Mystic by Default
CHAPTER 1
THE DISEASE OF IGNORANCE
I was working
late, doctoring the books, when the phone rang.
“How much?” I shouted.
I could not believe she was still holding out.
”Look Charlie,” I said sucking in my rage like
a fat man his gut in the presence of a babe.
“This won’t do. That...” I was about to say ‘bitch’ proceeded by a
string of unflattering adjectives but thought better of it for fear of
offending him. Everything was going
wrong and I needed more trouble like
On the other
hand, since I had no friends who would listen to me whine I did not want to
miss the opportunity, so I let my wrath escape in constipated little dabs.
“She’s been
jerking my chain for the last six months.
I’ve had it up to here!” I said, gesticulating wildly, my voice rising again.
“Please be
reasonable, James,” he answered.
I hated that calm lawyeresque voice. It reminded me of mother, the judge. And the shrink they sent me to when the
university gave me the boot. What was
his name? Paton, Payton, Penton,
something like that. I will never forget
him. After six months poking around in
my childhood, like a proctologist checking the prostate, constantly asking how
I felt about things...Puddy! Walt Puddy. That’s
it! What a name; we made some typically
sophomoric jokes about that one. In case
you do not know, in those days the ‘pud’ was one of a thousand names for you
know what. I am sure the language has
moved on; I have no idea what they call it now.
Anyhow, I was
tired of the long drives -
Monstrous sharky fins shooting out the back and tons of chrome. Custom colored yellow and black. I bet his wife never forgave the good doctor
those colors. What a machine! A work of art. Especially the big back seat. I would be hard pressed to remember the names
of all the eager young ladies who felt compelled to do the old in-and-out in
it. The cops never bothered it
either. They must have thought it
belonged to some rich stiff. It ruined
me for what was to come: the soulless tight-assed computer-controlled environmentally
sensitive Japanese rigs with plastic bumpers you see these days zipping all
over the highways like water spiders.
The doctor
had it special-ordered, paid ten grand dad said, a
bundle in those days, and then went off and died. It had power seats, power steering, power antenna, power radio dialing, power everything. I could make it from
Actually the
bi-weekly visits to the shrink actually were not so bad. After my fifty minutes I would saunter down
to skid row, quaff a few brews, play pool and rub elbows with some pretty seedy
characters.
Anyhow, I was
getting fed up with the endless chit-chat.
I felt one of my impulses coming on.
The impulses landed me on that silly couch in the first place. The present one was about to get me off.
I was trying
to be on my best behavior at least until they shipped me off to the next Waspy
institution. I was in disgrace, getting
kicked out of a very prestigious school for reasons we will not mention.
“You have all the gifts, James,”
mom who had character and ambition used to say, making me guilty as hell, “with
the right opportunities you’ll be somebody.
And we’re here to see you have the opportunities.”
I asked him
point blank what was wrong with me.
He did a
double take, regained his composure, packed in a nice tidy little pinch of
sweet tobacco, fired up his beloved Meerschaum, which he fondled obscenely when
he was not smoking, and swiveled the armchair around to gaze profoundly out the
window at Spokane’s skyline which was dominated by the Ridpath Hotel, a
Thirties fantasy of Moorish opulence. I
thought he was just being dramatic, carrying his donnish avuncular Ivy League
persona to the max, but I was wrong; he was actually getting ready to be real
after all those months. He sat lost in
thought for eternal minutes, swiveled back, took a tasty little drag, looked me
right in the eye and in a brand new voice, one which I have since come to
recognize as truth, said, “Well, James, at worst you are slightly
maladjusted.” Another
long pause. Then, “But,
considering the times, I would say it is a good sign.”
That blew me
away.
All along I
was thinking that maybe everybody, Mom and the attenuated cue of officialdom that
seemed to have been sent to earth primarily to torment me since day one were
right; maybe there was something seriously wrong with me. But the good doctor did not seem to think so. I heartily concurred. He probably did not realize it, but he had just
given me license to continue my long slide into the pit.
