ms. Epiphany-in-Combat-Boots made a good point, and Ted was willing to concede the same. “You mean it’s not so much a case of ‘I don’t get it’ as it is a case of ‘I may not need it.’ ”

  “Well, I guess it depends if you have just left the shore or if you are already across the lake. My clients are at different places in their spiritual journeys. It waits to be seen where you’re at.”

  “Clients?” Ted asked.

  “Yes, I’m a spiritual consultant.” Angel pointed to the giant painted business card on Bertha’s side panel. “The phone number is there and everything. That is, if you want to hire me. I might be able to help you. Trust me, you’re not going to get what you need out of that book.”

  Ted was unsure what to make of Angel; she differed so much
from the women he’d known in Crossing Trails. “I’ve never heard of a spiritual consultant.”

  “There aren’t many of us around and we don’t advertise like we should. We don’t have a Washington lobby or any tax breaks to offer. We fly under the radar of public consciousness.”

  “What does a spiritual consultant do?” Ted asked, leaning his elbows on the picnic table.

  “I’m a guide. I help my clients move further along their spiritual path.” She leaned a little closer to Ted and said, “Tell me your name again. I already forgot.” She stuck out her right hand.

  This time he accepted it. “Ted. Ted Day.” Her hand was warm and soft and Ted hated to let it go.

  “Angel Two Sparrow. Call me Angel.”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  She leaned back again and continued. “You see, Ted Day, most people are stuck, stagnant. They need help or they won’t grow.”

  Angel had an accent that Ted could not place. The more he tried, the more he decided it was less an accent and more an affect. Angel’s speech had an unusual cadence and phrasing. “I’m pretty agnostic, so I’m not sure my path is going anywhere.”

  “You’re a lucky honcho. You’ve got a blessing.”

  “A blessing?” Ted asked, wondering where his dog and that wolf had gone.

  “You’re a spiritual consultant’s dream client. You have no baggage, nothing that I have to unpack just to get you to square one. You could get right to work finding your unrealized self.”

  Ted scowled. “At the end of the day, I’ve realized enough for one day.” Ted did wonder, however, if he had misjudged her. Sure, she seemed a little different. True, she had hit him with her tanklike vehicle and allowed her wolf dog to practically maul him, but perhaps spiritual consultants were all this way: different. She was also rather hypnotic, and Ted enjoyed listening to her speak, even if what she said made very little sense to him. Knowing it was a dangerous to ask a saleswoman about her wares, he smiled and did it anyway. “Do spiritual consultants charge a flat fee or by the hour for their work?”

  “It depends on what you want …,” she stammered, “I mean, your goals.”

  “What if you make me worse and totally dent my spirit the same way you did my fender? Do I get my money back? Do you carry malpractice or, like car insurance, are you just not that interested in such details?”

  Angel stared at him blankly. This white man was smarter than she’d thought.

  Ted realized that not everyone appreciated his humor. “I was just kidding about the dent.”

  “Charming.” Angel raised her voice confidently. “Being such a poor driver must make life difficult, so let me do what I can to help you. I’ll start with a ten-minute free consultation.”

  “Really? I’m intrigued. What are we going to talk about?”

  “Well, I’ll tell you this much. I am carrying around some very valuable secrets and I’m just waiting for the right person to help. It could be you.”

  As if it were someone else’s voice coming from his mouth, he heard himself say, “I’m curious. Do you have some degree or are you just a natural at this?”

  Angel realized that she had left a few details out of her business plan and scrambled to come up with answers. “Yes to both. And it’s one hundred bucks for the initial session. I’m not promising anything, but I might be able to help you.” She dug in her purse, which appeared to be something handmade from an old army blanket, and pulled out a mechanical pencil and the back of a bill from the Paradise Diner, where she had stopped for a cup of coffee a few days earlier. She quickly scribbled a few digits and her name on the paper and said, “Here is my number, in case you want to hire me. I mean, after we get your RV fixed and my back worked on.”

  Ted dug in his wallet and gave her his own neatly engraved card. “My cell number is on it too.”

  Angel thanked Ted, put her fingers to her mouth, and let out a loud whistle that brought No Barks and Argo rushing toward them. She stood, turned, grimaced from the twist to her torso, and said, “Thanks for the beer. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Ted stood up. “My ten minutes is up already?”

  “Gone.”

  Angel and Two Barks vanished into the now almost fully set sun. Ted spent the rest of his evening reading and working Sudoku puzzles on his phone. He liked to make the numbers add up, and he was good at it. Before he finally went to bed, a sound came from his phone alerting him to a text message. He tried to remember the last time he’d received a text message. He picked up the phone and read, “Goodnight from the other end of the campground. Sorry about the accident—even if it was your fault. A. Two Sparrow.”

