Randy White - Shark River

“Takes your breath away, doesn’t she?”

I said, “She reminds me of women I saw on the Ivory Coast. Something about the cheekbone structure. Or maybe North Africa, with those legs.”

“Her mother’s from Senegal; her father’s Saudi Arabian.”

“You know her, then.”

Tomlinson’s voice had a sad, rueful tone. “Oh, I know her all right. Remember last year when I spent two weeks in Aspen at the International Bodhi Tree Conference?”

I nodded, suddenly more interested than before. I’d forgotten the name of the conference, but I remembered that he’d gone to Colorado.

Thus the increased interest.

Tomlinson was, apparently, much in demand at such events. There are very few westerners who are Rinzai Zen masters and roshi s-a Japanese word for teacher. The man has his accomplishments but also his quirks. He can be infuriating, but he possesses an amazing intellect and his intuitive powers are the best I’ve ever witnessed. More important, he makes me laugh.

He said, “Nimba flew into Aspen via Paris and enrolled without her husband. That’s her name-Nimba Dimbokro. It was a very confusing and painful time in her life. Her husband, supposedly, is a Saudi prince, but he acts more like some abusive camel-jockey redneck. You’ve read about vaginal circumcisions? He’s exactly the sort who advocates that sort of thing.

“He’s rich, of course. His family’s made billions in oil. I mean literally billions. They have private jets; they own politicians in several countries; they have homes all over the world. Whatever she wants, Nimba gets. Except for one thing-freedom. Happiness. A couple of the biggies, huh?”

“I hope you’re not telling me you slept with one of your students. What is she? Twenty-two, maybe twenty-five years old?”

Tomlinson’s tone seldom approaches anger, but now it did. “Please tell me you’re joking, then apologize. You think I would violate my moral obligations to a student?”

“I’m sorry. I apologize and withdraw the comment.”

“I should hope so. Nimba came to the retreat in absolute emotional turmoil. She went through ‘Beginner’s Mind.’ She learned how to sit, how to count her breaths. All very basic stuff. I was working with the advanced students, holding dokusan three times a day, and serving as monitor at sesshin s, so I wasn’t her teacher. We had no interaction at all at the retreat.”

I said, “Then you were lovers.”

He shook his head. “Through karmic intervention, we met coincidentally at a ski bar. A place called The Slope.”

“I’m familiar with the bar,” I said, looking at him closely.

“The place happened to be holding a limbo contest that night. You may remember what a superb limbo dancer I am.”

I shook my head. “Un-uh. The last time I can remember you limboing was at the marina. It was almost a year ago at the Friday cotillion, maybe longer. You were wearing that red sarong you like, nothing else, so I left. Walked out on the docks, along with most of the other people there. Some things, you just don’t want to see.”

“Then take my word for it. I’m one of the all-time great limbo dancers. It’s like a gift from God, the rhythm, the balance-actually a very delicate form of levitation if done properly. The great poet Basho wrote about it once. Metaphorically, of course-he didn’t use the word ‘limbo.’ ”

I said, “Ah.” I’d returned my attention to the woman. She was lying there with her eyes closed, stretched out in the winter heat. “So you met her at the bar. Then what?”

“We danced. We laughed. We drank. As you know, people tend to trust and confide in me quickly.”

“Yep, that I can certainly confirm.”

“Before I knew it, she was leaning against my shoulder, crying. She told me the whole long, sad story. She’d been holding in the hurt for so long that, clinically, she was on the verge of a complete breakdown. I couldn’t go off and leave her alone. No way. That night, she slept in my bed. But I didn’t touch her-not in any romantic, sexual sense. She was much, much too vulnerable. Sometimes, being a moraled man in an immoral world is a gigantic pain in the ass.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said, smiling. “You were on your best behavior. But somehow the relationship changed.”

“Not then. We were together for the next three nights. Gradually, I talked her into a more peaceful frame of mind.

“We’ve stayed in contact since, and she’s finally worked up the nerve to leave her asshole husband. She agreed to meet me here-not as a student, but for a few days of rest and relaxation. That was coincidental, too. I’d actually invited someone else, a woman I’ve never seen face to face. It was someone I really wanted us both to meet. But she backed out at the last minute.”

There was something odd about his tone, but I didn’t inquire.

Now, as his head turned toward the pool, his expression became a slow description of frustration and sadness. “Nimba arrived three days ago, the afternoon of my last Beginner’s Mind class. You wondered why I haven’t been here for the last few sunsets? I’ve spent all three nights in that gorgeous woman’s duplex, and I couldn’t perform. I tried and tried, and I just couldn’t. The little bastard’s turned traitor on me. Not that I’m so little,” he added quickly. “Let’s face it. Everybody at the marina knows. No way to hide the damn thing. I’m hung like a bull dolphin.”

I said, “Very famous with the island women, no question about that. How’d she react?”

“Not good. She blames herself, of course. That abusive husband of hers has absolutely destroyed her self-confidence. Then I come along and add to her pain.” He looked at me. “You understand now why I want to get that tattoo on my ass?”

“I think you’re making too much of it. You say the problem’s not physiological, so you need to back up a couple of steps. Take your own emotional survey. Figure out what’s going on. Are you feeling any unusual amount of stress? Depression, maybe?” I hesitated before adding, “Or guilt? From what I’ve read about the brain’s chemistry, guilt can be a very powerful inhibitor. Affects all kinds of behavior and body functions. Because of certain chemicals released, and there’s another one-serotonin, I think-it creates a shortage of serotonin so there’s a direct physiological reaction.”

He wasn’t looking at me as I added, “Or maybe it has something to do with all the dope you’ve been smoking and alcohol. Seems to me you stepped it up a few notches in the last six months or so.”

Tomlinson was nodding, thinking about that. “Could be, could be. The source of all karma bondage is delusion, and there’s a very fine line between being seriously fucked up and fucked up seriously. Now that you mention it, I have been having an unusual amount of werewolf mornings.” When I didn’t respond, he explained, “A werewolf morning, that’s when you wake up, look around the room hoping not to see blood because you can’t remember what happened the night before.”

I said, “I’m no physician, but I suspect that’s not a good sign. Once again, maybe you need to take that survey. Depression or guilt. Something’s going on up there in that great big brain of yours, old friend.”

He sighed. “Doc, some of the things I’ve done in my life, I’d give my left nut to change. Know how, on a computer, you can drag down, highlight, then hit delete? I’d trash a couple years of my life, no problem. Maybe even a whole decade, I was such a crazed asshole. Some mistakes, though, there’s no going back. You just keep paying and paying. The masters teach that there are five deadly sins, and one of them is destroying your own Buddha nature. Maybe way back, that’s what I did. And wouldn’t you just know that my dick would be the first to show symptoms.”