by Greg Kincaid
Ted figured it was unfair to make assumptions about Angel, to not even give her a chance, so he impulsively broke the silence and asked, “Angel, before you were a spiritual consultant, what did you do?”
If Angel didn’t know better, she would have thought that Larsen was sitting beside her, insisting in his own kind way that she needed a different line of work. She made a conscious effort not to be defensive, but still, the question hurt. Ted couldn’t know what a sensitive subject he had broached. She tried to be honest, but the recounting only made her feel worse.
“Well, I went to this school and then that school, sang, played my guitar, did artwork, helped my dad, taught yoga and meditation.” She hesitated, looked over at him, and then added, “Does that sound irresponsible?”
Ted thought long and hard and decided to be honest. “It depends. I mean, how do you pay your bills? Where do you get your car and health insurance? Do you think about your future?”
Ted’s questions felt oppressive to Angel and further out of bounds. “Ted, to be honest, I’m awful at that stuff. I never had a real job, can’t save money, forget to buy insurance, and I am so moored in the spiritual now that I seem to be rather indifferent about the tangible problems of tomorrows. Maybe I’m irresponsible. I just have to believe that if I do my best to make the world a better place today, all of those tomorrows will work out.”
Ted’s heart sank. Her attitude sounded reckless and, indeed, irresponsible. It was just as he had suspected: Angel was clueless about the real world. Ted placed his hand on her wrist. He remembered something he had read in one of her books that he thought might gently drive home the point. “Angel, in some of the Sufi materials you gave me I read something that I really liked.”
Angel’s temperature was rising, but she tried her best to tolerate what she perceived as an assault on her self-worth. “Yes.”
“Trust in Allah, but tie up your camel.”
Angel considered pulling her hand away. She didn’t want Ted’s affectionate understanding of her shortcomings. It seemed patronizing. He wasn’t Larsen. He wasn’t paying her bills. Intentionally or not, Ted had crossed into one of Angel’s verboten zones. The steam continued to accumulate, but Angel remained silent—and not the open and airy Lakota sort of silence. It was an oppressive, angry silence.
The heat in the cab flashed to red, and Ted removed his hand. “I guess that’s none of my business.” He looked around, wondering why Angel was slowing down.
Angel got in Ted’s face. “It’s a sensitive subject for me, and you’re right: it’s none of your business how I pay my bills.”
The quiet persisted a bit longer before Ted said, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. I was trying to be helpful. You can be spiritual and also have a real job. Right?”
“You mean like Mashid, Father Chuck, and everyone else but me?” Angel pulled off to the side of the road. She considered booting Argo and Ted. They could walk back to New Mexico. She’d been a fool. What sane person would even try spiritual consulting? When she’d finally gotten a client, she’d tutored the man for free and bared her soul, and now he was humiliating her. Mashid had said it well: “What were you thinking?”
When Bertha was fully stopped, Angel stomped on the emergency brake pedal. “Screw you, Ted Day,” she said. She put her head in her hands and started to sob. “Don’t you see?” There were more sobs before she spat it all out. “I’ve lived in the spiritual realm because the real world wants nothing to do with me. I can’t do anything right. This pilgrimage is a bust. Another avoidance.” Her tone turned apologetic as she wailed, “I’m so sorry I got you involved in my ridiculous ideas. I’m going to go back to South Dakota and help my dad fix trucks. At least I can weld.”
Ted took her hand again. “Wait a minute, Angel. You haven’t failed. You’re a wonderful spiritual consultant. I’m having the best vacation of my life with you and No Barks. Maybe you just need a little help getting your feet on the ground. That’s all.”
“Really?” she asked, her confidence desperate to be restored.
“You’re a unique and wonderful person. Don’t condemn yourself for being different. You’re just ahead of your time. That’s all. Maybe we ran into each other so I could help you with Aunt Lilly and your finances.”
“You don’t think I’m ridiculous for driving around in Bertha with signs painted on the sides?”
Ted laughed, leaned over, and hugged her. “It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen in my life and I love it.”
She held him tightly. “I can take you back to Pecos if you want. We don’t have to finish this.”