Seriously
though, something was wrong; he just did not know what it was. Or if he knew he could not say. He was a well-meaning liberal intellectual
like mom who thought the world of Dr. Spock and could not very well say I was a
nasty little devil and lay on a few well-deserved whacks; it would not have
been scientific and may have permanently damaged my tender psyche. You would
think a guy getting fifty bucks an hour, a lot of money in those days, would
have been able to figure out that my morals were shot because I did not know
who I was. But even if he had, how would
he have gone about clueing me in?
I had to keep
falling.
Sorry, I am
getting off track, wandering around in antiquity. It is like that when you look back; the
thoughts branch uncontrollably as the mind hunts the kernel, the event meant to
burst radiantly out the gloom of the past and illumine the present.
Where was
I? Oh yes, grousing about the way
so-called professionals speak. I did not
need a lawyer because I was in hot water, at least not yet, but because I could
not talk to
Anyway, I
stuffed my anger because I needed him and because he was not a bad guy. He took his bi-weekly trouncing on the courts
like a champ and I often thought that if I was not who I was, maybe in a more
perfect world we might even be buddies, slop some suds, chase a little tail,
something like that. Not that I am into
that sort of stuff these days.
I apologized
and took my side of the conversation to the level of a righteous whine, “But
Christ Charlie! It’s worth twice
that. I busted ass to build it up to
this level.”
“That may be
true, but it’s only worth what she’s willing to pay. She’s got you by the short hairs. We’ve been through this before. She controls the Board. This is as good as you’re going to get.”
That pissed
me off and I decided to play my ace.
“Wrong, Charlie. The price is two hundred
fifty thou.”
“Christ,
James, are you nuts?
Here’s a solid offer. She thinks
she’s being taken to the cleaners as it is and you want another fifty
grand. You should take it. You know how long it would take me to get
together that kind of money?”
“You’re a lawyer, I own forty nine percent of a successful
corporation. But that’s another
issue. She’ll go for it.”
“You sound
pretty cocky, James. Is there something
I don’t know?”
“That’s
right, Charlie. Tell her this isn’t
going to court.”
We’ve been
through that too. If you don’t go for
this offer it will end up in court. What
you got?”
“I haven’t
been completely straight with you, Charlie.”
“Wait a
minute, James. Think twice about
this. If it’s seriously illegal you’re
putting me in a bind. I can’t represent
you if you’re into something heavy.”
“How’d you
like an expenses paid two week vacation for you and Pam in, say,
“Is this a
bribe, James?”
“Let’s say
you’re a stand-up guy, a great lawyer, and a buddy. I’d just like to show my appreciation.”
“This must be
bad. I’m not sure I want to hear it,” he
replied without conviction.
“You want to
hear it, Charlie. If you don’t like it,
tell me to take a hike. I’ll dig up
someone else.”
“Jesus,
James, take it easy. OK, why will she go
for a quarter of a million when she’s screaming bloody murder about two hundred thou?”
“Because I’ve got the second set of books.”
“You mean...”
“That’s
right. After you guys get through with
us and the IRS shows up and I have a word with a few key people there won’t be
much of a corporation to run. The books
are worth an extra fifty grand. That’s
the deal.”
“God, James,
not only are you bribing me, you’re blackmailing her, not to mention cheating
the government. I don’t like it. It’s wrong.”
But I could tell
by his tone that he was intrigued, which confirmed my hypothesis that most
people are bored to death and are constantly hoping for a titillating off-color
little something to come along and brighten up their shallow virtuous lives.
“Wrong or
not, it’s what’s happening. She broke
her promise and this the only way to fix it.”
“We’ve got a
fighting chance of getting the court to see it our way. I told you that.”
“A fighting chance with five years of my life! That’s not good enough. I’ve got insurance and it’s time to file the
claim.”
I could sense him getting upset so I tried to appeal
to his higher side.
“Don’t think I wouldn’t like to handle it honorably,
Charlie, sit down on the patio and discuss it politely over tea. I come from a good family. I’m no crook.
But this is the only way. I don’t
have it in writing and there’s just too much water under the bridge.”
“In fact
blackmail is eminently reasonable,” I thought to myself. “I should just push her off a
That would have been a
‘civilized,’ as mom used to say, response to her perfidy.
