you will want to sleep."
"Yes." Her gaze dropped to the floor.
"Is something wrong?"
She looked up, her smile wry but gentle. "No. I was debating whether to invite you to join me. I have heard that some of your monks…" Her voice trailed off at the stiffening of his shoulders. "But not you, I take it. Please forgive me for being forward."
"It is nothing," he said, wanting to sound casual but knowing he did not. "The vow I wish to take would preclude me from experiencing sexual pleasures."
"And in return you would gain what?" Her gaze was curious. His fell to the carmine fullness of her mouth, then slid away.
"A deeper spirituality. A chance to reach nirvana." He caught the question in her eyes. "Nirvana means enlightenment, a knowledge of oneness with the universe, a freedom from the cycle of rebirth."
"Like our concept of heaven?"
"Something like," he said, though from what he knew of Christianity the differences were great. No harps played in a Buddhist's heaven. No one lazed about or sang in heavenly choirs. And no sinner went to hell. Hell was here. Hell was earth. If one learned one's lessons well, one could advance to a higher plane and continue one's progress there.
To his surprise, a very human grin flashed across her face. "You don't want to tell me what you are thinking," she said. "You're afraid you will offend me." With a spontaneity that made his throat tighten, she squeezed his upper arm. "You must not worry. I may not be pious but my faith is firm. A matter of faith, I suppose you'd say, since—despite some people's claim that I am a creature of the devil—I have never met him, no more than I've met God. My beliefs require no proof, nor do I fear to hear others speak of theirs, even at the risk they will change my mind."
Martin blinked at her. His teacher would have approved of her attitude. "In that case, I shall tell you what you wish."
"Good," she said, and strode jauntily toward her folded clothes.
Watching her bottom jiggle was a pleasure he could not bring himself to forgo.
***
MARTIN and his guide stood shoulder to shoulder on the lamasery roof, gazing out toward the soft green haze of the nearest valley. Soon spring would bring herds of gowa to graze on the growing grass; herds of pilgrims, too, though not so many as trekked to the holier shrine at Kangrinpoche. He found himself glad they were not here yet. They would have been a distraction from Luisa.
She interests me, he thought, facing the truth as he had been trained. She pulls not just at my body but at my mind.
What would it be like to see history unfold in a single incarnation? To love the material world so deeply one never wished to leave? Martin shook his head. Luisa claimed faith in a higher power, but she did not experience its reality even as much as the youngest chela. She could not touch the truth behind the illusion. All things were one and yet Luisa seemed alone: separate from both her God and her fellow beings. She should have been miserable. He could not understand why she was not.
No doubt he would have pondered the matter longer if his teacher had not spoken.
"Do you remember," he said, "when your family first came to Shisharovar?"
"I shall never forget it. I ran straight up the stairs and tried to kick two monks out of 'my' room."
The abbot's eyes crinkled at the corners. "You were quite adamant for an eight-year-old."
"But it was all so clear to me. This was where I belonged."
"Yes," said his guide, "it must have seemed so. I admit, I felt the tug of it myself: to keep my old friend by my side. It is comforting to find again what you have lost, almost as comforting as finding what you have forgotten you ever had."
Martin wondered what the abbot was getting at, but his placid profile gave no clue. He felt his forehead pleat together. "I know sixteen years was a long time to stay away, but I could not have remained here
"Yes." Her gaze dropped to the floor.
"Is something wrong?"
She looked up, her smile wry but gentle. "No. I was debating whether to invite you to join me. I have heard that some of your monks…" Her voice trailed off at the stiffening of his shoulders. "But not you, I take it. Please forgive me for being forward."
"It is nothing," he said, wanting to sound casual but knowing he did not. "The vow I wish to take would preclude me from experiencing sexual pleasures."
"And in return you would gain what?" Her gaze was curious. His fell to the carmine fullness of her mouth, then slid away.
"A deeper spirituality. A chance to reach nirvana." He caught the question in her eyes. "Nirvana means enlightenment, a knowledge of oneness with the universe, a freedom from the cycle of rebirth."
"Like our concept of heaven?"
"Something like," he said, though from what he knew of Christianity the differences were great. No harps played in a Buddhist's heaven. No one lazed about or sang in heavenly choirs. And no sinner went to hell. Hell was here. Hell was earth. If one learned one's lessons well, one could advance to a higher plane and continue one's progress there.
To his surprise, a very human grin flashed across her face. "You don't want to tell me what you are thinking," she said. "You're afraid you will offend me." With a spontaneity that made his throat tighten, she squeezed his upper arm. "You must not worry. I may not be pious but my faith is firm. A matter of faith, I suppose you'd say, since—despite some people's claim that I am a creature of the devil—I have never met him, no more than I've met God. My beliefs require no proof, nor do I fear to hear others speak of theirs, even at the risk they will change my mind."
Martin blinked at her. His teacher would have approved of her attitude. "In that case, I shall tell you what you wish."
"Good," she said, and strode jauntily toward her folded clothes.
Watching her bottom jiggle was a pleasure he could not bring himself to forgo.
***
MARTIN and his guide stood shoulder to shoulder on the lamasery roof, gazing out toward the soft green haze of the nearest valley. Soon spring would bring herds of gowa to graze on the growing grass; herds of pilgrims, too, though not so many as trekked to the holier shrine at Kangrinpoche. He found himself glad they were not here yet. They would have been a distraction from Luisa.
She interests me, he thought, facing the truth as he had been trained. She pulls not just at my body but at my mind.
What would it be like to see history unfold in a single incarnation? To love the material world so deeply one never wished to leave? Martin shook his head. Luisa claimed faith in a higher power, but she did not experience its reality even as much as the youngest chela. She could not touch the truth behind the illusion. All things were one and yet Luisa seemed alone: separate from both her God and her fellow beings. She should have been miserable. He could not understand why she was not.
No doubt he would have pondered the matter longer if his teacher had not spoken.
"Do you remember," he said, "when your family first came to Shisharovar?"
"I shall never forget it. I ran straight up the stairs and tried to kick two monks out of 'my' room."
The abbot's eyes crinkled at the corners. "You were quite adamant for an eight-year-old."
"But it was all so clear to me. This was where I belonged."
"Yes," said his guide, "it must have seemed so. I admit, I felt the tug of it myself: to keep my old friend by my side. It is comforting to find again what you have lost, almost as comforting as finding what you have forgotten you ever had."
Martin wondered what the abbot was getting at, but his placid profile gave no clue. He felt his forehead pleat together. "I know sixteen years was a long time to stay away, but I could not have remained here
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