“You’ve spent entirely too much time hanging out in the teacher’s lounge doubting yourself. You’ve got work to do and you’re not getting rid of me.”
At a roadside stop on a lonely stretch of Nebraska highway, Angel and Ted shared the food that Mashid had packed. Angel was still teetering and Ted tried to reel her in. “Is it a good time to start on Buddhism and the fourth level?” He rested his hand on Argo’s furry head and stretched his legs comfortably out in front of him. “I am at my desk, pen in hand, ready to go back to work.”
Pushing down doubts about her value as a spiritual consultant, Angel dived back into the curriculum as if she had been carefully outlining it in her mind. If nothing else, she was resilient. Angel took a big bite of an apple, chewed it, and said, “I think it’s good that we continue. It’ll do us both some good. You’ve done so much hard work that it would be a shame not to finish up. Don’t you think?”
“Agreed.”
They finished their lunch and had traveled east a few miles before Angel resumed the lesson. “Buddhism is a good place for us to return to the Work. Like me”—her humor revived, Angel poked fun at herself—“it has a radically different view. But unlike me, it is grounded and practical. Good beliefs and good practices are measured by one test alone: do my actions, beliefs, and behaviors result in less suffering or more happiness in this lifetime? Like an ancient self-help system, Buddhism promises us a happier life. To believe in something or practice something that does not reduce suffering in this life would not make sense to a Buddhist.” She glanced down at the gas gauge before continuing. “Buddhism moves more like a science than a religion: experiment and be open to many possibilities. Frankly, Ted, this could be right up your alley.”
“Doesn’t even sound much like a religion to me.”
“Generally speaking, you’re right; the core of the Buddha’s teachings have little to do with what we traditionally describe as religion. Buddhism takes on this whole issue of how to wake us up.”
“I thought Buddhists believed in reincarnation,” Ted said.
“Well, Buddhism has institutionalized and adopted the beliefs of the indigenous peoples where its practice spread. But this has nothing to do with what the Buddha taught. In fact, Buddha was stalwart in his refusal to address metaphysical questions, including the biggest question of all: Is there a creator god?”
“Heaven and hell?”
“He wouldn’t touch it.”
“Life after death?”
“Ask anyone, but not me.”
“I always thought that religion was all about metaphysical questions.”
“You can ask Singleton when we arrive, but I suspect a Buddhist would say that trying to answer these questions will not move you down the path to happiness, nor eliminate suffering. Pursuit of these questions is therefore a distraction or diversion from the real business of life.”
“Still, they are important questions.”
“Are they, though? The Buddha offered the parable of the poisoned arrow to explain. Imagine that a man has been shot with a lethal poisoned arrow and his only chance of survival is to remove the arrow quickly, but instead he instructs his rescuers to not remove the arrow until they first tell him the name and clan of the person who shot it, whether it was shot from a longbow or a crossbow, and the nature of the arrowhead. What would you think of such a man?”<
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“He would be a fool.”
“Yes, the Buddha taught that religion can be a foolish pastime when we preoccupy ourselves with questions that cannot be answered. By doing so, we waste our precious lives avoiding the hard work but significant gains that await us on the spiritual path the Buddha suggests we begin navigating. He called that spiritual path the dharma.”
“I’ll try to remember the parable the next time I discover an arrow in my backside.” Ted looked down at the map he was using to help Angel navigate. “Turn at the next intersection. We’re almost there. Only twenty more miles.” Ostensibly to make sure he had her attention, he again touched her wrist. “Nice, slow turn this time. There might be someone coming in the opposite direction, minding his own business and not interested in being broadsided.”
Angel grinned. “Yes, Ted, I heard you.” She slowed Bertha and made the turn. The road narrowed and was not well scaled to Bertha’s wide girth, so Angel reduced her speed even further. “How about that? No one pulled out in front of me, failing to yield.”
Ted removed his hand from her wrist and asked, “The Buddha’s famous Four Noble Truths—are they about happiness and this dharma path?”
“Yes, the First Noble Truth is that suffering and unhappiness are part of the human condition. They are inevitable. It does not end well for us, and there is plenty to suffer through along the way: we get sick, we get old, we wither, and we die.”
“Doesn’t seem too cheery, this Buddha.”