“She’ll go
for it,” I continued. Face is important
to Asians. We’ve a great reputation and
if the word gets out we’re scamming Uncle Sam a lot of those big accounts would
head south. Plus the business is on
fire. You’ve seen the figures. She’ll have it all back in no time.”
“You’ve sure
got chutzpah,” he said.
“I didn’t get
where I am being faint of heart, but if it makes you feel better I don’t enjoy
this any more than you.”
I think that
did it. I meant it. I was sick and tired of the whole mess. It was eating up every minute of my time and
I was not sleeping well. My gut was
hanging over my belt; I was smoking a couple packs of non-filter Camels a day
and socking away a lot of booze. Success
was not working.
“OK, James, I’ll tell her,” he
said,
I felt like kissing him.
Remember, first
class. You coming to
the club Saturday? I got a new
racquet. I’ll cream you.”
“I don’t know,” Charlie.
“Depends on how I feel then. I
don’t feel like socializing that much.
We’re down to the short strokes on this one and I’m almost out of a
job.”
I sounded
confident but hung up wondering if I had done the right thing, involving
him. If things headed south he might
spill the beans.
Until this
point nobody knew what was going on, the corporation just one big happy
family. I wanted to tell her
myself. We were still on speaking terms,
but as I said, everything went wrong when the money issue came up in her
presence - which it did almost as frequently as my Willie.
I nearly ran down a pedestrian on the way out of the parking
garage when my mind flipped into fantasy mode and I saw her shapely nude brown
body, which I had loved to distraction for the last five years, splayed out on
the Sahara, a rough wooden stake driven violently through the heart, a small
erotic rivulet of blood tricking from the wound, gumming up the sand – an
unpleasant image, no doubt, but it did make me feel better.
Driving up the strip I felt like crying. I know, men do not cry. At least in those days they didn’t. Now, I am told, it is all the rage; shows you
are sensitive, have feelings. Women are
meant to love it. I hate self pity. But I had made a royal mess of things, and
life seemed ever-so much more important then than it does now, so I found
myself choking back a string of aching dry sobs trying to work to the surface
like rotten farts oozing through a plugged and putrefying colon. Though I tried, not thinking about her was
impossible, like the fellow who went to the guru for a secret mantra. After the instructions had been given, the
guru said, “Oh, by the way, the mantra won’t work if you think of pink elephants
before you chant.” She was stuck in my
mind and the only way to obliterate her was to get high.
I parked near
I was the problem.
I remember feeling grateful as I rolled the joint, wondering
how I had survived without it so long.
The first time flashed.
I had just come back to Manila from Zamboanga after a buying
trip, island-hopping in dilapidated DC-10's left over from the war, landing on
potholed runways so skimpy the wings narrowly missed coconut palms lining the
sides, occasionally swerving to avoid the hulking black shapes of water buffaloes
wandering lethargically across the pocked tarmac.
What a fop I was, sporting a Panama Hat, Barong Tagalog, and
silk slacks, swaggering through fetid tropical towns spreading greenbacks
around local markets like a whore the clap at a convention of traveling
salesmen, twirling an inlaid baton purchased from an antique shop in Rangoon,
probably scavenged from a British officer who made the supreme sacrifice in the
Burmese campaign. Ridiculous as I was I
do not regret one day spent sitting on those screened verandahs in the heat of
the day, drinking San Miguel and nibbling balut, hard-boiled embryonic duck
with tiny bones and fledgling feathers, making deals with Chinese traders.
I unpacked, went for a swim, and was lounging by the pool drinking
gin and tonic and reading Conrad when Emy appeared, setting the old hormones
vibrating. She was so deliciously
Filipina, a marvelous combination of compliant Malay inscrutability and Spanish
passion. She made me ache all over, but
putting the moves on her was verboten because she was the daughter of Ninoy,
our number one supplier. Sex was sex and
business was business, although I certainly had not followed that rule with
“Hi James!" she
said, enthusiastically dragging a chaise lounge across the tiles, indifferently
depositing her luscious form.
