Tim Parks - The Server

Equanimous mind. Tranquil mind.

Two thirty to three thirty is Strong Determination. ‘We are not masochists,’ Dasgupta says, ‘but there are great benefits to be gained from remaining absolutely still for a whole hour. This resolution is known in Pali as adhitthana , or strong determination.’

Marcia couldn’t decide if she was going to cross her right leg over her left or her left over her right. Her thighs are thick. She was wearing nylon trousers that swished and hissed. She lifted her backside and removed one of three foam cushions. Then she put it back. The fart is a rice-and-beans fart. I mustn’t attach my mind to an irritant. I mustn’t criticize. Will Kristin laugh about this in bed or will she lie silent on her slats? That’s how I should be: silent, concentrated, uncritical. Meredith will giggle. But I want Kristin to laugh. When she laughs I will bless her. Without any effort. She laughs and the blessing will rise from my gut, from my heart.

‘Sttart-tagain,’ Dasgupta intones. It’s the CD for day three, two thirty. The last day of anapana . ‘Concentrate on your breath as it passes through the nostrils and across the upper lip. Don’t try to change it or control it. Concentrate on the breath, as it is. As it is . If it is soft, it is soft. If it is hard, it is hard. The in-breath crossing the lip. The out-breath crossing the lip.’

Marcia huffs and puffs. She puts her hands on her knees, then moves them back to her lap, then back to her knees again. She can’t decide whether to have her blanket over her shoulders, or round her waist. Why is she so useless?

‘Eyes always closed, remain vvery vigilant, vvery aware, vvery vigilant, vvery aware.’

I open my eyes and look to Mi Nu Wai. She’s statuesque. No, a statue doesn’t vibrate. It’s a breathing stillness. I watch her. Words are popping and crackling in my mind: We recognized that you were in love. So beautiful to see you that way . A father was writing this stuff to his daughter. Not my father for sure. My father didn’t see anything. Maybe he saw the first daughter, maybe the second, but not the third, not Beth. Dad just did not notice when I was in love, or when I was out of love. ‘Carl tells me he loves me every day,’ I told Jonathan. ‘So do a couple of other guys, actually.’ It was true. There was an old guitar teacher in Swiss Cottage. Jonathan smiled. ‘But I don’t believe in love,’ I told him. That was what he wanted to hear. ‘What is love? A word? A sound? How can a girl in a band, with a solo career too, plus loads of session work, how can a girl like that not have other men? I love men. That’s what I love.’

Mi Nu is so still on the dais. There’s definitely a light from her cheeks and forehead. She’s lit up by her stillness. As if all the spotlights had been turned up on your shining face . The fact that that letter hurts should be a warning. I can feel the words in my ankles. Stay away from this man. Stay at the Dasgupta. Wrap yourself in the spirit of the Dasgupta. You came here so as not to kill yourself . So be here, Mr Diarist, damn it. Be here in this stillness and leave be. Stop writing your sad stories. Leave Susie be. Leave your wife be. Concentrate on your bloody meditation. I’m sure Mi Nu has a story behind her, but it’s long since dissolved into quietness. It’s an old magazine, read and forgotten. What’s forgotten can’t harm, has no power. Still, I’m hungry to know. I want to know. Why? The age gap with the older man is not the same as with the older woman . What is that supposed to mean? ‘I’m old enough to be your father,’ Jonathan said. ‘Hmmm, incest.’ I laughed.

My father was obsessed by money and security, no doubt about that, and he would never have denied it. Janet must study accountancy, Helen marketing, Elisabeth design. Each Marriot must take his place in Marriot’s Ltd. Or, rather, her place, defending Marriot against the taxman, promoting the Marriot brand, designing Marriot’s fabrics. Your life a project in Dad’s head. Mum’s role to shop, cook, clean and spend. The house must look good enough for all this work to have been worthwhile. Without spending too much. ‘It’s true your father’s a tyrant, Beth. But he came from nothing, remember.’

We all came from nothing, Mum.

Truth was Dad wanted a son. He would have left us alone if he’d had a son.

Marcia uncrosses and re-crosses her legs. She sighs and sniffs. It has begun to rain. Drops clatter on the roof of the Metta Hall. In a few minutes it will start to leak. The drip will begin.

Sit still. Right effort.

A still body is a still mind. Right concentration.

Stillness is awareness is equanimity. Right understanding.

What was Susie’s huge opportunity? Has she been signed up by a major recording studio? Have they invited her to play at the Coliseum? Do it, Susie! Your dad’s right. Blow ’em away! Or did they just give her a good place in college? A chance to go to Cambridge with Meredith? Then the hell with it. Go for your man, girl. You are in love with a man who is in love with you. How often does that happen? Do it. Go for it. Carl loved me, really loved me. Telling Jonathan love didn’t exist, I discovered what it was. I’d give anything , my diarist said. Who hasn’t got behind the wheel drunk some time? Who hasn’t risked killing and being killed? Damn.

‘Never try to regulate your breathing. If the breath passes through the left nostril, then let it be the left nostril. If it passes through the right nostril, let it be the right nostril. Just observe. Just observe.’

Between long pauses Dasgupta’s voice breaks the silence.

‘Things as they are, as they are , not as you would like them to be. The breath, as it is. As it is .’

I can’t sit still if I’m thinking. I tense up. The more I don’t want to think, the more I tense up. I think about tensing up. Everything aches and cramps, because I’m thinking. The thoughts are in my ankles now, they’ve crept up to my thighs, bad thoughts, gripping my shoulders, pressing their thumbs in my neck. Thoughts are pain, pain, pain. I’m thinking about thinking about tensing up. I start to hear everything. Every sniff and shuffle and cough. Marcia shifting from ham to fat ham in those nylon trousers. Huff puff, huff puff. The rain drumming. A man yawns on the far side of the hall. Pretty loudly. And again. So loud it’s even funny. And again ! He’s doing it on purpose. I let my eye slide to the left. Yep, the course manager on the male side is hurrying along the aisle. He’s going to warn him.

I can’t go on. The pain in my ankles is worse. The thoughts in my ankles. Bad thoughts. Jonathan. Pain is a door. Locked today. Pain is a locked door, a bolted door. You can’t go through. Out of bounds. And there’s the drip. It falls from the roof and ploofs into the carpet, behind me, to my right. A couple of yards back. I never change my posture in Strong Determination. Never. Servers should set an example. Old students should be capable of sitting an hour in stillness.

Ploof.

Pain is welding my calves together. Painful thoughts. I can’t relax. I’m one with my diarist now. Back to day one, that is. Sankhara. Sankhara . The unskilled actions of the past resurface as pain when we meditate. How can anyone believe such crap? But they do. It’s true. I feel it’s true. Ghost words coming back. Pain is pus pushed from old infections, old betrayals. I was so skilled in unskilled actions, so good at playing off boyfriends, parents, producers. Now their words come back. Cruel words. Kind words. The kind words are the cruellest. Be happy, Beth, be peaceful, be liberated, li-ber-a-ted, liberated. You are in the present now, Beth. Not the past. The present where there is no conflict. Here in the Metta Hall there are no decisions. All memories, all plans, are insubstantial. Your diarist is insubstantial. His daughter insubstantial. Jonathan insubstantial. Carl insubstantial. Dad insubstantial. Beth insubstantial. Insubstantial the night on the beach, the night on the beach. Philippe. Hervé. The shouts. The breakers.