“Journeying down the hall to the upper-grade classrooms is not easy. By helping us to deny our true human condition, our Western culture is an impediment to our spiritual progress and psychological health. From the cradle to the grave, we are conditioned to avoid thinking about our inevitable illness, aging, and death. We want to live in a Peter Pan world, forever young and healthy. Or if we do die, it doesn’t really matter—we’ll just somehow continue our existing lives in heaven, except on better terms.”
“Life of Ted, part two.”
“Belief in an afterlife allows us to avoid dealing with our own mortality. What we don’t understand is that denial diverts a great deal of energy away from healthy growth, acceptance, and moving down this path. Eastern cultures venerate the wisdom and maturity that come with age. Western ones, however, are ageist, denigrate maturity, and will go to any lengths to avoid looking older.”
Ted nodded. “Our economy seems to rely on us wanting to avoid aging, sickness, and death. Cosmetics, hair dyes, plastic surgery—the list goes on. I’m not sure why we find something as natural as aging and death so terrifying. Toward the end, my grandfather seemed to come to terms with dying. He liked to say to me that not living was far sadder than dying.”
“I think the Buddha was trying to say the same thing. He emphasized that this life is a blessing, but a short one. We have a limited amount of time to get it right. Institutionalized Christianity and Islam both place a great deal of emphasis on heaven and hell. Judaism is far more circumspect about such claims. Father Chuck will tell you that most Christians ignore or deemphasize that Jesus said heaven exists in the now and not in an afterlife.”
“I’m no shrink,” Ted said, “but surely this fear of death is part of our Mr. Digit self. I think, too, this gets back to the second realization. We spend a great deal of energy creating a thing called a self and then worrying about protecting it. So what’s the Second Noble Truth?”
“The Buddha’s Second Noble Truth focuses on the gap between the way the world really exists and the way our minds perceive it. As you just suggested, our ego and our Mr. Digit personality get in the way of awareness about life’s true condition. Much of our unhappiness stems from the ignorance of our true condition; our view of the world and how we fit into it is flawed on many levels.”
“Don’t all of us want to be happy and not suffer? What’s so profound about this?”
Angel nodded approvingly. “I think these first two Noble Truths are the foundation for the most important point, which the Buddha describes as our ‘ignorance.’ Because we do not understand the true nature of causes and effects, we engage in avoidable habits and practices that make us miserable. Mr. Digit is convinced that having a gold ring on his finger is the path to nirvana. It’s difficult to get Mr. Digit to see his higher purpose or true self.”
“The Third Noble Truth?” Ted asked.
“Precisely. By following the dharma path, doing the Work, we can eliminate much of our ignorant, Mr. Digit worldview. Albert Einstein described it as the religion of the future. Some Catholic monks are also practicing Zen Buddhists, and plenty of people, if pushed, would describe themselves as Christian Buddhists. It’s a more consistent belief system than you might think.”
As they entered the outskirts of the small community where Singleton kept his bike shop, they drove over speed bumps in the road signaling free-ranging animals. Angel slowed Bertha to a crawl to avoid jostling her passengers. Ted asked, “So what’s the Buddha’s secret for making us happy?”
“That’s where the dharma practice begins. It’s the Eightfold Path: the Buddha’s Fourth Noble Truth—at bottom, a systematic process for disabling our Mr. Digit ego. It’s the Buddhist’s treasure map that leads us to the upper-grade classrooms. If we can understand these Four Noble Truths and incorporate them into our lives, then we can achieve a peace here on this earth, a nirvana. I think this is what Jesus was referring to as the Kingdom.”
On a brick street lined with lush green grass, they came to a clapboard Victorian house with a sign in front, SINGLETON HOUSE. A BED & BREAKFAST, and beneath that, another sign read CYCLE RENTAL AND REPAIR.
Angel excitedly parked the bookmobile. They snapped the leashes on their dogs, gave them a few minutes to sniff about the yard, and approached the front of the bike shop.