"Where you been? I haven't
seen you for a couple of weeks."
“Buying trip.
"Of course I keep track.
Dad talks about you all the time.
He thinks you're great."
I was too vain not to be flattered. And I was not sure how much of my bullshit
Ninoy had swallowed.
"What about you?
What do you think?"
"Oh, you're OK.
You think you're pretty hot, but you're not a bad guy. You must be smart to have so much money at
twenty five."
In spite of her statement I got the impression she did not
think much of money. Still, I liked her
sassy style, her command of English.
"Just luck," I said. "What's in the bag?"
She leaned over and reached for a large raffia bag, decorated
with straw flowers, her generous breasts nearly falling from a rumpled
partially unbuttoned blouse. She had the
right stuff but her hair was a mess and her bikini mismatched, which takes some
doing. What did she have against bras
and tight skirts, lipstick, perfume and parloured hair?
Emy made me feel like a veritable dinosaur at
twenty-six. I was imprisoned in the
Fifties and here it was sixty-seven. How
much like dad I had become, hopelessly straight and out of it.
She
must have picked up her style at
Ironically,
I recall wondering if Emy believed in free love, was part of the developing
drug subculture that was giving the readers of Time such a start.
She
took a record from the bag and handed it to me.
"The who?" I said, unable to make out the weird wavy
lettering on the cover.
"Not
the Who," she said, "The Beatles, a group from
I
wondered why these popular groups took such strange names. I hated popular music. Yes, I had been a big fan when I was a
teenager growing up in
“They're
very psychedelic," Emy continued.
"Very psychedelic?
What do you mean?"
"Turned on man. Out there. You get
high and everything’s different." she replied smiling enigmatically.
Undoubtedly amused I was so out of it, she was
anticipating turning me on, wondering how it would turn out. Perhaps she was thinking I would have a
bummer and freak out, or worse, not feel a thing. I must have seemed pretty dead. On the other hand she might have been
visualizing me morphing into a wild-eyed hippie, tearing off my clothes,
streaking around the pool, fucking her silly.
“What’s
it like?” I said.
She
did not answer but got up and walked through the sliding glass door to the apartment.
"How
do you turn this on?" she called.
I
got up and went in, miffed she had presumed to enter uninvited. I was used to manners, being able to predict
what was happening.
Nonetheless,
I stuffed my feelings as usual and helped her with the stereo. The sparks flew when our bodies brushed as I
fiddled with the knobs a second before the treacly strains of Strawberry
Fields, a far cry from my beloved Mozart, suddenly oozed from the large black
speakers.
She
flopped down on the couch, one shapely leg thrown casually over the armrest,
the other on the coffee table. I could
see the peach fuzz on her inner thigh.
"You
have to be high," she said, picking up where we’d left off outside.
I
did not get it.
"Psychedelic, man!
High! When you're high you'll
know what out there is,” she replied, taking a small bottle of dark brown
liquid and a couple of strange little cigarettes from her bag.
I
did not like being put on hold and called ‘man,’ but sat down next to her
anyway. I was capable of serious
repression and mind-boggling hypocrisy when it seemed I was about to get laid.
"What's
that?"
"Codeine,"
she replied.
“And those?"
"Dope, man, marijuana, the nasty killer weed. You want to get high?" she said,
snuggling up against me.
A
wave of tingly energy swept over me, the thrill of the forbidden.
“What about
Ninoy?” I said.
“What about Ninoy?”
“If
he finds us sitting here like this it will mess up the whole business thing.”
“Sitting
here like what?”
She
must have known what I meant. There we
were lounging around on the couch half naked in the most compromising position
about to do you know what and she is pretending everything is very normal.
“Like,
well, ... I mean... like... here we are sitting around
in our swimsuits on the couch about to do something illegal. What if Ninoy came looking for you?”
“This
will be good for you. Think of it as
medicine.”
“Medicine? Are you nuts!
What’s medicine have to do with it?”
“You’re
uptight. This will cure you.”
My
desire to punch her did not seem appropriate.
There she was: totally unconcerned, sexy as hell, her pert nipples
quivering with excitement. I felt I
could act out any fantasy.