  Ted texted her back, “Save it for the jury. Good night. Ted.”

  A few seconds later, his phone buzzed again. “Want to walk the dogs?”

  6

  Ted and Angel walked along the periphery of the Perfect Prairie campground. The moon, shaded by space and time alone, cast light through a cloudless, star-filled sky. Ted tilted his head back and gazed at the heavens. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  Angel said, “It’s good to notice.”

  They walked along with their dogs for another few moments, before Angel gently returned their attention to earthly matters. “What brings you to New Mexico?” she asked as No Barks brushed up against her.

  Ted grumbled, “Vacation.”

  Hearing the irritation in his voice, Angel did not answer right away. Her hesitation suggested to Ted that she was waiting for him to elaborate on his cryptic response. He wasn’t inclined to tell her that there were more black spaces than white spaces on his vacation checkerboard. Nor did he feel it was necessary to point out that the words “Angel Two Sparrow” were etched at the top of the black rectangular square where he was now stuck. As he often did when he was uncomfortable, Ted instead slipped into his lawyerly mode and just kept to the facts. “When my grandfather died, he left me the RV.” He pointed in the direction of the Chieftain. “Just before he passed, I promised him I would take a road trip to New Mexico.” Ted asked the same question back to Angel. “How about you?”

  She answered, “I just missed a turn.”

  Ted wondered if Angel was skirting the issue. “Are you on a vacation?” he prodded.

  “Not really.” Angel wasn’t sure what to say. Being on the road in Bertha the Bookmobile, she was beginning to realize, would not make sense to Ted. Or anyone else.

  Wanting to have a conversation with Angel and not cross-examine her, Ted tried to gently get behind her mushy answer. “So if not vacation, why are you here?”

  She put the unvarnished truth on the table for Ted. “My aunt is in jail for shooting her ex-husband. Dead. She had converted her bookmobile into her residence before she gave it to my father. It was wasting away in our driveway. So, like you, I decided to take a road trip.”

  This talk of murder put a sinister chill in the night air. Ted shuddered. “Your aunt murdered your uncle?”

  Not withstanding Ted’s effort, Angel did feel like she was on trial. “Yes, I’m afraid so.”

  “Is homicide a frequent issue for your family?”

  Angel tried to have fun with it. “Not really. Before Uncle Harry, our last family massacre was at the Little Bighorn.”

  Ted clutched Angel’s elbow, mocking his own fear. “Is it safe walking with you in the dark?”

  Holding her hands up, she answered, “No hatchet.”

  Feeling more secure visiting with the niece of a murderer, Ted asked, “So what happened between your aunt and uncle? He must have really pissed her off.” Again Angel was quiet, so Ted prodded, “Were they arguing over the remote? Whose turn it was to feed the cat?”

  Angel was enjoying Ted’s humor. While a tad insensitive, he was clever. A long sigh escaped her before she answered, “It may not make sense to you.”

  “Murder rarely does.”

  “True.” Angel continued, “Aunt Lilly is a very powerful dreamer and has a close affinity with her spirit animal, a bear. A
ny dream with her spirit animal in it will be especially powerful.” She directed a question back at Ted. “I’m guessing that you don’t really remember your dreams and don’t have a spirit animal?”

  “Good guess.”

  “So, like I said, this might be hard for you to understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “Three nights in a row, Aunt Lilly’s spirit bear came to her and spoke of Uncle Harry’s evil intentions. On the third morning, after she woke from the dream, Uncle Harry showed up at her place. She was so scared that I think she just shot him. That’s all we really know.”

  Ted could feel her sadness. “Are you saying that she shot him because of a dream?”

  “Yes, and her lousy Legal Aid lawyer insists that the law doesn’t believe in dreams.”

  “He may not be so lousy.”

  “He says she’ll never get out.”

  “So here you are? Have spirit, will travel in your murderous aunt’s bookmobile. Is that what you mean when you say you took a wrong turn?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Ted tried to change the subject. “Tell me what you mean by a ‘spiritual consultant.’ I’ve never heard of that.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “You mean people see your sign and call you because they are confused about God or the purpose of life?”

  Articulating her plan made its limitations glaring, but she did it anyway. “Many people are lost, so I help where I can. I have some friends doing similar things. I’m going to visit them while I’m on the road and get some tips. They’re going to help me get my business going.”

  “How will they help you?” Ted asked.

  “We’re all interested in spiritual matters. I’m trying to make a living at it as a sort of traveling spiritual consultant. Most of the others are more academic; they write books and give presentations at retreats. People come to them; maybe that works better. Time will tell. For now, I’m excited to give this a try.” Angel’s respect for her friends shone through when she said, “They’re very successful.”