23
When Stephen Singleton—bike repairman, innkeeper, and Buddhist teacher—heard that Angel and Ted were planning to sleep on the floor of old Bertha the Bookmobile and that they had been sustaining themselves primarily on granola bars and fruit for the last three days, he insisted on cooking them a warm meal and putting them up in his cozy inn. They offered no resistance. He wasn’t sure whether to offer them two rooms or one, so he took the cautious approach and handed them each a room key. What they did afterward was their business. Each room in his bed-and-breakfast was named after a Nebraska-bred movie star. Angel was in the Marlon Brando room and Ted was in the Fred Astaire suite.
It was midweek and business was slow for both Singleton’s bed-and-breakfast and his adjoining bike shop. Not being a die-hard capitalist motivated by money and money alone, Singleton enjoyed these occasional slow days. It gave him more time to study, meditate, visit with friends, and hike or bike along north central Nebraska’s 321-mile Cowboy Trail, where he had anchored his business.
After an evening of getting acquainted but before retiring to bed on full stomachs, Ted and Angel put Argo and No Barks in the fenced-in dog run in the side yard—a space Singleton had created especially for his canine guests. They fed and watered the dogs, gave them good-night hugs, and headed up to their respective rooms for what they both hoped would be a good night’s sleep.
Resisting the urge to immediately climb into bed, Ted moved about the room and inventoried all the Fred Astaire memorabilia that hung on the walls. The best part of the collection was a life-size movie poster of Astaire dancing with Cyd Charisse in Central Park. Beneath the poster Singleton had carefully typed and framed the lyrics to a melody Astaire had made famous.
Dancing in the dark ’til the tune ends
We’re dancing in the dark and it soon ends …
Ted turned and thought a moment. He could see how, when read a particular way, the lyrics could be profound and very Buddhist. He tested the resistance of the mattress with his hands. It seemed firm and inviting. Ted kicked off his shoes, grabbed his phone, searched for Fred Astaire on iTunes, and listened to “Dancing in the Dark” until he fell asleep.
Having gon
e to bed early, Ted woke up at five thirty the next morning. Out of habit, he began sifting through his emails to find a response from John Shinn, Lilly Two Sparrow’s Legal Aid lawyer. Ted had written three times to Shinn, and now there were three separate responses waiting for him to review.
In the first, Shinn apologized to Ted for taking a few days to get back to him, explaining that he’d first had to procure his client’s permission to release the file or even discuss the case with Ted. With Aunt Lilly’s permission, Shinn e-mailed the requested portions of the file to Ted. Shinn encouraged his fellow lawyer to double-check every detail of his work. He openly admitted that he was running out of options for Aunt Lilly. Perhaps some stone had been left unturned. “Who knows?” he remarked. “If you can find something I missed, great. Just let me know. I’m pleased to have your help.”
Shinn followed up with a second e-mail a few hours later, where he elaborated further and responded to a couple of theories Ted was considering. Shinn told Ted that he felt sorry for Aunt Lilly. He added, “Although she might be a bit unhinged, unfortunately, as far as South Dakota law is concerned, she’s not crazy enough to get away with murder.”
Ted had mentioned that Uncle Harry might have physically abused Aunt Lilly and asked if this could bolster her self-defense claim. In a third and final e-mail, Shinn said that he did not believe this fact changed much about the case. He reminded Ted that there was no objective evidence that Uncle Harry had threatened her on the day of the shooting. Aunt Lilly had made no such statement to Shinn or to the police. When Ted asked Shinn about the state of mind necessary to claim self-defense, Shinn responded that while he also believed the law was a bit unsettled in South Dakota, any self-defense claim would be governed by a reasonable-person standard and not some murky subjective standard. Shinn’s view was the same as Ted’s: reasonable people don’t listen to bears that speak to them in dreams and then shoot their husbands. Aunt Lilly’s best option was to accept the manslaughter plea that Shinn was hoping the State of South Dakota would offer her. After that, they could only hope she was still alive after serving her ten-year sentence. A hearing was scheduled for October. Unless something earthshaking came up in the next week or two, Shinn would push ahead and try to plead Aunt Lilly to an amended charge of manslaughter. With time served, she might be out in eight years. No matter how hard Ted thought about it, Aunt Lilly’s situation seemed desperate. Shinn was right. A bad dream simply couldn’t be the sole basis for a murder defense. They needed something more to show reasonable fear.