“What
do you mean, “uptight?” It was the first time I’d heard the
word.
“Worried, man. Worried. Angry. You’re like an
old man, like Ninoy. What’s to worry
about? You’ve got it made, hanging
around over here, taking it easy, making scads of money, messing around with
the local girls.”
“I’m
not messing around,” I lied. “I have a
girlfriend in
“You mean,
I
felt a strange mixture of incredulity and rage.
How did she know
“You
know,
“Of course. They’re
one of the richest families here.
Everyone knows everything: her mad brother, Manuel, Imelda the ice
queen, Juan Ponce who made all the money off the Americans. They’re famous. I even heard about your accident, sneaking
out of the hospital.”
I
felt totally embarrassed. How did anyone
know about the accident? There were so
many thoughts buzzing in my mind I did not know where to start so I decided to
concentrate on Ninoy.
“Does
Ninoy know you take that stuff?”
"You
think I'm stupid? You know how they are
here. I don't tell them anything.
“Aren’t
you worried they’ll find out?”
“What
are they going to do, put me in jail?
Come on, James, take it easy.
It’s only dope. ”
“You
must think I’m pretty screwed up.”
“Let’s
not get into it, James. What do you
say? You want to get high?"
"What's
it like?"
“That’s
not the right answer, man.”
“I
just want to know what to expect, that’s all.”
"Take
it easy,” she said, caressing my neck with her delicate fingers. It's no big deal. You want to go to the movies?"
"I
just want to know what to expect, that's all."
"You
think it's life-threatening?" she asked, a
mischievous grin appearing on her pretty face.
"It's fun. You’ll love
it. I'll be there too."
I
was about to ask where “there” was but realized I would have to take the
plunge.
“You’ll dig it, believe me. You’re ready. ”
She handed me the joint and I took a couple of deep drags. They burned hotter than my Camels.
Then the bottle of codeine.
“That’s cough syrup.”
“So?”
“So, I don’t have a cold.”
“I know you don’t have a cold, James.”
“So what’s it for?”
“It’s a narcotic, works great with the dope and cools the
throat. It’s your medicine, what the
doctor ordered. Take a big swig. It will make you better.”
“You’re having a very nice time teasing me, aren’t you. Am I really that
bad?”
“You’re fine, James. Absolutely fine. But
there’s something important you don’t know, something
you can’t buy.”
She leaned over and kissed me on the neck. I wanted to respond but the thought of
“What’s the matter, James?
Don’t you want to kiss me?”
“It’s
"Do you love
her?"
“I thought I did, but if it's love why
does it hurt so much?"
I could not believe I
said that. It just flowed out on its
own. I always made things out to be
copasetic, even when they stunk.
She snuggled closer and handed me the joint. I took a couple serious drags and handed it
back. I cannot be sure because my mind
was starting to change but think I heard her say, “It’s only love if you know
its love. I’m not looking for a
boyfriend. I just like you. Don’t worry about Ninoy. It’s OK.”
Something like that.
It seemed as if she were speaking in an underwater dream but it
did not matter because I could hear the sweetness in her voice oozing through
time and space, ringing crystal clear in my mind. It seemed terribly real, more important than
anything I had heard for a long time.
Somewhere along the line I seemed to have forgotten about love.
The thought of
We kissed, her tongue delicately, eagerly exploring my mouth
sending waves of pleasure southward, relaxing the paralysis in my lower
extremities.
“Well, what’s this?” she said, lightly
groping my crotch.
“That’s the Willie,” I replied, hungrily kissing her breasts.
“It seems pretty uptight.
Perhaps it needs to smoke some dope, drink some codeine, learn to take it easy.”
“I don’t think it’s ready.
Maybe later.
Let’s just let it be.”
From that point on I cannot remember what we said because we
were well out of the world of words. I
do recall sliding, tumbling, freefalling down a long dark comforting tunnel,
***
“So tell me about the broken leg,” said Emy, after we came down
a bit and were tired of making love.
“I
thought you’d heard it all on the grapevine.
Besides, I don’t come out looking very good.”
“I don’t care how you look.
