Bruce Wagner - The Empty Chair

“You were warned , weren’t you? Not to let the man in the cave know he might be having visitors? Did he tell you that?”

“It’s true! But I can assure it is was a warning most easily ignored.”

The remark got Kura’s attention. “I don’t follow you.”

“If for a single moment I believed there was one nefarious thing behind the whole gambit that might possibly result in harm to the Hermit, I would not have hesitated to warn him , i.e., sound the alarum throughout the entire village. He is after all an irreproachable member of our community — the Hermit has quite a special status, to say the least! The village feeds and clothes him, and thanks God for the privilege. I shall reserve to make further explanations regarding my meaning at a different time, for I know you are in a very big rush. As said: I would certainly not have hung fire to tip off the jnani of any goings-on should I have suspected something shady. In fact, it would have been my distinct pleasure and honor! But when Quasimodo — one hell of a guy, I assure! — informed me the Hermit was your guru , whom you wished to make reunion after so many years and planned to come such a great distance to worship… my heart became full and it was a facile thing for me to then agree. So may I say: I rejoice with you, and for you!”

“Just tell me. Have you kept your word? Or broken it?”

To which the elder replied, “Sir! All that I have — apart from this village and its souls, who are my consummate children — is my w ord. I gave it to your hell of a man in complete and utter seriousness… and now give it to you in the very same spirit. Sir! Mister Bela Moncrieff! I will now settle it again so that each and every one of us are free to go about the pressing duties of our individual day. You have my solemn assurance that I breached nothing. The only personage who knows of your agenda other than myself is my dear wife.”

He threw her a glance. After meeting it she flirtily averted her gaze, turning back to look after the soup on the stove.

“Only my wife was — is — aware that certain guests may or may not be — are — dropping in. Have. I hasten to add that in telling this woman I did not break my word. Not at all! For after half a century of matrimony, we are no longer separate people! We are one and the same.”

I applauded the elder, who’d managed to put my old friend at ease, which was no mean feat. Kura rested his hands on his thighs in a posture of relaxed, fraternal fidelity. His face got ruddy and his eyes were bright.

“Your village shall receive a handsome dowry in addition to that which my man has already seen to. Such endowment is to be dispersed solely at your discretion. Now, does that meet with your approval?”

“O, eminently, sir! Eminently so!”

“Good.”

The wife motioned for us to sit on two ottomans covered in ornately woven patterns. We did as she commanded. There were smiles all around. This time Kura sampled the confections. After a swallow, he faced the elder and said, “Tell me what you know.”

“The Hermit arrived in the autumn of ’87,” he began. “He came to us as a mendicant, a sannyasi , a wandering monk. It is the ancient tradition of our village, as it is in all villages, to be most hospitable to visitors. With a holy man, such largess takes on a new dimension… He spoke our dialect to perfection. We provided him food and shelter — twas our honor and duty before God! His looks, of course, were striking; tall and blue-eyed. The sun had baked him but it was obvious he was fair-skinned. We knew not where he hailed from nor was it our business to ask. After a few months, he said he was American —a testimonial to the linguistic prowess of the man, for when he spoke to us in our mother tongue there simply was no accent at all. An American rishi —this really threw us for a loop! The very idea of it… but I’ve taken too much of your time. I presume you’ll stay for supper? We’ll catch up on everything later… My wife, as you can see, has been hard at work. Her soup is among the jnani ’s favorites! Delicacies will be served tonight: American-style chips and ‘dip’! Ha ha! I shall now suspend any more talk of the life that your guru has spent not among us but within our hearts , divinely so. For I am a poor biographer and hew closely to the maxim ‘Wise is the man who knows that the line between tidings and gossip is thin.’”

“But you have an accent,” said Kura. “I can’t place it. Where is it from?”

“Ah ha! You can’t see the forest through the trees. It is nothing more nor less than an American accent! I wished after one since I was a boy… and though he lacked one himself, I owe it all to the Hermit, a patient tutor, and as gifted a linguist as he is a Master of soham , the self-realized knowledge ‘That, I Am.’”

His wife approached with plates of appetizers, to hold us over until dinner. Kura declined. Weeks of anticipation had bollixed him up; his stomach was sour. No matter — a food basket had already been prepared. When she handed me a small canvas bag with two bottled waters, the woman forever won my heart.

The hour of reckoning was upon us and Kura was coming apart at the seams. “Is he — is he there?” asked Kura. “At home? Now? Is he in his cave?”

“Most certainly! A hermit wouldn’t be a hermit if he wasn’t at home in his cave, true? The muni has no desires — no need to seek out that which was never lost . And whatever his body needs for sustenance, the village provides… believe me, it is the barest of essentials!”

A young boy tumbled in from outside, pantomiming guffaws while pretending to outrun the delicious torment of a phantom tickler. Then, with theatrical flourish, he stopped abruptly, stood ramrod straight and dusted himself off before extending a hand in welcome.

“Ah,” said the elder, beaming with love. “You must end your foolishness long enough to carry out a very important errand.” He turned to us and said, “My grandson!” Back to the boy: “You are to escort our guests to Dashir Cave without delay.” To us: “My grandson also took lessons from you know who!” To the boy: “ Now , without any nonsense! And if, while on your way, a busybody should inquire after where you are going, you are simply to tell them, ‘Grandpa has asked me to show his guests the Tamarisk tree.’ Now go. Vamoose!”

He went to his grandmother instead and clung to her waist. She dispensed a handful of wrapped toffees; he undressed one and placed it in her hand before leaning over to nibble as a horse would its sugar cube. A most expressive, talented boy.

“Vamoose,” said the elder. “Funny word, don’t you think? It is my understanding it also has the meaning of ‘skedaddle’—and perhaps, scram. ” He erupted in peals of laughter as his grandson grandly bade us to follow.

And off we went.

After only a few minutes, he shouted at the boy to shorten his stride.

“Far? How far? Is it far?” Kura asked, out of breath.

Our mischievous guide turned and stared past us like a dullard, his mouth gone lax and cretinous. He briskly “came to,” flashing a smile that was positively debonair. “ Not far,” he said, self-amused. He resumed the hike before pulling himself short with a staccato burst of unprovoked hilarity. Each crazed uproar sent him closer to the ground, like a cartoon mallet was pounding on his head — Sammy Davis Jr. by way of Wile E. Coyote. We followed along at his mercy.