The Godfather of Kathmandu - By John Burdett Page 0,84

need—in a motherly tone. It was as if she’d dressed me badly for school and now I was going to be uncomfortable all day. I’m caught between indignant rage and erotic fascination. I have never known a woman like her. Of course, I want to see her again. Best would be for her to be in the needy mode, but that is too much to hope for in this Himalayan town where the attention is directed skyward. The easiest thing of all would be to go see Tietsin for some kind of confrontation: we really can’t have him going around busting our mules to General Zinna. But when I make another visit to Bodnath, and look around the teahouse where he holds his seminars, there is no sign of him. It’s starting to look as if I have a day to myself and, strange to relate, my superstitious Asian genes will not let me leave without another three and a half turns of the brass.

So I’m halfway through the first round, spinning the wheels like there is no tomorrow—there never is—following behind a couple of nattering Tibetan nuns who are creeping steadily up on some inexpert Scandinavian backpackers who keep stopping to make sure they didn’t miss a wheel, when my legs start to feel heavy. It is an extraordinary moment; the strength suddenly leaves my body, and I feel about a hundred years old. Most scary is the way my mental environment starts to change. The white stupa is getting blacker, people disappear. In a moment of extreme physical weakness I lean against the stupa, and my cell phone rings. I had forgotten to turn it off.

“Get the hell out of there, right now.”

“What?”

“You’re way too weak for this. The stupa is draining you. If you don’t believe me, take one good look at it.”

I do so and have the impression, suddenly, of being able to look into its interior—the small dingy river, the ghouls taking charge of souls, the pyramid of enlightenment with those of blackest karma at the bottom and the translucent at the top—and I realize how profoundly I am being sucked in.

“There’s no point going to the Far Shore if you’re never going to come back—what’s the use of that? Come away from the stupa.”

I have to physically push myself away from the wall of the stupa, and I stagger somewhat until I’m a good ten feet away, when my strength starts to return. I’m still holding the phone to my ear. “Where are you?”

“Look up; I’m standing on top of the stupa.”

I look up. There is no one on top of the stupa; its slope toward the top is too steep, and there is no place to stand. It would be quite outlandish to see anyone up there. “No you’re not, you’re just doing my head in.”

He adds a note of extreme exasperation when he says, “You’re about to be sucked into death without a protest, but you can’t see beyond the conventional. Look again.”

I make a face at the phone, look up again. Now I see there are white stairs which lead up the breast-shaped mound. And there he is, right on the top, waving his stump just for me. Then, also just for me, he turns, lowers his pants, and moons me. To my own astonishment I find this hilarious and burst out laughing. My laughter is quickly followed by tears.

“You’re hysterical,” Tietsin says, “which is the worst state of mind. Better to be depressed, or even grimly suicidal. I can work with those states. Hysterical is no good. Calm down. Go and have a beer.”

“Will you tell me where you are?” I’m suddenly irritated. He is not really on top of the stupa; I just sneaked another look, and there was nobody there. It’s some kind of telepathy he’s using.

“Never mind where I am—you’d be too shocked to know. Suppose I tell you I’m in bed with Tara—how about that?”

I gasp as if I’ve been kicked in the gut. “So she does work for you?”

A tut-tut. “She does no such thing. I’ve never heard of her before. She called me because she is a responsible yogin who got worried about you after you told her you were one of mine. She’s afraid you’re way too open at the moment and that little bout with her last night could kill you. You’re already badly weakened. You need to know, female yogins have something extra we don’t have, and they’re not responsible for