I’m only interested in who you are.”
“Who I am? I’m me, James.”
“I know that James, but who’s that?”
“I don’t get it. It’s
me.”
“Let’s not get into it now, OK?
Tell me about the accident.”
“But what are you saying, who I really am?
“It’s not important, James.”
“But I want to know.”
“OK, James. The truth. I want to
know the truth.
“The truth?” I replied.
It seemed a novel
concept.
“How it really is with you.
How you see it.”
“See what?”
“See what happened. See
yourself. See the world, other people.”
“I don’t get it? What
are you saying?”
“Tell you what, James,” she said, kissing my neck. Let’s have another smoke and make love and
forget this conversation, the whole broken leg story. You turn me on.”
“An offer I can’t refuse,” I replied, still wondering what she
meant about who I was. So we toked up
and went at it again. And as we lay
there spooning, sweaty and exhausted, the story just spilled out.
“It was a big money day at the shops and I was feeling
fantastic. I collected the receipts
which filled a couple of shopping bags, mostly tens and twenties, and showed up
at her place about eight with a bottle of champagne and a box of
chocolates. Charles was working late as
usual and the kids were tucked in for the night. She was lounging around sexy lingerie
reading.”
“So how did you feel screwing a married woman?” Emy asked.
“How did I feel? OK, I
guess. Well, not good,
actually. I had to skulk around a
bit. But you have to see it from her
point of view. She gets the kids to
school and has the whole day off till after four. And she is not into cleaning, decorating, and
fussing with the yard. In fact, she
could use a few housekeeping lessons.
Anyway, he comes home for dinner at six and is back at the lab by seven,
To top it off she claimed he was not a qualified operator. His idea was once a week between eight and
nine on Saturday morning. At exactly
nine he’d get up, or a little before if the plumbing worked sooner, put on his
running shoes, and go out for a long jog.
That was it. No foreplay, no
afterplay, nothing but the in and out and then off to the races. The first day we met we made love nine times.
So Charles was supposed to come home about eleven,
I was really bombed.
Without thinking, I hopped on one of the kid’s bikes and pedaled madly
into the street and into the path of an oncoming car. Before I knew it I was flying through the air
upside down, watching the taillights recede into the night. Another car squealed to a stop within inches
and in a matter of minutes a crowd of neighbors gathered. Someone went off to call the ambulance. I could not see anyone’s face, must have been
shock, but I heard Charles’ voice clear as a bell above the hushed mumbling of
the onlookers.
“Serves the fucker right!”
“So you couldn’t stay any more and came over here.”
“It’s not forever. It
will all go back to normal before long.”
“How can you be sure?”
“
“You’re incredible,” she said.
“Why?”
“You didn’t learn anything out of all this.”
“What’s to learn? It was
just a bit of bad luck. Things will go
back to normal in no time.”
“That’s what I mean.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s normal? You
think
“Sure, she’s fixing up this thing with Corazon so we can be
together.”
“God, James, you are thick.
The way for her to fix things up is to either dump you or Charles. A phony marriage is no fix. It’s just more lies. She doesn’t care about you. She cares about having her cake and eating it
too. You think you know people, but you
don’t. She’ll dump you when she’s
finished with you. ”
“No way. She needs me.”
“Needs are not love, James.
“What do you mean?”
“Needs are needs, love’s love.
If she loved you, you wouldn’t be holing up here.”
I was starting to get her drift.
I do not remember how that conversation came out. The point is that Emy introduced me to dope
and got me thinking in another direction.
When it was time to go back to our lives I made a fool of myself. I asked her to marry me.
“God, James, you’re serious, aren’t you!”
“Of course, I love you, Emy.”
“I love you too, but that doesn’t mean we have to get
married. I don’t want to get married, to
you or anyone else.”
“But Emy, we’d be great together. When you love someone it makes sense to get
married.”
“Not any more, James.
That’s the straight world.
There’s a whole new thing going on.
Love is free. You’ve been stuck in
that relationship with
And that was that.
“But I can’t,” I said.
“We don’t love each other.”
“I love you,” she said.
“How can you love me? We
don’t even know each other.”