spiritual progress after all. “All that choking jealousy, that awful dark emotion like soy that’s been fermenting too long—I’m free of it. Fantastic. Thank you, Sonchai.”
“You’re sure? You used to have a serious—” Then it comes, from out of nowhere, a lightning twist of her superfine body and—wham—open hand to the right side of the face. “What did you do that for?”
“To make it even easier to forgive you. I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?”
That was quite a clout. I’m still rubbing my jaw when Tara calls again. “I’m sorry, Detective, I don’t have any money. I want to talk to you. Please call me back.”
Chanya’s face has tightened. “Call her.”
“No, I won’t.”
“Oh yes you will.”
“What am I going to say?”
“You’re going to say your wife’s just come back and it’s all over, dummy.”
I find the number in the phone’s log and call Tara. “Look, Tara, I have something to tell you. My wife came back last night. We’ve decided to try again. We’re in bed right now. I’m sorry.”
A pause, then: “What are you sorry about? Congratulations. I want to speak to her.”
I hold the phone away from my mouth and mime to Chanya that Tara wants to speak to her. She mimes back something like What the hell do I want to speak to your little Himalayan tart for? I shrug.
Now Tara is saying, “Does she speak English?” At the same time Chanya has suddenly become curious about this Tibetan mia noi, or minor wife, who has the balls to try to speak directly to First Wife in a classic three-hander like this. I shrug and pass her the phone. Chanya says yes a few times, then goes quiet. After about five minutes she gives me a quizzical look, says, “Yes, that’s right, I’ve just spent a month in a Buddhist nunnery,” then she gets up, throws me a glance both startled and intrigued, and leaves the room. I can hear her voice out in the yard, but I cannot distinguish her words. The conversation goes on for about twenty more minutes, mostly with Chanya listening to whatever Tara is saying. Then Chanya takes a long cold shower and finally returns to the bedroom, where I am sitting up expectantly and nervously with one of those ridiculous facial expressions we learn in school which says, I didn’t do anything wrong, did I?
“Lie down, lover,” she says gently. “Now, all you have to do for total atonement is tell me when I get it right. Where is that nerve exactly? Somewhere between the anus and the testicles, she said. Does it really work?”
“Yes, but you’re not supposed to come.”
“I don’t want to, Sonchai. I don’t want to come ever again. That friend of yours makes so much sense. I have to admit, I stayed away so long because I wasn’t sure I wanted to sink back into flesh. What I really wanted was to be with you on a genuine spiritual path. I think the Buddha sent this friend of yours as an answer. If I press right here, is that the point?”
“Forward a millimeter,” I mutter. “She told you her mantra, didn’t she?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“Try to remember me from time to time. Bliss can be pretty impersonal, you know.”
“Mmm, thank Buddha for that.” Then, when she’s settling down prior to the primeval rhythm: “You have to send her money for the phone call. The poor thing’s incredibly poor. Imagine having a mind like that and no money. She understood everything about me. She’s changed my life with one phone call.”
“You moved your finger.”
“Sorry.”
(Try this at home by all means, ladies, but it might not work without the mantra.)
Well, farang, you saw it all yourself on CNN, just like me. Those were Tietsin’s prayer flags you were looking at on your TV at the opening of the Olympic Games—not only all over Beijing, but in a motley Tantric network all over the country, from Tibet to Shanghai, from Canton to Manchuria, from Yunan to Beijing, from Kashgar to Fuzhou, from Hailar to Lhasa, from Hohhot to Haikou, unmistakably Tibetan in their shaggy insistence, the majestic curved sweep of their cables from earth up to the highest available point, most frequently a telegraph pole, and in the universal magic of their colors: blue for sky, white for air, red for fire, green for water, yellow for earth, generally (but not always) in that order—which are having such an effect on the world. Did you get a